Merlin, we are so fucked.
It had been three days.
Three days since Ron had left them. Left Harry. Left her. It left a bitter taste of acid and metal on Hermione's tongue. The tip of her wand buzzed with her violent anger anytime she let her thoughts wonder to the missing third. No longer was she going to cry about a belligerent fool who couldn't be bothered with table manners. If he wanted to run off and stupidly get himself killed, then who was she to get in the way. She fiddled with the chain around her neck. The weight of the time turner easing her nerves.
The day Ron left she had sat with the stupid thing for what felt like hours in hopes of turning it, but it never budged. Poor Harry had pulled her hands into his and pleaded with her to stop. They sat in silence while she cried humiliated, and grief ridden for hours afterwards until finally she got up. They packed up the tent, ate a few bites of stale bread, and began hiking for a better spot to appartate away.
She was going to be okay. They both were. All they needed was a bit more faith.
Because men like Albus Dumbledore, in Hermione's opinion had hardly ever been wrong. The old wizard was always a step or two ahead with a few witty tricks up his sleeve. He was competent. There were very few people she looked up to. He had been one.
Though, leaving in her care a busted time-turner and a book of fairytales meant for young children however, made her faith in him waiver just the tiniest bit. The book had to be translated. The runes weren't hard to break down, but it was tedious and took a lot of concentration. Something she didn't have a lot to spare. The time-turner though had come as a surprise. The Ministry had claimed them all destroyed after the incident in the Department of Mysterious. To think, Dumbledore had held onto to this one.
It looked different than the one she used in her Third Year. There were three dials. Not one. The rings around it had been frozen in place like someone had casted a sticking charm mid spin. No matter the spells she carefully threw out it. It wouldn't fucking budge. It was infuriating.
They had been on the run for weeks, maybe even months. Days had a weird thing of blending together when you were hungry, tired and afraid. The few books Hermione had been no help in fixing the blasted time device. The Ministry had a heavy restriction on anything related to time magics. She could only find vague passages and single sentence mentions. But its mystery had provided her the necessary distraction. Merlin knew she needed it more than ever now.
The wind blew a chill down her back. Her thin cardigan was barely doing anything for her. But the frigid temperatures helped cool her temper.
They're camp site was set up in the moors of Ireland. The heather plants tickling her thigh as she sat outside the tent. A gentle breeze freed rebellious wisps of curls from her hair clip. Buffs of white passed from her lips as she breathed, and her nose felt the nip of the chilly night.
It would have been peaceful if she didn't feel the sharp ache of stress biting into her shoulders. She rubbed at her neck. The tension tight enough she felt like it could snap. They were almost out of food, out of time and at their wits end. Nothing had prepared them for this. All of the problems and dangerous situations she'd been in through the years couldn't match this. Never had Hermione felt so helpless.
All that kept her sane was the tiny bit of hope the people she cared about would come out of this alive.
"Mione," the simple nickname came as a whisper from behind her. She looked back to meet the green eyes of her best friend. They were dull and haunted. Dark bags weighing them down. Hermione tried a small smile, the tightening of her chapped lips cracking the fragile skin. If only she had thought to bring lip balm. Spells and charms could only go so far before something unfortunate happened. Like her lips falling off. Though on the list of all her problems, losing her lips wasn't even on it.
"Hey," she croaked. Her voice felt hoarse and foreign. But with that single word, she could see the hard lines of Harry's face lighten. He had been worried. Worried about her. Guilt struck her then at the realization. This was the first time she had spoken a word since Ron left. Her throat tightened; Merlin knew he had enough troubles weighing his mind.
"Soups done. It isn't very good, but I tried." He opened the tent flap and tilted his head towards the kitchen area, "I set the table if you'd like to join."
Hermione nodded not trusting her voice. Neither of them spoke when Ron left. Her equally wild hair companion had always been considerate. Always playing the mediator between his two hotheaded friends. Harry had always been the emotionally intelligent one. The fear of crying clenching her vocal cords taut. Why couldn't she lessen his burden? How could she? Everyone was willing to die for him. With every lost no matter if he was acquainted or not weighed heavy in his heart. He truly cared. Curling her arms into herself tighter, she shifted on to her feet and tucked under Harry's arm. Eating something would help. If not for her; for him.
"Stay right there for a mo." Harry rushed past her towards the small table. Pulling out a chair, he motioned for her to sit. Normally, she would scold him. She was perfectly capable. But, out in the wilderness for so long had ripped almost all of her stubbornness. The small gesture immediately made her chest warm. With a small smile she sat letting him push her in. The tension from her shoulders easing.
The bowl in front of her was filled with a watery broth and a few pieces of chicken and rice. It wasn't perfect but it was enough. No one could afford to be picky. Especially since food was scarce. They would have to forage soon.
"It looks wonderful Harry." She waited until he was sat across from her before she dug her spoon in.
"You don't have to lie to me 'mione. We both know we're terrible cooks." He laughed lightly.
"Speak for yourself, I happen to be a wonderful cook." She stuck out her tongue a teasing smile lighting up her features.
"You're brilliant but we both know you've never given the time of day to domestic and homemaking spells." He mused.
"I knew I should have snagged a copy or two of Witch Weekly." Hermione joked back.
"You would rather be caught dead then having your nose stuffed into," he raised his hands quoting " a sorry excuse for a witch's time."
"Who wants to read about the latest gossip? There're more important things to do with one's time. Like studying."
Harry made a thoughtful noise. The back of his wrist coming up to hide his smile, " but how can one expand one's mind if they aren't willing to read all different types of sources."
"Using my own words against me I see."
"I'm only quoting from the original material. Sensible advice if you ask me."
They threw jokes back and forth like that until their broth was cold and the weight on her chest loosened. Hermione took first watch and Harry laid in the small cot to get a wink of sleep. Now, she sat at the edge of the small wards around the camp. Fiddling with the chain around her neck.
The fire burning in front of her warmed her nose. Small embers floated and smothered out in the wind. If she closed her eyes, maybe she could convince herself she was in the common room. A good book in her lap, the fireplace crackling and a fresh apple in her hand.
Click.
It was subtle. Almost indistinguishable from the ambience of her surroundings. A twig in the distance? Her heart dropped. She could only hear the gentle sway from branches above her.
Click.
There it was again. This time a little louder. She strained her ears for it. It sounded close. Like it was under her nose. Her eyes shot down to her feet. Only moist soil and grass.
Click.
Awareness zapped down her spin. She looked to her chest.
Click.
Her time turner. It was her time turner.
Click.
Before a shout could pass her lips, everything started to shift. She couldn't tell the difference between what was up or down. Was this how Alice felt while falling down the rabbit hole? Colors swirled together until her eyes where staining to distinguish what she was looking at or where she was. Hermione wanted to get sick. This was worse than flying. This was worse than traveling by portkey. She couldn't think of anything to compare this too other than the Orbit at the fair. The one that strapped you in and spun you upside down until you were dizzy but so much worse. She wanted to purge her stomach so maybe the awful twisting of her gut would ease.
But as soon as it had happened it stopped, ending with her flat on her ass. Even with the ache in her tail bone, she could appreciate solid ground even if it was wet and a little muddy. It wasn't until she got a good look around did reality start catching up to her.
It didn't take a genius to know she was in graveyard. A very poor kept one at that. The grass was overgrown, and several headstones were crumpled heaps on the ground.
Hermione felt her chest tighten and was painfully aware of her thunderous heart. Remain calm, she told herself, sensible people don't panic. They think.
She put a hand through her rough curls hopping to gain a semblance of control. She focused on the gentle pulling of her hair and the pressure of her finger dips digging into her scalp. Once her breathing calmed, she heard a pop of someone arriving nearby.
She furnished her wand no one would hear her with a careful silencing charm on her shoes. Next was a disillusionment spell, one she dug out from the Black archives, a powerful illusion only those she looked in the eyes would break the enchantment. Ducking down, she accessed the area. As her eyes scanned over a rusted metal sign, she felt her stomach drop.
Little Hangleton Cemetery.
"I-Impossible." Bolting upright, she wrung her hands together. There was no way she could be here. Her carefully crafted wall of calm crumbled into ruin. This went against everything she knew about time turners and time travel. Hermione bit down on her lip while her fingers tugged at the ends of her brown hair. There had to be an explanation. If she thought hard about it enough, she would solve it.
Another pop startled her enough to put all of her desperate thoughts back behind her wall. She could be in danger. Real danger if she was correct. Hermione tightly grasped her wand and slowly went to investigate. There were hushed voices. Just two of them. Sighing out in relief, she felt confident in her dueling skills. With a little bit of cleverness, she could take them.
"We have to get back now." Hermione stopped in her tracks. This was a voice she could recognize almost anywhere. It was Harry. Peeking out behind a statue, all color and warmth drained from her. Cedric Diggory, a dead man, was standing just a few feet away from her.
"What are you talking about?" Cedric looked around his blonde eyebrows knitted together. A visibly shaky hand ran through his hair.
A flash of light caught her attention to a cauldron. Behind it laid a mausoleum, its heavy craved door creaking open slowly revealing Peter Pettigrew. The traitor was holding a black mass of robes. She sunk down to a crouch. This was the night Cedric died. She was royal fucked.
"Harry what is it?"
Peeking out from behind the stone, she saw Harry on his knees bent over. Stumbling over herself, she started to rush towards her fallen friend. Until she stopped a phrase crashing through to the front of her mind. Terrible things happen to Wizards and Witches that meddle with time.
"Get back to the Cup!" Frustrated tears fell down her cheeks. It took all of her will power to stay rooted to the spot. She was useless. All she was good for was watching her best friend cry out in pain. His hands ripping at his dark strains. Forcing her eyes away from Harry, she focused on the man beside him. Cedric was crouching over top of Harry. The Hufflepuff's eyes were wide with terror, but his brow set in determination. A gentle hand on Harry's shoulder. Her heart dropped further into her stomach. He was comforting Harry. She can almost hear the shaky breath he takes before he stands. His wand ready for battle.
"Who are you? What do you want?" Cedric sounded so confident. So assured he could win. This compassionate and foolish man was going to die. He was going to die right in front of her. Her vision blurred. She felt hopeless. Utterly hopeless.
Then she hears it. An awful rasp like a smoker gasping for air. Kill the spare.
Suddenly, everything was in slow motion. She saw the spell leave the rats wand. Green and eerie. Cedric wouldn't be fast enough. Adrenaline surged her forward before she could think of the consequences. As her arms wrapped around his torso, she felt the crackle of energy from the spell tickle her back. Her only lucid thought was hoping she was faster.
"Stay still or we're both dead." Hermione prayed her voice reached his ears. The only proof he was alive was his thundering heartbeat under her ear.
"No, Cedric!" any relief she had felt was short lived. Her best friend still had to confront Voldemort. Even if she were to interfere all she would prevent was the inevitable. He would comeback a different way. A way that would diverge the timeline too severally. A timeline she definitely wouldn't recognize.
Do it now, the awful voice hissed.
Hermione heard crackling stone and the sounds of Harry struggling. She couldn't see anything. Not with the way her head was tucked on Cedric's chest. the unpleasant slosh of thick liquid hitting the sides of the metal cauldron made her tremble. Voldemort would be reborn, and she was here to witness it all.
"Bones of a father, unwillingly given," Pettigrew let out a nasally giggle. A yellowed bone emerged from a grave right in front of her nose and levitated behind her. Another sickly slosh came from the cauldron.
"Flesh of a servant willingly sacrificed." The awful swish of a knife and a muffled sob pierced her ears. Squeezing her eyes shut she dug her face into the jersey under her.
"Blood of the enemy forcibly taken." She felt a shutter under her. Pressing herself flatter against Cedric, she slipped into her mind and reached out for his.
Stay down Cedric. Please, just stay down.
She berated herself as Harry cried out in pain. She was powerless. There was no way to help Harry without revealing herself. Without altering everything she knew would come to pass.
Harry lives, she chanted to herself. Harry lives.
"The dark lord shall rise again." the glee from the rat mad her want to throw up. blistering heat washed over her, the night sky glowing orange. All of her breath was squeezed out of her. The amount of dark energy in the air was palpable on her touch. Suffocating her. It was worse than having Slytherin's locket weighing down on her neck. It was worse than any sensation she had experienced. Her mouth felt dry and moist at the same time. Hermione closed her eyes again.
In. Out. Focus.
She focused on her wall again. Building it high. With every brick she placed she felt her resolve strengthen.
"Oh, such a handsome boy." Her eyes shot open. A chill washed through Hermione. An inhumanly pale foot under black robes moved Cedric's face to the side.
"How odd." Voldemort's voice was cold like she was being dunked in ice water. The skin of his ankles was translucent and horribly pale. Like fallen snow.
"Don't touch him!" Harry screamed; His voice raw and guttural.
Then she heard it. A silent click of metal turning. With a swoosh of dark robes, Voldemort left their side. But something other than the deadliest dark wizard was wrong. The time turner felt warm.
Another few clicks softly counted down her doom. She was fucked. Absolutely fucked. Her wall collapsed in on itself. She tried to scramble away but her limbs weren't listening.
With a final click, everything around Hermione began to pull away. Shapes morphed together and the only tangible means of support was Cedric. His jersey clenched in her hands.
Sweet Merlin, we are so fucked.