Through the Door
The darkness pressed against Hermione, stifling and alive. It surrounded her completely, an oppressive void that seemed to breathe along with her. Her pulse quickened, her logical mind clamouring with warnings. This is dangerous. You don’t know what’s out there. The fear of the unknown was primal, rooted deep within her.
But beneath the fear, something stirred—an instinct, raw and inexplicable. It wasn’t a voice or a command, but a pull. A warmth that seemed to guide her forward, weaving through her terror like a thread of gold in the dark. The magic in the air resonated with her own, amplifying her instincts, coaxing her to trust what she couldn’t yet understand.
Her logical side rebelled. This is madness. Turn around. Go back.
But she didn’t.
Taking a shaky breath, Hermione took another step. Then another. Her fingers grazed the rough wall beside her, seeking any kind of grounding, but the faint hum of magic beneath her skin was her only guide.
Suddenly, a whisper sliced through the silence.
“Hermione.”
She froze. Her breath caught in her throat, her heart hammering wildly. No.
“Hermione.”
It was clearer this time, achingly familiar. Tears pricked her eyes, and her hand flew to her mouth as a sob threatened to escape.
“Harry?” she whispered, her voice cracking.
A golden light began to flicker in the distance, faint but growing stronger, cutting through the void. Hermione’s breath hitched as the light revealed the outline of a figure. Her heart ached, her knees trembling as the figure stepped forward.
There he was.
Harry stood before her, bathed in soft, golden light. His jet-black hair stuck up at odd angles, as unruly as ever, and his bright green eyes shone with warmth and mischief. He looked so young, untouched by war, his boyish grin tugging at her heartstrings. It reminded her of the first time she’d met him on the Hogwarts Express, of the innocent boy who had laughed with the Weasleys, who had danced with her at Bill and Fleur’s wedding, who had clung to stories of his parents from Sirius and Remus.
But seeing him now, so full of life, only made her pain sharper.
Her knees buckled, and she stumbled forward, clutching at his robes. He caught her, his arms wrapping around her tightly, and she sobbed into his shoulder.
“He took you,” she choked out, her voice breaking. “He took you from me!”
“I know,” Harry whispered, his voice heavy with sorrow. He stroked her hair gently, his touch grounding her. “It shouldn’t have ended this way.”
They stood there for what felt like hours, Hermione clutching him as though he might disappear at any moment. Finally, she pulled back, her tear-streaked face searching his.
“How is this possible?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Harry sighed, his expression softening as he met Hermione’s wide, tearful eyes. “The magic of the castle... it heard you, Hermione. Your grief, your despair—it was so strong, so powerful, that it called on the last remnants of Hogwarts’ magic to respond. This room answered.”
Hermione’s throat tightened, and she struggled to form words. “But… why?” she whispered, her voice trembling.
“To give you a chance,” Harry said, his tone filled with a quiet conviction. “A chance to change everything. To make a world where things don’t end like this. Where we don’t lose everyone we love. Where you don’t lose... me.”
Hermione’s breath hitched, and her logical mind immediately went into overdrive. “Harry, that doesn’t make sense,” she said, shaking her head. “Time travel doesn’t work that way. You can’t just—just change things! It’s dangerous! The rules—”
“Rules?” Harry interrupted, raising an eyebrow. “Hermione, since when have I ever followed rules?”
“That’s exactly the problem!” she shot back, a flicker of exasperation breaking through her tears. “You’re always the one dragging me into rule-breaking! First year, sneaking around after curfew. Second year, the bloody basilisk. Third year—don’t even get me started on the Firebolt! And let’s not forget the time-turner incident!”
Harry’s lips twitched into a small, boyish grin that reminded her so painfully of the boy she had first met on the Hogwarts Express. “You’re welcome for saving your life, by the way.”
She huffed, folding her arms across her chest even as a tear slid down her cheek. “That’s not the point, Harry! You—”
“You’re the one who always figures it out,” he interrupted again, his grin fading into something softer. “That’s why I trust you. I’d only trust you with this.”
His words stole the breath from her lungs, and for a moment, she stood frozen, the weight of his faith pressing down on her. “But I don’t know if I can do this,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “What if I fail? What if I make things worse? The prophecy—it came true in this timeline. Won’t it just happen again?”
Harry’s expression darkened slightly, and his jaw tightened. “You need to keep an eye on Dumbledore.”
The name caught her off guard, and she blinked. “Dumbledore? Why? What does he have to do with this?”
“He was the first to hear the prophecy,” Harry said, his tone edged with frustration. “He’s the one who put everything into motion. There’s more to this than you know, Hermione. Dumbledore... he’s not as infallible as we once thought. Just... watch him. Don’t let him steer things in the wrong direction.”
Hermione’s mind raced, grappling with the implications of Harry’s words. She tried to push aside the growing unease, her logical side screaming that this was a terrible idea.
“Harry,” she said slowly, her voice thick with doubt. “If I go back… I’ll be changing things, creating an alternate reality. I’m not even sure that’s possible! And even if it is, won’t there be consequences? What if something worse happens?”
Harry stepped closer to her, his eyes gentle but filled with resolve. “Hermione,” he said softly, “this isn’t about creating paradoxes or messing with timelines. It’s about giving everyone—including yourself—a chance at something better. The magic that brought you here, it’s not bound by those rules. This isn’t just time travel—it’s something bigger. Something different.”
Hermione frowned, her mind still battling with itself. “Different how?”
“This isn’t about going back and trying to live by the same rules,” Harry explained. “This will be a new timeline, a new universe. A clean slate. It won’t erase what happened here, but it will create a world where we can win sooner, where fewer people have to die.”
Her lip quivered as she searched his face. “But what if it’s not the same? What if it’s not… you? What if you’re raised differently, or the circumstances change so much that you’re not my Harry?”
Harry’s gaze softened, and he smiled, a touch of mischief creeping into his expression. “Come on, Hermione, give me some credit. You’re forgetting something.”
“What’s that?”
“You’re what made me me,” he said simply. “It was your influence—your brilliance, your heart, your stubbornness—that shaped who I became. With you there from the start, I know I’ll turn out all right.”
Her resolve wavered, but fear still gnawed at her. “I don’t know, Harry. What if I make things worse?”
“You won’t,” he said firmly. “I trust you. You won’t get it wrong.”
Tears welled in her eyes again. “I’m scared, Harry. I’ve never done anything without you. You’ve always been our leader. You’ve always led us.”
Harry smiled, his expression softening. “That’s where you’re wrong, Hermione. I’ve always followed you.”
“What?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
“You were the one who figured out the Potions riddle in first year,” Harry said. “You discovered the basilisk in second year. You led us through the Time-Turner in third year. You brewed Polyjuice Potion, you found Horcruxes... you’ve always been the one who guided me. I’d have never succeeded without you.”
Hermione’s lip quivered as she stared at him. “I don’t know if I can do this,” she said softly.
“You can,” Harry said firmly. “You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known. And I need you to do one more thing for me.”
“What?”
“Make a life for yourself,” Harry said. “Don’t just focus on the bad parts. Find happiness. Love. Live your life. You deserve that.”
Her tears spilled over as she shook her head. “I don’t want to do it without you.”
“You won’t,” Harry said, his voice gentle. “I’ll always be with you, Hermione. In everything you do.”
The golden light around them began to intensify, enveloping Harry in its glow. He pulled her into one last hug, his arms strong and steady.
“Trust me,” he whispered. “One last time.”
And then, he was gone.
The light swelled, blinding her, and Hermione felt herself being pulled by an invisible force, her body weightless and her mind reeling. She closed her eyes, clutching at the last lingering warmth of Harry’s presence as the magic surged around her.
When the pull ceased and her feet touched solid ground, she opened her eyes cautiously.
She was surrounded by towering trees, their bare branches stretching toward a pale, overcast sky. A chill lingered in the air, carrying the scent of damp earth and fallen leaves. Hermione’s breath caught as she recognized the quiet beauty of the Forest of Dean.
Her knees wobbled, and she stumbled forward, placing a hand against the rough bark of a tree to steady herself. The memories of this place hit her like a tidal wave—the dance by the tent, the way Harry had pulled her close, offering a fleeting moment of hope in their darkest hour. She remembered the promise she had made to him that night, the vow that she would always stand by his side, no matter what.
Tears welled in her eyes as she looked around, the ache in her chest intensifying. It was as though the forest had absorbed their laughter, their pain, their resolve, and now it offered her solace once again.
She sank to the ground, her fingers clutching the damp leaves and moss. The weight of Harry’s trust pressed down on her, mingled with the enormity of the task ahead.
“I’ll stand by you, Harry,” she whispered into the stillness, her voice breaking. “Even now.”
A soft breeze rustled through the forest, brushing against her face like a gentle caress. It felt almost like a reassurance, as if Harry himself were still with her, urging her forward.
Hermione wiped her tears, determination hardening her features. She took a deep, steadying breath and rose to her feet.
The world around her was the same yet different, familiar yet unfamiliar. Somewhere out there was the beginning of a story that had not yet been written, and she would ensure it unfolded differently this time.
With a final glance around the Forest of Dean, she turned and took her first step into the unknown, Harry’s voice echoing in her heart: Trust me, one last time.