Chapter Text
Chapter One
Harry
December, 1998
There was a loud thunk outside the front door of Number 12, Grimmauld Place.
"Ron must have missed the top step again." Hermione sighed, opening the door to reveal their friend getting up slowly from the street where he had fallen.
"You'd think that you would have learned how to apparate to the right spot by now." Harry snickered as Ron entered his house gingerly, rubbing his tailbone.
"Nice to see you too." Ron grumbled, "Merlin, this place is a mess!" The dining room was strewn with various clothes, potions ingredients and books. Many, many books. Hermione returned to her spot on the floor, and continued emptying out her beaded purse. "When you pack, shouldn't the clothes go in to the bag?"
"I haven't emptied this purse fully since I packed it," Hermione sighed, "it never seemed like a pressing issue."
"Anyway, Kreacher'll clean it up- with our help of course!" Harry hastily added when Hermione glared at him. Now it was Ron's turn to snicker.
"Lavender asked me to give this to you 'Mione," Ron tossed her a small wrapped box, tied with an enormous pink bow. Harry was glad to know that their ex-classmate's time in St Mungo's did not dampen her old style. "Christmas present. Apparently its currently summertime in Australia?"
Hermione crinkled her nose at Ron's lack of basic scientific knowledge, but smiled softly and as she unwrapped the box to reveal a pair of fancy sunglasses in her hands. "Oh, they're lovely! Ugh, I should really visit her before I leave- is she doing ok?"
"Well, she's the most chipper werewolf I've met so far, but I don't know if that counts for much given her competition." He caught Hermione's eye and added, "You know Harry, I think she would really like it if you paid her a visit." Harry shot him a confused look, but Hermione perked up.
"Yes Harry, I think that's a great idea! And while you're at St Mungo's, maybe you could also go see that witch I told you about? The one that's like a magical psychologist?"
Harry suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. Hermione had been pestering him about getting 'professional help' as she called it for months now. It had started after Harry had moved out of the Burrow and into Grimmauld place, alone. The decision raised more than a few eyebrows. He could easily afford a much nicer place, or at least one without a permanently affixed portrait of a screaming Walburga Black. But Harry liked the privacy the secrecy chams gave him, and he liked that it was in London, away from the curious stares and eager handshakes of Wizarding Britain. And away from any grieving relatives, staring at him reproachfully, the so-called 'chosen one' who spent the better part of last year in hiding while their loved ones fought and died. Or at least that's what he assumed they were thinking. It's what he would have thought.
Hermione lamented that it wasn't good for him to spend so much time alone, but she and Ron visited almost daily and for Harry, that was enough. "I'll think about it..." he muttered. Hermione looked at him suspiciously.
"Can you at least promise that you'll go to the Burrow for Christmas? It's not good for you to shut yourself off like this." She implored.
"Okay! Geez Hermione, don't you have bigger problems to worry about right now?"
Hermione still seemed unsatisfied with his response, but she dropped the subject and resumed emptying out her purse quietly. Harry suddenly felt quite guilty for snapping at her. She was leaving for Australia in less than a week and was even more highly strung than usual. She spent months learning how to undo Obliviate spells but Harry knew she was still nervous about casting it on her own parents. If she even found her parents- there was still the remote possibility that the Death Eaters had tracked them down and killed them. Needless to say, Hermione had been a bundle of nerves for a while now. Although, Harry probably shouldn't have agreed to Christmas at the Burrow, with the current state of his and Ginny's 'relationship'.
Ron, eager to break the tension, grabbed something that Hermione had just tossed out of the purse. "Really 'Mione, you packed a stop watch? What, did you think we were going to need to run laps while we were hunting horcruxes?"
"What?- Oh, that's not a stop watch. Well it is, but it's a magical stop watch. Apparently." Hermione said distractedly, pulling out a sweater from the depths of her never-ending bag. "So that's where this was!"
"A magical stop watch?"
"Remember when we were in the Ministry, and I was Umbridge's assistant?"
"Yeah. Good times." Ron shuddered.
"Well, she gave me this stop watch to take to her office after the hearing. It was found in one of those raids for unlawful magical items and you know how she has... sticky fingers. Anyway, it was in my robes when we disapparated and I was worried that some Muggle would find it if I threw it away, so I held on to it."
"Okay, but what does it do?" Harry asked, taking the watch from Ron and inspecting it. It was old and beat-up, but otherwise didn't look anything out of the ordinary. It looked like something a coach or a health teacher would carry around, with the long black strap still attached.
Hermione shrugged. "I can't remember. I'm assuming something to do with time, right? Either way, I'm pretty sure it doesn't work, aren't most of these raids are done on sketchy sellers anyway?" She paused, pondering, "Ooh, Wait! I think it was meant to be a time-turner? Ever since they all got destroyed people have been trying to re-build them from scratch, but its really complicated magic."
"Wicked!" Ron breathed. "You think it works?"
Hermione looked sceptical. "I doubt some random witch or wizard was able to recreate one of the most secretive and intricate kinds of magical objects without institutional backing. Especially in just a few years."
"Yeah, but what if does work? Could we really go back in time?" Ron said eagerly. Harry's breath hitched as he ran his fingers over the stop watch buttons. He would do anything to go back and change everything. There were so many people he could save. So much hurt he could undo. If only...
"Even if it did work- which, like I said, I really don't think it does Ron- it's illegal to time travel without Ministry approval." Hermione still looked disinterested.
"You and Harry did it in 3rd year!"
"Yes, but that was special circumstances! Sirius was going to die! And, Dumbledore signed off on it." Hermione snatched the stop watch out of Harry's hands and placed it back on the table. "Look, this isn't a good idea, ok? It probably doesn't even do anything."
"But shouldn't we try?" Harry pressed. "Think of all the lives we could save! Fred, Remus, Tonks, Sirius... hell, even Snape, I'm not picky-"
"That's not how time travel works Harry," Hermione said exasperatedly. "You can't change the past, you only get more time." She sighed. "I'm sorry. Really."
Harry slid back in his chair broodily. Ron shook his head. "If you don't think it does anything..." He began slowly. "...Then we may as well just try this thing and see what it does. Which is probably nothing."
"But it could still be unsafe! It's just not worth it!" Ron and Hermione stared each other down. As far as Harry knew, they hadn't actually started officially dating after their impassioned make-out session in the middle of the Battle at Hogwarts, though he didn't press either of his friends for details. But at times like this, when they seem to forget he's even in the room, he wished they would just hurry up and get it over with instead of dragging him into the weird flirting they always fell into.
Finally, Ron let out a beleaguered sigh. "Fine, whatever you say, Hermione." He picked up an old Charms textbook that had been scattered across the table and thumbed through it listlessly.
Hermione, pleased with herself, got to her feet. "It's for the best, really." she said placatingly, "Do you fancy getting lunch?"
Harry caught Ron's eye and they both looked down and the stop watch, then back at each other. "That's a good idea Hermione. I think Kreacher's in the kitchen anyway- maybe he wants our help?" he said innocently.
"Of course! We should ask him." eager to help the house-elf, she hurried out of the room.
As soon as she left, Harry and Ron pounced on the stop-watch. "How'd you reckon it works?" asked Ron, examining it closely. "Do we just press start? That can't be right."
"Let me try," Ron passed it to Harry. He looked at the buttons. "Okay, I think it has to been in timer mode, that makes the most sense." He pressed the TIMER button and the interface changed from '0.00' to 1.00.00.' "Maybe this is how far back in time we can go?" Harry felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. The most this watch could go back was maybe a day. Even if it did work, they couldn't go far enough back to make any real change.
Ron was undeterred. "Yeah, I think that's it!" He said excitedly. "Look, since we don't know how this thing works lets just do a short time frame. Like twenty minutes or something."
Harry, hopes dashed, decided to play along anyway; he was still was curious about this object. He carefully adjusted the timer down to 20 minutes, then looped the strap over his and Ron's heads. "Should we just go for it?" He said, a hint of anxiety in his voice.
Just then, Hermione re-entered the room. "What's taking you two so lon-" she stopped dead when she saw the two boys and the stop watch between them. "You seriously cannot be this stupid!" She lunged towards the watch to try and wrench it out of Harry's hands.
"It's now or never, mate!" Ron said hurriedly. Harry, without time to think about the consequences of what he was doing, pressed 'START' just as Hermione's hands closed around the watch and the world started spinning.
December, 1978
The Department Of Mysteries.
A woman sat alone in her office, flicking idly through a copy of Witch Weekly. She heard a noise coming from the contraption on the other side of the room. It was a little machine that looked similar to a seismograph; a weighted ball attached to a quill-tip that skated along the surface of looping parchment in a straight line. She went over to investigate, and as she neared the sound got louder. She realised it was the sound of the usually still quill-tip swinging wildly from side-to-side. The movement became more and more frantic, the rattle louder and louder until the ball flew straight off the string that was suspending it and landing at her feet.
"What the hell?"