Chapter Text
Hermione adjusts her phone between her shoulder and her ear as she packs the last few bottles, smiling apologetically at the cashier. “Okay, so that’s you, Ginny, Ron, George, and Fleur but no Bill? Should be enough. I didn’t get wine though, just beer and cider. Do you think Fleur will bring— well, I know, but it’s always best to be sure. At least without Bill there’ll definitely be enough to eat. Sorry I just threw this on you, I thought I’d be home by now. Work was— Oh, one second, Harry.”
She puts the phone down so she can search for her card, once again smiles at the cashier as she waits, and then grabs her bags and the phone, wishing she could just get out her wand and cast a featherlight charm. Ah well. Not far.
It’s raining and dark as she leaves the supermarket, but that’s actually a bonus as it means she can hurry around a corner into a dark alley, and disapparate.
Appears in her kitchen.
Harry puts down the phone and grins at her. “Is it raining out? You look like the Giant Squid got you.”
Hermione drops the bags and wipes some hair out of her face before casting a drying spell. “Pouring. Well, in London at least. How’s dinner going?”
He grabs an oven glove that’s flung over his shoulder, opening the oven door and checking the pizzas. “Just about done. We’ll have to put more in later but these three will do for now, and I had a look around in your fridge and managed to make a salad.”
Hermione walks over to look at the salad, quite impressed by what he’s come up with. “Well, it looks great. I can’t believe how long it’s taken for us all to find a time to meet for dinner. I thought I might have to postpone again. You’re a lifesaver.”
He starts hovering the bottles out of the bags. “You mean a saviour? Hmm. Never been called that before.”
She whacks him gently on the head with a big bag of crisps before emptying them into a bowl. “And you’re sure Ginny is up to this with…well…”
Harry holds out his arms in front of his stomach and puffs out his cheeks. “The one-week-old child that doesn’t seem to want to come out of her just yet? Yeah. She definitely wants to come. She was snoring when I left, but she said she’d be over later, and bagsys the chair closest to the loo and the biggest slice of pizza seeing as she can’t drink.”
Hermione snorts. Fair enough. “Well that will work out fine then, seeing as Fleur told me she’s on a diet but intending to drink a lot tonight seeing as she has the night away from the baby. Is that why Bill isn’t coming?”
Harry nods, checking his watch. “Think it’ll be the first time she’s away from Dominique. Remember how she wouldn’t let Victoire out of her sight until she was about three? This one’s barely a month old and she’s off like a shot.”
Hermione shakes her head, following a miaowing Crookshanks over to his bowl and giving him some food. “She’s less anxious. Think that’s normal with a second child.”
Harry hums. “Mess up the first one, and learn from your mistakes with the second one. Got it.”
She straightens up to look at him. Check his expression.
Ah. Joking but worried.
She squeezes his shoulder. “Good job you’ve had so much practice looking after me and Ron then. We’re your practice batch. The baby’ll be fine.”
Harry runs a hand through his hair awkwardly. “More like you looking after us. But thanks. Why don’t you go get changed out of your work clothes? I’ll turn the oven off and go back to my place for a sec. See if Ginny’s gotten herself stuck on her back on the sofa like a tortoise again.”
Hermione barks out a laugh and walks off towards the stairs. “I’m telling her you said that!”
He is so getting a bat-bogey hex to the face later.
Hermione hastily moves the bottles out of the way before Fleur can knock them over as she pours herself another large glass of wine.
“I am telling you! This is true! I turn by back for un moment, and Victoire and Teddy have eaten the whole thing. Comme ça!” she snaps her fingers and takes a large mouthful of wine. “Petits monstres. And now I have another one. Remind me to never do that again.”
The wine swills out of the side of her glass, and Ron sends up a subtle protego, pushing some bread and a jug of water towards her hintingly. “Sound like a handful. I’ll have to watch them for you for a bit whilst Andromeda’s away. They could come hang out at the shop with us, right George?
George grins. “We do need some new test subjects,” he winks.
Hermione rolls her eyes but smiles. She knows he’d never.
Ginny snorts. “The last thing we need is those two learning more mischief from you. I’ve lost track of the number of ton tongue toffees I’ve accidentally eaten recently.”
“You fell for it?” Ron laughs. “More than once?”
Ginny flicks her wand at him. A jelly-legs jinx that he deflects. “I thought they’d run out! Didn’t know you were giving them a secret stash.”
Fleur nods gloomily. “It is never-ending. Send me back to the grindylows. I am begging you.”
Harry opens another beer and smiles across at her. “You don’t mean that. Remember how freezing the lake was? I’m surprised you ever got in.”
Fleur’s head snaps up. She puts her wine down, pushes it away, and sits up straight, staring Harry down. “Of course I got in! I was a champion too, non? Just because one of those connards caught me by surprise!”
Then she grins. Raises her wand. “You did not even know the bubblehead charm, little boy. Tu souviens? Maybe we should have a rematch. A real competition.”
Harry laughs, glancing around and giving everyone knowing looks at Fleur’s unsteady hand. “Sure. We’ll have to put it in the calendar. Set up a duel or something. Invite Viktor.”
Ron claps him on the back. “You should! That would be wicked, mate! When was the last time we saw Viktor? We haven’t played a friendly in a while either. How about it? Gin—”
He glances at Ginny and cringes. “Oh. Right. Forgot. Guess it has been a while.”
Ginny huffs, folding her arms over her stomach. “Forgot? Alright for some. Yeah. It’s been a while. But I swear, as soon as this thing’s out of me, I’m getting straight back on a broom.”
“Thing?!” Harry squawks, reaching for Ginny’s stomach. “Child. Baby. James, or Lily, or—”
Ginny laughs. “Okay, okay! I didn’t mean— ugh, whoever it is, they’re pushing on my bladder. Hermione, help me up, would you?”
Hermione is already getting to her feet, used to this by now. “Here we go. Anyone else want anything whilst I’m up? More to eat, Ginny? I could see if there any biscuits in the tin if you want? Or fruit? I might have—”
Ginny waves her off. “Stop fussing. You’re worse than Mum. I’ll be as big as Aunt Marge if you lot aren’t careful.”
“Aunt Marge?” Fleur asks confusedly.
George leans in to whisper to her. “Harry’s Aunt. He blew her up when he was thirteen,” he says solemnly.
Fleur’s eyes go wide.
Hermione fights a smile and nods sadly too, sitting back down and reaching for her almost empty glass. It’s a strange joke they’ve had for years now. Always nod seriously when Aunt Marge is mentioned.
It cheers Harry up. And George.
Fleur looks around at them all.
Then rolls her eyes, muttering about never understanding English humour.
Ron cracks first, laughing into his sleeve. “Wish I’d seen it. Dad knew the poor bloke who had to fetch her down. Did I tell you? They tried to accio her but— but the wind kept blowing her away. Had to— had to get a net and—"
Hermione’s shoulders are shaking now, holding back laughter. Not from the story. She’s heard it a million times before, and it’s not even that funny. It’s Harry. Harry and his ridiculously serious expression. She never knows how he manages it.
Fleur accios some firewhisky from the back of a cupboard and pours some into both her and Hermione’s empty glasses. “I think you are the champion, Cherie, dealing with these idiots for so many years. What is your secret? Because it is not alcohol. Drink! It is Friday night, drink!”
Hermione does drink. Quite a large sip that makes her eyes water but her heart warm.
Or maybe it’s just having everyone together like this. It’s nice to sit back and just…soak it in. Her family.
She frowns down at her glass. How much has she had to drink? She’s getting sentimental.
Fleur adds some more firewhisky. That witch!
Hermione snatches the bottle from her with a stern glare. “No more. I mean it. It’s for the best. You’ll regret it tomorrow.”
Laughter echoes from down the hall, and Ginny appears. “Uh oh, Fleur, you’re in trouble. Hermione has spoken. And you’d better do as she says, with that look on her face. We all know that look.”
Wha— what look?
Ron nods. “The prefect look. Although actually I think you’ve had it down since first year. You always were scary.”
He takes out his wand and tuts. “It’s leviosa. Not leviosaa!”
Ron! “But it’s true!” Hermione cries. “Intonation is a very important part of—”
Harry stands up, eyebrows pinching together and chin jutting out. “I’m going to bed, before either of you come up with another clever idea to get us killed. Or worse, expelled.”
George snorts. “She didn’t.”
Harry grins at Hermione and sits back down. “Word for word. You were an amazing kid, Hermione.”
Hmph.
Hermione sends some empty plates and glasses to wash themselves in the sink. Glares at everyone. There’s nothing wrong with being the sensible one. Someone has to be.
They just smile back.
And…she can’t help but crack a smile too. Raises her glass. “You were all amazing. Every one of you. And…I hope Victoire, and Teddy, and Dominique and whoever is hiding out in your stomach, Ginny…all make friends at Hogwarts that are just as amazing as you lot.”
Ginny raises her glass too with a grin. “To amazing kids.”
“To family,” Harry says, joining in and throwing an arm around Ron.
Family, Hermione thinks as the glasses clink together.
Maybe she’s not an only child after all.
…Huh?
What is…ugh her head is so fuzzy. How much did she drink last night? Who is— oh!
Someone is shaking her awake. In the dark.
Hermione lunges for her wand on instinct.
“Whoa! Hermione! It’s me!”
She pauses mid-reach. Blinks and rubs at her eyes as she peers around. Oh. It’s Ginny. She’s still here?
Where is here? Where…
They’re…at the Burrow? How…
“Sorry,” she mumbles out confusedly. “Where…I thought…”
She pushes herself up on her arms to look around properly, turning on the bedside lamp.
Ginny is crouched next to the bed, pulling a jumper on over her t-shirt and shoving her toothbrush into a rucksack, yawning. “Wow, you’re even less of a morning person than me. Quidditch World Cup? Portkey to catch? Remember?”
World Cup?
No. No, that isn’t—
Hermione slowly pulls the sheets back and gets up. Really takes in the dimly lit room.
And Ginny.
Not pregnant. Younger. So young. Thirteen?
Thirteen-year-old Ginny.
What’s going on? Is this a dream? It has to be. Too much to eat and drink, and talking about the Triwizard Tournament. Her brain is just…muddled or something.
But it feels real.
Ginny is staring back. Has looked up from where she’s packing her bag and frozen at the sight of Hermione.
Hermione looks down at herself. Checks this isn’t one of those dreams where you’re not wearing any trousers.
Nope. She has pyjama shorts on.
Ginny stands up. Steps closer to her. “You…uhh, maybe you should look in a mirror, Hermione. You— what— umm…Did you, like, have a crazy growth spurt over the summer?”
Hermione frowns. Wanders over to look in a mirror on the wall.
She looks…normal. A bit tired. Hair a bit frizzy. She combs her fingers through it.
Oh wait.
She watches Ginny in the reflection. Younger Ginny.
Hermione’s hand comes up to her neck reflexively. Checking for that little hourglass. That she doesn’t have anymore. That she hasn’t seen in years.
Not there. Gave it back to McGonagall, and then they were all destroyed.
But Ginny is younger. And…all of their school things are here. Ginny’s posters. It does look like…
Fourth year. The Quidditch World Cup.
She forces a casual smile onto her face. “Guess I did have a bit of a growth spurt. And I used that time turner so much last year to get to my classes that I think I must have lived third year twice. That’s probably it. You know I’ve read that can happen. A sudden change of appearance due to time travel.”
It is true. But she’d actually read that in reference to changing time. One small change, and someone has a different hair colour.
Or a different child. A different partner.
Oh gods. Oh gods, she really hopes she hasn’t travelled back in time. She really, really—
A loud knock on the bedroom door interrupts her thoughts.
“Girls? Are you up? The tents are all set, and there might be time for a cuppa if you’re quick, but—”
Arthur peeks his head around the door and smiles as he spots them. He’s wearing muggle clothes. Jeans and a golf jumper. “Ah. Good. Well done, you two. Remember to wrap up warm. It’s chilly out.”
And he’s already off again, apparently not noticing anything amiss.
Hermione stares at the space he left. Red-haired. Definitely less grey hair than…
So it really is—
She pinches her arm. Last resort. Ow. Ow, right.
Real. This is real.
She slowly drifts back over to her bed. To the bag she apparently packed the night before.
Ten years before.
She quickly throws the clothes on that she’s conveniently left on top. The clothes she remembers wearing before, the memory trickling back to her.
And grabs her toothbrush. “I’ll go use the bathroom,” she says shakily. Avoids looking at this strange, young Ginny, and hurries out of the room.
Shit. Shit shit—
Time travel?
Okay. Okay—
She shuts and locks the door behind her, leaning against it, head resting on a damp towel. She’s too panicked to even care that—
How? All she did after dinner and drinks was go to bed, and now she’s back in…1994. But— but that’s not even the strangest thing. The strangest thing is…she’s herself.
She looks in the mirror. Yep. Herself. Twenty-five-year-old body. Definitely not fifteen, as she’s supposed to be.
Or will be in a few weeks. It’s not September yet.
The rules of time travel are very clear. Don’t change anything. Don’t show yourself. And whatever you do, don’t see your past self. It will drive you mad.
But…
Her old self isn’t here. She’s replaced herself. And not just her mind. Her body. A ten-year growth spurt overnight.
Oh this is not good.
It really does feel like being in a dream. Or falling unexpectedly into a pensieve. At first, it’s uncomfortable. A nervous twist in her stomach every time someone looks at her, certain she’s going to be caught out. She’s hesitant to do anything. To speak. Desperately trying to remember how she used to act. Everything she did all those years ago, so she doesn’t alter the course of events.
But after a few hours, once they’ve arrived, set up their tent…
It’s nice. Nostalgic. She misses this. Being so carefree. She can appreciate everyone so much more. Little conversations with Harry.
Seeing Cedric Diggory is…
And Fred! She can barely tear her eyes from the twins.
Part of her wants to…
No. No changes. For now, push the thought away. Get through the day.
Enjoy the day. It won’t be long before the happy bubble is burst anyway, when the Death Eaters arrive.
So when Harry offers to buy her and Ron omnioculars from one of the stalls, she just smiles and nods.
“Three pairs,” Harry says firmly from her side, already handing over some galleons.
“No—” Ron jumps in awkwardly. “Don’t bother…”
He’s going red. Thumbs resting in his empty pockets. He’s already spent all of his savings on a dancing shamrock hat, a green rosette, and a miniature Viktor Krum figurine.
Oh Ron. This year really is going to be tough.
Harry just shakes his head, thrusting the omnioculars at him and Hermione. “You won’t be getting anything for Christmas. For ten years, mind,” he jokes light-heartedly.
Ron grins. Takes a pair. “Fair enough.”
Hermione resists the urge to hug them. Adorable. They’re so young and adorable. And maybe Harry is a little more observant than she remembered.
“Ooh, thanks, Harry! And I’ll get us some programs, look…” She hands over some knuts for the programs. So she has something to pretend to read. And can check for any alterations to the timeline. She hasn’t spotted any so far, other than the conversation with Ginny this morning and a few comments on her ‘summer growth spurt’.
They begin to make their way back to the tent. The match will start soon.
Ron catches her eye. She leafs through a program.
Time to think. Next step. Soon they’ll be up in the box, watching the match. So she has to sit in the right place. Make sure that Winky is behind them with the invisible Barty Crouch Junior. That no-one accidentally uncovers him.
She swallows uncomfortably. But nods to herself. She’s made up her mind. So far…the best thing to do is make sure everything happens exactly as it should. Even though it’s horrible, even if it will mean a future where Harry will be terrified in that graveyard, a future where Cedric Diggory will die, where Fred will eventually die…
It’s the best option. Because it’s Hermione’s future. One where she knows, for a fact, that they win. Whatever happens, Harry lives. The light wins.
And until Hermione figures out how she got here, or how to get back, the best thing to do is keep a low profile, and make sure everything goes as planned.
Hermione jumps as a loud gong sounds from the woods, and red and green lights fill the air. She reaches for her wand, eyes scanning the tree line for black cloaks and—
Mr Weasley comes out of the tent next to them, Irish flag draped over his shoulders, Ginny and the others following after him, all wearing green rosettes.
“It’s time!” Mr Weasley announces excitedly. “Come on, let’s go!”
Hermione lets out a quiet breath and stores her wand up her sleeve, giving Harry a reassuring look as his forehead crinkles for a second. He noticed. Noticed her reaction.
She reaches past him to adjust Ron’s hat before it dances off his head, and then grabs Harry’s arm. “That made me jump. I guess I’m a bit on edge! It’s so exciting, isn’t it?
Harry still doesn’t seem convinced, but Ron laughs. “You’re excited? About quidditch? Finally! Did you hear that, Harry? Only took four bloody years!”
Hermione follows along next to him, rolling her eyes. “I meant the atmosphere. And I do appreciate the talent that comes with quidditch. The strategy, and the physical dedication. I just don’t see why it’s so celebrated compared to other specialisms such as—"
Ginny comes up to her and wraps an Irish-green scarf around her neck. And her mouth. “Two weeks. Two weeks, Hermione, and you’ll be back writing essays. Until then, the topic is quidditch. Use that brain for the power of good and talk gameplay with me. See, I reckon if they send Moran after Levski, then…”
Hermione chuckles and leans against her. Lets her friends voices wash over her, and pays a bit more attention to the players. She knows a few of them from the future, the best ones still around, some even friends with Ginny now, or friends of Viktor.
Viktor. Now that’s going to be strange. Seeing his face everywhere has brought back so many memories. Some a bit embarrassing.
That kiss at the Yule Ball. No chemistry whatsoever. And they’d both known instantly. Pulled back and laughed. She’d even shaken his hand. Friends. Definitely better off as friends.
Not that she usually has much chemistry with anyone, to be honest. It’s why she’s given up on dating. Tries not to think about it. Friendship is fine, but anything past that and…well first Viktor…then she realised it felt the same way with Ron…
And after a few dates here and there…
She shakes herself from her thoughts. Not the time. Dating should be the last thing on her mind. Especially as everyone thinks she’s fifteen.
She jogs to catch up with the boys and Ginny, who are beginning to climb the stands two steps at a time in their eagerness. The background hum of the crowd is a roar now, lights flashing and magic buzzing through the air. Crackling. Hermione can feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end as she takes it all in. Magic. Everything is so much—
She comes to an abrupt stop as they reach the box.
Her stomach flips.
Because sat one row behind Arthur and the twins…are the Malfoys. Already in their seats.
But Winky isn’t there. There’s no house-elf.
Just Lucius, Draco, and Narcissa Malfoy. All glaring and looking as if the Weasleys brought a disgusting smell into the box with them.
“Excuse me, sweetheart,” a voice comes from behind Hermione.
She turns. Cringes as Cornelius Fudge gives her a condescending look.
She’s blocking the stairway.
She makes her feet walk her forward and falls down next to Ginny in the front row, muttering out an apology. She can’t do much else but…
Changed. Something changed.
So…is Crouch even here? Where is he? What…
She turns around in her seat to watch as Lucius introduces his family to the Minister and the Bulgarian delegates. Definitely no house-elf. Just the three Malfoys on one side, a couple of empty seats behind Harry and Ginny, the aisle, and then where Fudge, Ludo Bagman and the Bulgarians are getting settled.
Or maybe the seats just seem empty. Maybe Winky and Crouch are both invisible.
Her hand drifts to her sleeve. Her wand. She thinks she might be able to perform an homenum revelio without anyone noticing if she’s quick.
And then she freezes as Narcissa Malfoy’s gaze fixes on hers. A curl to her lip that becomes a sneer of disgust. Hatred. Pure hatred and anger. Hermione feels her face heat up with the shame of it. It’s been a long time since someone looked at her like that.
But she glares back. She won’t back down to bigotry. Never has.
And she thinks about how much she pities them. She does. She really pities them. How far they’re about to fall, with nothing to pick them back up. These Malfoys and their glass houses.
“Slimy gits,” Ron mutters, loud enough for the sound to carry, and Ginny pulls her around to face the field just as Ludo Bagman charges into the box.
“Everyone ready?” he calls jovially. “Minister, everyone ready to go?”
“Ready when you are, Ludo,” Fudge says comfortably.
And Bagman pulls out his wand, casting a sonorous. “Ladies and gentleman…welcome! Welcome to the final of the four-hundred and twenty second Quidditch World Cup!”
The spectators scream and clap, flags waving and voices soaring as each national anthem blurs together in a cacophony of noise. Hermione grips her seat as her thoughts whirl, outside world disappearing.
If Crouch doesn’t steal Harry’s wand, he won’t escape. Won’t cast the Dark Mark. Won’t impersonate Moody and put Harry’s name in the Goblet.
Everything will change. A horrifying ripple effect.
Bagman’s booming voice manages to drift past her thoughts. “…the Bulgarian National Team Mascots!”
Arthur leans forward. “I wonder what they’ve brought— ah!”
And he whips off his glasses, rubbing at them and looking away. “Veela!”
“What are…” Harry starts to ask. Then abruptly stops as the Veela fly into the stadium.
His face goes slack and dopey, as does Ron’s. The other wizards have looked away, knowing what was coming. Hermione glances around. Even Lucius Malfoy is studying the floor. Narcissa is holding her hand over Draco’s eyes, turning to further block his view as he tries to pull her hand away.
And that’s when Hermione sees it.
A hand.
A hand appears, from nowhere. From mid-air, just over the seat next to Narcissa Malfoy.
And as Harry stands up…the hand reaches forward carefully, clasps the end of Harry’s wand, and deftly slips it from his back pocket. There and gone in an instant. Disappeared.
Oh.
Hermione knows she should look away. Knows she just witnessed something she definitely wasn’t supposed to see.
Crouch? Is Crouch there? Invisible? Sat next to Narcissa Malfoy?
Except…
Well, she might have imagined it, but the hand looked…small. Feminine.
And strangely familiar. How could it be familiar? If it isn’t Crouch, who could it be?
Lucius Malfoy looks up.
Hermione hastily turns around. Grabs hold of Harry as he tries to climb over the edge. “Harry? What are you doing?”
Harry just gapes at her like a confused fish, one leg hanging in the air.
Hermione tugs him back into his seat with a tut. “Honestly.” Hormones sending Harry plummeting to his death is the last thing they need right now.
Because if something has changed…then things are even more complicated than they first appeared. Winky isn’t here. Isn’t guarding Barty Crouch. Which means this is not the fourth year that Hermione remembers.
She can’t have changed that. Not from anything she’s done today. There’s no way her actions could have changed these course of events.
Which means…
This isn’t just a different time. This is a different world. Just slightly.
And if one thing is different…
Then Hermione can’t be certain of anything. Who knows what will happen? What other changes might suddenly appear?
She glances sideways at her friends as the match begins. Their young, smiling faces.
Grips Ginny’s hand tightly.
First priority, then. Figuring out how she got here can wait. The first thing she needs to do, is to keep them safe. Figure out what’s changed. What will be the same, and what will be different.
How to get things back to how they’re supposed to be.
And that begins with finding out who is sat behind her, with Harry’s wand in their hand.