After the Veil
Hogwarts, June 1996
Four months before the rift
As consciousness slowly swirled back into her, Hermione’s eyes felt heavy and useless in her skull, unable to perceive anything but dull purple smoke. She tried to open them, but found they were already open. She imagined herself gasping and raising her hands to clutch her face, but found herself unable to do either. All of her senses were operating as if she were deep underwater, far removed from sight and sound.
Her back and legs were supported by two firm arms, jostling up and down in a brisk walk, and she felt the muted vibrations of a voice through them. Soon, the arms slid away and her body was settled on a flat, firm surface. Her attention turned to a vague sensation in her mind, a dull horde of violent memories trapped behind a thin membrane, struggling to press through to the front of her consciousness. Before they could succeed, she drifted back to darkness.
The smoke floated through her dreams lazily, drifting left and then right in a fickle breeze. More murmurs. Then, an irregular crackling sound, like embers in a dying hearth. There’s still time, a soft voice whispered to her. A vague opening started to appear through the haze. A door? No, an open arch. There’s still time to save him, the voice insisted. Her point of view lurched upward, now suspended from an invisible ceiling, and she saw herself seated on a polished stone below. She was only a child, too young even to know she was a witch. “But, I don’t even know that he’s dead,” responded the young Hermione in a monotone. The murky smoke swayed in and out of the arch hesitantly, seemingly contemplating her words. It swirled at her feet, then suddenly uncoiled like a snake, blowing fiercely past her ears. SAVE HIM.
Hermione snapped awake, terrified. Immediately, she wished for the numbness to return. Shouting, crying, and moans of pain echoed off the vaulted ceiling. She focused her eyes to see Neville Longbottom, sitting on a bed across an aisle, attending to bandages on his nose. She took in a breath and felt instant agony — a chasm in her chest, drawing the air from her lungs to fuel an intense burning sensation. Stunned, she reached for her neck with both hands, fighting for oxygen. The purple smoke crept into the edges of her vision again.
“Aerem Aperio!” Madam Pomfrey’s stern incantation breathed life back into her. Hermione closed her eyes and felt her ribcage expand and contract, some kind of dark magic pressing hot needles into her skin from the inside with each breath. The pain was still severe, but no longer debilitating. Still dazed, remembering nothing, she struggled to understand the chaos around her. She recognized the Hospital Wing, at least. But what had happened to her? Who or what was the voice in her dream? And who was she supposed to save?
“She’s had the worst of it,” Remus Lupin’s familiar voice whispered to the matron as Hermione lay catching her breath. “She’d be dead if it weren’t for her Silencing Charm.”
“A silent curse did this?” Madam Pomfrey asked, incredulous. “Who would even cast such a spell, let alone on a child?” Hermione felt Pomfrey’s light touch on her chest, examining her. “You can’t feel a thing on the surface, and yet on the inside…”
“…will I be alright?” Hermione managed to croak.
“Well of course you will, dear, you know they don’t let just any old witch run this place,” Pomfrey retorted impatiently. Lupin smiled wryly and made a polite exit, moving swiftly to triage the other patients. Pomfrey cleared her throat and sat up even straighter. “Now, if you’ll allow me… Vulnera Sanentur!”
A curious silver light emitted from the matron’s wand, splitting into seven delicate strands and slowly falling to Hermione’s skin like spiderwebs. She felt a warm sensation as the spell found its way to her injuries, slowly undoing the damage. After a few moments, Pomfrey lifted her wand, ending the spell. The mysterious smoke was completely gone and Hermione could fill her lungs again. She took a few breaths apprehensively. Feeling no more pain, she asked, “Is the curse gone, then?”
Madam Pomfrey gave a small nod. “I believe most of the damage is repaired. Still, as skilled as I am, I’m afraid it’s not quite so simple.” She looked up to Lupin, standing nearby, who nodded and gestured with his wand at the supply cabinets in the corner. Hermione watched the drawers shuffle and eject ten vials holding various potions into a neat tray, which then floated over to rest at the foot of her bed. Some of the potions looked downright horrid, and Hermione looked back at the matron with a wince.
“Once a day, dear, and make sure you take all ten.” Her eyes lingered on the most atrocious-looking one, a perfectly clear liquid with bright red chunks of what seemed to be raw meat floating in it. She cleared her throat. “Perhaps best to use a tongue-numbing charm first. And don’t let that one mix with this one,” she instructed, pointing to a viscous blue slime. “Your molars might fall out.” Hermione thought wryly of her parents, Muggle dentists who would not approve of her losing teeth at school. She felt a pang of homesickness, for her parents, and for their small, non-magical world, where sixteen-year-olds aren’t expected to contend with lethal curses, memory loss, mysterious voices, or magical purple smoke.
Dutifully, she downed each of the potions, ruefully wondering whether the person who tried to kill her would soon have their way after all. Madam Pomfrey nodded with approval and turned away, striding across the Hospital Wing to a bed near the door. As she went, she flicked her wand in the direction of Neville’s nose, causing a crackling noise followed by a gasp and a sneeze. Hermione’s eyes followed her and recognized the mop of flaming red hair sticking out from behind where Lupin was standing. What happened to Ginny? She scanned around the room for the first time. Ron, Neville… her eyes paused on the bed next to hers, where Luna Lovegood was seated bolt upright, anxiously fiddling with a golden trinket. Their eyes met and Luna nodded solemnly.
“You’re alright then, Hermione Granger?” she offered in a songbird voice. Hermione nodded slowly, with a growing feeling that she was forgetting something important. She still remembered nothing. Why isn’t Harry here? she wondered suddenly.
“Hermione! Oh, it’s fantastic you’re awake! How do you feel? Do you remember what’s happened at all?” Neville burst in with a nasal half-shout, still rubbing the bandages on his nose. He grabbed a nearby wooden chair and scooted it backwards between the girls’ beds, his hands gripping the back like a prairie dog as he plopped down, ready for gossip. Hermione realized he had been waiting impatiently for Madam Pomfrey to finish her treatment so he could talk to Luna, who had been the only other student not incapacitated.
“Neville, I don’t remember anything,” Hermione said slowly, still grasping for clarity. He immediately started in, his words flying at her with blistering speed, something about the Ministry of Magic and Voldemort and Dumbledore and a prophecy, all jumbled together incomprehensibly. He lost himself on a tangent on several occasions, opportunities for Luna to chime in with emotional support.
“I really think they ought to redo the tilework in the Ministry, now that I think about it,” he opined, his nervous energy spilling over. “It’s a miracle the Minister doesn’t slip on his robes every day. And it’s just not inviting in the least!” Luna nodded along, hands still fidgeting.
“You’re onto something there. My father has endorsed Morty’s Mystical Magma Mortar for years. We use it in the washroom and it’s rather nice in the winter, hardly ever causes burns.”
Hermione looked back and forth between them, impatiently waiting for something — anything — to make sense. Neville’s blathering, Luna’s incessant twirling of that stupid gold knick-knack, it was all too much. She stared at Luna’s hands, breathing harder. She noticed then that the trinket, no more than three inches across, had several delicate rings, all nested into each other to resemble a disc. The thin gold chain dangling from it gave it the air of a pocketwatch. It was an elegant timepiece indeed, with layers of complications sitting inside the rings, framing the central feature: a small hourglass. As Luna twirled it, though, the sand in the hourglass remained still, defying gravity. It was strikingly familiar, but Hermione still couldn’t place it.
“…and whose brains do you suppose those were, anyway?” Neville was carrying on. “It’s not proper for the government—“
“Luna, where did you get that?” Hermione interrupted sharply. The Ravenclaw girl looked up absentmindedly, then followed Hermione’s gaze to her hands, which she had forgotten about.
“Oh, I suppose something knocked me out in the fight. I woke up in the Time Room and saw this dreamy little contraption on a shelf. I thought it might like to come with me out of that dreadful place.”
Hermione’s eyes widened. The Time Room… the Time Room! At once, the thin wall in her mind finally collapsed, and memories rushed her like a herd of centaurs. Harry, fainting in the Great Hall during exams, and then shouting at them about his vision of Voldemort capturing Sirius. And then Kreacher, in Dolores Umbridge’s fireplace, cackling and telling Harry that Sirius had gone. Umbridge herself catching them in her office, and Professor Snape feigning to help her with the fake Veritaserum. The Forbidden Forest, and Grawp, the towering giant. The eerie thestrals and their flight to London. The forboding, empty Atrium of the Ministry of Magic. The inscrutable doors of the Department of Mysteries. Death Eaters ambushing them in the Hall of Prophecy, Lucius Malfoy’s twisted smirk. Running through the Brain Room, and the Time Room. Antonin Dolohov, the arrogant psycopath, and the purple flame of his silent curse. “oh!” she had said in surprise, as the flames took hold. She remembered it all now. Time to save him, the odd voice echoed again in her mind. I don’t even know that he’s dead.
Panicked, Hermione bolted up in her bed. She searched around the room rapidly, trying to catch a glimpse of the one student she hadn’t seen earlier. “Where is Harry?” she demanded, looking back and forth between the other two, who glanced at each other nervously.
“H-he’s okay, Hermione,” Neville responded at last. “The Order came to save us, a-a-and Dumbledore was there, and he scared off Voldemort, a-a-a-and they brought us back here. Harry wasn’t hurt—I think he’s with Dumbledore now, in his office.” He stammered through the good news, rushing to fend off the worry he could see in Hermione’s intense expression.
Hermione let out a breath, her face relaxing slightly. But the words from earlier still haunted her. “So… nobody is dead then?” At this, Neville and Luna both looked down, answering her question conclusively with their silence. Overhearing them, Lupin quietly returned to Hermione’s bed, leaving Ginny with Madam Pomfrey.
“I think it’s best if I field this one,” he said tactfully, making quick eye contact with Luna, then Neville. He turned to Hermione and gently gripped her hand with both of his. “Hermione, you have been through a great deal, and you must concentrate on your own recovery. There will be time for proper grief when you are healed.” He lifted a hand for silence as she began to protest. She saw him hesitate then, his pale, tired eyes welling slightly. He continued, in a measured tone, “Still, you deserve to know that Sirius was killed by his cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange, in the battle at the Ministry.”
Hermione shook her head in silence, looking deeply for any sign that what Lupin had just said wasn’t true. She found none. The tears came then, along with rage. She had been right all along, it was just a trick, Voldemort had gotten the best of Harry. But for it to go so far that the thing Harry feared most, that he tried to prevent, came to pass in exactitude… it was unbearable.
She buried her face in Lupin’s robe then, and he embraced her, tears falling freely down his weary face. “I could have stopped him but I didn’t!” she cried. “I knew it was a trick! Why didn’t I stop him!?” Lupin squeezed her harder for a moment, then gently took hold of her shoulders and leaned back.
“Hermione, you are a wonderful girl.” He paused to wipe away tears. “And extraordinarily capable — but this was beyond even your ability to prevent. This prophecy business was a heavy matter, involving two of the most powerful wizards of any era. And Sirius, like Harry, was terribly reckless, as he always has been.” He stopped again, choking back a sob. He gathered himself for a moment.
“In the end, Hermione, our friends are accountable for their own actions. We cannot take that responsibility for ourselves. Please always remember that,” he pleaded. “It may save you a great deal of heartbreak over the long years.” He clasped her shoulders one last time and stood up, dusting off his robes. “I’m afraid the two Weasleys need more medical attention, and Madam Pomfrey is only one person. Remember, there will be time enough to grieve Sirius Black. For now, enjoy the company of your friends, and rest your mind and body.” He nodded to Luna, then to Neville, and departed.
Her world spinning again, Hermione slumped over, wincing at the dull pain in her ribs. Harry would be devastated — she knew that much. Sirius was everything to him, perhaps the only positive role model left in his life. She looked at Neville and Luna, defeated. But then, like a gentle tug on her robes, she remembered the voice. Time to save him, she repeated to herself. Time! Her memories collided with reality once again, producing a singular fact: Luna was holding a Time-Turner. A hopeful thought jolted up Hermione’s spine, cutting through the murk of her nascent grief. And with it, the beginnings of a plan.
SAVE HIM.
“Neville, I need you to do something for me,” she commanded in a hushed voice. “Anything,” he replied, surprised. She continued, “Go to Harry’s trunk in the dormitories. Fetch me all the blank parchment you can find. It has to be from his trunk; no other parchment will do. And feel around — there’s an Invisibility Cloak in there somewhere, and I need that too.” Neville nodded quickly and darted to the door. Hermione turned to Luna.
“Luna, I need that trinket, it’s terribly important.” Luna handed it over promptly, looking faintly sad despite her friendly smile. Hermione added, “and I need you to promise to tell no one about it.” She thought about Harry again, and what the reckless boy might do with a Time-Turner in grief. Worse, she worried about giving him false hope. She couldn’t tell him anything until she talked to Dumbledore first.
“Of course,” Luna agreed dreamily, as if she had already forgotten about it. Hermione hid the Time-Turner away in her robes and waited impatiently for Neville’s return, trying to ignore the moans of pain from Ginny and Ron. Finally, the hospital wing doors creaked open again, and Neville bustled in with an armful of folded parchment. “I’ve got it,” he whispered, laying the pieces out on Hermione’s bed. Pomfrey and Lupin were focused on attending to Ginny and Ron and hadn’t even looked up as Neville departed and returned.
“I solemnly swear I’m up to no good,” Hermione intoned quietly, pointing her wand at each piece in turn, until the telltale ink of the Marauder’s Map scribbled itself into existence. She gathered it up with the Time-Turner and the cloak, stuffing the rest of the parchment under her bed to avoid Lupin’s suspicion. She looked at the others one last time.
“This will just take a moment. Thank you both so much, you don’t know how helpful you’ve been.” Neville nodded vigorously and Luna smiled serenely. Hermione pocketed the map and the timepiece, then pulled the cloak over herself and slid out of bed. Her legs wobbled and she felt the potions slosh around inside her. She swallowed and kept moving, knowing this was a critical moment. As she rounded the foot of her bed, she grabbed a fistful of sheets and lifted them up for a moment, then dropped them again. Then she glanced at the clock, noting the time. Pleased with herself, she smiled, then carried on.
She walked to the hospital wing door and waited for an opportunity to open it without being heard. She looked over to Madam Pomfrey, standing over Ginny’s bed. Ginny’s foot was pointed in not quite the right direction, and she winced as the matron explained how she would fix it.
“I know you’re nervous, dear, but you’ll hardly feel a thing. It’s really quite simple, I would have done it already if I weren’t busy with your brother. Cover your ears now, there will be a couple of noises…” The matron pointed her wand, Ginny clapped her hands to her ears, and Hermione readied herself at the door.
CCRRAAAAACCKK! Hermione pulled the door ajar and slipped through, waiting a moment on the other side.
CRUNCH— She pulled the door shut, trying not to retch.
The hospital wing now behind her, Hermione peered through the torchlit hall, absorbing the eerie silence. She was exhausted from everything that had happened since she had slept last. She almost laughed to herself — it felt like weeks ago, but they had taken their O.W.L.’s that afternoon. It had been such an ordinary day. Her greatest concern when they woke up had been History of Magic. And now, Sirius was dead, and she was trying to save him with a Time-Turner. Again, she thought wryly, now walking to Dumbledore’s office, safe under Harry’s Invisibility Cloak. I’m going back in time to save Sirius again.