Chapter 4: A Mad DashNotes:
Thank you all so much for all of the kudos and comments, I can't get over the response to this, it's amazing!
So here's another update!
Much love folks x
Chapter Text
Having her wand safely back in her hand is quite the relief. Everything keeps getting more and more off balance, and the familiar feel of warmly humming wood in her palm is soothing.
She moves away from Lestrange, reaches under her own robes to rip a button from her shirt, and transfigures it into a vial, slightly guiltily. She doesn't really want to drug her again, it's an ethical nightmare, but this much amortentia is too good to pass up under the circumstances. And if she's going to have to spend more time with the woman, this Bellatrix is better than a Bellatrix that wants to kill her.
Vial filled, she turns back to said witch, opening her mouth to ask her where the door is.
Oh.
She's clutching her side. Hermione forgot, she—
"Bellatrix, how badly are you hurt?"
The witch stumbles towards her.
"Come, my love, the door is this way. I'll show you. I'll do everything you need me to do."
Well that's not an answer. Hermione lets herself be dragged towards the door though. It can't be that bad if she's still pulling Hermione around.
They reach the door, and Hermione engraves the rune. With her wand this time, it's much easier.
Now for the blood.
She casts a tergeo to clean herself as she's still soaked head to toe in amortentia, and then places her cut hand against the door, prodding at it until enough blood falls.
It doesn't open. Hmm. Time to test her theory.
She turns and looks at Lestrange critically, searching her skin for cuts. She's annoyingly unscathed, at least where Hermione can see. How had her blood gotten on the door the first time?
"Are you bleeding anywhere, Bellatrix? We need your blood too for the door, but I don't want to cut you if I can help it."
She does. She'd love to stab the witch again. But it feels a bit wrong to do it whilst she's drugged.
The witch smiles. "You don't want to hurt me? You care about me?"
Hermione reluctantly nods, not making eye contact. "Answer the question Lest– Bellatrix."
Lestrange huffs. "Fine! I am bleeding. A lot. But it's under my clothes, so unless you want to take off my dress…"
No no.
Argh, there's no time for this!
She looks the other witch in the eye, pleading with her. "Bellatrix, we have to hurry, this is important. I need your blood to open the door and then you have to run to the veil room. Straight away. There's no time!"
What if the battle is over? What if Voldemort never arrives? What if Fudge doesn't see him? Then no one will—
There's a slicing sound, and then the smack of a hand against wood. The door creaks open.
And, before Hermione knows what is happening, she's being kissed. Quite thoroughly. Her lips even start to kiss back she's so surprised by the intensity. It's been a long time since someone has kissed her at all, let alone so desperately.
Lestrange pulls away. "I have to go. Stay safe. I'll meet you at the cottage, like you said. I'll do everything you said, I promise."
And then she's sprinting out the door and away.
Hermione is still frozen in the doorway.
She raises a shaky hand to her lips. Oh, this is the weirdest day. She's had some strange days over the course of her life - with Harry and Ron around, nothing ever goes smoothly. But this day takes the cake. Maybe a whole patisserie of cakes. She has to get out of here.
And apparently this door also leads to the circular entranceway. Somehow.
She hears footsteps and pulls the door almost shut, peering out. The Order. So it's not too late, they're just arriving. Thank Merlin.
And they don't come her way, probably knowing this door is always sealed. She just prays Mad-Eye can't see her through the door.
They all spread out, taking different doors, Mad-Eye and Tonks heading into the brain room without glancing in her direction.
She has to leave. They'll do a whole sweep of the place eventually, plus she now has to meet Lestrange at Shell Cottage as promised. She's going to have to risk the lift. What an idiot.
She casts another notice-me-not charm and a muffliato on herself just in case, not that it will be much use if anyone spots her. Oh. Why didn't she think of—
She waves her wand over her hair, transfiguring it darker, straighter and shorter. She doesn't really want to mess with her eyes, but she casts an engorgio on her nose.
That might help. And she's ten years older, she has to remember. Dressed in business wear. Once she's in the lift, she's just a ministry worker. She even has a badge to prove it.
She slowly opens the door. Nobody.
Okay. That one.
She takes a breath, and then hurries for the entrance door, bursting through and running to the lift. No Dumbledore. No Voldemort. She's going to make it.
She wrenches the lift doors open and slams her hand on the level for the atrium. She has to go there. It's where all the floos are.
The lift lurches upwards.
Come on. Hurry hurry hurry. This feels a lot longer than the way down.
The doors ping open and she throws herself into a run towards the nearest fire.
And then the fire roars to life, turning green, and she smacks right into the person leaving it.
"Oh, my apologies. It appears you are in much greater need of this floo than I."
Oh bloody hell.
Dumbledore smiles down at her, eyes twinkling. Oh, she forgot how much she missed him.
"Now, I would love to stay for a chat. I'm sure you have many interesting stories to tell. But I think it best that we both hurry off to our respective emergencies, don't you agree?"
She nods dumbly at him, and he gives her one more knowing smile before striding off.
Does he—?
There's no time to puzzle out what Dumbledore knows, Hermione, that could take a lifetime.
She tosses some floo powder into the grate and steps in.
"Shell cottage!"
Fire whirls around her, and then a familiar living room comes into view and she breathes a sigh of relief. It's still connected to the floo network, it's not being used by the Order yet.
She lights all the lamps around the room with a lumos and looks at the nearest armchair longingly. She wants to collapse into it, close her eyes, and pretend this is all a dream. She's exhausted.
She sighs. There's no time for feeling sorry for herself yet. Come on, Hermione. Time to set up the wards.
Or…
Will Lestrange be able to get in if she's warded it off?
She walks over to the front door, pushing it open against the wind and protecting her eyes from the sand. She definitely needs wards. She has the most notorious, most terrifying Death Eater coming her way.
What is Hermione doing? Isn't she supposed to be smart? This is madness!
She casts an anti-apparition ward, and then goes back inside, shutting the door behind her and leaning her head against it with a thud. Change of plan.
Pointing her wand at herself rather than at the sky this time, she murmurs every ward, charm and jinx she can think of that protects from harm, in every language or variation that springs to mind. She can make the place untraceable once the witch arrives, but first she needs to ensure that no matter what happens, she won't find herself at the end of another crucio ever again. She's done being the witch's crying rag doll.
Protego totalum…protego hexia…protego horribilis…fianto duri…
It's so risky casting these kinds of charms on herself. She's probably seriously damaging her own magical integrity - there's a reason they're usually cast at the sky. But she's about to be alone, ten years in the past, with her greatest fear. Her boggart is certainly not Professor McGonagall anymore.
And no-one even knows she's here.
She looks around with a shudder. Even after all these years, having visited Bill and Fleur many times, she can't help but associate this place with— with what happened. At Malfoy Manor. The…gods the memory of it. The nightmares. Fleur had done her best, cared for her, let her cry and talked to her, but…
She shakes herself from the memories and walks into the kitchen, chanting protection spells once more, and starts searching around in the cupboards. Empty. Well that's just perfect. She was hoping there might at least be some tea to calm her—
The floo sounds from the living room. Hermione freezes, hand gripping the cupboard.
Footsteps.
Arms go around her waist from behind, and Hermione lets out a shaky breath. The love potion must still be in effect.
And then a wand presses into her neck.
"Now pet, you and I need to have a little chat, don't you think?" a voice rasps.
Hermione's stomach drops and her eyes fall shut. Oh no.
She swallows. Stay calm, Hermione. She can't hurt you. "Yes, I suppose we do. I was just looking for some tea, but it seems—"
"Incarcerous!"
Nothing happens.
"Petrificus totalus! Confringo! Crucio! Stupefy! Expelliarmus!" The witch growls, getting increasingly louder.
Hermione sighs with relief. It's working. The protections charms are working. Her skin buzzes with magic, but still nothing happens.
Lestrange drags her over to the kitchen table. "Sit. Talk. My patience is wearing thin, mudblood."
She shoves Hermione into a chair, standing over her and leaning on the table, crowding closer.
"Now explain—" she lets out another growl of frustration. "Now what's wrong with your face?! Answers, girl! Or my dear cousin won't be the only one who dies tonight!"
Sirius is dead? Oh thank goodness!
Uh…not that she…nothing against the man…
"So you did it? He fell through the veil?" she asks cautiously.
"Yes," Lestrange grits out. "Thanks to your slimy mudblood hands and stupid orders, the idiotic traitor is dead. Not that I care. He is on your side after all. So. Why have him killed?"
She—
What should she say?
Maybe…
The only way this will work is if they have a common goal. A reason for Lestrange to keep her secrets. She's revealed too much, shown herself, her plans, her hiding spot.
Lestrange wants Voldemort to win the war…she wants to protect her noble house…she wants to win, to triumph.
To live. Bellatrix dies.
Hermione feels her face start to tingle as the transfiguration wears off, her hair growing and nose shrinking.
Lestrange may be completely insane…but she's also clever. She was once the brightest witch of her age. Hermione had looked it up. She's not mad enough to mess with Time…is she?
Okay. She can always try to obliviate her if this goes wrong. Or just knock her over the head.
"I— I assume you've heard about the consequences of time travel?"
Lestrange's mouth falls open. And then snaps shut. And then she cackles, dragging a chair out from under the table and plopping down heavily into it as she laughs to herself.
"Oh. Oh muddy, what have you done? You stupid mudblood. This is exactly why you people shouldn't set foot in our world. Time travel. You– your face!"
Hermione folds her arms and scowls. "I didn't plan this. It was an accident. Someone pushed me! Believe me, I was perfectly happy in my own time, I'm not stupid enough to—"
Her mouth snaps shut. Lestrange is looking at her, well, strangely. She must have said something—
Oh dear.
"You're happy in your time? When are you from? You certainly look older, years older. And you're happy? That's not possible. None of you filthy mudbloods should be happy under the Dark Lord's reign. I presumed you travelled back in time to fight for your blasted good cause. If you're happy…"
Right. Time to pull out her last resort.
"Accio prophecy!"
It floats out of her pocket onto the table. Hermione clears her throat. "I found this tonight. Well, not tonight tonight. Tonight my time. It had my name on it…and yours. I think you should hear it."
Bellatrix snatches it up off the table greedily and it glows to life in her hands.
The stirring sand could foundations sink, if bones are not left buried. A battle lost, lest drunk on love, imagined chains held steadied. And if, these two, through sand and sea, do not drift asunder, then both, now lost, shall be returned, though not without the other.
Firenze's voice echoes through the room. And then silence.
"Both now lost," Lestrange croaks. "That's not possible. I am not lost. The Dark Lord cannot lose. He is too powerful."
She glares at Hermione. "That is not possible! I must die to further his cause, that's it, isn't it? Tell me what happens!" she roars.
Then, in the next second, she's suddenly calm. It's boggling. "Wait, no, you're useless. I'll see for myself. Legilimens!"
Hermione realises with a jolt that she spent so long protecting her body from harm, that she'd completely forgotten about her mind.
She only has time to let out a horrified gasp, fumbling to bring up her mental walls, before the room disappears, and she's plunged into memory.
Chapter 5: The Butterfly EffectChapter Text
Hermione's childhood flickers past before her eyes, slowing slightly as she senses disgust from the woman sharing her mind. Fear and confusion as Hermione goes to the dentist, the doctor's, flies on an aeroplane.
Get out! She thinks, conjuring up walls, thorns, earthquakes. Anything to shove the unwanted presence from her head.
Ha! As if a little mudblood could stop me! Let's see what you're hiding…
Argh the witch is too powerful. She's an accomplished legilimens. It's like trying to stab at water.
Her memories continue to speed past at an alarming rate, making her dizzy.
Fine. She wants to see. Watch.
Hermione ignores the other jumbled thoughts, and goes straight for a specific memory, making it clear and vivid as she remembers every detail.
They're in the Great Hall, watching as a younger Hermione ducks a slicing hex, bringing up a shield as she duels with an older but healthier, rejuvenated looking Bellatrix, Ginny and Luna by her side.
Bellatrix dances easily between their spells, ducking and dodging and twirling up shield after shield as though to her own beat, still managing to send them jerking out of the way of unforgivable curses and deadly hexes. Hermione is just readying an attack when Bellatrix's grin widens, and a green jet of light flies at Ginny, who only just manages to move out of the way in time.
Hermione senses the Bellatrix in her head watching curiously.
"Not my daughter, you bitch!"
And then there's Mrs Weasley, barging them all out the way and glaring at Bellatrix, wand drawn.
"Out of my way!"
Both the Bellatrix in her head and the Bellatrix in front of her let out identical cackles.
Oh please, the weasel mother? What's she going to do, bite me? Birth another litter of weasels on me?
Hermione watches in delight, thinking smug thoughts.
Watch closely, Lestrange, she's going to kill you in a minute.
A scoff echoes around her head.
"You—will—never—touch—our—children—again!"
Here it comes. Hermione loves this part.
Bellatrix lets out an exhilarated laugh, and Mrs Weasley jams her wand forwards, hitting her with a spell squarely in the chest.
For a split second everything freezes, and Hermione's brain shakes with foreign shock.
And then Bellatrix topples down dead.
No. No, what is this trick? You've tampered with your memories, you sneaky mudblood you—
Voldemort lets out a roar of fury as his lieutenant hits the floor, unmoving, and he fires off curses at everyone in sight.
"Protego!"
Harry appears from nowhere. Oh he looks so young. She always forgets he was just a boy. Sweet, brave, Harry. She should really send him an owl, it's been a while since—
Potter is alive in your time? You're lying. The boy should be dead. The Dark Lord would never—
"There are no more horcruxes. It's just you and me. Neither can live while the other survives, and one of us is about to be gone for good…"
Harry and Voldemort are circling each other now, a silent crowd watching in anticipation from the sidelines.
Neither can live while— what does he mean, mudblood? Why is Potter so important?
Oh. Of course. Voldemort doesn't know yet, they haven't heard the end of the prophecy.
Doesn't know what?
And before she can stop it, they're being dragged in front of another memory, Harry sat nervously before her past self and Ron in Fred and George's box-filled room at the Burrow.
"The Prophet's got it right," Harry says cautiously, sat in bed, breakfast tray on his lap. "That glass ball that smashed wasn't the only record of the prophecy. I heard the whole thing in Dumbledore's office, he was the one the prophecy was made to, so he could tell me. From what it said," he takes a deep breath, "it looks like I'm the one who's got to finish off Voldemort—"
A jolt of fear and outrage hits her mind at the mention of Voldemort's name.
"—it said neither of us could live while the other survives."
Shocked silence fills the room, and Hermione's head. A black cloud of smoke surrounds them as past-Hermione is punched in the face by a jinxed telescope, but Hermione barely even notices.
Her whole being is throbbing with the intensity of rage, and denial, and guilt, and fear, and despair that is radiating out of Bellatrix and into her mind. She feels sick, it's—
She tumbles backwards out of the chair and onto the kitchen floor, drenched in sweat and panting. Lestrange is on her feet, eyes wild, wand sparking.
"I have to leave. I have to kill the boy. He has to die. If what you showed me is true—"
No!
Hermione blasts a stupefy at her. It's flicked away carelessly, hitting into a bookshelf, paper exploding out at them.
"Stop! You can't! You can't change time, please! At least— at least think it through. You might be able to change something, but only if it's not noticeable."
She hurries to her feet as Lestrange tries to disapparate, fails, and then heads towards the floo.
She can't!
Hermione throws herself at the woman's legs, grabbing hold of her feet.
"Harry can't die! Because he doesn't! It would change everything, you'll create a paradox. If he dies, I'll never work at the ministry, and I'll never come here and tell you!"
The witch kicks at her, hitting her in the face. It doesn't hurt, just glances off because of the protection charms, but she does lose her grip as she flinches back instinctively.
"That's your problem! Neither can live while the other survives. My Lord cannot die, I will not allow it!"
"Petrificus totalus!"
The witch ducks the spell, reaching for the floo powder.
"Accio floo powder!" Hermione cries.
The pot flies out of Bellatrix's reach and soars into Hermione's waiting hands. She hurriedly shoves it deep into her expanded pockets.
And Bellatrix throws an ornament at her head, sprinting for the front door.
"He's a halfblood!" Hermione shouts. "Your Lord, his father was a muggle!"
Bellatrix whips around, unsteady in her anger. "Lies!"
Hermione frantically shakes her head. "I can prove it! Just look in my head, everyone in the future knows. His real name is Tom Riddle, just like his father, a muggle."
Bellatrix growls and takes a shaky step towards Hermione.
"You are lying. I've had enough of your rambling, mudblood. I'm going back to my Lord. I'm telling him all about the prophecy, he'll be very pleased with me. To hear what I've seen."
Hermione gapes. "You can't tell him about the future! Do you know how many magical laws we've already broken tonight? It's time travel, we have to fix this, the world could blink from existence at any moment! You must understand the paradox you'll be creating!"
The Butterfly Effect. If Lestrange changes anything that will stop past-Hermione going down to the Department of Mysteries on that particular Friday, at that exact time, leaving at that exact moment…time causality will shatter. The end of the world.
"Silencio! What have you done—"
"Please! You have to listen, we—"
—mudblood? How are you stopping me?"
"—just work together, and you might be able—"
"Crucio! Just shut up! Shut your filthy mouth! Silen—"
And then Bellatrix's face goes deathly pale. Even more pale than before, which is almost impossible. She's practically a skeleton draped in skin as it is.
"—to survive…somehow…Lestrange? What—"
The witch collapses onto the floor, unconscious.
Bloody Hell.
For a moment Hermione just catches her breath, lets her brain kick back into gear. And then she tiptoes forwards.
What happened? She looks dead…
She'd better not be dead. She can't die yet.
Hermione sucks in a breath, and then leans down to take the witch's wrist. A faint pulse. Still alive.
Okay, the gods have given her a brief window. Move, Hermione!
She runs out the front door into the wind and the cold, pointing her wand at the sky and casting every spell she can think of to keep people out. She can't be discovered. Especially if Lestrange does manage to escape.
Anti-apparition, check. Now she needs anti-intruder. Anti-muggle.
She runs back to the door and begins carving runes. Protect. Anti-Enemy. Conceal. Who says ancient runes is a useless NEWT? All that late-night reading is paying off.
She goes inside and shuts the door behind her, eyes falling to the corpse-like body on the floor.
Okay, time to deal with the next problem and put her healer's hat on. She'd shadowed Madam Pomfrey for a few weeks in eighth year out of curiosity…and after realising in her time on the run how useful healing spells are. Other than dittany, murtlap and the episkey spell, she'd been rather out of her depth.
She kneels down next to Lestrange. Just a patient. Just a patient. Be professional.
First, check pulse and airways.
Her pulse is still weak, but it's there. And her chest is moving up and down.
Okay, just in case. She pulls open the witch's jaw. "Anapneo!"
Alright. Airways clear.
Now Madam Pomfrey would talk to the patient and use a diagnostic spell. She can't quite remember the wand movement, is it…
"Diagnostico!"
Nothing.
Or maybe…
"Diagnostico!"
Aha! Different coloured lights shine from different parts of Lestrange's body.
Let's see. Nothing black except coming from her left arm, the Dark Mark, so that's good. Not too serious. A lot of Red though, what does that…and blue and yellow and—
She groans and tugs at her hair. It's been too long since she's had to heal someone. She's forgotten everything!
Well. There is the muggle way, of course. She had been avoiding it, but…
She knows Lestrange has been stabbed. Multiple times. Oops.
And she'd said she was bleeding ages ago, back in the Love Room! The stubborn—
Hermione grits her teeth and starts unlacing the woman's corset.
Stupid. Pureblood. Ancient. Fashion. Choices.
She gives up and goes to the kitchen, rattling through the drawers for some scissors or a sharp knife. She would do a slicing hex, but not that close to her chest. Too risky.
She finds a large pair of scissors and kneels back down, cutting through the witch's corset and dress as much as she can and then ripping it open.
Professional. Not looking. Just a body. A…very skinny, pale body.
She really is malnourished. How does she have the strength to stand, let alone…
Well. Clearly she was using pure spite. And it's worn off.
"Wingardium Leviosa!"
Lestrange hovers into the air, and Hermione pulls off her dress. It's sticky and dark with blood. She hadn't noticed before because her clothing's all black…
What has Hermione done?
Part of her wants to just cast episkey at all the wounds, but that's only for surface cuts. There's probably internal bleeding.
She walks towards the nearest bedroom, Lestrange floating along behind her eerily.
Clean the wound to stop infection? But how to stop the bleeding? And what about all the other colours?
She needs potions. Definitely a blood-replenishing potion at least…
She lowers the witch onto the bed.
"Incarcerous!"
Her wrists and ankles become tied to the bed in case she wakes up. What else?
Where is her wand?
She runs back out into the hallway and searches amongst Bellatrix's now ripped and blood-soaked clothes. There!
Good. Now where can she get potions? She'll need a lot…
She sinks down into an armchair and sighs. Lestrange could die. And Hermione's not equipped for this.
She needs a professional healer. Someone she can trust to keep a secret…
Oh. Two options. Both awful.
One, Severus Snape.
Two, Narcissa Malfoy.
Chapter 6: Choose WiselyNotes:
Okay people, place your bets!
Chapter Text
Hermione begins to pace around the living room. Oh, this is not good. How can she contact either of them? And what will she say, to just heal Bellatrix and not ask any questions? Oh, don't mind me, I'm just a sixteen-year-old kid who's supposed to be at Hogwarts right now, except I look ten years older and I need you to save the life of a Death Eater. Who I'm with for no reason, in the middle of the night, in a cottage I shouldn't know about miles and miles from school.
She could just owl them for potions anonymously…
No, too slow, and they might not reply. Plus she needs more medical expertise than that, people don't normally drop down almost-dead for a minor reason.
She sighs and rubs at her eyes.
No. This is risky…and rather hypocritical after what she said to Lestrange… but whoever comes here will have to find out the truth. There's no time for an elaborate plan.
She's going to have to let them in on the time travel secret.
Shit.
Alright. Be logical. Pros and cons.
Pro, Snape and Narcissa are both accomplished occlumens. They can hide this from Voldemort, and anyone else who might get in the way.
Con, Snape might tell Dumbledore.
Pro, even if Dumbledore knows, he probably won't try to change time, and might actually help her.
Con, Snape hates Bellatrix. And Bellatrix wants to kill Harry. Snape might interfere.
Pro, Narcissa is Bellatrix's sister. She'll want to save her.
Con, Narcissa might be too scared of Voldemort to defy him in any way.
Con, she might even help Bellatrix to kill Harry or trade information to get back in Voldemort's good books and save her family.
Con, she is a blood purist, and is disgusted by Hermione's very existence – at this point in time at least, she has changed in the last ten years. But right now, there's no way she'll listen to Hermione.
Con, they're both Slytherins.
Pro, they're both Slytherins.
Slytherins do everything in their power to achieve their goals.
Snape's goal is to protect Harry, Narcissa's is to protect Draco and for her family to survive the war.
Hermione needs to keep Harry alive…
Narcissa will save Bellatrix, but overall…
Hermione and Snape have the same goal.
…is Snape rational enough to not turn them both in to the Order?
Oh. Be a Slytherin, Hermione. You're surrounded by snakes, and you have blackmail material.
Lily.
"Expecto patronum!"
"Go to Severus Snape as soon as he is alone and tell him this message – Your aid is urgently required at Tinworth beach. Bring your potions bag. If one life isn't saved, the fawn shall never become a stag. Quickly!"
Her otter twirls off through the window.
Oh, this better be the right decision.
A groan interrupts her thoughts. Bellatrix.
She draws her wand and creeps into the bedroom. The witch is still tied to the bed, eyes squeezed shut, but tugging at her wrists. Is she awake? Should she petrify her? What—
Oh. Her Dark Mark. It's reddening around the edges. He must be summoning her.
Bellatrix lets out a cry and then slumps back, head rolling off the edge of the bed. Sadistic bastard. How can she follow the man so devotedly? It's sick!
…Serves her right though. Now who's arm is hurting?
She casts another incarcerous…and then reluctantly adds a warming charm. The room is cold, and the witch is laid bare. The last thing she needs is Lestrange getting pneumonia or something.
She looks away, lighting the fire in this room too, and then hurrying out towards the front of the house.
Time to meet Snape.
She opens the cupboard in the hallway where they normally keep cloaks and shoes. She'd left her outer cloak at work, and it's so windy tonight. There is a cloak! Probably belonging to Great Aunt Muriel and covered in mothballs, but…
She shrugs it on with a sigh, casting a warming charm on herself and walking out the door. "Colloportus."
Not necessary with all the charms in place, but it feels wrong to just leave the place unlocked.
The beach is deserted. He could be disguised…
She makes her way over towards the shore, out of reach of her protection spells. It must be nearing daybreak soon.
Hermione wraps the cloak tighter around her against the chill, looking up at the Moon and the stars and letting out a slow sigh, her breath foggy in the night air.
Still the same. For a moment, she can almost pretend that she's back in her own time, visiting Bill and Fleur.
"Don't. Move." A deep voice drifts through the wind, close behind her.
He came.
"Alright. It's alright, Professor. I'm glad you're here so soon, I thought you'd still be at the meeting."
"…Miss…Granger?"
She slowly turns around to face him.
His face is blank, wand drawn, potions bag in hand.
He raises his wand higher. "I said. Don't. Move."
"Ask me something, Professor. Something only I would know, to prove it's not polyjuice."
He frowns. "I do not know you that well, Miss Granger, nor vice versa."
She groans. "Then narrow it down! It's me, I promise! Use legilimency if you have to. There's no time, just ask!"
He sneers at her, face pale and drawn in the moonlight.
"What was the name of the creature that attacked me on Halloween in your first year?"
She smiles. "Fluffy. A three-headed dog, also known as a cerberus. He bit your ankle when—"
"Enough. You are certainly just as tiresome as Miss Granger. Another question, who did you encounter in the Shrieking Shack?"
"Oh! First Sirius, then Professor Lupin, yourself, and Peter Pettigrew. At first he was a rat called Scabbers. He's an Animagus, just like the rest of the Marauders."
His wand lowers. "And how do I know you aren't Potter, or one of his other little friends playing a joke on me?"
Hermione rolls her eyes. "Because they're all in the hospital wing right now, or with Dumbledore…either way, they're at Hogwarts, too hurt or young to traipse off to Cornwall."
"As are you…or you should be."
"I am." She steps closer to him. "Lumos."
His eye twitches as her face becomes more visible, the differences more obvious, and she smirks up at him.
"It's rather complicated, Professor, as you can now see. I am here and there. That's part of the problem. And we're going to have a universe-exploding problem in a minute if you don't come and save Lestrange before the stubborn woman follows her cousin through the veil."
She turns her back on him and trudges up through the dunes towards the house, hearing steps through the sand behind her. Excellent.
Reaching the edge of the wards, she turns back to him and holds out her hand. He sneers at it.
"You need to get through the wards," she grits out. He remains unmoving. Paranoid Slytherin.
She hesitates for second, uncomfortable at the idea of touching him – he is rather intimidating still, she has to admit – but then she just tuts to herself and grabs his elbow, tugging him forward, the cottage coming into view.
Well, at least she knows the concealment charms work. She hurries through the door with a quick alohomora, throwing her cloak onto a chair as she heads for the bedroom.
"Now, there's a lot to explain, and no time to do it. I'm not sure what to do with her really, but she can't die yet so—"
"What are you waffling on about, Miss Granger? Why on earth would Bellatrix Lestrange be holidaying with you in Cornwall when—"
He pauses as he steps through the doorway to the bedroom. And then turns to smirk at her.
"Why, Miss Granger, what have you been up to?"
She just glares at him.
He raises an eyebrow and sweeps over to the bed, opening his bag and then casting a diagnostic spell.
"Malnourishment, dehydration, and severely underweight, as expected from Azkaban…muscle spasms, aftereffects of the cruciatus curse…"
His eyes slide to Hermione.
She frowns. "That wasn't me! That was Harry! And Voldemort, possibly."
He flinches at the name, but continues. "Severe blood loss, internal haemorrhaging…these appear to be stab wounds, Miss Granger."
She wrings her hands. "Well, okay, that was me, but she was attacking me! I had no choice!"
"…traces of amortentia…"
Oh Morgana's tits!
She ducks her head as his smirk sharpens.
"…I can explain. It's not what it looks like."
"Hmm. So you don't usually slip witches amortentia and then strip them half-naked and tie them to a bed?"
Her head jolts up. "No! Of course not! Just get on with it and heal her."
"And why should I? As I'm sure you are aware, she is a Death Eater, and quite a significant one at that. I hope you do not believe the rumours that I serve the Dark Lord. Why should I help her? Why not call the aurors right now and be done with it?"
Argh! She steps closer to the bed, checking the woman's pulse. She's frighteningly still. "Because you're not really helping her! I'm not even helping her, and you're not helping me either! I'd much prefer it if she dropped dead, believe me. None of us want to be in this situation, but she has to live, or there's a chance events will change. Harry could die. You're doing this for Lily. And so that we don't create a time paradox, but I'm guessing Lily is more important to you than that?"
A wand stabs into her neck.
"What…do you know?"
She pushes his wand away and stares him in the eye. This is too important for her to be scared of him anymore.
"Everything. I'm from the future. A future where we defeat Voldemort. A future where you tell Harry everything, moments before you die. A future where he plans to name his next son after you, or a daughter after his mother. I want that future to still exist, and for that to happen we have to preserve the timeline. Lestrange doesn't die. Not yet."
His wand falls and his eyes close. For a moment he almost wobbles, and she fears he might faint.
And then his eyes snap open and he sweeps over to the bed.
"Vulnera sanentur…vulnera sanentur…vulnera sanentur…episkey…Miss Granger, a sleeping draught, if you would, before she awakens."
She hurriedly accio's one from his bag, and forces Lestrange's mouth open, pouring it in and clamping her mouth shut, hoping she doesn't choke on it.
Snape nods at her and then begins to rub some kind of paste over the witch's wounds, and Hermione takes a couple of steps back, falling into a chair, suddenly exhausted.
The adrenaline must have finally worn off. The witch is asleep. Hermione is safe, she can relax.
A sob escapes her mouth, and she clamps her hands over it, tears beginning to fall. Snape looks at her with a mixture of confusion and disgust on his face, but she ignores him. In fact, she closes her eyes and leans forward, her head in her hands.
Why did this have to happen? She thought she was done fighting, and now she's back on the brink of war. And alone. She doesn't even have Harry, or Ron. They're at home with their families right now. Or they will be. What's happening in her time? Has anyone even noticed she's missing?
She's felt a bit like she's drifting lately, absorbed in work but flailing in her social life. She's just…she's been alone for a long time now. At first, it was okay. When she broke up with Ron, it had been awkward at first, but over the years they've found their friendship again, their rhythm. They were too different for a relationship to really work. Too young. They both see that now, and everything has been so good for a while. So, so good. She had her childhood friends back. Time to enjoy being with them all, without a war to worry about.
But lately…it's clear that everyone else is moving on, settling down, starting families.
And Hermione doesn't want that, not yet. She's still figuring herself out, what she wants to do, who she wants to be. It's partly why she broke up with Ron in the first place. He was ready for the nine-to-five life…and she wanted so much more. She wasn't finished learning, experimenting, changing the world. Couldn't he see that there was so much that needed to be done? How could he stand it, the monotony of their lives?
And then, somehow, over the years, her life became even more monotonous. She couldn't escape it, no matter how hard she tried.
Well, looks like she wished too hard. Monotony is looking rather good right now. What she wouldn't give to be home, at peace, free.
"Miss Granger?"
She looks up, wiping at her cheeks. She's not even embarrassed. Her hang-ups are nothing compared to Snape's.
She shakes her head at the man sadly. "It's been a long night, Professor. Just put us both out of our misery and look into my head. I don't think I could explain it to you if I tried."
He raises an eyebrow at her, and slowly directs his wand her way. "…Legilimens."
And they watch the whole evening. Right from when Hermione finds the note in the Department of Mysteries to now. He keeps any thoughts to himself, his presence invisible, unlike Bellatrix's. She still can't help cringing at the whole amortentia debacle, wishing her reactions had been fast enough to duck those kisses.
He releases her, and she steadies her breathing, back in the bedroom.
"I see…so Black…had to die?"
Hmm? Oh, Sirius.
She nods at him tiredly, holding back a yawn. "It's how it happened before. I couldn't think of another way…plus there's the prophecy. Drunk on love, imagined chains held steadied. Maybe it's my fault he died the first time too. Who knows how time travel works?"
He pinches his brow. "This is quite the predicament…from the prophecy it appears you are right in tying yourself to Lestrange, but in practice this shall be rather difficult to enact."
She groans. "It's a bloody bollocking mess! Merlin's balls! This is horrific! Someone has it out for me up there, some trickster of fate. Maybe it's Fred. Or Sirius. Fred and Tonks and Sirius and all the Marauders. Well it's not funny!" she yells at the ceiling. She's lost it. This is too much.
Oh. And she's probably said too much. She turns to meet Snape's eyes guiltily.
He looks old and tired. "I…all of them? They all…and myself?"
She gives him a sad smile. "All of you," she whispers. "But we win. He's gone. All of the Dark Marks are gone. Greyback is dead. Both the Lestranges."
He licks his lips. "The Malfoys?"
"All alive and well. Draco is happy, reformed. His parents divorced. Narcissa is a healer now, she used their family funds to build a new wing in St Mungo's. They visit Andromeda sometimes, and Harry too occasionally. I'm not sure what Lucius is up to…he escaped to France, but he's being monitored according to Ron and Harry. Some kind of watch list. So far he's just drunk a lot of wine."
Snape slumps down, sat on the bed next to Bellatrix. And then he laughs. She can't quite believe her ears. Snape! Laughing!
He doesn't laugh for long, drifting into silence and running a hand over his mouth.
"So it's all worth it," he mutters to himself.
Hermione lets the silence settle. Lets her thoughts run wild and her mind relax, her eyes meandering around the room, drifting over books and pictures. Watching Snape gaze into nothing and Bellatrix's now bandaged ribs rise and fall.
She swallows. "What do we do about her?" she whispers. "They know she's missing. And there are things I know she's going to do. She has to."
Snape sighs. A long, weary sigh. "I know. I know, and I don't know."