Chapter Text
A full moon hung high in the relentlessly black sky, all the stars obscured ominously. Blasts of different colored magic and screams echoed through the air around Lestrange Manor. In a large ballroom, Ron Weasley lay facedown on the floor unmoving, blood pooling in a slowly widening circle under his body. Hermione Potter was still fighting, but she was slowly being driven further back from Harry as her spells slid off a fully transformed Fenrir Greyback. The large werewolf was managing to advance despite the speed and ferocity of her magic. Hermione’s flagging reserves and Fenrir’s natural resistance to magic were working against Hermione as she was slowly backed into a corner.
Twenty-six-year-old Harry Potter stood not far from his wife, locked in his own battle. Harry had his feet planted wide to brace himself as he held the elder wand with two hands, facing Voldemort. Violently bright red magic poured like a spout from the end of Harry’s wand, smashing against the toxic green of Voldemort’s. Hermione shrieked as Greyback suddenly slashed at her face, his claws barely breaking the surface of the skin and causing blood to bead on her cheek.
“Hermione!” Harry yelled, his eyes darting to the side from where he was locked in combat with Voldemort. All of Harry’s magic was wrapped into the fight with Voldemort; if he tried to break it, Voldemort’s death curse would slam into him. “Transform! Right now!”
“Your filthy little mudblood is about to die. At least we branded her first.” Voldemort gritted out maliciously, his red eyes shining madly.
Fenrir Greyback’s wolf form was huge, bigger than Hermione remembered Professor Lupin being, and his flat, muddy eyes were fixed on her, drool hanging from his snout. If she transformed into her animagus, she did not doubt that Greyback would snap her in two in even less time.
Unnoticed by all of them, Ron rolled weakly onto his side, his eyes going to where Greyback was advancing relentlessly on Hermione. To the immediate right of the fight, there was a large concrete statue of some random ancestor of the Lestranges. Clenching his wand in his bloody fist, he aimed a knockback jinx at the pedestal, then passed out.
The pedestal rocked backward with the power of the spell while the heavy concrete statue crashed forward directly on top of Greyback with a sickening crunch. Greyback’s wild eyes were fixed on Hermione still as an enraged howl mixed with the thunderous crash of the pretentious statue. Voldemort flinched at the sound of Greyback falling and wavered in battle, his magic dimming briefly. Harry’s magic surged in response, sensing the weakness, and cut through Voldemort's magic, slamming into his chest.
For a fraught moment where all the sound seemed to have been sucked from the room Voldemort hung suspended in the air Harry’s magic ripping into him. Voldemort’s mouth was open in a silent scream as magic seemed to pulse in the air, and then he exploded into a black cloud of dust. Harry turned immediately to Hermione, running over to her where she had fallen back, her wand still pointed shakily at Greyback, pinned and snarling under the statue, his eyes never wavering from her.
“Hermione!” Harry pulled her up, hugging her. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, Ron—” Her breath caught, and they both said his name at the same time, turning to where their friend had fallen. “Ron!”
In the few seconds that Harry and Hermione had been distracted by each other, the black cloud that Voldemort had disintegrated into had not abated. It had grown, and the dark swirls touched the tip of Ron’s lax hand. Ron’s skin crumbled, blackening as the cloud swallowed him.
“Oh god, Ron!” Hermione screamed, running to Ron. Harry’s hand snapped out lightning quick, grabbing her to yank her back, but it was too late. The tip of Hermione’s outstretched hand touched the edge of the cloud, and immediately her skin began to darken.
“Oh, no.” Harry’s ribs compressed, driving out all his air, he could barely whisper. “No, no, no.”
Hermione met his eyes, her brown eyes shining with tears. “It’s okay. It doesn’t hurt.”
“No!” Harry came to awareness screaming in a dark, blurry room. His hands ripped at the blankets, trapping him, and he fell out of bed. His mouth was open gasping trying desperately to suck in air while his heart wanted to rip itself out of his chest.
Oh god. Hermione.
“Hermione!’ He shouted again, his hands searching frantically around him. An owl hooted and he turned blindly toward the sound, seeing the open window and the moon still shining down on a snowy white owl.
What the hell?
Where was he?
Where was she?
Harry grasped the familiar feel of his specs atop a bedside table and then spotted his wand conveniently next to them. He tried to stand and stumbled before correcting himself, his limbs feeling odd.
“Lumos.” He was in a large bedroom decorated in muted reds and ornate dark wood paneling. The magic of the house pressed on him slightly as if trying to wrap him in a warm embrace. The weight and intensity of the wards were impressive, and strangely enough, Harry could feel a connection to them. He would not be able to apparate within these walls. In the open window perched an owl that looked like Hedwig's twin. The owl twisted his head, looking at him inquisitively and hooted softly.
This definitely wasn’t Lestrange Manor.
Harry turned away from the owl, ignoring the way his heart leapt at seeing it. He had one goal right now. Find Hermione. Harry ran to the door, yanking it open to a long hallway where a nearby door opened close to him
Harry’s foot fell back as he took a dueling stance, standing sideways so he was a narrower target area as he raised his wand. The redhead who poked out of the other doorway made his wand drop back down, though. “Ron?”
“Harry? Was that you screaming?” Ron rubbed his head a little, bewildered. “Fuck, mate. You would not believe the dream I just had. There was a werewolf, and I was dying, and then there was this bloody cloud that ate me!”
Harry ran to Ron and hugged him tightly. “Oh, god. I thought you’d died. Where’s Hermione?”
Ron awkwardly patted Harry on the back. “What?”
“Hermione. Where…” Harry’s head throbbed, and he broke off, losing track of what he was saying. With a grunt, he bent over, a buzzing sound overwhelming him as he collapsed to his knees.
“Haz! Merlin, what’s going on?” A feminine voice asked, touching him gently.
“Argh.” Harry tried to hold onto — something— something so fucking important. But it was obscured, fuzzy, and white— fading away even as he tried to grasp the thought.
“Hey mate.” A firm hand tried to get him up. “Maybe we should call your mum.” The voice said to someone else.
“I’ll get her.” Harry heard his little sister run quickly down the hallway.
How embarrassing. “No— Z!” He tried to look up, but the pain, although receding, was still intense, and he had to blink his eyes to prevent them from watering, not from the pain but from the feeling of intense loss.
Harry rubbed at his chest, feeling shaky as he looked up at Ron, who was still trying to get him up off the floor. “Haz— what the hell was that mate?”
“What— what happened?”
Ron shrugged, looking bewildered. “I don’t know really. We both woke up at the same time, and I came out into the corridor, and then you came out — and you —“ His brow furrowed. “You were asking for Granger.”
Harry could feel warmth stealing into his cheeks. “I what? Shut up.”
“Nah mate, for real,” Ron answered.
Just then, footsteps sounded, and Harry looked to see his entire family coming down the hallway. He picked himself off the floor quickly, holding out his hands. “I’m fine— I’m sorry I woke everyone up.”
His mum frowned at him, waving her wand, and a medical diagnostic sprang up between them, showing his vitals. “You don’t have a fever.” Regardless of the magic she reached and laid her palm against his forehead while Harry waited quietly, letting his mum reassure herself he was fine.
“Zinny said you collapsed.” James Potter was also frowning.
“Honestly…” Harry looked at the four of them. “I don’t know what happened. I woke up, came out, and just had a sudden intense headache.”
Lily Potter gave him a hug. “You want something to drink? Some tea? Some cocoa?”
James Potter reached out and ruffled his hair while Zinnia and Ron both smirked at Harry being babied.
Harry pulled away, his cheeks red. “No, I just want to go back to sleep.”
“Okay, but if you feel bad, come wake us. You could be coming down with something, and we’d better make sure that’s taken care of, considering its your birthday today.”
Harry grinned at his mum. “Nothing’s getting in the way of my party.”
“That’s the spirit!” James Potter said with a smile. “Now let’s go to bed so we’re all refreshed and ready to get trashed.”
Lily Potter elbowed her husband, who pretended to be wounded while Zinnia giggled. Harry said good night to everyone and went back to his room. He closed the door and stood in the dark, staring blindly forward.
He had lied to his mother when he told her he was fine. He rubbed his chest again. His heart ached.
Hermione Potter woke up with a short scream that turned to sobbing, her hands bunched into fists as she still tried to reassure Harry. “It doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t hurt.”
The air was cool around her, contrasting with the warm, soft bed she was lying in as her voice trailed off slowly. Her insides were still twisting with fear and grief. Her hand clenched again, and she realized it felt normal. What had happened? If she was okay, where was Harry? Was he okay? Was Ron okay?
Hermione spotted her wand on the table next to her in the darkness and grabbed it, trying to quiet her harsh breathing. The magic of the house she was in pressed on her, the wards feeling old and powerful. There would be no leaving this house unless she crossed the ward line or found a floo.
She needed to escape, but first, she had to find out if Harry was here. Hermione slowly got off the bed, her ears straining in the hushed silence to hear the slightest sound. Her hand shook as she reached for the doorknob, half expecting to find it spelled shut. But the knob twisted easily under her hand, and she pushed the door slowly open to a long, dark corridor.
There were rows and rows of doors, and fear twisted inside Hermione at what she might find on the other side of those doors. She crept slowly down the dark corridor, her body angled to make herself a smaller target, her wand outstretched and ready to engage at a moment’s notice.
At the end of the corridor was a long, spiraling, ornate staircase, and she went down step by step, praying that they would not creak and betray her presence. The dark walls of the place seemed so oppressive, the coldness even more apparent outside the faux safety of the bedroom she had woken up in.
At the bottom of the staircase, Hermione paused, looking around carefully. The entry hall looked disturbingly familiar. She took a cautious step forward, her skin feeling tight, her entire body revolting against moving further toward the foyer beyond. Then she turned to the left and realized why. She was in Malfoy Manor. Bellatrix Lestrange had tortured her just a few yards away from where she was currently standing.
Her stomach clenched as nausea rushed through her, and Hermione stumbled backward towards the main entrance, almost falling on her bum while she tried to distance herself from that room.
“Hermione?” A quiet voice asked.
Hermione turned to see an older boy with dark curly hair and deep blue eyes watching her with a concerned face. Her wand whipped up between them as the handle gave beneath her fumbling, and she backed out the door. “Don’t come any closer.”
The boy frowned, his head turning slightly as his voice rose. “Luna?”
Hermione’s eyes widened as she looked beyond him to see Luna Lovegood and Draco Malfoy approaching slowly. What? What were they doing here? It didn’t make sense.
Luna’s eyes seemed to catch the moonlight as she stared at Hermione. “Are you leaving without your shoes, Hermione? You’ll hurt your feet.”
Hermione battled the mad impulse to laugh as hysteria bubbled up out of nowhere inside her. She needed to find Harry, and her head was killing her. Where should she go? Anywhere was better than here.
Filthy little mudblood. Bellatrix’s ghost whispered with relish into her ear. Even so long after the memory, the darkness of her eyes had never left Hermione’s nightmares.
“I’m leaving,” Hermione told Luna, ignoring Malfoy and the other boy. “Don’t try to stop me or you’ll regret it.”
“Hermione.” The other boy said, some soft emotion in his voice again. The way he said her name made something in Hermione revolt.
Theodore Nott. The name drifted slowly to the front of her mind as Hermione paused for only a moment before turning away from those strangely pleading deep blue eyes. Hermione ran for the large black gate with an ostentatiously elaborate M sprawled in the wrought iron.
Looking back, she saw them following her at a distance, their faces confused. Hermione didn’t make the mistake of touching the gate. Who knew what protection charms the Malfoys had sunk into it? She focused on Malfoy, pointing her wand at him again. “Open it.”
“I–” Malfoy began, and Hermione braced herself to make him knowing a denial was coming.
But Luna cut Malfoy off, her hand reaching out to grasp his shoulder from behind. “Open it, Draco.”
Hermione wanted to gag at that sight, her lip curling in distaste. Nott turned to them, his eyes wide. “What? No! Something is wrong with her; we have to get a doctor or something! Not let her run around and hurt herself!”
“Open it,” Luna ordered Malfoy again before Hermione could threaten them.
Hermione’s protego popped into existence as Malfoy’s wand rose. His hand slashed down quickly, and the heavy gate swung open slightly. Hermione stepped outside the ward and apparated away from the strange trio and the two boys who started screaming at each other.
“But though Death searched for the third brother for many years, he was never able to find him. It was only when he had attained a great age that the youngest brother finally took off the Cloak of Invisibility and gave it to his son. And then he greeted Death as an old friend, and went with him gladly, and, equals, they departed this life.” James Charlus Potter finished the story with a flourish to his children sitting on his lap, exactly as his father had told it to him.
Eight-year-old Harry stared down at the large old book in his father’s hands. His glasses, the bane of his mother's existence, were again smudged and slightly crooked as they rested on his face. “And you have the cloak, Daddy?”
“And you’ll have it too one day.” James leaned over and kissed the top of Harry’s head.
“Ugh.” Zinnia pouted. Unlike her brother, her vision was perfect, but if anything, her hair was a bit wilder. “But if Haz gets that — what do I get, Daddy?”
Harry poked his little sister’s side. “Be nice, Zinny, and I’ll share with you.”
“But I don’t want to be nice.” Zinnia poked her brother back harder. “I want something too! Like the elder wand!”
“Princess–” James began.
“You didn’t pay attention, Zinny. The wand is bad!”
“It’s not bad. Antioch was just dumb and let everyone know he had it! I would be smarter.” Zinnia had no doubt she was smarter than some dumb wizards who had made a deal with Death.
“I don’t have the wand.” James cut in before his two children could start squabbling. “But…” James smiled slowly at his daughter. “I do have something I think you’ll like…”
Both children looked up with bright eyes, curious about what other treasures their father might have.
“What! Tell me!” Zinnia asked excitedly.
“What will Zinny get?”
“There is this very special map…”
Hermione apparated to the one place she had always associated with safety and appeared in the field beyond the Burrow. She took a step and stumbled at the sudden, intense stabbing pain in her head, her hands going up to her head. It felt like nails were being driven into her skull.
The pain made it difficult to think as if her brain was being riddled with holes that her thoughts disappeared in. Shakily, she lowered her hands, about to cast her own Patronus, when the blemish-free skin of her left arm caught her attention.
Her thoughts scattered again, as her eyes remained locked on the smooth skin of her arm. Why was it gone? She drew trembling fingers over her skin, half expecting to feel the raised edges of the scar. The pain in her head was radiating down from her head like it was being carried through her veins. None of this made sense. Waking up at Malfoy Manor? Seeing Draco and Luna? The other boy with the blue eyes.
Theo.
Even thinking the name made her head throb as if her brain had turned into one big nerve ending that was being carelessly smashed.
She had to think logically. Hermione had seen several healers who had all told her the scar couldn’t be healed or removed. It remained as fresh and red as the day Bellatrix had gleefully carved it into her skin. It ached every single day. A constant thread of pain that had slowly chiseled her into the person she was now. Hermione had made her peace with the scar, and it had become part of who she was — a horrific badge of sorts. A battle scar to show how much the war had taken from her. To show what she had survived. Harry had helped her see it that way...
The door of the small healer's office clicked closed behind the specialized healer who had come highly recommended. The healer who had specialized in cursed wounds and had been Hermione's last hope of getting the scar removed, or at least lessen the daily pain. Once Hermione was left alone with Harry, she let the brave front she had kept up in front of the healer go, and her body trembled. She sniffled, trying to hold back tears as she leaned into Harry, both of them looking at the red scar on her arm. Harry reached out, gently grasping her arm to pull it closer to him, over his lap. He was careful not to touch anywhere near the cuts.
"It's so ugly, isn't it?"
Harry gave her a sharp glance, his hand tightening on her, refusing to let her pull away. “You survived, Hermione! This scar shows everyone how brave you are and what you went through. You are amazing. And I—”
“You what?”
Harry swallowed, faltering slightly as his eyes dropped to her arm, the slur bright red against her skin. His head lowered as he pressed a kiss to her wrist, just before the last letter. Then his eyes met hers again as he whispered against her skin, “I love you.”
And now the scar was gone.
Far from making Hermione happy, instead, she felt almost sick as if she had been violated. Changed again without her permission. Perhaps she had gone mental. Perhaps some Death Eater or Voldemort himself was stomping around in her head, looking for information. A sob escaped as Hermione tried to figure out what to do next. Hadn't she thought of something? Wasn't she going to get help...
She should go to Theo; he could help her.
No, she shook her head violently, trying to dislodge the thought. She wanted Harry. Where was he? Was he okay? She grasped her forearm with the missing scar and tried to think of what it all meant.
The strange swirling black cloud that had swallowed her, waking up in Malfoy Mansion, her missing scar. The strange memories that were drilling themselves inside her head.
They had won. And they hadn’t just disappeared as she thought after disrupting the timeline. Instead, they were in the fixed timeline. The memories that were battering her was her other life, trying to blend with her memories of the original timeline.
She wasn’t as good as Harry with occlumency, but she pushed them back slowly, building a wall bit by bit. At the end, she was sweating, her hands shaking, but the throbbing pain in her head had receded, finally letting her think clearly.
She lay flat on the grass staring up at the sky, trying to calm her somersaulting stomach. Finding Harry was the priority. How risky would it be to send her Patronus to him?
It shouldn’t be, right? Since there was no Voldemort.
Determination filled her, and she got back to her feet. She waved her wand, and a huge lion appeared in front of her. “Harry, I’m waiting for you at the burrow.”
When the large blue lion filled his vision, he thought he was dreaming again. Then it’s mouth opened and her voice came out.
Harry, I’m waiting for you at the burrow.
The lion landed soundlessly by his bed and turned around as if chasing its own tail before fading away.
Had that really happened? What the hell was going on tonight?
Harry lay there frozen, his thoughts racing and trying to wrestle with the impulse that wanted to jump up and go to the burrow in the middle of the fucking night. No, he wasn’t going to be able to sleep unless he went…
Hermione Granger.
The image of the brunette with her perfect curls and cool face came to mind. There had always been something about her that drew him. Then Nott stepped next to her in his recall, and Harry frowned.
Would Granger try to trick him somehow? To what purpose? They’d never even really spoken. The more Harry tried to rationalize away the impulse to go to her, the more he realized he couldn’t resist.
He sat up and grabbed his wand, putting his spectacles back on. Taking a deep breath, he opened his bedroom door, looking down the quiet corridor to make sure Ron wasn’t randomly out there waiting for him. But this time it was deserted.
The problem with the wards was more difficult but not impossible. The wards always pinged softly against his father’s consciousness — a human-sized person passing through the wards would wake him up immediately.
But, Harry had found — by innocent experimentation of course— that going through slowly a body part at a time it wouldn’t cause the wards to alert as forcefully, and as long as Harry played it right his dad should sleep through it.
After nearly twenty minutes of slowly putting one part of his body by another through the ward, he was finally on the other side and took a deep breath as the house remained dark.
He paused again before disapparating. Was he really going to the burrow in the middle of the night because Granger called him with a big fucking blue lion?
He tightened his grip on his wand. Then with a sharp crack, Harry disappeared.