FicWad

When Hermione woke up the next day, she was in Sirius’ bed again, and she almost managed to convince herself everything had been a horrible dream. But her eyes stung impossibly, and her lips felt chapped.

It hadn’t been a dream. She closed her eyes again.

She had thought that when she finally realised what her boggart meant, it would bring her relief. And maybe even get rid of the fear that had been growing inside of her. But now, all Hermione felt, was that very same fear pulsing with more vigour than ever before.

The future. But it wasn’t so much the future, she realised, and the revelation left her reeling. It all came down to her original fear- failure. But now, well, it wasn’t failing any exam; it was failing the people she loved.

Changing the past had become her only option. It wouldn’t negate her own existence. Hermione knew that she’d make it out alive, regardless of anything else she did or chose to do. Unless she died in this timeline. But even if she did manage to somehow return to her own time, what would she find there? Her just being here was bound to have disrupted the timeline more than anyone could fully comprehend just yet. Would she still be friends with Harry and Ron? Would they still be trying to defeat the Dark Lord? Would they still be dead?

Hermione took a deep breath. It always came down to this. When the world was quiet and dark, and she should’ve been sleeping or reading or thinking about anything else, her mind always wandered back to this.

She knew, now and irrevocably, that her mind was made up. How could she possibly live with herself if she let everyone die? If she truly did let the world burn?

The boggart’s words echoed around her head once more, and she couldn’t help but feel unnerved again.

“You’re going to be swallowed by me, my dear. And I’m going to savour you.”

Hermione sat up.

As she looked around the room, rubbing her eyes, and she noticed that the dormitory was empty. Light streamed in through the slits in the curtains, and judging from the brightness of it, she’d guess it was mid-morning.

Hermione’s eyes widened.

Swearing under her breath, she grabbed her wand from the bedside table and muttered, “Tempore Loquentis.”

The time flashed in front of her. 10:26.

She was late for class!

Throwing back the covers, Hermione shot out of bed, quickly rummaging around for her bag (she was already thankfully dressed in her uniform, although it was crumpled up, so she had to cast a spell in order for her to look remotely presentable). She found it hidden under a pile of clothes.

Although she didn’t have time to do her hair, or even glance in the mirror, she shoved her unruly curls into a bun and rushed from the Common Room.
Luckily, Hermione didn’t pass anyone in the corridors.

Well, of course you won’t, she thought bitterly, because they’re all in class- where you should be!

As she was mentally chastising herself, she didn’t realise just where she was going. She also completely missed the tall witch standing at the end of the corridor she was in.

“Miss Granger?”

Hermione jumped, spinning around to look in the direction of the voice. Professor McGonagall stood there; her typical emerald robes and matching hat shone in the sunlight, and her younger face was smiling tightly.

“Professor!” Hermione said in way of a greeting. She blushed at the fact that her Head of House had just caught her essentially skipping class.

The older woman’s expression never faltered as she said, “Follow me.”

She turned on her heel and started walking, heading towards the door on the end that Hermione knew to be her office. Hermione swallowed and her throat felt unbelievably tight. With a look of disgruntled shame, she followed.

The office had not changed much. It was still poky but warm, with its brick walls and big brick fireplace to the right. Professor McGonagall swept across the room to sit behind her desk. She motioned for Hermione to sit in front of her.

Obediently, she did so, and broke into a hurried explanation.

“Professor, I’m not skipping class! I swear! I must’ve slept in, though I’m really not sure how and I really am dreadfully sorry. I don’t want to miss any more lessons than I have to and oh! I’ve already missed so much! I really didn’t-”

Her stern teacher sighed deeply. Hermione froze, cutting off, anticipating the worst with bated breath.

Finally, McGonagall said, “Have a biscuit, Miss Granger.”

Hermione opened her mouth to defend herself… and blinked. “What?”

“Have a biscuit,” the older woman repeated, looking pointedly at the plate of chocolate biscuits on her desk. “

Hesitantly, Hermione reached out and took one chocolate biscuit. Her eyebrows were furrowed, and she stared at it, letting it lie flat across the palms of both her hands, which rested on her knees. There was silence. Beside them, the fire crackled merrily.

“Professor,” she began. “I really am sorry. It won’t happen agai-”

McGonagall held up a hand, and her thin lips were still pursed in a smile. “That’s not what I wanted to speak to you about, Miss Granger. I simply wanted to ask you how you were settling in.”

Oh,” Hermione paused, lost for words once more. She considered this. “Well, I’m fine. I’ve made friends, I’m enjoying the lessons…” When they’re not trying to kill me- she added this part in her head.

“Well, that is a relief! Your friends, Misters Potter, Lupin, Black and Pettigrew claimed that your absence was down to infirmary.” Her thick Scottish accent resulted in the r’s rolling off her tongue.

She blushed. “No, ma’am.”

Here, Professor McGonagall sighed again and Hermione was sure she was about to receive a scolding. She stared at the biscuit, as though she could become it and absorb its chocolatey, blissful unawareness. Almost bitter, she bet the biscuit didn’t have to worry about destroying the world.

“Miss Granger,” her words were soft but firm. She leaned forwards, eyes piercing. “As your Head of House, I feel you should know that I am aware of your predicament.” Hermione’s blood ran cold. “And I merely want you to know that my door is always open, for whatever reason you may find yourself upon its doorstep. I once fought in a war too, you know.”

She dropped a wink for emphasis. Hermione allowed her lips to curl.

Her heart honestly felt warm and safe, and she looked at her former Headmistress with such a longing for home that she couldn’t bring herself to look away again. For Minerva McGonagall was everything Hogwarts to Hermione. She was the cold stone walls, and the warm roaring fires. She was the festive dinners and the Quidditch triumphs. She was the very driving force behind the entire school.

“You know, professor,” Hermione smiled, and she tried not to let her sadness show as she said sincerely, “You were the most inspirational, most intelligent woman I ever met. Thank you.”

And she meant every word of it.

Professor McGonagall breathed in, and schooled her features into one of a tight semblance, but her emotion poured through the façade like water through paper. Her eyes were softer, and her lips were a little tighter, and she looked humbled.

Practically flustered, she said, “Take another biscuit, Miss Granger.”

Hermione took one.




oOoOo




“I still can’t believe she was in a war,” Remus said, throwing a stone into the lake.

They all had free period now, and had decided to spend it by their tree on the banking of the Black Lake. Peter was lied on his back in the shade, the book he was meant to be studying from for his Charms test, open across his face. Remus couldn’t tell whether he was sleeping or just unconscientious. Sirius and James were sat nearby.

The stone pierced the water with a soft plop and sunk to the bottom.

“You don’t reckon she’s lying, do you?” Sirius asked. He had his cloak and jumper off, and his shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, even though it wasn’t even remotely warm. The sunshine offered a lie to the world in the form of coldness. October had dawned quickly and quietly on the castle, and their breaths were small puffs of white; the promise of an upcoming winter.

James wrinkled his nose, “Nah.”

“Yeah,” Peter added. His voice was muffled from the pages and he rather liked it that way. “You can see it in her eyes- she’s seen things.”

The other three shared a look. When it came to discussions, their main way of resolving any dispute or petty disagreement was predominantly down to Peter. He barely deemed his opinions important enough to voice, or necessary enough to matter, so when he spoke, you automatically knew it was because he just couldn’t not say it. He was often the referee; the impartial judge, whose verdict was unbiased solely for the reason of his fear of contribution in almost everything else.

He continued, after a minute of silent thinking, “Things that you shouldn’t ever have to see.”

As if this elaboration was needed.

Remus looked at James, who already seemed to be staring at him. They were both thinking the same thing.

“I still don’t get it, though,” Sirius said. Remus diverted his attention. “How can she be scared of the future?”

James had told them all about it in Transfiguration that morning, how she had confronted the boggart again in the middle of the night, how he had found her on the Marauders Map and followed her there to see if she was okay, and how she had then clung to him with a decided terror, with the repeated whisper of ‘the future’ starting and dying on her lips.

“And why did the future take the form of You-Know-Who,” Remus added.

“And us dying over and over again,” James said. He was strangely pale, the events of the night before replaying before his mind. It felt like he was back in the darkness, watching his three best friends cease to exist over and over and over-

Peter perked up, “And James’ lookalike.”

James snapped out of it.

“And some blonde git who looked an awful lot like Malfoy,” Remus said.

It seemed they all had thought about this before.

“So she’s scared of the future,” Sirius reiterated. “What does that mean?”

His dark eyes rested on Remus, who was just about to throw another stone into the water. He froze.

“Why are you looking at me?”

“Because you’re the supposed Boy-Genius.”

Remus, in resigned exasperation, said, “Just because I have a distinctly higher IQ than you doesn’t mean I understand this any more.”

Sirius groaned, flopping his head into his hands.

“And we’ve already discussed this. Stop calling me Boy-Genius. It puts a starling amount of pressure on my genius.”

James felt his tongue go heavy in his mouth. He remembered the look of pure fear on Hermione’s face, the fragility in her voice, the trembling of her body. He remembered the desperate way in which she held onto him, like she thought he was going to fade away at any moment.

“I think she’s scared of what’s going to happen.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted them, even though he knew them to be true. Three pairs of eyes looked at him, as even Peter peered out from beneath the book. He tried to remain sure in their presence, but they knew him too well. He was crumbling at the edges.

James said, “You should’ve seen the way she acted. It wasn’t that she was scared for our deaths. Like Dumbledore said, the fear was abstract. Our deaths were just something that represented it. She looked…” He grappled for words, and when he found the right way to describe it, he swallowed and said quietly, “Like the world would end.”

“’You’re just a child, and you think you can change the world. You think you can save him, but you can’t. You’re just going to let it burn… You’re just going to let him burn,’” Remus recited softly. The stone was limp, a dead weight, in his hand.

“What?” Sirius asked, frowning.

Remus waved the stone for emphasis. “It’s something that’s been bothering me for ages- ever since Defence. The boggart, when it was You-Know-Who, said something about Hermione thinking she can change the world. I remember that part. Vividly. Because of how it affected her.”

James frowned. “I don’t remember that.”

“It was after you had taken Sirius to the Hospital Wing,” Remus said dismissingly, and he wiggled the rock with more vigour. Sirius’ eyebrows shot up, into his hairline.

“Remus, will you put that bloody rock down? You’re going to end up knocking someone out with it!”

Blinking, Remus stared at Sirius, then frowned. He looked down at his hand, and blushed at the realisation of what he was doing, before he dropped the stone. It thudded when it hit the ground.

“So?” Peter asked, successfully directing their attentions back onto the topic at hand. “What does that mean?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But why would she want to change the world?”

“More importantly, why would she just ‘let it burn.’”

They each though about this. It was a muddling concept. That was the only problem with magic; any rational explanation was best left at the door. Irrational was the best step forward- as the Marauders knew well, there were no limits on irrationalities.

Which made their search one thousand times harder.

Sirius let out a frustrated sound, half animalistic growl and half desperate whine. He clambered to his feet, walking in a rush of movement, past Remus to the water’s edge, where he started to pace. This was all too much! Life had been so much simpler before Hermione had fucking fallen on him! But his footing faltered, causing his shoe to stomp right in the water. He sighed. Yeah, life had been so much simpler before Hermione Granger.

But he was unsure of whether or not he would change it if he could.

Sirius thought about everything they had learnt so far. She was clever, yes, and she’d been in a war, so whatever secret she was hiding would have to be hidden pretty damn well. And yet she’d slipped up more than once. He remembered she had.

“She knew about the Map,” James said in a low voice. He lifted his head to look at Sirius.

“She knew about it?” Peter asked incredulously.

Remus pressed, “We’ve never spoken about it in front of her, have we?”

“Of course not,” Sirius scoffed. “We’re clever. We’ve hidden it from everyone for two years now.”

“She’s been here not two minutes and she already knows us.”
Remus opened his mouth to speak, and all of the colour drained from his face. His eyebrows, which had been tightly knitted together before, slackened. His lips parted but no sound came out.

“Remus?” Peter asked carefully.

There was quiet. And then:

“She called me Moony.”

The statement had the desired effect. Stillness settle over them, such an obdurate silence that it felt like no one was even daring to breathe lest they break it.

“She knows us,” James said, but he seemed confused, bewildered. “How does she know us?”

Sirius shook his head, pressing his hands against his temple and squeezing. When he was younger, this was the only way to stop the ringing in his ears.

Maybe it would help stop the silence too.

In the background, James was listing all the things they knew so far.

“So, she fell from a ceiling of a castle that is so heavily warded, not even the darkest wizard in the world can break into it-”



“James…Sirius,” at each boy’s name, she spun around and looked at them. “Remus.”



“-mention, she was broken and bloody! Only from fighting in a fucking war!”



“I was in a war,” she said, in a soft tone of voice. Sirius stared at her. James gaped. Remus looked too alarmed to properly react. “But not how you would expect, Professor.”



“C’mon Pete! What am I missing?”



Within seconds, they were stood outside the tapestry. She could feel their eyes burning into her, curious and confused. This only increased as Hermione began pacing outside the wall, biting her thumb and thinking of solace.



“She knew about things she shouldn’t,” Remus interjected. His voice was distinctly cool.



“I can remember people screaming and people dying and I remember the fear of having someone you loved next to you one minute, and have them dead the next..."



He pushed against his head harder, and the force with which he did it, could have made his skull concave.



“What were your demons saying?” Sirius asked. He didn’t sound curious, or prying, merely empty.

“That I shouldn’t be here.”



But why? Why shouldn’t she be here? This was safety! This was a haven! It was Hogwarts, under Dumbledore’s power and presence. Why would she have to be anywhere else?



“Sirius,” she stressed, looking directly at him. She pronounced each word slowly and clearly. “There is no war going on here.”



Think. Just think. The answer was there, so close yet still evading his fingertips. He could feel it fluttering on the outskirts of his consciousness. He knew it. He just didn’t know what it was just yet.



“I just ask for you to remember what I told you the last time we spoke. Regarding time, and how-”

“Dangerous things happen to those who meddle with it… I know, sir. I haven’t forgotten.”



Sirius’ hands flew from his head with such haste and vigour that the other three instantly fell silent to stare at him. His eyes were dark but wide. His lips were open in a silent ‘O’. The comprehension was flitting across his face.

Although he couldn’t quite believe it, himself, the words tasted familiar on his tongue, like he’d always known it but could never really say it until now, and he liked the sound of them on open air:


“She’s from the future.”