Waiting for the Day (Countdown to Zero Remix) [Harry Potter; Hermione, Hermione/Ron; PG-13]
Title: Waiting for the Day (Countdown to Zero Remix)
Author: kanella
Summary: Hermione gets a glimpse into her future, but will she like what she sees?
Fandom: Harry Potter
Character: Hermione, Hermione/Ron
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: JKR owns all.
Original story: The Consequence of Curiosity by greenspine
Notes: The action in the first scene was taken from Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. Thanks to greenspine for the fantastic source material. And finally, thank you to my beta for her endless support and encouragement.
Waiting for the Day (Countdown to Zero Remix)
Although the Time-Turner is typically used to project the user backwards in time, theoretical research has always suggested that advanced magic could be used to produce the opposite effect. The Reversus spell has been used successfully to produce a device capable of traveling into the future; however, initial experiments with this new magical object made clear the need for a strong Substantive Charm to anchor the Time-Turner and protect it from paradox. The altered Time-Turner, transformed from gold to platinum and containing crushed moldavite, is quite functional, although the slight uncertainty of future events does not allow for the precision of backward-moving time travel; indeed, the user may experience a forward motion of anything from a few minutes to a few years. Although magicologists still do not understand the precise mechanisms behind the Time-Turner’s actions, it has been suggested that the fluid aspect of the future results in the degraded vector path, effecting the degree of time-accuracy that the altered turner can possess. Extreme caution must obviously be taken so that the traveler does not end up too far ahead in the future. While an unaltered Time-Turner eventually returns the user back to their personal present by virtue of the time loop (that is, the user in her travels eventually arrives at the moment she disappeared into her travels), the forward-moving Time-Turner offers no such built-in return mechanism. After careful study, it has been concluded that the only way to return a traveler to the present is to perform Finite Incantatem on the Time-Turner, effectively rendering the object useless. In this way, the altered Time-Turner is strictly one-time use only.
~Eleanora G. Hollingberry, Turnabout: New Strategies in the Manipulation of Time and the Dangers Thereof
**********
two years, two months, eight days
The Death Eater's head had regressed back to that of a small baby when he finally succeeded in yanking the bell jar off his head. The man's baby eyes were scrunched up and his mouth let out a crying wail. He stumbled around the room, whipping his thick arms about, nearly hitting Harry directly over the head. Harry raised his wand, and Hermione knew his intent immediately.
"You can't hurt a baby!" she said, gripping his arm tightly. Harry opened his mouth to speak and then stopped, cocking his head to the side. Hermione could hear footsteps closing in on them from the previous room, and Harry looked around wildly.
"Come on!" he said.
But the path out of the room led Hermione straight past the glass cabinet containing the Time-Turners. The cabinet had been repeatedly breaking and mending itself; the floor was covered with Time-Turners, and just as the glass was beginning to jump together again, Hermione swooped an arm down and grabbed one of the Time-Turners on the floor. She shoved it in her pocket, giving a little skip to avoid the glass that was flying up to re-create the cabinet once more.
In the distraction of battle, it had been instinct that led her to pick up the beautiful golden Time-Turner. It wasn't until Hermione had awoken at St. Mungo's that she had reached into her pocket for something else entirely and remembered the magical device that she now had. Wrapping her shaky fingers around the cool metal of the Time-Turner, Hermione knew that she would have to hide it, to put it out of her mind. She was all too aware of the dangers of her own curiosity.
**********
seven months, twenty-three days, fifteen hours
Hermione had originally performed the alteration spells on the Time-Turner for fun, just to see if she could actually produce the complicated magic that the procedure entailed. A way to challenge herself, to keep her spellwork sharp and practiced. But when news came that the entire Gudgeon family had been murdered by a pair of Death Eaters, Hermione knew that she could no longer leave the valuable tool tucked away in a hidden drawer. She thought of other families like the Gudgeons, her own Muggle family, and the friends that were sure to die in the war. She had heard Molly Weasley crying softly in the kitchen on more nights than one, had seen the tired faces of all the adults around them. Harry was becoming thinner and thinner, his face hollowing out and his eyes growing more exhausted with each passing day. If the Time-Turner could inform Hermione of an overlooked spell, or some crucial weakness of Voldemort's that could be exploited - well, it was her duty to use it.
The spells had warped the tiny hourglass into a shining platinum timepiece with granules of deep green moldavite. Pulling Harry's invisibility cloak over her head, she took hold of the Time-Turner, and spun it.
**********
March 4th, 1998
When the Time-Turner had worked its magic, Hermione found herself once more in her bedroom at the Burrow, but this time she could hear a loud hum of voices coming from downstairs. She carefully wound her way around the crowds of people congregating on the stairs and in the doorways. After nearly bumping head-on into Tonks, Hermione looked around for an out-of-the-way place to hide; she quickly found a suitable spot on top of a wobbly cabinet in the corner.
The energy in the room was tangible. Some of the wizards and witches in attendance looked saddened, while others conversed with barely suppressed excitement, nearly spilling their drinks as they gestured to their companions. Luna and Neville were sitting quietly on the sofa with paper plates of untouched fruit balanced on their knees, and Bill Weasley was holding conference with the twins. Hermione was craning her neck to peek into the kitchen - perhaps she could catch a glance of Harry or Ron, or even her own future self! - when the room suddenly fell silent. Hermione looked up at the door to see the tired face of Harry Potter.
He looked so old that Hermione wondered just how far in the future she had traveled. There were dark bags underneath his eyes, and a patch of gray-white hair streaked just above his right ear. He looked skinny and awkward in trousers and a baggy blue shirt, and he picked at his sleeves as he spoke.
"Yesterday, we celebrated. It was the right thing to do. Voldemort -" the crowd reflexively flinched, then relaxed, people turning to their friends beside them and giggling nervously. "Voldemort is irreversibly dead and his soul destroyed beyond any means of recovery." Harry paused and pushed his glasses further up his nose. "I would not be standing before you today if it weren't for...a truly brave woman, who will be known through history as the very last person to be killed at Voldemort's hand, who gave her life in the final battle so that your children may grow up without the terror of the Dark Mark. I think we should all take a moment to remember Hermione Granger."
At once, Hermione felt all the blood rush to her feet. She froze in stunned silence, unable to even process that Harry was still speaking.
"She was the quickest, the brightest, and the best. I... I will miss her very much."
Numb, Hermione barely registered Ginny stepping forward to lead Harry away. She pointed her wand at the Time-Turner and whispered, "Finite Incantatem."
**********
seven months, twenty-three days, fourteen hours
Hermione found herself being whipped back in time; rather than the pleasant spinning sensation that a normal, backwards-moving Time-Turner gave during travel, this method of returning to her present time left her feeling as though she was being turned to jelly and getting sucked down a very narrow drain. The moment her feet touched down on the floor, she collapsed into a heap. Her stomach lurched and she felt so suddenly ill that it took all of her strength to climb into bed and curl into a shivering ball. Crookshanks hopped up and wiggled his way through the covers to nuzzle her, and she held the animal close to her stomach and clung.
She was going to die. Not a peaceful death at the end of a well-ordered life, but sometime soon, in the most violent of ways. And so close to the end...the very last of Voldemort's victims. It was too much to bear, and just as hard sobs began to rise in her chest, Hermione heard a sharp knock on the door.
She jumped in surprise, throwing the blankets from over her head and reaching for her wand. She quickly cast cleaning charms on her face and patted down her hair. What else could she do? There was no reason to upset anyone else with this news, at least not yet; she needed time to think, to process the grim news she had just received.
Hermione cleared her throat. "Yes?" she called.
The door opened and Ginny poked her head in. "Oh, sorry Hermione, did I wake you?"
"No, no," Hermione said. "What is it?"
"I just thought I should let you know that Fleur and Bill just popped in with some, er...news," she said, raising her eyebrows.
"Oh," Hermione said dully, "Wow, really?"
"I know what you mean. Can you imagine having that for a mother?" Ginny shivered. "No, thank you. We’ll have to keep an eye on the poor sprog so she’ll have some decent female influence."
"Yeah." Hermione wasn’t much in the mood to think about the joys of new life, and she looked down at Crookshanks, petting him softly, hoping that Ginny would take the hint and leave.
Ginny shifted from one foot to another. "Alright then, I’d better go. Mum'll go spare if I skip out on helping with dinner. Come down at seven."
"Okay," Hermione said, hearing the snick of the door closing. She flopped down onto the bed, and feeling all the energy leave her in a rush, fell into a deep sleep.
**********
seven months, two days, one hour
After a few weeks, the initial shock of the news had worn off and Hermione finally felt like she could consider her options in a logical way. Determined, she traveled to Hogwarts to do some research.
Although Hogwarts had closed to students that September - when Hermione and her friends would have been seventh years - some of the professors had not yet moved out of the castle, and Madame Pince maintained the library so that witches and wizards could still do the research necessary for the war effort. Hermione sank down into a huge leather chair, the soothing smell of musty books settling over her and clearing her head.
The future wasn't definitive. Her previous research into altering the Time-Turner had told her that much. And her common sense and perseverance had never failed her before - she would simply have to make herself a better, stronger witch. Even if she could not prevent her own death, she could make sure that Harry was as well-equipped to defeat the Dark Lord as possible. For all she knew, she died performing some complex spell or protective enchantment that she did not yet know about. Determined to prepare herself in the only way she knew how, Hermione gathered her reading materials and began her search.
**********
six months, eight days, eleven hours
Hermione had been staring at the same page for about twenty minutes when she decided that this might be an opportune time to speak with Ron about the nature of their relationship. Ever since Dumbledore had died last June, Ron had been increasingly plain in his affection for her, jumping to accompany her on researching excursions and wandering into her room late at night for serious conversation. His willingness to speak plainly about his hopes and fears for his future sparked Hermione's interest immediately. She had always known that Ron was unusually brave and principled - these were the qualities that attracted her to him in the first place, if she was going to really be honest with herself - but it was refreshing to hear Ron acknowledging these traits in himself and finding pride in them. As the days went by, Hermione had become convinced that she and Ron were finally ready to take the next step in their relationship. Ron, however, had become increasingly physically shy around her; whenever she moved to touch his shoulder or brush back a stray lock of hair, he blushed furiously. It really was terribly adorable, but not really conducive to getting anything accomplished.
She looked up at Ron intently reading a very large volume on countercharms. His mouth moved to sound out the words, and his brow was furrowed in concentration; Hermione had to consciously resist the urge to reach forward and smooth out the wrinkles. He was growing into an incredible man, and although Hermione found it difficult to precisely articulate how deeply she felt for him, she knew that some words would be necessary if they were to deepen their relationship. After all, Hermione had no idea how much time she had left, and she wanted to make sure that Ron knew how much she cared about him, just in case.
She shut her book resolutely. "Ronald," she said. "I have a thought." He looked up from his reading.
"The modified Protego? I saw that one too; I think it could really -"
"No," Hermione said. "This isn't about the research." Ron raised his eyebrows at her, as if to say, So now there are things in life besides research? "I think you've probably noticed by now that we've become much closer recently. I'm quite fond of you, and you have grown immensely in the past few months. I also have realized some necessary things about myself, and I feel as though we should be moving our relationship along a bit faster than it's been going." She crossed her hands and rested them on top of her book. "What do you think?"
Predictably, Ron went beet red and was opening and closing his mouth, looking rather like a fish. "I...I mean...you know that I..."
"Oh for goodness sake, Ron, there's a war on. We shouldn't be wasting time." She steadied her voice and said, "Any of us could be dead tomorrow."
Ron's expression turned grave, and he nodded. "I know. I...agree."
"Agree with...?"
He sat very straight up in his chair and looked her straight in the eye. "I would very much like to, uh, 'move our relationship along a bit.'" She smiled widely at that, and he smiled back at her with his goofy grin.
"Oh, Ron," she said, jumping up from her chair and moving around the table. "This is wonderful!" Without so much as pulling his chair back from the desk, she crawled onto his lap and threw her arms around his shoulders, burying her face in his neck.
"Blimey, Hermione, the hair, the hair!" but he was laughing as he said it. She could feel his broad hands gathering up her hair in a bunch, his fingers sliding through the tangled strands and moving them over her shoulder. And as his palms moved to rest on her back, she pushed her apprehension about her own future to the back of her mind and felt truly joyous for the first time in a long while.
**********
five months, thirteen days, eight hours
Hermione deftly ducked as a jet of green light passed over her shoulder, narrowly missing her by only a couple of inches. Behind her, she could hear Harry yelling his own spells, and she was peripherally aware of Ron's presence somewhere off to her right.
"Locomotor Mortis!" she shouted, as a spurt of purple light flew from her wand. The Death Eater deflected the spell and sent a "Crucio!" right back to her. She slipped behind a bronze statue to avoid it. She was about to poke her arm around the statue to fire a Sponge-Knees Curse when her foot caught in between two cobblestones. She stumbled onto the ground, barely managing to hold onto her wand as she fell. Hermione scrambled to pick herself up, but just as she got one foot down flat, she heard the Death Eater cry out a spell that she had never heard before. She felt a rushing chill move up her legs and then she couldn't feel anything at all. Hermione struggled to pick herself up using her arms, lifting her wand to continue the battle, but the strange paralysis was moving throughout her entire body now - her knees, her thighs, even her fingertips were beginning to turn icy cold and then lose sensation entirely. She gasped for breath, looking into the eyeholes of the mask the Death Eater wore as he strode casually toward her, taking his time, raising his wand -
But the Death Eater did not fire off a spell. Instead, Hermione could see an elegant, long-fingered hand come to rest on the man's shoulder, gently guiding him aside. The Death Eater nodded and moved away, leaving Hermione to stare into the glowing red eyes of Lord Voldemort.
His face was white and shriveled, and he slowly reached into his pocket to draw his wand. His lips curled into a sneer of disdain.
She could not yell, and it was obvious that Harry and Ron had not noticed that she was in such grave danger. Her whole world narrowed down to her and the graceful assassin who was now looming overhead.
This, Hermione thought. This is it, I'm going to die here. She could see her wand lying in her limp hand, but she could not feel it. Hermione had always comforted herself with the idea that her death would not just be in conjunction with the final battle, but a key reason for its success. She had pictured herself fighting to the death, yelling spells until her throat was raw... the Killing Curse would come about unexpectedly... she would be in this world, and then not. She had never allowed herself to imagine the horror of suspense, of knowing the imminence of her death. After the past few months of horrid waiting, she had at least hoped that her end would be quick.
Voldemort was raising his wand, the dreamy shadow of his billowing robes making him look like a warped angel of death.
But just as he opened his mouth to speak, a huge silver stag dove in his path, a small dog coming up behind, jumping into the air excitedly. The animals cast off a great swell of light, and in Hermione's limited line of vision, it felt as though she were being bathed in a giant pool of molten metal.
All of a sudden the entire room began to spin, everything in it fading into blurry lines. Hermione closed her eyes against the onslaught, and when she next opened them, she was greeted by the sight of Mrs. Weasley's cheerful kitchen curtains. Harry and Ron lowered her gently on the floor, their faces red with exertion.
"Finite," Harry whispered, and her skin pinched and prickled and returned to life. The two boys lifted up her shoulders so that she was sitting upright.
"That was close," Ron said, breathing deeply.
"Yeah," Hermione chuckled, feeling a giddy sort of hysteria rising in her chest. "Close."
**********
two months, twenty-seven days, two hours
Hermione felt as though she had barely fallen sleep when she was lifted from her bed, soft and cozy in Ron's arms, to a place warmer still - a park with trees and grass. Small children were running around the field and climbing on the play equipment. Hermione sat on a bench at the edge of the park; she squinted her eyes against the sun and saw a young girl running towards her. She was a lovely child, with light brown hair falling just below her shoulders and a dusting of freckles across her nose and cheeks.
The girl threw her arms around Hermione's knees and looked up plaintively. "Oh, Mummy, I'm so glad we came to the park today. Isn't this just the loveliest afternoon?"
Hermione hesitantly reached to touch the girl's cheek, stroking her smooth skin with a thumb. Something very deep inside her stirred at the sight of the girl's dirt-stained dress, her wide brown eyes, her attentive stare. Hermione had the undeniable urge to hold the girl, to press her against her breast and rock her to and fro.
But when Hermione gently placed a hand to the girl's hair to smooth down a few wayward strands, her fingers came away covered in giant clumps of brown hair.
"What?" she whispered, staring intently at her hand. The child whimpered, and Hermione looked up to see the girl's hair blowing away in a gust of wind. The skin on her face was sagging as though any connection to the bone underneath had been severed; the girl held up her hands, the skin of which was slowly turning black and pustulous. Her left thumb disconnected from her hand and fell upon the ground with a plop, while chunks of skin slipped off the girl's slim arms and, sizzling, seeped into the earth. The girl's perfect white teeth fell out one by one and left a pile of shining bone on the green grass. Her whole body seemed to be coming undone, her bones and insides liquifying, slipping down until the child was nothing but a puddle of parts and fluids on the ground, and Hermione raised her eyes to see an army of brown-haired, freckled children walking calmly toward her, giving no heed to the horrific events that had just transpired, crying out to her in unison.
"Mummy, isn't this just the loveliest afternoon? Mummy?" Hermione recoiled, raising her legs and hugging her knees close to her belly, her palms sweaty, her heart racing beneath her summer blouse. Each child raised a pleading face to her, and Hermione squeezed her eyes tightly against the mass of outstretched arms.
And when she woke up, Hermione was drenched in sweat, her clothes soaked through. The room seemed much darker than usual, and Hermione grabbed her wand from the night stand and stumbled to the bathroom, lighting every candle on her way. She stood in front of the mirror for a long time, taking in her damp hair, red-rimmed eyes, and taut face, and willed herself not to cry. Instead, she filled the sink with icy cold water and plunged her face into it, lifting her head only when the skin on her face had gone numb. She changed her clothes and went back to bed, thankful that Ron was such a deep sleeper; dry and settled back into Ron's arms, Hermione felt marginally better, but a deep pain settled in the pit of her stomach that would not go away.
**********
three weeks, nine days, two hours
On a routine researching trip to Hogwarts, Hermione decided to take a short walk through Hogsmeade before heading back to the Burrow. It wasn't the safest place for a young woman to be walking alone, but the unseasonably warm day (and recent lull in Death Eater attacks) had attracted more visitors to the village than usual, and Hermione was sure she would be fine. Strolling past the Hog's Head, a mass of silvery-white hair caught her attention, and Hermione peered into the window more closely to discover Luna Lovegood sitting in a corner booth, alone. Although Luna was not necessarily Hermione's favorite person, it had been so long since Hermione had seen acquantances from school (outside of Harry, Ron, and Ginny, of course), that something compelled her to push open the heavy door and approach the girl.
"Hello, Luna!" she said, surprised at the warmth of her voice and how pleased she actually felt to see her former classmate.
Luna raised her head from the book she was reading, and a broad smile spread across her face. "Why hello, Hermione," she said. "How lovely to see you."
Hermione slid into the seat opposite Luna. "What have you been doing since they closed school?"
"Oh, this and that," Luna said, gesturing vaguely. "I've been helping out my father with some of his investigations. He just finished an exclusive on the new cut-resistant shrivelfig that have cropped up in London - very dangerous, you know - and now we're looking into pumpkin spittles. The entire pumpkin crop could be destroyed by summer. Isn't that just terrible? What have you been doing?"
"Research mostly," Hermione said. "I still feel as though we're such a long way from defeating Voldemort."
"Ah, yes," Luna sighed. "Poor Harry, he must be so anxious. He did seem to take Dumbledore's death very hard, although I've always thought our loved ones are our most effective guides from beyond, don't you think?"
"Beyond?" Hermione asked, intruigued. She knew that Luna had odd ideas about...well, most things, but it wasn't as though Hermione could broach the subject of an early death with Ron or Harry.
Luna moved her slightly bulging eyes from a vague spot in the distance to meet Hermione's gaze. "Why, yes. Whatever else do you think happens after we have died? Safe in the beyond, we can lead and comfort the living, and be reunited with them when it is their time to cross." She smiled. "Have you been contemplating death much lately?"
Hermione was slightly taken aback, but tried not to be aghast at Luna's unique ideas of what was socially appropriate. "Well," she said. "Yes, actually."
"Yes, me too," Luna said. "I had the most interesting conversation with Madame Trelawney when I was here with Father a few days ago. I had considered learning some Divination, just out of curiousity, but really I believe that if we are already on our own paths, what is the point in knowing what those are?" She raised a shoulder in half-shrug. "You're going to go where you're going to go, and you might as well just relax and enjoy your journey."
Hermione leaned forward onto the table. "But what if you can? I'm not saying you can't enjoy your life journey, but couldn't knowledge of the future be helpful in changing it?"
"But you can't change the future, Hermione," Luna said, fiddling with a dessert spoon which she had used to secure her hair in a loose bun. "We're already heading towards it, and how do you know that what you do today isn't as much subverting your destiny as it is fulfilling it?"
"But Luna, all of the research has shown that the future is malleable. It just isn’t set, it can still be molded."
"Research also says that Cracking Marshbands can’t exist, but I’ve had three of them nest in my nose just this month." Luna shrugged, then removed an earring shaped like a old timepiece and studied it. "Oh dear," she said. "I’m afraid I’m awfully late to meet my father. Say hello to that Ronald Weasley for me, and Harry as well." And with a half-wave, Luna rose from the table and vanished, leaving Hermione to her own thoughts.
**********
two days, twelve hours, fourteen minutes
Hermione was just drying the last dishes when she felt Ron's arms wind around her waist. She leaned back to rest her head against his chest, hearing his heart beating like the steady ticking of a clock.
"Mad, isn't it?" he said.
"What?"
"This - marriages, babies." He chucked. "I can't believe the poor thing got Bill's great clown-ears. She's going to be teased mercilessly, that one is." Hermione hummed noncommittally. "Hey, maybe Bill and Fleur will let us babysit!"
"Ha, as though you would ever submit to nappy-changing and cleaning up baby sick."
"There are charms for changing nappies, Hermione." He paused, then said quietly, "Might come in useful one day, yeah?"
Hermione twisted to meet Ron's eye, and there was hesitancy there, but a quiet longing too, and Hermione imagined little redheaded children sitting on Ron’s knees. Those visions had been painful enough to endure on her own, but realizing that Ron was also considering the future was an even greater insult, knowing as she did that he would ultimately be disappointed, that while he might have children some day in the future - and she truly hoped he would - those wouldn’t be children that they would share.
Hermione blinked several times and said lightly, "If you're interested in revision, you might try keeping up with that NEWT-level Transfiguration book McGonagall sent us; you’ll be facing wizardry exams long before feeding and changing ones, will you not?"
If a flash of disappointment or hurt crossed Ron's eyes, Hermione didn’t know of it; she had pulled free of Ron’s embrace and was sorting the dishes back onto their shelves.
"Aw," he said, "You’re no fun." He gently swatted her backside with the dishtowel, pulling her to him once more.
"There are charms for that, too," he said huskily in her ear. Ron flicked his wand and sent the dishes organizing themselves, gently nuzzling the side of her neck as he led them out of the room.
**********
nineteen minutes, thirty-five seconds
In Harry's hands, the locket began to glow, softly at first and then brighter until Hermione could no longer look directly at it. Rays of golden light burst from the locket, and finally the old piece of jewelry trembled and exploded, tiny pieces flying into the air.
Hermione held her arm over her eyes to shield them until the light in the room dimmed once more. She looked to Harry, who was still holding out his hands, now filled with a dark, flaky ash, the remnants of the destroyed Horcrux. He seemed dazed, hell-shocked, and she put a gentle arm to his shoulder.
"I feel really strange," he said.
"Let’s go," Ron said.
"Harry, I thought you said it wasn’t supposed to have adverse magical effects on the caster," Hermione said.
"I’d love to have a debate, but seriously, let’s get out of here," Ron urged.
But Harry did not reply, his eyes still staring fixedly at his hands. He pulled them apart so that a shower of black flakes fluttered to the ground. His fingers were singed black, from the burn of the golden light or the smearing of ash, Hermione did not know.
"Come on, Harry," she said. But just as she moved to pull him up, a great clamor sounded from outside the room.
Ron swore under his breath. He looked around wildly. "Let’s split up. They can’t track us all down at once."
Harry nodded, and Hermione ran through one of the several doors that led out of the room and flew down a staircase. She knew that there was at least one Death Eater behind her; jets of green light flew over her shoulders in what was becoming yet another instance of the many tedious, stilted confrontations with Death Eaters that had been happening more and more frequently. Hermione threw a few spells over her shoulder, hoping that one or two of them might delay her pursuer. Running through a room with large, glass-paneled windows, Hermione held out her wand blindly and cried, "Reducto!"
The windows exploded, sending shards of glass flying just as Hermione ran into the next room. Realizing that the Death Eater was no longer following her, Hermione turned around and hesitantly re-traced her steps.
The Death Eater lay face-down on the broken glass. Hermione held her wand at the ready, aware that this could be a trap, and used her foot to roll the Death Eater onto his back.
Pieces of glass stuck into the skin of his face, and blood was dripping down from the cuts. A large - miraculously intact - panel of glass lay at his feet. He had tripped.
Knowing that the Death Eater may awaken at any moment, Hermione left the room, anxious to find Harry and Ron and retreat to the safety of their hiding place to plan their next move against Voldemort.
She didn't dare yell Harry's name, but upon turning the corner into a large, round room, Hermione saw that it wouldn't have made a difference, as Harry had apparently already dealt with his Death Eater, who was lying on the ground unconscious.
She called out to Harry, and he raised his head to her, his eyes blinking owlishly behind his glasses.
"He's dead," he said, gesturing to the Death Eater at his feet.
"Lovely, let's find Ron and leave," Hermione said, already moving to what she thought might be an exit. Harry had obviously been affected by the magic that they had used to destroy the Horcrux, and Hermione didn't much fancy any more Death Eaters showing up when they didn't all have their wits intact. But Harry remained standing in front of the body.
"Don’t you understand?" he said. "I killed him."
Hermione moved to speak, but was interrupted as a heavy black cloud appeared above them. She and Harry looked upwards as the black folds consolidated and took shape, pulling themselves together and lowering down onto the ground a form Hermione was finding all-too-familiar: that of Lord Voldemort.
"Hello, Harry," Voldemort whispered. "What a delight it is, to see you on this night." Harry still looked vaguely confused, and Hermione wondered what to do next. Meanwhile, Voldemort fingered his wand.
"Don’t bother," Hermione said. "You know your wands can’t do battle."
Voldemort smiled, flicking his wand in a complicated pattern in the air. It happened so fast that the sphere of light had barely taken shape before Voldemort was raising his wand to direct it.
Hermione looked to Harry, who was standing dumbly with his wand useless at his side, and understood. All of her senses were honed, her field of vision narrowing, her eardrums receiving each of Voldemort's excited pants as though they were battle cannons. She felt time slowing as though each second were an eternity, as though some other-worldly force was telling her, Now, now, this is the moment. She was only two steps away from Harry, she could get there in time.
Hermione had expected to be scared, but a strange peace settled upon her as she thought of all of the children who would grow without fear, even if that meant that the fruits of her own womb could never grace this earth at all.
One step.
She thought of Ron and his bravery, even as a child, sacrificing himself in the human chess game all those years ago so that Harry could continue. She thought of Hogwarts soon brimming with eager schoolchildren, of her own childhood spent growing in those strong castle walls, held close and safe, flying through life adventure after adventure, as though there would be infinitely more.
Two steps.
She had always desired to be the brightest and the best. She had always wanted to be distinctive and exceptional. But if there was anything that the magical world had taught her, it was that it was only through a great love for others that one could realize success. If her time on this world had to come to a close, Hermione was thankful that she should end her life in dedication... to the larger cause, to the friends she had lost, and to the ones who would continue the ever-present fight, spirits renewed, in her absence.
Hermione took a deep breath, and let herself fall.
end
Author: kanella
Summary: Hermione gets a glimpse into her future, but will she like what she sees?
Fandom: Harry Potter
Character: Hermione, Hermione/Ron
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: JKR owns all.
Original story: The Consequence of Curiosity by greenspine
Notes: The action in the first scene was taken from Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. Thanks to greenspine for the fantastic source material. And finally, thank you to my beta for her endless support and encouragement.
Waiting for the Day (Countdown to Zero Remix)
Although the Time-Turner is typically used to project the user backwards in time, theoretical research has always suggested that advanced magic could be used to produce the opposite effect. The Reversus spell has been used successfully to produce a device capable of traveling into the future; however, initial experiments with this new magical object made clear the need for a strong Substantive Charm to anchor the Time-Turner and protect it from paradox. The altered Time-Turner, transformed from gold to platinum and containing crushed moldavite, is quite functional, although the slight uncertainty of future events does not allow for the precision of backward-moving time travel; indeed, the user may experience a forward motion of anything from a few minutes to a few years. Although magicologists still do not understand the precise mechanisms behind the Time-Turner’s actions, it has been suggested that the fluid aspect of the future results in the degraded vector path, effecting the degree of time-accuracy that the altered turner can possess. Extreme caution must obviously be taken so that the traveler does not end up too far ahead in the future. While an unaltered Time-Turner eventually returns the user back to their personal present by virtue of the time loop (that is, the user in her travels eventually arrives at the moment she disappeared into her travels), the forward-moving Time-Turner offers no such built-in return mechanism. After careful study, it has been concluded that the only way to return a traveler to the present is to perform Finite Incantatem on the Time-Turner, effectively rendering the object useless. In this way, the altered Time-Turner is strictly one-time use only.
~Eleanora G. Hollingberry, Turnabout: New Strategies in the Manipulation of Time and the Dangers Thereof
**********
two years, two months, eight days
The Death Eater's head had regressed back to that of a small baby when he finally succeeded in yanking the bell jar off his head. The man's baby eyes were scrunched up and his mouth let out a crying wail. He stumbled around the room, whipping his thick arms about, nearly hitting Harry directly over the head. Harry raised his wand, and Hermione knew his intent immediately.
"You can't hurt a baby!" she said, gripping his arm tightly. Harry opened his mouth to speak and then stopped, cocking his head to the side. Hermione could hear footsteps closing in on them from the previous room, and Harry looked around wildly.
"Come on!" he said.
But the path out of the room led Hermione straight past the glass cabinet containing the Time-Turners. The cabinet had been repeatedly breaking and mending itself; the floor was covered with Time-Turners, and just as the glass was beginning to jump together again, Hermione swooped an arm down and grabbed one of the Time-Turners on the floor. She shoved it in her pocket, giving a little skip to avoid the glass that was flying up to re-create the cabinet once more.
In the distraction of battle, it had been instinct that led her to pick up the beautiful golden Time-Turner. It wasn't until Hermione had awoken at St. Mungo's that she had reached into her pocket for something else entirely and remembered the magical device that she now had. Wrapping her shaky fingers around the cool metal of the Time-Turner, Hermione knew that she would have to hide it, to put it out of her mind. She was all too aware of the dangers of her own curiosity.
**********
seven months, twenty-three days, fifteen hours
Hermione had originally performed the alteration spells on the Time-Turner for fun, just to see if she could actually produce the complicated magic that the procedure entailed. A way to challenge herself, to keep her spellwork sharp and practiced. But when news came that the entire Gudgeon family had been murdered by a pair of Death Eaters, Hermione knew that she could no longer leave the valuable tool tucked away in a hidden drawer. She thought of other families like the Gudgeons, her own Muggle family, and the friends that were sure to die in the war. She had heard Molly Weasley crying softly in the kitchen on more nights than one, had seen the tired faces of all the adults around them. Harry was becoming thinner and thinner, his face hollowing out and his eyes growing more exhausted with each passing day. If the Time-Turner could inform Hermione of an overlooked spell, or some crucial weakness of Voldemort's that could be exploited - well, it was her duty to use it.
The spells had warped the tiny hourglass into a shining platinum timepiece with granules of deep green moldavite. Pulling Harry's invisibility cloak over her head, she took hold of the Time-Turner, and spun it.
**********
March 4th, 1998
When the Time-Turner had worked its magic, Hermione found herself once more in her bedroom at the Burrow, but this time she could hear a loud hum of voices coming from downstairs. She carefully wound her way around the crowds of people congregating on the stairs and in the doorways. After nearly bumping head-on into Tonks, Hermione looked around for an out-of-the-way place to hide; she quickly found a suitable spot on top of a wobbly cabinet in the corner.
The energy in the room was tangible. Some of the wizards and witches in attendance looked saddened, while others conversed with barely suppressed excitement, nearly spilling their drinks as they gestured to their companions. Luna and Neville were sitting quietly on the sofa with paper plates of untouched fruit balanced on their knees, and Bill Weasley was holding conference with the twins. Hermione was craning her neck to peek into the kitchen - perhaps she could catch a glance of Harry or Ron, or even her own future self! - when the room suddenly fell silent. Hermione looked up at the door to see the tired face of Harry Potter.
He looked so old that Hermione wondered just how far in the future she had traveled. There were dark bags underneath his eyes, and a patch of gray-white hair streaked just above his right ear. He looked skinny and awkward in trousers and a baggy blue shirt, and he picked at his sleeves as he spoke.
"Yesterday, we celebrated. It was the right thing to do. Voldemort -" the crowd reflexively flinched, then relaxed, people turning to their friends beside them and giggling nervously. "Voldemort is irreversibly dead and his soul destroyed beyond any means of recovery." Harry paused and pushed his glasses further up his nose. "I would not be standing before you today if it weren't for...a truly brave woman, who will be known through history as the very last person to be killed at Voldemort's hand, who gave her life in the final battle so that your children may grow up without the terror of the Dark Mark. I think we should all take a moment to remember Hermione Granger."
At once, Hermione felt all the blood rush to her feet. She froze in stunned silence, unable to even process that Harry was still speaking.
"She was the quickest, the brightest, and the best. I... I will miss her very much."
Numb, Hermione barely registered Ginny stepping forward to lead Harry away. She pointed her wand at the Time-Turner and whispered, "Finite Incantatem."
**********
seven months, twenty-three days, fourteen hours
Hermione found herself being whipped back in time; rather than the pleasant spinning sensation that a normal, backwards-moving Time-Turner gave during travel, this method of returning to her present time left her feeling as though she was being turned to jelly and getting sucked down a very narrow drain. The moment her feet touched down on the floor, she collapsed into a heap. Her stomach lurched and she felt so suddenly ill that it took all of her strength to climb into bed and curl into a shivering ball. Crookshanks hopped up and wiggled his way through the covers to nuzzle her, and she held the animal close to her stomach and clung.
She was going to die. Not a peaceful death at the end of a well-ordered life, but sometime soon, in the most violent of ways. And so close to the end...the very last of Voldemort's victims. It was too much to bear, and just as hard sobs began to rise in her chest, Hermione heard a sharp knock on the door.
She jumped in surprise, throwing the blankets from over her head and reaching for her wand. She quickly cast cleaning charms on her face and patted down her hair. What else could she do? There was no reason to upset anyone else with this news, at least not yet; she needed time to think, to process the grim news she had just received.
Hermione cleared her throat. "Yes?" she called.
The door opened and Ginny poked her head in. "Oh, sorry Hermione, did I wake you?"
"No, no," Hermione said. "What is it?"
"I just thought I should let you know that Fleur and Bill just popped in with some, er...news," she said, raising her eyebrows.
"Oh," Hermione said dully, "Wow, really?"
"I know what you mean. Can you imagine having that for a mother?" Ginny shivered. "No, thank you. We’ll have to keep an eye on the poor sprog so she’ll have some decent female influence."
"Yeah." Hermione wasn’t much in the mood to think about the joys of new life, and she looked down at Crookshanks, petting him softly, hoping that Ginny would take the hint and leave.
Ginny shifted from one foot to another. "Alright then, I’d better go. Mum'll go spare if I skip out on helping with dinner. Come down at seven."
"Okay," Hermione said, hearing the snick of the door closing. She flopped down onto the bed, and feeling all the energy leave her in a rush, fell into a deep sleep.
**********
seven months, two days, one hour
After a few weeks, the initial shock of the news had worn off and Hermione finally felt like she could consider her options in a logical way. Determined, she traveled to Hogwarts to do some research.
Although Hogwarts had closed to students that September - when Hermione and her friends would have been seventh years - some of the professors had not yet moved out of the castle, and Madame Pince maintained the library so that witches and wizards could still do the research necessary for the war effort. Hermione sank down into a huge leather chair, the soothing smell of musty books settling over her and clearing her head.
The future wasn't definitive. Her previous research into altering the Time-Turner had told her that much. And her common sense and perseverance had never failed her before - she would simply have to make herself a better, stronger witch. Even if she could not prevent her own death, she could make sure that Harry was as well-equipped to defeat the Dark Lord as possible. For all she knew, she died performing some complex spell or protective enchantment that she did not yet know about. Determined to prepare herself in the only way she knew how, Hermione gathered her reading materials and began her search.
**********
six months, eight days, eleven hours
Hermione had been staring at the same page for about twenty minutes when she decided that this might be an opportune time to speak with Ron about the nature of their relationship. Ever since Dumbledore had died last June, Ron had been increasingly plain in his affection for her, jumping to accompany her on researching excursions and wandering into her room late at night for serious conversation. His willingness to speak plainly about his hopes and fears for his future sparked Hermione's interest immediately. She had always known that Ron was unusually brave and principled - these were the qualities that attracted her to him in the first place, if she was going to really be honest with herself - but it was refreshing to hear Ron acknowledging these traits in himself and finding pride in them. As the days went by, Hermione had become convinced that she and Ron were finally ready to take the next step in their relationship. Ron, however, had become increasingly physically shy around her; whenever she moved to touch his shoulder or brush back a stray lock of hair, he blushed furiously. It really was terribly adorable, but not really conducive to getting anything accomplished.
She looked up at Ron intently reading a very large volume on countercharms. His mouth moved to sound out the words, and his brow was furrowed in concentration; Hermione had to consciously resist the urge to reach forward and smooth out the wrinkles. He was growing into an incredible man, and although Hermione found it difficult to precisely articulate how deeply she felt for him, she knew that some words would be necessary if they were to deepen their relationship. After all, Hermione had no idea how much time she had left, and she wanted to make sure that Ron knew how much she cared about him, just in case.
She shut her book resolutely. "Ronald," she said. "I have a thought." He looked up from his reading.
"The modified Protego? I saw that one too; I think it could really -"
"No," Hermione said. "This isn't about the research." Ron raised his eyebrows at her, as if to say, So now there are things in life besides research? "I think you've probably noticed by now that we've become much closer recently. I'm quite fond of you, and you have grown immensely in the past few months. I also have realized some necessary things about myself, and I feel as though we should be moving our relationship along a bit faster than it's been going." She crossed her hands and rested them on top of her book. "What do you think?"
Predictably, Ron went beet red and was opening and closing his mouth, looking rather like a fish. "I...I mean...you know that I..."
"Oh for goodness sake, Ron, there's a war on. We shouldn't be wasting time." She steadied her voice and said, "Any of us could be dead tomorrow."
Ron's expression turned grave, and he nodded. "I know. I...agree."
"Agree with...?"
He sat very straight up in his chair and looked her straight in the eye. "I would very much like to, uh, 'move our relationship along a bit.'" She smiled widely at that, and he smiled back at her with his goofy grin.
"Oh, Ron," she said, jumping up from her chair and moving around the table. "This is wonderful!" Without so much as pulling his chair back from the desk, she crawled onto his lap and threw her arms around his shoulders, burying her face in his neck.
"Blimey, Hermione, the hair, the hair!" but he was laughing as he said it. She could feel his broad hands gathering up her hair in a bunch, his fingers sliding through the tangled strands and moving them over her shoulder. And as his palms moved to rest on her back, she pushed her apprehension about her own future to the back of her mind and felt truly joyous for the first time in a long while.
**********
five months, thirteen days, eight hours
Hermione deftly ducked as a jet of green light passed over her shoulder, narrowly missing her by only a couple of inches. Behind her, she could hear Harry yelling his own spells, and she was peripherally aware of Ron's presence somewhere off to her right.
"Locomotor Mortis!" she shouted, as a spurt of purple light flew from her wand. The Death Eater deflected the spell and sent a "Crucio!" right back to her. She slipped behind a bronze statue to avoid it. She was about to poke her arm around the statue to fire a Sponge-Knees Curse when her foot caught in between two cobblestones. She stumbled onto the ground, barely managing to hold onto her wand as she fell. Hermione scrambled to pick herself up, but just as she got one foot down flat, she heard the Death Eater cry out a spell that she had never heard before. She felt a rushing chill move up her legs and then she couldn't feel anything at all. Hermione struggled to pick herself up using her arms, lifting her wand to continue the battle, but the strange paralysis was moving throughout her entire body now - her knees, her thighs, even her fingertips were beginning to turn icy cold and then lose sensation entirely. She gasped for breath, looking into the eyeholes of the mask the Death Eater wore as he strode casually toward her, taking his time, raising his wand -
But the Death Eater did not fire off a spell. Instead, Hermione could see an elegant, long-fingered hand come to rest on the man's shoulder, gently guiding him aside. The Death Eater nodded and moved away, leaving Hermione to stare into the glowing red eyes of Lord Voldemort.
His face was white and shriveled, and he slowly reached into his pocket to draw his wand. His lips curled into a sneer of disdain.
She could not yell, and it was obvious that Harry and Ron had not noticed that she was in such grave danger. Her whole world narrowed down to her and the graceful assassin who was now looming overhead.
This, Hermione thought. This is it, I'm going to die here. She could see her wand lying in her limp hand, but she could not feel it. Hermione had always comforted herself with the idea that her death would not just be in conjunction with the final battle, but a key reason for its success. She had pictured herself fighting to the death, yelling spells until her throat was raw... the Killing Curse would come about unexpectedly... she would be in this world, and then not. She had never allowed herself to imagine the horror of suspense, of knowing the imminence of her death. After the past few months of horrid waiting, she had at least hoped that her end would be quick.
Voldemort was raising his wand, the dreamy shadow of his billowing robes making him look like a warped angel of death.
But just as he opened his mouth to speak, a huge silver stag dove in his path, a small dog coming up behind, jumping into the air excitedly. The animals cast off a great swell of light, and in Hermione's limited line of vision, it felt as though she were being bathed in a giant pool of molten metal.
All of a sudden the entire room began to spin, everything in it fading into blurry lines. Hermione closed her eyes against the onslaught, and when she next opened them, she was greeted by the sight of Mrs. Weasley's cheerful kitchen curtains. Harry and Ron lowered her gently on the floor, their faces red with exertion.
"Finite," Harry whispered, and her skin pinched and prickled and returned to life. The two boys lifted up her shoulders so that she was sitting upright.
"That was close," Ron said, breathing deeply.
"Yeah," Hermione chuckled, feeling a giddy sort of hysteria rising in her chest. "Close."
**********
two months, twenty-seven days, two hours
Hermione felt as though she had barely fallen sleep when she was lifted from her bed, soft and cozy in Ron's arms, to a place warmer still - a park with trees and grass. Small children were running around the field and climbing on the play equipment. Hermione sat on a bench at the edge of the park; she squinted her eyes against the sun and saw a young girl running towards her. She was a lovely child, with light brown hair falling just below her shoulders and a dusting of freckles across her nose and cheeks.
The girl threw her arms around Hermione's knees and looked up plaintively. "Oh, Mummy, I'm so glad we came to the park today. Isn't this just the loveliest afternoon?"
Hermione hesitantly reached to touch the girl's cheek, stroking her smooth skin with a thumb. Something very deep inside her stirred at the sight of the girl's dirt-stained dress, her wide brown eyes, her attentive stare. Hermione had the undeniable urge to hold the girl, to press her against her breast and rock her to and fro.
But when Hermione gently placed a hand to the girl's hair to smooth down a few wayward strands, her fingers came away covered in giant clumps of brown hair.
"What?" she whispered, staring intently at her hand. The child whimpered, and Hermione looked up to see the girl's hair blowing away in a gust of wind. The skin on her face was sagging as though any connection to the bone underneath had been severed; the girl held up her hands, the skin of which was slowly turning black and pustulous. Her left thumb disconnected from her hand and fell upon the ground with a plop, while chunks of skin slipped off the girl's slim arms and, sizzling, seeped into the earth. The girl's perfect white teeth fell out one by one and left a pile of shining bone on the green grass. Her whole body seemed to be coming undone, her bones and insides liquifying, slipping down until the child was nothing but a puddle of parts and fluids on the ground, and Hermione raised her eyes to see an army of brown-haired, freckled children walking calmly toward her, giving no heed to the horrific events that had just transpired, crying out to her in unison.
"Mummy, isn't this just the loveliest afternoon? Mummy?" Hermione recoiled, raising her legs and hugging her knees close to her belly, her palms sweaty, her heart racing beneath her summer blouse. Each child raised a pleading face to her, and Hermione squeezed her eyes tightly against the mass of outstretched arms.
And when she woke up, Hermione was drenched in sweat, her clothes soaked through. The room seemed much darker than usual, and Hermione grabbed her wand from the night stand and stumbled to the bathroom, lighting every candle on her way. She stood in front of the mirror for a long time, taking in her damp hair, red-rimmed eyes, and taut face, and willed herself not to cry. Instead, she filled the sink with icy cold water and plunged her face into it, lifting her head only when the skin on her face had gone numb. She changed her clothes and went back to bed, thankful that Ron was such a deep sleeper; dry and settled back into Ron's arms, Hermione felt marginally better, but a deep pain settled in the pit of her stomach that would not go away.
**********
three weeks, nine days, two hours
On a routine researching trip to Hogwarts, Hermione decided to take a short walk through Hogsmeade before heading back to the Burrow. It wasn't the safest place for a young woman to be walking alone, but the unseasonably warm day (and recent lull in Death Eater attacks) had attracted more visitors to the village than usual, and Hermione was sure she would be fine. Strolling past the Hog's Head, a mass of silvery-white hair caught her attention, and Hermione peered into the window more closely to discover Luna Lovegood sitting in a corner booth, alone. Although Luna was not necessarily Hermione's favorite person, it had been so long since Hermione had seen acquantances from school (outside of Harry, Ron, and Ginny, of course), that something compelled her to push open the heavy door and approach the girl.
"Hello, Luna!" she said, surprised at the warmth of her voice and how pleased she actually felt to see her former classmate.
Luna raised her head from the book she was reading, and a broad smile spread across her face. "Why hello, Hermione," she said. "How lovely to see you."
Hermione slid into the seat opposite Luna. "What have you been doing since they closed school?"
"Oh, this and that," Luna said, gesturing vaguely. "I've been helping out my father with some of his investigations. He just finished an exclusive on the new cut-resistant shrivelfig that have cropped up in London - very dangerous, you know - and now we're looking into pumpkin spittles. The entire pumpkin crop could be destroyed by summer. Isn't that just terrible? What have you been doing?"
"Research mostly," Hermione said. "I still feel as though we're such a long way from defeating Voldemort."
"Ah, yes," Luna sighed. "Poor Harry, he must be so anxious. He did seem to take Dumbledore's death very hard, although I've always thought our loved ones are our most effective guides from beyond, don't you think?"
"Beyond?" Hermione asked, intruigued. She knew that Luna had odd ideas about...well, most things, but it wasn't as though Hermione could broach the subject of an early death with Ron or Harry.
Luna moved her slightly bulging eyes from a vague spot in the distance to meet Hermione's gaze. "Why, yes. Whatever else do you think happens after we have died? Safe in the beyond, we can lead and comfort the living, and be reunited with them when it is their time to cross." She smiled. "Have you been contemplating death much lately?"
Hermione was slightly taken aback, but tried not to be aghast at Luna's unique ideas of what was socially appropriate. "Well," she said. "Yes, actually."
"Yes, me too," Luna said. "I had the most interesting conversation with Madame Trelawney when I was here with Father a few days ago. I had considered learning some Divination, just out of curiousity, but really I believe that if we are already on our own paths, what is the point in knowing what those are?" She raised a shoulder in half-shrug. "You're going to go where you're going to go, and you might as well just relax and enjoy your journey."
Hermione leaned forward onto the table. "But what if you can? I'm not saying you can't enjoy your life journey, but couldn't knowledge of the future be helpful in changing it?"
"But you can't change the future, Hermione," Luna said, fiddling with a dessert spoon which she had used to secure her hair in a loose bun. "We're already heading towards it, and how do you know that what you do today isn't as much subverting your destiny as it is fulfilling it?"
"But Luna, all of the research has shown that the future is malleable. It just isn’t set, it can still be molded."
"Research also says that Cracking Marshbands can’t exist, but I’ve had three of them nest in my nose just this month." Luna shrugged, then removed an earring shaped like a old timepiece and studied it. "Oh dear," she said. "I’m afraid I’m awfully late to meet my father. Say hello to that Ronald Weasley for me, and Harry as well." And with a half-wave, Luna rose from the table and vanished, leaving Hermione to her own thoughts.
**********
two days, twelve hours, fourteen minutes
Hermione was just drying the last dishes when she felt Ron's arms wind around her waist. She leaned back to rest her head against his chest, hearing his heart beating like the steady ticking of a clock.
"Mad, isn't it?" he said.
"What?"
"This - marriages, babies." He chucked. "I can't believe the poor thing got Bill's great clown-ears. She's going to be teased mercilessly, that one is." Hermione hummed noncommittally. "Hey, maybe Bill and Fleur will let us babysit!"
"Ha, as though you would ever submit to nappy-changing and cleaning up baby sick."
"There are charms for changing nappies, Hermione." He paused, then said quietly, "Might come in useful one day, yeah?"
Hermione twisted to meet Ron's eye, and there was hesitancy there, but a quiet longing too, and Hermione imagined little redheaded children sitting on Ron’s knees. Those visions had been painful enough to endure on her own, but realizing that Ron was also considering the future was an even greater insult, knowing as she did that he would ultimately be disappointed, that while he might have children some day in the future - and she truly hoped he would - those wouldn’t be children that they would share.
Hermione blinked several times and said lightly, "If you're interested in revision, you might try keeping up with that NEWT-level Transfiguration book McGonagall sent us; you’ll be facing wizardry exams long before feeding and changing ones, will you not?"
If a flash of disappointment or hurt crossed Ron's eyes, Hermione didn’t know of it; she had pulled free of Ron’s embrace and was sorting the dishes back onto their shelves.
"Aw," he said, "You’re no fun." He gently swatted her backside with the dishtowel, pulling her to him once more.
"There are charms for that, too," he said huskily in her ear. Ron flicked his wand and sent the dishes organizing themselves, gently nuzzling the side of her neck as he led them out of the room.
**********
nineteen minutes, thirty-five seconds
In Harry's hands, the locket began to glow, softly at first and then brighter until Hermione could no longer look directly at it. Rays of golden light burst from the locket, and finally the old piece of jewelry trembled and exploded, tiny pieces flying into the air.
Hermione held her arm over her eyes to shield them until the light in the room dimmed once more. She looked to Harry, who was still holding out his hands, now filled with a dark, flaky ash, the remnants of the destroyed Horcrux. He seemed dazed, hell-shocked, and she put a gentle arm to his shoulder.
"I feel really strange," he said.
"Let’s go," Ron said.
"Harry, I thought you said it wasn’t supposed to have adverse magical effects on the caster," Hermione said.
"I’d love to have a debate, but seriously, let’s get out of here," Ron urged.
But Harry did not reply, his eyes still staring fixedly at his hands. He pulled them apart so that a shower of black flakes fluttered to the ground. His fingers were singed black, from the burn of the golden light or the smearing of ash, Hermione did not know.
"Come on, Harry," she said. But just as she moved to pull him up, a great clamor sounded from outside the room.
Ron swore under his breath. He looked around wildly. "Let’s split up. They can’t track us all down at once."
Harry nodded, and Hermione ran through one of the several doors that led out of the room and flew down a staircase. She knew that there was at least one Death Eater behind her; jets of green light flew over her shoulders in what was becoming yet another instance of the many tedious, stilted confrontations with Death Eaters that had been happening more and more frequently. Hermione threw a few spells over her shoulder, hoping that one or two of them might delay her pursuer. Running through a room with large, glass-paneled windows, Hermione held out her wand blindly and cried, "Reducto!"
The windows exploded, sending shards of glass flying just as Hermione ran into the next room. Realizing that the Death Eater was no longer following her, Hermione turned around and hesitantly re-traced her steps.
The Death Eater lay face-down on the broken glass. Hermione held her wand at the ready, aware that this could be a trap, and used her foot to roll the Death Eater onto his back.
Pieces of glass stuck into the skin of his face, and blood was dripping down from the cuts. A large - miraculously intact - panel of glass lay at his feet. He had tripped.
Knowing that the Death Eater may awaken at any moment, Hermione left the room, anxious to find Harry and Ron and retreat to the safety of their hiding place to plan their next move against Voldemort.
She didn't dare yell Harry's name, but upon turning the corner into a large, round room, Hermione saw that it wouldn't have made a difference, as Harry had apparently already dealt with his Death Eater, who was lying on the ground unconscious.
She called out to Harry, and he raised his head to her, his eyes blinking owlishly behind his glasses.
"He's dead," he said, gesturing to the Death Eater at his feet.
"Lovely, let's find Ron and leave," Hermione said, already moving to what she thought might be an exit. Harry had obviously been affected by the magic that they had used to destroy the Horcrux, and Hermione didn't much fancy any more Death Eaters showing up when they didn't all have their wits intact. But Harry remained standing in front of the body.
"Don’t you understand?" he said. "I killed him."
Hermione moved to speak, but was interrupted as a heavy black cloud appeared above them. She and Harry looked upwards as the black folds consolidated and took shape, pulling themselves together and lowering down onto the ground a form Hermione was finding all-too-familiar: that of Lord Voldemort.
"Hello, Harry," Voldemort whispered. "What a delight it is, to see you on this night." Harry still looked vaguely confused, and Hermione wondered what to do next. Meanwhile, Voldemort fingered his wand.
"Don’t bother," Hermione said. "You know your wands can’t do battle."
Voldemort smiled, flicking his wand in a complicated pattern in the air. It happened so fast that the sphere of light had barely taken shape before Voldemort was raising his wand to direct it.
Hermione looked to Harry, who was standing dumbly with his wand useless at his side, and understood. All of her senses were honed, her field of vision narrowing, her eardrums receiving each of Voldemort's excited pants as though they were battle cannons. She felt time slowing as though each second were an eternity, as though some other-worldly force was telling her, Now, now, this is the moment. She was only two steps away from Harry, she could get there in time.
Hermione had expected to be scared, but a strange peace settled upon her as she thought of all of the children who would grow without fear, even if that meant that the fruits of her own womb could never grace this earth at all.
One step.
She thought of Ron and his bravery, even as a child, sacrificing himself in the human chess game all those years ago so that Harry could continue. She thought of Hogwarts soon brimming with eager schoolchildren, of her own childhood spent growing in those strong castle walls, held close and safe, flying through life adventure after adventure, as though there would be infinitely more.
Two steps.
She had always desired to be the brightest and the best. She had always wanted to be distinctive and exceptional. But if there was anything that the magical world had taught her, it was that it was only through a great love for others that one could realize success. If her time on this world had to come to a close, Hermione was thankful that she should end her life in dedication... to the larger cause, to the friends she had lost, and to the ones who would continue the ever-present fight, spirits renewed, in her absence.
Hermione took a deep breath, and let herself fall.
end