logistics

In August of 2003, the first international laws regarding time-travel went into effect, and the first time Hermione Granger had read them, she laughed.

Despite how the laws had been advertised, they didn’t actually restrict the usage of time magic all that much. Sure, they tightened restrictions on who could apply for and use time-turners, prohibited private ownership of time-turners, and prohibited so called “large-scale” time travel (“large-scale” being defined as seventy-two hours—the point at which a new timeline would split off from the original), but the largest loophole had to do with the enforcement of the laws.

For one, the ICW wasn’t actually capable of enforcing the laws before they went into effect, meaning that any time-travel that occurred before or traveled to a time before the laws went into effect could not actually be prosecuted. They also couldn’t be used against anyone who was using any method besides a time-turner.

All of this is to say, that when Draco got twitchy about the legality of The Plan (unsurprisingly, he’d had rather more reservations about the whole thing once he’d sobered up), Hermione and—somewhat surprisingly, Harry—already had their arguments ready. Hermione even had a copy of the laws annotated and stored in the latest version of her beaded bag, along with most of her belongings.

While she had been living with Harry in Grimauld Place for the last decade, she had never quite gotten out of the habit of carrying just about everything she owned with her at all times. It was especially useful with how often she traveled for work, and Harry had caught onto the habit as well, after the war. It was just simpler that way, and soothed some of the restlessness that came with not knowing where they’d get to sleep the next night.

Ron, in many ways, had drifted apart from them during the Horcrux hunt and had never quite drifted back. Sure, they were all still friends, still met up for drinks when they could, but he lived apart from them, spending most of his time with George helping to manage the joke shop. He wasn’t so…stuck, perhaps, as they were.

While Ron spent his days helping his brother make the world laugh, Hermione and Harry had never stopped fighting that war, not really.

As an Auror, Harry still saw muggle-baiting, still saw Death Eaters who had their claws deep enough in the pockets of the right people in the ministry who knew how to make evidence go missing, make witnesses clam up, covered their tracks well enough that it was damn near impossible to convict them of anything.

Hermione had become a lawyer, and a staunch advocate for magical beings’ rights, as she had wanted, but it was grueling work. While she had managed to make some progress, the war had only increased tensions between those peoples who had already been discriminated against by the laws in place before 1996. Then those laws had been replaced by even more discriminatory—and frankly, oppressive—laws by Dolores Umbridge during her brief stint as head of the DMLE under the imperiused Pious Thicknese, which had yet to be repealed in the decade since.

All in all, winning the war hadn’t actually changed much, in the grand scheme of things. Sure, Voldemort was dead, along with a decent number of Death Eaters, but the status quo hadn’t really been affected in any way that mattered.

Draco hadn’t really been shocked, once they’d laid it all out for him.

“You’re still trying to approach things the muggle way,” He’d told them bluntly. “You can’t go at these things the way you could in the muggle world. The Wizengamot just doesn’t work that way. You have to make them think it’s their idea, give them reasons to support your movements that benefit them in a way they understand. For the most part, they’re all fundamentally selfish people, so you need to meet them where they are and go from there!” Draco was pacing by now, arms waving. “Honestly, your best bet would be to find a pureblood family that supports your views and work with them.”

Hermione and Harry exchanged a look. Hermione shrugged. It made sense, and really she was up for anything at this point.

“Well,” Harry said slowly, drawing Draco’s attention. “As of 1989, Sirius was the only Black of the main branch left, right?”

“Yes,” Draco nodded slowly, wary of Harry’s plans, especially after what all he had learned the night before.

“So, hypothetically, if he had a child, they would inherit the Lordship?” Harry asked.

Hermione eyed him suspiciously. “Did you get blood-adopted and never tell me?” She asked.

Harry shook his head and Hermione and Draco sighed, wondering why he was pursuing this line of questioning.

“If we were to go back to 1995,” Harry said, “Sirius would still be alive…”

Hermione’s eyes brightened as she caught onto his idea. “…And we could potentially talk him into adopting one of us!”

Draco shrugged. “Or marrying one of us. Both would solve the name issue.” Then he cocked his head. “Not that either would really be necessary, exactly, but someone who’s not a convicted criminal, and who has a legitimate family tie could shove their weight around and get his case opened back up more easily than someone without. If we could get Pettigrew, it would be even better, but someone would have to get the rat to Bones before someone higher up gets wind of that big a fuck-up, especially if he didn’t actually get a trial.”

Hermione hummed. “There’s also the matter of our identities.”

Harry and Draco winced. In some ways, it was even harder to fake your identity in the magical world than the muggle world, mainly because identification was done by blood or magic. They wouldn’t often need to use either, but if they wanted to, say, access or open a vault at Gringotts, they would need to have a sample of their magical signature on file under a true name. If they needed to visit the Ministry—which they would—they would need to register their wands at the front desk before entering.

On top of all of that, there was also the issue of their OWLs, NEWTs, and Masteries, of which they collectively had nine; Hermione having five: DADA, Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, Transfiguration, and Spellcrafting, while Harry and Draco had two each in DADA and Transfiguration and Potions and Ancient Runes respectively, all of which would be a pain and a half to either forge or get again. Theoretically, they could test out—and probably would, but the tests were so difficult that it would probably be easier (for Harry and Draco, at least) to go through their apprenticeships all over again.

After a minute of thinking, Hermione spoke, choosing the simplest place to start. “We’ll need second wands, at least.”

Harry nodded. The Ministry kept records of any wand that had held the trace, which amounted to any wand that had been bought between the ages of ten to sixteen from Olivander’s or any other reputable wand shop.  That wouldn’t actually be difficult, just annoying, since he and Hermione were particularly difficult to find a decent match for.

“So, really, it’s just the names we have to worry about.” Draco said, which was fair enough. Educational certificates could be a later issue for once they arrived in ‘95, and even then, between them all they had enough money to live on for generations.

“And our looks.” Harry added. “You and I are the spitting image of our… infamous fathers, unfortunately. Anyone even passingly familiar with either is going to be suspicious, even if we do change our names.”

There was another silence as they all considered their options.

“Have you ever considered growing out your hair?” Draco asked Harry, squinting as if trying to picture it.

Harry shrugged. “Not really.” He conjured a mirror and considered it for a moment. It would probably be easier to manage, really, even if he knew from living with Hermione that properly taking care of curly hair would be time-consuming. If he didn’t have his laurels to rest on, he would probably need to put a bit more effort into looking professional at whatever job he ended up in.

Hermione hummed, staring at Harry. “I think it’d suit you. Bet we could even get Parvati to help you figure out a decent routine for it before we go.” She bit her lip, following that train of thought for a moment. “Actually, I think her shop is closed tomorrow, so she might be able to come over and help us figure out what to do with ourselves. I’ll send her an owl?”

Draco nodded reluctantly. He really couldn’t think of a way to disguise himself that would actually suit him, and past-Gryffindor or not, Parvati Patil was a rather talented stylist.

Harry just shrugged. He didn’t really care how he looked, beyond wanting to keep his mother’s eye color.

His eyes drifted back to Draco as Hermione scribbled out her note. He hummed, a habit picked up from Hermione when he was considering something.

“What?” Draco asked, raising an eyebrow it him.

“Have you ever considered blue…hair…” Harry’s eyes widened. “We forgot about Teddy!”

Hermione dropped her quill, eyes wide. Draco paled.

Harry cursed his own stupidity.

Andromeda hadn’t been Teddy’s full-time caregiver for a few years now. Once his metamorph abilities had started getting more powerful when he was around eight, it had become too painful for her to keep him full time, but Teddy had spent the last week with her, as he usually did the last week of the month. Most of the time he lived at Grimauld—which had undergone a lot of renovation and cursebreaking before he had moved in—since Harry and Hermione were his godparents, and spent a weekend or two a month with Draco.

He was a little shit (of course he was, half-werewolf-metamorphmagus little marauder), but he was Harry’s now, and there was no way they would be leaving him behind in a separate timeline.

Hermione leaned back in her chair, humming again.

Draco and Harry turned to her expectantly.

“Well,” Hermione said, “I see no reason we couldn’t take him with us.”

Harry blinked. “Oh.” He hadn’t considered that. But, if he was Teddy, and he was going to get the chance to meet his dead parents… “Oh.”

“We need to go see Andromeda.”