Many Years Back
It will be coming up on three years now.
Hermione Granger is exhausted.
Despite her constant efforts over the last two years, there would always be more waiting for her.
As hard as it is for her to admit, she’s been trudging uphill.
Or at least, it feels that way.
The pressure of work left her in a constant state of nausea, for magic itself struggled to keep her awake. There is only so much one can do when the exhaustion stems mentally.
But, she finally did it. She had an official bill written and passed through the newly formed Wizengamot, despite a couple of opposing stragglers who made it clear that they would continue to fight her.
It helps that many British wizards are mildly terrified of her.
House elves would be slaves no longer.
With this grand achievement, Hermione can finally admit it.
She needs a break.
It was New Year’s Eve, after all. She knew her friends had been prepping for the moment the news got out. They never doubted that she could do it.
Around ten’o clock, Harry and Ginny came over to her flat to surprise her with a giant bottle of her favorite liquor, specially ordered from Germany.
Harry barged right in like he owned the place and popped the lid off the bottle.
With an eye roll, Hermione accepted the liquor and they sat down at her small kitchen table to enjoy her success.
They drank and laughed about the long and hard journey the past years have been, making fun of the cranky old stuck-ups who still refuse to change.
Ron arrived late as ever, never one to be punctual.
Slightly tipsy, Hermione went to answer the door, accidentally tripping over Harry’s thrown shoe in the process.
Gripping the door frame for support, she turned the knob and pulled the door back, making way for the last party go-er.
Ron stood there in the door way holding a massive chocolate cake, his mischievous eyes grinning down at her.
She couldn’t help but stifle a giggle.
Ron only appeared to grow more amused at this.
There was a candle on the cake. It was a massive half melted image of Dobby. The dripping wax created more wrinkles, aging the poor elf a few centuries.
Hermione shoved his shoulder lightly and beckoned him in to the kitchen.
“Ron! What happened?!”
Ginny ordered the cake herself and had a specialist make the candle art of Dobby’s face. She took care of everything except for the actual picking up process.
“I only left you alone for an hour!”
Ron grumbled and waved his hands around after lying the cake down on the table.
While Ginny poked at Ron, Hermione and Harry looked at each other with a duo of exasperated sighs.
It felt good to experience this level of care from her close friends, even with the occasional muck-up.
Looking at the cake, she knew that if Dobby were here, he would love it and most likely break out into tears.
“But, why is there a candle?”
She didn’t understand why they shoved a candle on top of it? Sure, this was a celebration, but you usually need to sing before you blow out candles.
Catching onto this train of thought, Ron wraps his arms around Hermione’s shoulders from behind and begins to belt out a bad version of “Happy Birthday Dear House Elves Freedom Act, Happy Birthday to you!”
Harry And Ginny caught on mid-sing. Unfortunately, none of them used the same words and Ron and Ginny were a bit behind on the actual wording of the muggle song, completely screwing it up.
With an evil grin, Ginny muttered out a string of curses that caused the cake to become life-like, wiggling around and shaking.
Maybe it was the alcohol beginning to hit, or maybe it was the lightening of her shoulders, but the sight of her cake dancing around her kitchen was too much for her to handle, and she couldn’t help but burst out into a loud laughter.
She felt the feeling of home.
The boys kicked on her muggle radio and they listened and danced to an overly religious station, the station that’s been stuck on for at least three months now, button unable to be turned.
Her muggle TV was already on and counting down the time till New Year hits. Sitting on her couch, her friends started counting down the seconds when it was five minutes before midnight. They couldn’t just count down like normal people.
Feeling safe and relieved, her body drifted off to sleep as she laid her head on Ron’s shoulder.
The last thing she remembers is Ron kissing her forehead with a a whisper chant of “one hundred seventy three.”
——
She wakes up to a woman screaming.
With the sunlight directly glaring into her eyes, she has to squint while holding a hand to her forehead.
Why is she on the floor? She didn’t drink that much. Well… maybe.
She looks up at the screamer who woke her up, unable to comprehend why there is a random young lady in her apartment. Is this Harry’s idea of a prank?
Where is she?
This has the same interior as her apartment, but all of the furniture is different.
Hearing multiple footsteps come running from outside the door, she gets up, thinking that maybe Harry and Ginny will come in to tell her that they accidentally sold all of her furniture or something.
But no, it’s a couple of men and women with their wands pointed directly at her.
Feeling blessed that she always carries her wand with her, even to bed, she takes out her wand from her pocket and aims it in front of her.
One of the men shuffles closer with a nasty look on his face.
“Who are you and how did you get in here?”
She doesn’t understand. She tells them as much.
The group must think she’s lying, for they close in on her. Hermione, hungover and not in the mood to take on seven people, climbs out of the window and scales down the balcony.
Luckily, she’s already had to do this a couple times before. It was George’s fault, really.
She lands on the ground and runs forward, heading to the main wizarding district just down the road in search of a stray Auror to help her get a couple of crazy wizards out of her apartment.
It’s not been that unusual for some leftover pro-Voldemort supporters to break into the housings of the Golden Trio.
Glancing around, she can’t help but notice that the buildings all look… off.
She couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was, but something felt wrong. Did Harry pay the populace to all come together and prank her? If so, she will be having very heavy and disappointing words with him.
He really should stop throwing around the Potter and Black money.
Walking past an old couple, she can’t stop her ears from overhearing a conversation. They seemed cautious with their tone, as though they were wary of being overheard.
“I still can’t believe another attack just happened. It seems like they’re becoming more and more frequent.”
“It’s almost as if they’re getting more daring. Merlin, things may just get much more worse before they get better.”
Hermione can’t help but shove her nose it, interrupting them mid-conversation.
“Attacks? What attacks?”
She hasn’t heard anything about any new attacks. Everyone was too in grief and busy rebuilding to stage another “revolution.” Plus, Harry would’ve definitely told her.
They look at her as though she were a curious specimen.
“You haven’t heard? You-know-who and his Death Eaters have been attacking left and right these days, killing and torturing.”
“Doll, how haven’t you heard of this? It’s been the main news for the past few months.”
That can’t be right.
A feeling of dread overcame her, the tingling starting in her back and making its way forward. The weightlessness of her shoulders disappeared, anchors coming back tenfold.
She sped right past them and to a newspaper stand.
The front headline read “Newest Dark Lord Strikes Again.”
In small writing right below was “January 1, 1979.”
As she looked at the date, she felt a brief dissociation hit her, similar to the feeling of being so in auto pilot mode where you have no thoughts.
She looked around at her surroundings slowly. Everything was wrong. She felt herself tip forward a bit slightly, only to rebalance herself with the balls of her feet.
She let out a low hum with a distorted breathing pattern, her bodies way of unconsciously soothing her anxiety ever since the war.
From 2001 to 1979.
For all intents and purposes, she felt like she was dreaming. There had been no logical way for this to happen. No reasoning.
She blames Harry.
The fear she experienced during Voldemort’s second reign comes back. Anger trickled in as well. She couldn’t do this again.
She didn’t want to.
This was, excuse her profanity, bollocks.
She knows the obvious next step. She’ll have to get a meeting with the Unspeakable’s through the government. Completely unfamiliar government officials and her having absolutely no background identity.
This will surely be a delightful experience.