Chapter Text
The house looks quiet. Just what they were hoping for. Occupants always make it harder when they were out searching for knowledge and goods. Today was knowledge. Hermione’s list of prospective homes to raid was drawing to a close, but they were Gryffindors, giving up was not in their blood.
Looking around the corner at the line of empty terrace homes, Harry saw no-one. He sent his magic out, cast several detection spells, and heightened his hearing and smell. As far as he could tell, the closest human was several miles away. Only rodents and former pets remained. He dampened his senses once again, beginning to feel his gorge rise from the putrid remains of civilisation, and motioned to Hermione that it was all clear. It was unnecessary, she had been doing some casting of her own, but habits had been formed and he wasn’t about to give them up.
They quietly made their way to the fifth house along the street, keeping their ears peeled for any noise. They were in a formerly muggle part of Sussex, so there shouldn’t have been any reason for the Death Eaters to be around here, but you could never tell. They had a nasty habit of popping out of nowhere and setting fire to things for apparently fun times. It seemed like Voldemort just surrounded himself with nutcases, so his own mental health problems would just be one of many.
Psychotics love company, Harry mused and silently chuckled to himself.
The house looked quaint, white – perhaps once – with black trimming, overgrown hanging baskets framed the front door, and the little paved front garden was filled with an overzealous bush with lilac flowers. Harry mourned what they had lost for several moments, feeling the pang of regret, guilt and remorse curdling his stomach, but pushed it away with determination. No use worrying about all that, they were on a quest.
Instead of opening the gate and risking drawing attention to themselves, Harry vaulted over the waist height wall and stepped in the bush, stalking silently to the front door. He heard the light clack of Hermione following and proceeded to open the door with a wave of his hand. The wards had been the cheap, do-it-yourself kind, by an average wizard. They hadn’t been updated in years and had faded accordingly. A wandless alohomora and finite had done the trick with no fuss.
Upon entering, both he and Hermione set about detecting once again. Shitty wards they may have been, but caution was better than death. Not that either of them would likely see death relatively quickly if they were caught. That noseless douche would no doubt like to entertain himself first. An involuntary shudder forced its way up Harry’s back as he once again forced his thoughts to behave.
The house seemed empty. No life, other than eager plants making this their sanctuary. They edged forward. On the left, an open doorway showed them a sitting room, with a sofa, two armchairs, a mounted television and two bookcases. The room was clear, so they moved on. The next left was a staircase, where Harry indicated Hermione was to stay. He moved onwards to the door in front that was ajar. Inside was a fairly spacious kitchen with workbenches and sink on the right, dining table in the middle, and a fridge and shelving on the far wall. Seeing a door to his left, Harry moved towards it, lightening his footsteps, and feeling his heart pick up a notch. His spells and senses told him no-one was here, but his heart still forced his brain to release a little adrenalin in these situations. He wasn’t sure if that was really how it worked, but it felt like his heart caused the issues. Inching closer to the door, he took a silent breath, and released it, calming himself. He peered around the corner and spied only a larder. He silently thanked the wards, as the cupboard was still full of dried goods. He made his way to the back door and peered out into the garden. The night was clear, and the moon showed him an overgrown rectangle of grass. He waved his hand and put a few wards of his own over the windows and door. Throwing a notice-me-not up for good measure.
Turning back to the hallway, he nodded at Hermione as he passed her. They padded their way slowly up the stairs. At the top, on the left, Harry slowly pushed the door open and peered around at the room. Once again, he made Hermione wait as he stepped into the bedroom and followed the wall to his left towards the door. There he spied only clothes. On the right he found muggle clothing, suits and casual, and on the left he found wizarding robes. On the far wall of the bedroom, he cast the same wards and spells on the large window that covered most of the wall. He made his way back to Hermione and they continued their search.
Heading right from the top of the stairs, he rounded right back on himself, walking past the banister. The first door led to a bathroom, which he cleared without fuss. The final door held what they were looking for.
The whole house, aside from the clothes and the wards, had seemed like it only had muggle occupants. This room, however, reflected the owner’s wizarding heritage. It would not have matched blueprints, as it was roughly three times the size it should have been. It held yet another sitting room, with sofas that framed a large, floo-sized fireplace. There were three doors leading away from the room. Harry raised his eyebrows at Hermione and smirked. Paydirt. Hopefully.
They employed the same caution they had used on the rest of the house, casting their detection and sense enhancement spells to ensure they were alone. The first two doors were fantastic, a duelling room and a potions lab. The third held what they had truly been looking for. The library. Upon entering the room, it was Hermione’s turn to look smug. She had been adamant about this house, and hopefully her insistence would pay-off.
Before they could relax and explore, they went back and set the necessary wards. Harry’s would not be enough. They would likely stay in the house for some days and would need a space outside to relax when it felt like the walls were closing in.
Once that was done, they prepared a light dinner before heading up to the sitting room in the wizarding space.
“Well done, Mione,” Harry said, clapping her on the shoulder. “Even if the library is shitty, this place will be great for a while.”
“I certainly hope the library is not shitty,” she retorted with distaste.
“Can’t win ‘em all,” he told her quietly, trying to avoid her feelings being crushed.
“We can try though,” she murmured, not one to be outdone.
They lapsed into a comfortable silence, watching the fire in the grate, filling their bellies, and letting the tension peel off their shoulders. One of the worst parts of living in Voldemort’s world, aside from the death and destruction and general lack of civilisation, was the constant fear that bubbled low in the back of their minds. It was like a stowaway that refused to be thrown overboard. The constant niggling left them both on edge and snappy. They were well past the point where a mean word would drive them apart, but it was always preferable not to upset the other.
When they had finished their food, the cleaned up their utensil and crockery, then took turns in the bathroom. The plumbing had long since malfunctioned, but as magical folk, they generated their own water and charmed it the correct temperature to bathe. Once clean, they made their way to the library.
Their goals were clear: horcruxes, blood magic, trace magic, dark magic, and time magic. They had done this dance before; they knew how to work around each other. They both headed in opposite directions and made their way towards each other, gathering whichever book they thought might sit in the five designated categories and levitating them along behind themselves. After an hour and a half, they came together and checked each other’s books. Hermione’s was near perfect, only one book needed removing and Harry sent it back where it had come from. He had read the book before on his own time and knew it would be useless. His own pile had six sent back.
They levitated the books back to the sitting room and got to work. They would stay and take as long as necessary reading the tomes they had found.
After another two hours, Hermione began to fidget. Ever the bookworm, Harry knew he wouldn’t be able to get any further if she wasn’t committed, and frankly, he had had enough anyway. His books had not been forthcoming.
He closed his book and looked over at Hermione, raising both his eyebrows.
“I’m... tired,” she stammered.
Harry smiled, putting his book aside. He stood and reached out a hand. She grasped it and rose.
He led her to the bedroom and turned round to face her. A light blush had coloured her cheeks, it was rather fetching. He brushed her curly hair behind her ear and then ran his fingers down the side of her face to her chin. He applied a little pressure, and she raised her eyes to his. He slowly moved in for a kiss. Her lips were soft, and the kiss was gentle. It did little to spark interest in him, but he knew she liked it. He ran his hands through her hair and bunched it up, drawing her closer to him. He let it carry on until they were both breathless, and then drew her to the bed.
They both undressed at a leisurely pace. They were far too comfortable with each other to worry about nudity, but Hermione still seemed to blush at the thought of what they were going to do.
Harry laid her out on the bed, touching her in all the places he knew she liked, and kissed her until her blush deepened. When he finally entered her, he kept a slow and steady pace, ensuring that she reached the height of pleasure before he did. As she clenched and shuddered around him, he closed his eyes and picked up speed, chasing his own climax. It didn’t take long; practice makes perfect after all. He breathed through the afterglow, rolled to his side, and pulled Hermione into a tight embrace. They fell asleep curled around each other, as they had on so many nights before.
The next day was filled with a similar routine as days gone by. They fed, cleaned themselves and read. The next night, after only adding a few spells to their repertoire, they found exhaustion in each other’s bodies and slept peacefully. The following two days ended up the same.
On the fourth day, they finally made some headway. Harry had been reading a particularly dry tome about the improbability of time magic from the 1500s, when Hermione gasped.
“I... I think I have it,” she whispered.
Harry simply looked at her. She would speak in her own time. He used her outburst as an excuse to put down his own book and waited for her to enlighten him. It took another ten minutes for her to speak up.
“There is a ritual to send you back, well your astral self, to a time of your choosing,” she told him, brimming with excitement. “I think we can combine it with the spell we found in York, and the blood spells we found in Cornwall to send our physical selves back.”
Again, Harry kept quiet, thinking back on the spells she was referring to. He had an inkling, but really, he left that stuff to Hermione. She kept a diary with everything they had come across, because she knew him better than anyone, and was morbid enough to worry about her death. The diary was spelled to only be legible to her, and to copy itself to its sister, which was only legible to Harry. They each kept their copies in their packs, which had extension charms. Hermione had been adamant that they both have an equal supply source. Both of them had tents, books, food, and random bits and bobs, so in the event that they are separated, or one of them dies or is captured, the other isn’t stuffed.
Hermione had taken out her diary, parchment, and pen, and had begun to make notes. Looking over her shoulder, he could see that she was combining three spells and two potions, to create a ritual to send them back to the past. It was times like this that he truly appreciated Hermione. Her intellect was just a cut above the rest. She could remember so much, put things together so easily and think around so many problems. When Harry had offhandedly suggested that they go back in time three years ago, he had expected a laugh and a slap on the shoulder. Instead, he got a pensive look and two days later, a drawn-up plan. That plan had whittled down as they searched through public and personal libraries. They had already been planning their drifting by library, but after that, they finally had a goal, other than the perfunctory let’s get stronger. Harry had long since quashed any optimistic tendencies, but he smiled and absorbed Hermione’s excitement.
A tickle at the edge of Harry’s senses drew his attention away from Hermione’s mumblings and pen scratchings. He sighed and his shoulders slumped. He had been enjoying his time in their little home. They rarely spent more than a few days in one place, and he had let himself become comfortable, against his better judgement.
He focused back on Hermione, and saw that she was staring at her parchment, contemplative.
“Do you think you could do it?” Harry asked her.
She frowned, looking at him. Confusion and wariness making themselves known.
“My first layer of wards has been breached,” he explained. “Are you confident, or should be we leave Mione?”
Her face scrunched up as she no doubt calculated the odds. After long moments, her face transformed into a look of determination.
“It’s time, Harry,” she told him. “Let’s do it.”
They stared at each other for long seconds before he nodded and headed out of the room.
So, today is the day.
He felt the resignation set in. They would either achieve their goal, or they would die. He would not let either of them become captives. He would not allow Hermione, or himself, become a plaything in Voldemort’s dungeon. He felt rather light. His shoulders had long since carried the burden of his failure. He was supposed to have finished this, saved everyone. But really, to put the hope of the wizarding world on the shoulders of a teenager was just ridiculous. They had failed so abysmally, and then kept hiding whilst everyone they knew fell to the Death Eaters. One by one, everyone they knew and loved had fallen.
Harry shook his head. Now was not the time. They had a plan, they would either succeed, or they would die. He would ensure it, either way.
Once downstairs, Harry strengthened the wards on the house. He could tell that the ones who had bypassed his wards were wizards. The obvious and aggressive types, so he presumed Death Eaters. He no longer felt the need to be subtle, so his wards blazed and barred the intruders from getting close. Once the ground floor was ready, he placed wards at the foot and top of the stairs, and then more on the windows in the upstairs rooms, just in case. He placed the last ones at the entrance to the wizarding space, then joined Hermione.
She had cleared the furniture in the room and had brought several ingredients out from the lab and her bag. She had drawn a circle on the floor and was combining the ingredients in a cauldron on a table next to the circle.
“I need your blood,” she informed him without looking up.
Harry pulled the blade from his right leg holster and sliced his left palm. He held his wounded hand up, waiting for the next instructions. Instead, she grabbed his hand and dripped five drops of his blood into the grey concoction before letting go. Without looking, Harry healed the cut, vanished the blood and cleaned his hand wandlessly. He watched as Hermione brewed the now noxious potion. Once it was left simmering, she then used a pestle and mortar to grind several herbs together, and then sprinkled them around the circle.
The tingling returned as someone hacked away at his magic. The intruders had reached the house, and were throwing a barrage of spells at it, trying to gain entry. It didn’t take them long to breach, his wards were good, but not infinite.
“They’re in the house,” he murmured, trying not to break Hermione’s concentration, but needing to keep her informed. She simply nodded and continued.
She alternated between mumbling spells, and making the circle glow, and attending to the now silver potion. He let her know that the intruders had reached the top of the stairs. After several minutes, she decanted the potion and took a deep breath.
“Step into the circle,” she told him without looking, fiddling with ingredients on the table.
He complied and stepped across the now glowing line. Once both his feet had entered the circle, he felt strong magic rise up and trap him. He turned around to face Hermione and found her smiling. His heart sank at the sight and his stomach roiled at the implication.
“It could only ever be one of us, Harry,” she declared with a fond but sad smile on her lips.
“No, Mione,” he shouted, banging on the wall of magic that separated them. “I need you. I can’t do this alone.”
“You can do anything you set your mind to, Harry James Potter,” she stated before looking away, waving her wand, and mumbling incoherent incantations.
She walked around the circle chanting, spilling the vial of potion as she went. Harry felt despair as the intruders hurled spell after spell at his wards on the door to that very room. His cheeks heated and his eyes stung as he held back his errant emotions. She must have known all along. She must have planned for this. She had tricked him, and he had walked into it like a fool. Another person, his best friend, his sole confidante, was giving their life for him. He did not feel worthy, he did not feel grateful, he felt like he would lose his lunch.
After an unknown amount of time, Hermione stopped and turned to him.
“I’m sending you back to the 30th of June 1997,” she waited for the recognition to widen his eyes. “You have to save him.”
Harry’s eyes flickered to the door as the last of his wards dropped. Hermione cast a wandless shield, as she focused back on the magic she was performing on him. She had always been an excellent multi-tasker, he found himself without worry that she could handle the two tasks. Then re-evaluated his thoughts as he remembered he would be leaving her behind. A single tear escaped his hold as flashes of red, blue, and orange crashed through the room destroying the brick and the furniture.
He kept his eyes on Hermione throughout the ordeal. He could feel the soft touch of her magic surrounding him, tugging on him, and getting under his skin. It was comforting, but saddened him nonetheless. When she stopped, he inhaled shakily.
“I love you, Harry,” she told him with a kind smile. “Remember, you need to save him.”
With a last flick of her wand, the room began to fade from sight. He kept his eyes glued on Hermione’s the whole time. When the flash of green light struck her in the back and her eyes glazed, and she dropped to the floor, he kept looking. He watched her until the room faded from sight. Tears streaming down his face as he felt the weight of the last person he loved dying for him.
He looked around himself and saw nothing. It was not bright, but it was not dull. He could see, but there was nothing to be seen. After a few moments, he saw that the room was coming back into focus. It was the same room he had left, but the damage, and Hermione, were not there. It took several more moments for the not light to fade and the room to come into proper focus. Once everything had settled into normalness and Harry settled his breathing, he steeled himself to step out of the circle. He felt no resistance and made his way to the door outward.
Easing the door open slowly, he cast a few detection spells and sensed no-one inside the house. He cautiously made his way to the front door and stepped out. After a moment’s thought, he stepped back in and checked the wall clock in the front room to adjust his watch. 21:03. He still had time.
Stepping outside and pulling the door closed behind him, Harry pulled his invisibility cloak out of his bag and over his head before apparating to Hogsmeade. The sight of the quaint wizarding village tugged at Harry’s heart. Fond memories had been formed here.
It was quiet, and looking towards the sky, he could see why. In the sky floated one of the sights Harry loathed most, the Dark Mark. It had begun. Under his cloak, Harry headed to the side of the Three Broomsticks and waited. It shouldn’t be long now.
As expected, his younger self appeared some hours later with a shaky Dumbledore in tow. He ignored their chatter and apparated to gates of Hogwarts. Standing, unnecessarily in the shadow of a winged boar. He put his finger to his lip as one of them looked at him. It quickly complied and returned to its statuesque stance.
After another hour or so, he heard the shouting. He peered through the gate and saw the Death Eaters heading his way. He ignored the rabble and looked on for his quarry. Eventually he saw her. Bellatrix was always a special sort of broken brains. Her cackling informed the listener of her madness and sight of her random curses, to simply destroy all in her line of sight, simply confirmed it. No wonder Voldemort like her at his side. Next to her, he seemed almost civilised. A civilised psychopath, but civilised nonetheless.
Bellatrix stopped as she was just past the gate. She seemed to vibrate, be it with impatience or excitement, who could tell, but vibrate she did. She was watching, just as Harry was. He kept an eye on her, and another into the distance. Eventually, he could hear the back and forth between his younger self and Snape. He shook his head at the rage and the naivete. He had known basically nothing back then. Everyone had tried to keep him safe and innocent and protected. All they had done was kept him ignorant and allowed him to make mistakes over and over again. He almost let a thought of Sirius breach his mind, which was a rarity these days, but pushed it back.
His younger self had just screamed an aborted sectumsempra. It was almost time. He saw Bellatrix begin to bounce in excitement. The other Death Eaters had just barrelled past her and apparated as the made it past the gate. As Snape jogged towards them, she raised her wand, a wicked smile pulling at her lips. As Snape approached, he slowed down as he caught sight of her. Her smile widened and showed her yellowing her teeth. Snape’s brow was marred in an even deeper frown than usual.
Harry focused his magic and intention as he drew his wand. When he saw Bellatrix’s mouth twitch, he cried, “obliviate,” and watched as the greenish light struck the deranged woman. She instantly dropped to the floor. Harry stepped away from the spot where he was standing, used an acceleration charm to move himself to the other side of the gate and send a “stupefy” over to Snape. Knowing that the wizard was a cut above the rest, he proceeded to move himself to several different locations until the spell stuck. It took three random placements for him to hit Snape.
He ran over to the man’s prone form, briefly glancing over to the flames in the distance, before dragging him towards the gate and the edge of the wards. He hauled Snape up and apparated them both to Grimmauld Place.