Chapter Text
I. If I Could See the Future
"Time flies over us, but leaves its shadow behind. ”
-Nathaniel Hawthorne
| December 1997 |
"Harry, I'll be here when you get back, go. I'm fine."
After repeating herself for the fifth time and one concerned appraisal later he finally relented, leaving Hermione alone in the tent. That was some time ago, in reality she wasn't fine. None of this was fine.
The Tales of Beedle the Bard, laid on the cot in front of her almost tauntingly Professor Dumbledore had left the book to Hermione upon his death. Stowed away in her beaded bag along with all the other books, thanks to an undetectable extension charm with questionable legality. She was still unable to accept that Albus Dumbledore, one of the greatest wizards of all time, was dead. Killed by Severus Snape, the traitorous bastard. Forgotten until she found herself in desperate need of an escape. Nothing made sense anymore. Ron was gone, and everything she could, should have done differently was playing through her head. She should have packed more food, more medical supplies, should have just done more. Hermione blamed herself for Ron’s departure, she should have noticed the locket’s effect on him sooner. Maybe she had shown Harry too much attention. Or just didn’t show how she felt for Ron enough. Ron abandoned her when Hermione, when Harry, needed him most. He just fucking left.
But how could Ron do that, to her of all people? He always resented Harry for praise and attention he received while the two of them got very little. Well, Hermione often heard how bright she was but Ron was…. well the sidekick. Sure, Ron and Hermione had their spats over the years but to leave when Harry needed them, when she needed him. Even after he embarrassed the bloody hell out of her by dating Lavender. Hermione ran to him after he was poisoned in Slughorns office. Ron had continuously belittled and was a prat to her, since they met, and Hermione still fell in love with him somewhere, somehow despite all of that. And he left her?
She never did well having an idle mind, thinking of everything they did wrong and ways to improve. It’s why she loved reading, it was diving into history, equations, love, heroics, anything but her own thoughts. Everyone knew how Hermione loved books, it wasn’t exactly a secret. Dumbledore had given her access to the restricted section in the Hogwarts Library before any of her peers. But it didn’t matter now because Professor Dumbledore was gone, taking all hope with him.
This was silly, the former headmaster would not leave her something that could harm her. It'd been in her bag untouched for far too long. Hermione needed something other than fixating on destroying or finding horcruxes. So why was her heart began racing since her fingers touched the old worn cover?
With trembling hands she flipped the cover open then pulled away just as quick, as if it’d bite her. Letting out a relieved sigh, a note in Dumbledore’s handwriting was waiting there.
Miss Granger,
I leave you the Tales of Beedle the Bard, every night my mother would read these to us from this very copy . The Fountain of Fair Fortune is most enlightening. I hope fair fortune finds you soon.
To anyone else, this would seem like a thoughtful gift; it was but that wasn’t all. The old wizard loved a hidden message, she flipped to the tale, he had written a translation, printed in ancient runes, it’d take her weeks to translate the whole tale. At the end, she found second note;
Would you pay the price to cross? If it meant something better in the end?
The question pertained to the final task in the story. In order to make it to the fountain that would grant them fair fortune and fix their lives, something the witches never reached from their own selfish gain. Hermione looked back over the text: ‘pay with the treasures of your past’.
She would, without hesitation, give up her past for a better future. In a way Hermione already had, no one would remember the french lullaby her mother sang to help her sleep while running her hands through her hair. The day she received her Hogwarts letter. She’d given up on finishing at Hogwarts something she’d dedicated most of her like to. On becoming Minister for Magic.
Godric, she swiped away the tears that had started to fall at the realization. If it meant Hermione could stop fighting for once and live. Or anyone involved in this bloody war, the first or second time around. Hermione would give up Harry if it meant a safe world for all magic folk to live as who they are. Fuck, would she? But wouldn't that make her childhood a waste? What did that say about her? That she was the fucking problem, nothing good came of what ifs. But Hermione was able to pretend for a moment, that it didn't make her the worst friend in the world.
“Yes,” she choked out, still holding the note tightly. Gasping as the book slammed shut and began to levitate off the bed, something smacked the cover from the inside as it burst open, scrambling back she hit the canvas tent wall. The pages rapidly turned, a warm glow began to flicker from between the pages, growing brighter with each second. She patted the bed for her wand, but could not seem to find it. Refusing to take her eyes off the book for a second, Hermione stopped searching.
Like the calm before the storm, it settled on a page, tilting so it was face open for her to see the illustration of the witch, Amata, placing the memories of her former lover, good and bad, into the river.
Hermione couldn't stop it as the air around her changed, vacuuming her inward. She gripped the sheets trying to stop it, and cried out, "No, no, Harry needs me!" But the magic was too strong for her to fight as the invisible force ripped her forward, right in to the pages.
There was only a cold darkness in the empty void. Her hair fell over her face as she was bent inward at the waist from what felt like an invisible a rope of pure magic wrapped around her middle pulling her backwards. The faintest glimmer appeared in the distance and she came to an abrupt stop that jostled her head. She was suspended, frozen in that void for only a moment before invisible hands were shoving her toward the glow that was growing brighter by the second.
She didn't have time to process any of it before she thrown forward into the blinding light. Then she was free falling downward, the speed was nauseating. Hermione collided with a hard surface and let out a pained whimper.
Rapidly blinking as her eyes slowly readjusted. The first thing she registered was a Phoenix, one that Hermione was rather familiar with, it intently watched her from its perch with its held tilted to the side, that's when it clicked; That's Fawkes and she was in Dumbledore's office. The room started to spin, she leaned forward and began dry heaving with her head between her knees, there was nothing in her stomach or the floor would be a mess. Hermione'd felt something similar before when…
No, no, no Hermione did not just bloody time travel.