Inspired by the first few chapters of Master of Dying by Motherof4dragons and my own frustration with classic time travel tropes.
Updates on Sundays around 6 PM EST.
Many thanks to unboxedfish for betaing.
(Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows; J. K. Rowling; p. 702)
Voldemort and Harry looked at each other, and now Voldemort tilted his head a little to the side, considering the boy standing before him, and a singularly mirthless smile curled the lipless mouth.
"Harry Potter," he said very softly. His voice might have been part of the splitting fire. "The Boy Who Lived."
None of the Death Eaters moved. They were waiting: everything was waiting. Hagrid was struggling, and Bellatrix was panting. Voldemort had raised his wand. His head was still tilted to one side, like a curious child, wondering what would happen if he proceeded. Harry looked back into the red eyes, and wanted it to happen now, quickly, while he could still stand, before he lost control, before he betrayed fear—
"NO!" A voice rang out like a thunderclap, and Harry nearly stumbled with the intensity of his horror as he recognised it.
It was Hermione.
Her disillusionment charm fizzled away into nothing as she staggered into place at his side. He stared at her, acutely feeling the terror roiling just under his skin. There was no warmth, no comfort in her presence, for he had come here to die.
"Go back!" Harry hissed at her, panicked and angry. "You can't be here, you can't—"
A cruel chuckle cut him off. Voldemort was shaking his head, a malevolent grin stretching across his horrific, serpentine face.
"The mudblood's here too!" Bellatrix cackled. "Now you'll both get to die!"
Hermione tugged at Harry's hand, urging him away from Voldemort and his crowd of Death Eaters. "Please," she whispered desperately. "Don't do this, Harry, we can find another way! Please… please…"
But he stood in place, his heart beating thunderously with the force of his anticipation and fear.
Voldemort tilted his head to the side once more, that same curious look overtaking him. "Avada Kedavra," he said softly, almost gently.
Hermione tried to tackle him out of the way, but she was too slow and the spell was too wide. It hit them both at the same time in a nauseous flood of green, and everything was gone.
He woke up, face down, on a hard surface. As his senses gradually returned to him, he noticed something.
He wasn't alone.
It was oddly silent, though, and there was no movement from the faint presence a few feet away. It was like a fluctuation in the atmosphere, or perhaps a dent in the space around him.
He found himself feeling comforted by the thought that something else was here besides him, even as some strange intuition told him that he didn't quite exist.
A long time later – or perhaps only seconds – something clicked into place. He must exist somehow, in some way, because he wasn't alone, and he was lying on a solid, tangible surface.
He rolled over onto his back and opened his eyes.
After only a moment, he realised that there were glasses on his face, which was odd for some reason he couldn't place. Why was it odd? His lips involuntarily twisted into a frown; he usually wore glasses, didn't he?
He blinked, sat up, and looked to his right. On the ground, silent and unmoving, lay Hermione Granger.
Harry scrambled to his feet, awareness and clarity returning to him as he took in her prone form.
She was clad in the same clothes she'd been wearing that morning and the day before, through their siege on Gringotts and their return to Hogwarts – the hunt for the diadem and the battle itself. Stuck magically to the waist of her jeans was her beaded bag, the very item that had allowed them to survive for months on end in the wilderness. Her brown, curly hair was splayed out on the solid surface below her like a halo, and her face was slack with peace.
However, there was no movement. She was utterly still.
Not breathing.
Not alive.
A numb shock surged through his chest as he made the connection. No— no, no, no.
Harry collapsed to his knees at her side and wept, paying no heed to his surroundings or anything other than the dead body of his best friend.
Unbidden, a memory flooded his shattered mind, intense enough that it overtook his vision entirely.
Winter on the run certainly hadn't been pleasant – especially now, when the air in the tent was bitter and freezing. He shuddered, gripping his mug tightly as he tried to bury himself deeper into his armchair.
"Harry?"
Hermione was leaning against the wall just outside the kitchen, a fond smile stretching across her face. Despite the hint of warmth that her smile stirred in his heart, he couldn't find it within himself to respond.
She huffed and twirled her wand. He relaxed instantly; it was as if the cold had simply washed away. "Thank you," he murmured.
Hermione sat down on the arm of his chair and leaned against him, trusting him to keep her stable. "Anytime," she whispered, reaching down to gently pull the locket off and over his head. As she placed it on the table, he sagged back into the armchair, filled with a deep sense of relief. Hermione shrieked and tumbled onto his lap; in relaxing, he'd destabilised her position.
They stared at each other for a moment, frozen, before breaking down into breathless laughter.
"Sorry," Harry managed once he'd regained some of his composure.
Hermione's eyes twinkled as she looked up at him. "Nothing to be sorry for," she said, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. He stared at her, surprised by the casual gesture, but neither of them made an effort to move.
Carefully, hesitantly, he laid his arms down on her lap. He glanced at her apprehensively, afraid of her reaction, but she only smiled.
They stayed like that for some time.
The memory faded away, crackling apart like sparks jumping from a fire until there was nothing left except for the bitter charcoal dust of reality.
Harry stared down at her lifeless body, overcome with profound sorrow and guilt. "She— she shouldn't have been here. I should have— I should have…" He paused, finding it difficult to speak. "I should have made sure I was alone when I went to face him," he said to nobody. "Hermione, I… I…"
He broke down into heaving, shuddering sobs, yet he couldn't look away from her still form.
Eventually, something in the distance sounded, pulling him out of his stricken haze. It was a pitiful noise – a soft thumping mixed with struggling and incoherent wailing. He tried to ignore it, but it only grew louder. He gave Hermione's body one more tearful glance before he forced himself to his feet and turned towards the origin of the sound.
As Harry looked away from her for the first time, his surroundings seemed to come into existence before his eyes: a wide-open space of white with thick mist on the horizon. He recoiled as he laid eyes on the source of the noise. It was horrifying; a twisted, aberrant thing. A disfigured, flayed-looking baby. It seemed to have no muscle mass at all – just a pile of raw flesh and brittle bones. Unnervingly, besides Hermione's body, it was the only other thing with any colour at all for as far as Harry could see.
Hesitantly, he stepped towards it.
"You cannot help."
Harry whipped back around, hoping beyond hope – but no. Hermione's body was still unmoving and silent.
Of course, he realised, that voice hadn't sounded like Hermione at all. He slowly turned to face its source, frowning.
It was Dumbledore, striding towards him wearing simple robes of midnight blue. "Harry," he said with a smile, arms outstretched wide. "You wonderful boy. You brave, brave man. Let us—"
He stopped abruptly, his eyes darting to the side.
Harry followed his gaze and swallowed heavily. Dumbledore had noticed Hermione.
"Oh dear," Dumbledore murmured, stopping at once. "Oh, no, this won't do at all." The old wizard's eyes filled with tears behind his half-moon spectacles. He approached Hermione's body slowly, cautiously. "How did this happen, Harry?"
Harry looked away, not able to bear the sight of either of them. "I was meant to be alone in the forest, Professor," he said, clenching his fists so hard that his knuckles turned white. "I left without telling anyone – I knew they would try to stop me. But… I must not have noticed her following me. Just before Voldemort was about to cast the Killing Curse, she interrupted. He hit us both. It's my fault."
Dumbledore sat down heavily on the surface below them, his whole body exuding sorrow. He didn't say anything.
"It was supposed to be me." Harry's voice was hollow. "Only me. She wasn't supposed to die for me. After how many we'd already lost…" His voice broke and he trailed off, glancing at Dumbledore. "Sir… why are you here?"
Dumbledore did not answer for some time. "I… I had come, Harry, to congratulate you," he said finally. "With the destruction of Voldemort's soul fragment within you, you'd be welcome to go back to the land of the living – to return to your friends and perhaps even put an end to Tom Riddle once and for all, free of the stain he left on you all those years ago. But now…" He sighed. "I do not know what to say, other than to apologise sincerely, though I know I do not deserve forgiveness or anything resembling it. Miss Granger, she did not deserve…"
"No, she didn't," Harry said coldly. For a moment, he was surprised at his tone, but that shock quickly shifted into sheer resolve. Pieces clicked into place and many things, previously hazy, made sense at once.
Dumbledore did not take offense from Harry's sudden anger; he simply nodded softly. "I believe that I've hurt you enough. I will take my leave."
As Dumbledore faded away into nothingness, Harry gritted his teeth. "You certainly have," he muttered, quickly moving to kneel at Hermione's side.
He took her clammy hand into his own and shut his eyes, remembering the warmth of her smile, the strength of her courage, and the brilliance of her mind. He should have noticed – should have stopped her. If only he'd been more aware, maybe he could have turned her away before the end. If he'd just— if he'd only—
Harry sighed heavily. He'd never hated himself as much as he did at that moment.
His thoughts drifted.
Inexplicably, he thought of the Invisibility Cloak and the way it covered them, hiding them in their times of need. He suddenly felt it draped across his shoulders, and wondered if it had been there the whole time. In that same moment, he also became aware of the presence of a ring on his finger and a wand strapped to his arm.
Harry frowned, wondering if they had been there the whole time, too.
It didn't matter, because they were here now – all three.
Wand,
Stone,
Cloak.
Line,
Circle,
Triangle.
Power,
Grief,
Protection.
Harry clutched her hand desperately and focused on what he wanted to happen.
Dumbledore had promised he could go back if he chose, but it seemed there weren't any second chances for Hermione.
That was unacceptable.
He felt an icy burning sensation on his shoulders, his right ring finger, and his arm. Not even a fraction of a second later, light exploded behind his eyelids.
For one breathless moment, Harry felt nothing – not pain, not warmth, not even his own heartbeat.
And then, sensation slammed into him like a tidal wave, overwhelming him with sharp, alarming clarity.
There was a solid surface against his back, but he wasn't lying down. He tried to move, but found that he couldn't; tight restraints held him in place.
Something else penetrated his senses: the taste of dark magic. The very air was suffused with it – twisting, oily, and revolting.
He shuddered, resisting the urge to throw up. His mind reeled as it struggled to comprehend what had just happened. Where was he? Where was Hermione?
"Robe me," said a high, cold voice.
Dimly, Harry could hear someone sobbing and moaning in the background. "Please, Master," came a whimpering voice, "my arm… my arm…!"
Harry gritted his teeth and forced his eyes back open. What he saw stunned him.
He was tied up in a cemetery. A thin man had just stepped out of a massive cauldron, and he was staring at Harry with the oddest expression.
Harry knew who it was immediately. As long as he lived, he would never forget the horrible face of his worst enemy. It was whiter than a skull, with wide, red eyes and a flat nose with slits for nostrils. It was Voldemort.
"How… intriguing," Voldemort said, eyes flashing as he peered intently at Harry. He looked to the side and snapped, "Wormtail! Robe me!"
Suddenly, Harry noticed the sobbing man on the floor. His stomach churned and his face paled with rage as he took in the sight of the man who had betrayed his parents.
Wormtail scrambled to his feet and shakily handed his master a robe. "My Lord," he said, clutching his stump with agony, "I—"
Voldemort waved a hand dismissively as he dressed himself. He held his hands up to his face, turning them around in careful inspection, before he stuck one in his pocket and pulled out his wand. He caressed the wand gently, as if greeting a lover after a long time apart, and it let out a faint spray of green sparks.
Harry recoiled at the sight, disturbed beyond words. As he watched, he felt a sense of growing unease overlay his visceral disgust at what he had just seen. He would have to be stupid to not know where he was— when he was, but how could he possibly be here? What had he done?
Hermione's voice rang through his mind, stiff with warning. "Bad things happen to wizards who mess with time, Harry."
He had wanted to return with Hermione, and something… something had happened? Why couldn't he remember? Could it have been the Hallows?
The moment their name formed in his mind, something incredible happened: he felt the weight of the Invisibility Cloak settle on his shoulders; he felt a ring twist into place on his right hand with cold, dark power; he felt the wand appear and burn brightly against the flesh of his right arm.
At the same time, Voldemort clutched his head, fell to his knees, and shuddered intensely.
"M-Master?" Wormtail whimpered.
Harry watched silently as the Dark Lord writhed, but inside, his mind was whirling. Had summoning the ring destroyed the Horcrux residing in it? Was Voldemort feeling the destruction of that part of his soul? Voldemort had never felt the death of his Horcruxes before – if he had, they never would've succeeded in taking out more than one. He would have moved all of them as soon as he realised they were at risk, and everything would have been lost.
Voldemort's shaking cut out abruptly as he regained control of himself and got back to his feet.
"M-Master?" Wormtail tried again.
Voldemort flicked his wand and the rest of Wormtail's already partially dismembered arm was separated violently from his body. "Enough," Voldemort said as his servant screamed in agony. He glanced at Harry, a small frown twisting his hideous face. "Someone has been… foolish."
Harry glared back at him.
The Dark Lord suddenly laughed. "I wonder who it was? Perhaps Lucius… yes, it would have been him, of course. No one else would know."
Voldemort looked down at Wormtail, eyeing the arm still attached to his body, and Harry wondered what he was thinking. Would he call his followers again? He mentioned Lucius… did he suspect that the diary had been destroyed?
"Harry Potter," Voldemort said after a moment, ignoring Wormtail's continuous wailing. "The Boy-Who-Lived… what a presumptuous title. I was going to allow you to duel me before you died, but now… I think I'll just kill you."
Before he could make good on his promise, an ear-splitting crack rent the air not far from them. Voldemort looked up sharply. "Who…?"
Without warning, the ropes holding Harry to the gravestone vanished. He took advantage right away, rolling to the side and grabbing the wand stuck to his arm. He noted with no surprise that it was, indeed, the Elder Wand that he was holding.
Voldemort hissed angrily and swept his wand in a deliberate motion. A heavy, oppressive feeling settled on Harry's shoulders, and he understood immediately that he would not be able to Apparate away. "Accio holly wand!" Harry shouted, snatching it out of the air as it hurtled towards him from Wormtail's prone form. He quickly stuck the Elder Wand back to his arm and ducked as a bolt of malevolent green magic whizzed over his head. He couldn't spare a moment, but somewhere in the back of his mind, he rejoiced at reuniting with his first wand, which had been snapped months prior.
"Protego!" Harry said, ready to ward off Voldemort's next spell.
"Nagini! Come!" Voldemort hissed instead of casting.
Harry paled, knowing he had nothing capable of destroying the snake on hand.
"Confringo!" came a loud voice from behind Harry. He blinked, shocked beyond words as the curse shot over his shoulder, aimed unerringly for Voldemort's face.
Harry chanced a look behind him and his jaw dropped.
"Hermione?" he whispered.
She was standing right there, only a few metres behind him, alive, breathing, wand in hand, and with her beaded bag stuck to her waist like always. Her chest heaved with exertion and she met his eyes with a wild look full of desperation.
His heart skipped a beat.
Seeing her now, he could hardly believe his own memory of grieving her dead body only minutes ago. What the hell was going on?
He felt tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, but he wrestled down the surge of powerful emotion before it could overtake him. There was no time for that now.
Without a word, she rushed to his side and handed him the Sword of Gryffindor – which he hadn't even noticed she'd been carrying before. Harry took it without hesitation, switching it around so he held his wand in his left hand and the sword in his right.
He looked back to Voldemort and saw that he was, unsurprisingly, no worse for wear. Hermione's blasting curse hadn't done anything at all. Voldemort's face twisted as he considered the two of them.
Before he could attack them, Harry moved first. "Expelliarmus," he said instinctively, stepping forward as a beam of red light erupted from the tip of his wand.
Voldemort promptly cast another Killing Curse. As expected, they met in the middle, clashing in the brilliant golden light show of Priori Incantatem.
"Hermione!" Harry yelled as Voldemort howled with rage. "Take the sword! You know what to do!" He tossed it back to her.
"Got it, Harry!" she called back as she snatched it out of the air. He turned back to face Voldemort, whose scream of rage was only getting louder as Harry's disarming charm slowly overpowered him. Before long, shades erupted from Voldemort's wand once more. Harry smiled sadly as he saw the shadowy forms of Cedric, his parents, and a few witches and wizards he couldn't quite recognise appear.
The shade of Cedric floated close. "Hold on, Harry," he said. His voice was distant and echoing, but still audible. Voldemort's expression was just as shocked as it had been last time.
The shadowy form of James Potter drifted to his side. "When the connection is broken, we will linger for only moments, but we will give you time… you must get to the Portkey, Harry. It will return you to Hogwarts. Do you understand?"
"Hold on," Harry said firmly. "Please, as long as you can." He gestured the hand not holding his wand towards where Hermione was running through the grass, not too far away. "We need time… it's important…"
Lily nodded resolutely as she joined her husband at his side. "It's more about you than us," she said. "As long as you can maintain the connection, he'll be stuck."
"Potter!" Voldemort yelled, a flicker of panic in his eyes. "What is the meaning of this?"
"That won't be a problem," Harry said, entirely ignoring Voldemort. "I can hold it."
"Harry…" whispered Cedric. "Will you take my body back, please? To Hogwarts? To my parents, please…"
"Of course."
Hermione made a loud, triumphant noise and swung the sword in a graceful arc. Harry's eyes lit up with delight as he watched a black cloud of smoke rise from the corpse of Voldemort's beloved familiar.
Voldemort screamed again in truly terrific and impotent rage. Not a moment later, the connection between their wands shattered.
Harry swore loudly. "HERMIONE!" he bellowed as the shades all crowded the Dark Lord. "NOW!"
When he saw that she was running towards him, he concentrated his willpower and flicked his wand twice. "Accio Cedric's body! Accio cup!"
"Accio Peter Pettigrew!" Hermione yelled shrilly as she slammed into him. Not a moment later, Cedric's body, Peter Pettigrew, and the Triwizard Cup collided with them one after the other, and they all vanished from the cemetery in a multicolour swirl of magic.
Everything was silent for a long, tense moment before Voldemort unleashed a massive, uncontrolled blast of magic, obliterating everything within thirty metres of him. "POTTER!"
They tumbled into the grass of the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch with bruising force.
"Fuck," Harry muttered, rolling away.
Hermione was quicker to come to her senses, hopping to her feet almost right away. "Incarcerous!" she incanted, pointing her wand at Pettigrew. "Stupefy!"
Hearing her cast those spells was like having a bucket of ice water dumped over his head, shocking him to full alertness immediately. Harry hastily stood, eyes darting around until they landed on the impostor in their midst who was quickly approaching. Harry whipped his wand out. "Accio wooden leg!"
As the fake Moody's leg soared through the air towards them, everything else penetrated his senses. There was panicked shouting and screaming from the stands, and the few people who were approaching were all yelling.
Harry paid them no heed, though. He only had eyes for Barty Crouch Junior. "Levicorpus," he said. "Stupefy!" As unbalanced as he'd been from the sudden absence of his leg, Crouch quickly fell victim to Harry's spells, hanging in the air unconscious.
"What is the meaning of this?" came the outraged voice of Cornelius Fudge as he took in the scene.
"Miss Granger, Harry," Dumbledore said faintly as he came to a stop in front of them, looking them up and down with an expression of complete and utter befuddlement. "What on Earth…?"
Harry glanced down at Cedric's body and his composure finally broke as long-suppressed memories threatened to overwhelm him. "I'm sorry, Professor," he choked out, gesturing to Cedric. "I couldn't… He's…"
A sudden wailing came from Cedric's side and Harry felt his heart drop into his throat. Cedric's father had arrived.
Hermione came up behind Harry and put a hand on his back. "It's okay, Harry," she whispered. "We're going to be fine."
Harry squeezed his eyes shut, swallowing hard. His chest felt tight, his breath unsteady. He wanted – just for a second – to fall apart after this nightmare of a day. He was running on fumes, now. Robbing Gringotts, infiltrating Hogwarts, dying, and now this? Hermione, dead – Hermione, alive? Just as the emotional whiplash started to become unbearable, she started rubbing small, comforting circles on his back, and he relaxed just enough to stave off the impending breakdown.
"Peter Pettigrew? But— but— Sirius Black—" Fudge exclaimed, and Harry's head snapped up.
He turned to face the Minister, rage bubbling beneath the surface of his skin as he recalled everything the idiot man had done to him over the years. "Do you still believe we were Confunded?" he said in a low, dangerous voice, looking the man directly in the eyes.
Fudge pointed right at Harry, shaking. "It's you, Potter, I don't know what you've done, but…! But…!" His eyes darted around frantically, looking everywhere but at Harry.
Harry's fury continued to build. "What the hell are you on about now?" he demanded. "Look at what's become of your mess! Peter Pettigrew alive, just like we told you a year ago!" His voice continued to rise as he spoke. "Cedric Diggory dead from the Triwizard Tournament, a Ministry-sponsored event! The cup portkeyed us off the grounds, right to Pettigrew who killed Cedric outright! Where were the protections?"
Fudge's shaking had turned into outright trembling.
Dumbledore put a calming hand on Harry's shoulder, which Harry pushed off, frowning. "He's back, Professor," he said. "He's back."
Dumbledore's eyes widened.
Harry looked around exhaustedly, taking in the chaos. Wizards and witches ran amok – students from the stands made a mad stampede back to the castle, and the tournament staff didn't seem to have a clue what to do.
"I must ask, Harry," Dumbledore said after a moment, gesturing towards the fake Moody, "why did you apprehend Alastor?"
"That's not Moody," Harry said simply.
Dumbledore met his eyes briefly before glancing at Hermione, who nodded sharply in response.
Moody's skin started to bubble. Somebody gasped once the potion had worn off entirely: "That's Barty Crouch Junior!"
"Mr. Potter! Miss Granger! Oh dear…" It was McGonagall. "We really must get the two of you to the hospital wing! I'm sure Poppy will be able to get you both back to normal. Perhaps a counter-aging potion is in order as well…"
Harry shook his head. "I'm sorry, Professor, we have work to do," he said, gesturing towards Pettigrew.
McGonagall looked worried, but Harry could tell that she agreed – at least about his presence being necessary. "Surely Miss Granger…"
Hermione cut her off. "No," she said curtly.
McGonagall sighed but moved around them to kneel next to Mr. Diggory.
Harry exchanged a weary look with Hermione as she sidled up next to him. "We have a lot to talk about," she whispered.
"I know," he whispered back, a ghost of a smile flitting across his face. "I know. I'm just… so glad you're here with me."
She cocked her head to the side, puzzled. "Where else would I be?"
Fudge cleared his throat. "A team of Aurors will be arriving soon," he said, trying and failing to appear composed. "Best get these criminals into the castle."
It didn't take long for the cavalry to arrive, and things were tied up quickly. Harry and Hermione soon found themselves trailing silently behind the procession of Aurors and professors as they marched through the entrance hall, up to the third floor.
"I feel like I'm living in a dream," she murmured as they walked.
Harry shook his head subtly. "I don't think so."
"How do you know?"
He grimaced and held out his hand with the resurrection stone ring.
Hermione's breath hitched and her expression went very, very stiff as her eyes locked on to it. "No…" she whispered. "All three?"
"Yes."
She didn't dare say anything more, not with their present company.
Barely a minute later, they all filed into an empty classroom. Aurors took posts against the walls in even intervals, McGonagall conjured chairs, and Dumbledore directed the prisoners to be seated and tied up.
Pettigrew stirred.
Harry's wand was out before the traitor could even open his eyes. "Stupefy," he said, and Pettigrew went slack again.
Everyone stared at Harry except for Hermione.
"He's an animagus," Hermione explained calmly. "If allowed to become fully conscious, he would try to escape right away."
For once, Fudge seemed to agree. He turned to the Auror standing closest to the door. "Fetch Amelia, please, and my guards."
The Auror left promptly.
The room remained in tense silence until he returned with a woman and two dementors. The woman looked familiar, though Harry couldn't quite place where he'd seen her before. She had a stern air about her, similar to the way Professor McGonagall held herself, but she was younger and dressed distinctly – wearing a monocle and robes bearing the sigil of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.
Harry surged to action. "Expecto Patronum!" Prongs burst from his wand, trampling down both dementors before they could get anywhere near the prisoners. An otter quickly joined his stag, and he smiled warmly at Hermione, silently thanking her for her support.
"What is the meaning of this?" the woman demanded as she recovered from the sight of two corporeal patronuses. Fudge looked similarly outraged.
"You can't have them Kissed," Harry said firmly. Dumbledore stepped up behind him in a silent show of support. "Not yet, not until they've been properly questioned."
Fudge's outrage only grew, but the woman silenced him with a glare. "They would not have been Kissed, Mr. Potter," she insisted. "The dementors are merely here as an intimidation tactic for dangerous criminals. We have a high-profile murder at a Ministry-sponsored event on our hands – their use is only standard procedure."
Harry eyed Pettigrew and Crouch doubtfully, remembering what had happened the first time around. "We can't risk it, I'm sorry," he said. "It's too important. He is back. It must be known. They have to be questioned." He turned to face Dumbledore. "Could you ask Snape to bring some Veritaserum?"
Dumbledore conjured his patronus and whispered a message to it.
Fudge seemed to finally find his voice. "How dare you!" he exclaimed. "Why, I never! Interrupting Ministry procedure, attacking our protectors, and you claim You-Know-Who is back? Preposterous, preposterous! I'll have you charged for this, boy! Completely delusional!"
Contrary to Fudge's wild exclamations, the woman only eyed Harry consideringly. "Mr. Potter… You are Harry Potter, correct?" she asked, glancing at Dumbledore, who nodded. "I understand your concerns. These are extraordinary circumstances, so just this once, the dementors will be dismissed." She waved to the Auror who had brought her in, and watched with grim satisfaction as the dementors were led away. "My name is Amelia Bones, and I am the head of the DMLE. Despite what some may think," she gave Fudge another stern glare, "I am leading this investigation. Once your professor arrives with the Veritaserum, we will begin our questioning. After it concludes, I will require each of you to submit memories of the ordeal for processing. Is that acceptable?"
"Amelia, you can't—!" Fudge tried to speak, but she interrupted him once more with a raised hand before turning back to Harry for his response.
"Yes."
Much of the tension in the room dissipated at once, and chatter slowly picked up as Madam Bones engaged the Minister in a heated discussion and Aurors started prowling the room, casting all sorts of charms around the prisoners and the entrance.
Harry tapped Dumbledore on the shoulder. "Hermione and I need to talk," he said quietly. "We'll be silenced. When Snape arrives, please ensure that they are questioned appropriately and thoroughly."
Dumbledore merely raised an eyebrow at Harry.
"I know you would have anyway," Harry said, looking away a bit sheepishly, "I just thought it needed to be said."
"You've done good work tonight, my dear boy," Dumbledore said softly. "I daresay Sirius is about to go free. However, there is much to discuss…" He trailed off, giving Harry's body a once-over and raising an eyebrow again.
Harry sighed.
Sensing that their conversation was over, Hermione grabbed his arm and dragged him off to the side of the room. "Muffliato!" she said, twirling her wand in the odd looping and zagging motion that the charm required.
"Hermione, I…"
He was interrupted as she threw herself at him in a desperate hug, which he returned with equal intensity. "Why, Harry?" she sobbed. "Why did you go into the forest by yourself? You didn't even say goodbye!"
Harry was trying very hard not to cry, now. "I… I was a Horcrux, Hermione," he said softly. "It was the only way."
Hermione drew back a bit so she could look him in the eyes. "It was not!" she insisted. "There's always another way! We could've done something, dealt with it together! Please, Harry, promise me you won't do it again. Promise!"
"I'm not a Horcrux anymore," he assured her. "Well, I don't think I am, at least. My scar didn't hurt at all, even though he was right there in the cemetery."
She seemed to accept that and they stood in silence for a long stretch of time, simply drawing comfort from their embrace.
"How are we here?" Hermione murmured into his chest.
"You died," he said after a moment. "And so did I? Kind of? I woke up in this strange, white place, and you were there too – but it wasn't really you, just—" He paused, swallowing heavily. "Just your dead body. Dumbledore came, said I could go back, but… I couldn't. I couldn't go back, not without you. And then, something happened? It's fuzzy now, but I know it has something to do with the Hallows. Something happened, and I woke up tied to a headstone in the cemetery."
Harry felt something wet his shoulder, and he realised with shock that she was crying. "I'm sorry," she whispered into his chest. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry—"
He hugged her tighter, cutting off her self-recrimination. "It's my fault, not yours," he insisted quietly, his voice muffled by her hair.
"I woke up in the stands, right next to Ron," she said after a time. "God, he looked so small. I knew where I was right away, though. I never forgot that night, and I never will. I went to Dumbledore immediately and told him to get me the sword. He knew something was happening and let Fawkes take me outside the wards. I Apparated right to the cemetery – I knew you'd be there." She looked back up at him, and although she had stopped crying, her eyes were still glistening, threatening to overflow with tears again. "This is all so weird! It makes no sense. If we'd just gone back in time, you'd think we'd either appear separate to our younger selves, like how time-turners work, or maybe we'd just overwrite their memories, but look at me! Merlin, look at you! We both still look like we did yesterday, and there's no younger selves to be seen!" She paused, gulping. "Do you think we replaced them?"
Harry realised with intense surprise that she was correct. Even though they were back in the past, she was still eighteen and he was still seventeen. He didn't notice it before – with all the madness, it hadn't occurred to him in the first place that they should have looked different. But, she was right. If he had taken the place of his younger self, it was quite odd that he didn't look like he was fourteen. "Bloody hell," he said. "This is a mess."
Hermione giggled wetly. "I'd say we've done a good job so far," she countered, reaching up to run a hand through his messy hair. "Pettigrew and Crouch, captured. Nagini, dead. The Horcrux in you, gone." She glanced down at the ring on his finger. "The ring is clean too, isn't it? We're in such a good position now! We can fetch the diadem tonight and deal with the locket at Grimmauld tomorrow. The only issue is the cup, I suppose."
He grimaced. "I really don't want to have to break into Gringotts again."
"We'll figure something out," she said with a smile.
Harry's eyes widened. "Fuck, Sirius is alive. You're alive," he exclaimed breathlessly. "They're all alive! Sirius, Remus, Tonks, Fred, Colin, Dobby, Hedwig, everyone!"
Hermione squeezed him tighter. "We'll make sure they stay that way."
They stood together and silently revelled in their joy for another long minute before Hermione reluctantly pulled back and dispelled the privacy charm.
Sound slammed into them; Pettigrew was speaking. His voice was a dull monotone, the tell-tale sign of Veritaserum in action.
"—secret keeper. Initially, they wanted Black, but he insisted that he was too obvious. With Lupin abroad, I was the second choice. It was perfect. As soon as they cast the charm, I went right to the Dark Lord and revealed the secret to him. Unfortunately, Black was quick to realise what had happened. A few days after Halloween, he cornered me on a street in Muggle London. I knew that it was the perfect opportunity to frame him…"
Pettigrew continued to explain, in excruciating and sometimes horrifying detail, how he'd framed Sirius and where he'd been since.
Madam Bones' eyes progressively widened with each sentence to the point where it was a small miracle that her monocle hadn't fallen to the ground. In contrast, Fudge's expression was a pasty white.
Harry grinned viciously, exceedingly glad that the bumbling idiot was finally realising how much he'd fucked up the year before. "Confunded, my arse," he muttered.
Hermione smothered a snort.
The Veritaserum eventually expired and Pettigrew was promptly stunned. He'd given enough testimony to both free Sirius and verify Harry's claims about what happened in the cemetery.
Snape moved towards Crouch and placed three drops of potion on the unconscious man's tongue. "Rennervate," he said, and Crouch jolted awake. The potion's influence was immediately clear, as he didn't even try to struggle against his bonds.
Madam Bones stepped forward and Snape stepped back. "What is your name?"
"Bartemius Crouch Junior."
"How did you escape Azkaban?"
"My father replaced me with my dying mother and kept me under the Imperius in our family home."
"Explain how you got free."
"My father was distracted during the attack on the Quidditch World Cup, and I broke free from the curse…"
The man continued, going into depth about casting the Dark Mark, escaping to find Voldemort, and his whole plan around the Triwizard Tournament.
"Incompetent, the lot of you," Crouch said dully. "The boy was clearly entered into the tournament against his will. It was honestly surprising to see so little investigation into the matter. It certainly made my job easier."
Harry frowned.
Questions were asked one after the other until the potion finally wore off and Crouch was incapacitated.
Madam Bones turned to Harry, conjuring two small vials. "If you could provide the memories now, it would be much appreciated."
Harry took them both and handed one to Hermione. He put his wand up to his temple, concentrated, and extracted the memory, starting from when he'd awakened in the cemetery. Once he'd finished, he handed the vial back. Hermione was quick to do the same, holding out her memory only a split-second after him.
Madam Bones took them and capped them before placing them in her robes.
McGonagall appeared behind them. "Hospital wing, now," she insisted.
Harry looked to Hermione, who nodded. The message was clear: they'd done enough.
McGonagall led them down the hall without another word, and Harry finally allowed himself to fully relax.
Their work was finished for the night, and they were safe.