Chapter 2
It was laughably easy for Peter to slip away from his friends and make his way to the seventh floor. He’d been told he was an awful liar, so he would’ve faced unanswerable questions from the always-curious Sirius.
But as it was, Peter had just needed to make a half-murmured excuse about going to the bathroom to Remus after classes were over. He hadn’t been able to nick the Map this time as Sirius and James had whisked it away in the morning, but he figured it wouldn’t be too hard to find that painting of dancing trolls.
Like always, he had overestimated himself.
Peter wasn’t even sure he was on the seventh floor anymore. As far as he knew, he could be on the fifth floor, or even the dungeons. Well, not the dungeons since he could see the courtyard hundreds of metres below, but it might as well have been with how lost he was.
As he turned another corner, he realised he was at a dead-end. He huffed frustratedly. The corridor was as empty as a new house. No people, no paintings, nobody he could ask for directions. Nothing.
What if he couldn’t make his way back forever? Peter thought hysterically. Just a wandering ghost, eternally haunting the halls of Hogwarts.
No, he decided. James had the Map. He could find him, even if it would take a while for him to realise Peter was gone. Reassured by that, Peter turned back and took another way.
He met surprised grey eyes.
“Oh!” Peter shrieked, tripping over himself in his haste to back away. His face burned as he looked at the person he had bumped into. He blinked. “Sirius?”
The boy stiffened and sneered. “Pettigrew.”
Peter’s eyes widened, and he scrambled to his feet. “You – you’re Sirius’ brother! Reggie, right?”
He wasn’t sure how he could have mistaken the two. For one, there was the obvious difference between tie colours. And Sirius was much more muscly than lean. Plus, he never had that cold look on his face that his brother had now.
The boy’s eyes flashed, and Peter had the feeling he had just said something dangerously wrong. “My name is Regulus,” he bit out. “Every Black bears the name of a star. Of course, a half-blood like you wouldn’t know that.”
Shame and anger burned through Peter like wildfire, surprising even himself. “You think you’re so great, do you?” he retorted. “Even your brother knew better than to follow your family traditions!”
Shock and hurt streaked through Regulus’ face, but it was quickly replaced with fury. “Sirius will know soon enough of his place in the family. Then he’ll leave you and his precious James Potter behind.”
Peter was shocked at his vehemence. The maelstrom within him was swept away, leaving behind the faint feeling of pity.
(In his mind’s eye, he remembered a whimpering woman, holding onto the pants of her husband as she barely convinced him to let her stay and take care of her child. Always clinging, unable to let go.)
Suddenly, he understood Regulus far too much. He could see the boy’s fate stretching out in front of him – doomed to a miserable life holding onto an affection that would never be returned.
“He won’t,” Peter uttered quietly, even though he knew it would be a fruitless endeavour. “The sooner you accept that he won’t be whatever you wanted him to be, the better off you’ll be.”
Regulus turned away, but not before Peter could catch the glistening of tears in his eyes. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He stalked away.
“Wait!” Peter called, stalling him. “Where…which part of the castle are we in?”
Regulus laughed mockingly. “Are you lost, Gryffindor? Are your stupid friends not here to help you?”
“Don’t call my friends stupid!” Peter said indignantly.
“Right. You’re the stupid one, aren’t you? Poor Peter Pettigrew, a coward compared to his talented friends.”
Peter flushed, but he couldn’t deny it. He knew it was the truth.
Quietly, he said, “Just…just tell me how to get back to the Great Hall. Then I’ll leave you alone.”
But Regulus didn’t answer and instead chose to walk further down the corridor. Peter rushed after him, unwilling to get himself lost again. Their footsteps echoed on the stone floor.
After a few seconds, Regulus whipped around. “Stop following me!”
Peter held his head high. “W-well, you didn’t tell me what I wanted, so it’s only logical that I follow you!”
Incredulous eyes stared back at him; a shock of true emotion compared to Regulus’ previously cool demeanour. It was at this moment that Peter could see why he had originally mistaken him for Sirius.
“I’m going to the dungeons,” Regulus said finally. “A lion wouldn’t be welcome in the snake’s den.”
Peter shivered, remembering how some older year Slytherins had tormented him relentlessly before James and Sirius befriended him. Regardless, he said, “I-I don’t have a choice. Either I follow you or I’ll get lost again. I, uh, I’ll probably know how to get back from the dungeons.”
Regulus sighed. “Stubborn Gryffindors,” he muttered. To Peter, he said, “We’re near the Astronomy tower. Go right into that corridor, then turn left. There should be a staircase that’ll lead you near the library.”
Peter nodded gratefully and made to turn away before he paused. “What floor are we on?”
“The seventh.”
“Do you…do you know the painting of dancing trolls?”
Regulus raised an arched brow, looking every bit like the pureblood heir he was. “And why would you need to know that?”
Peter broke away from his stare. “I, uh, I left something there yesterday.”
A silence.
“Tell me the truth.”
“I-I can’t.”
“And what’s so important that Peter Pettigrew must keep a secret? A prank your friends are planning, perhaps?”
Peter kept his lips shut.
The sound of footsteps neared him, and soon he could see the bottom of Regulus’ robes.
“How about this?” The Black’s voice was calculating. “I’ll tell you where that painting is, and you’ll owe me one favour.”
“That’s crazy!” Peter burst out, finally facing him. He couldn’t be indebted to a Slytherin. Who knew what he would make him do!
Regulus raised a brow, and Peter faltered.
Theoretically, he could use the Map and figure out where that mysterious door was on his own, but Peter didn’t know where it was in the first place. He hadn’t exactly been in the right frame of mind when he’d found it, and it would take ages to find that specific painting without help.
Peter took in a deep breath, his heart sinking and racing in equal measure.
“Alright,” he conceded, and he bit his lip at Regulus’ satisfied expression. “But I won’t do anything that’ll hurt my friends!”
“Of course,” he agreed readily. “Come, I’ll show you where it is.”
Peter had the ominous feeling that he had just made a deal with the Devil. “Just-just lead me part of the way, and then tell me the directions! Or the-the deal is off!”
Regulus watched him coolly. “Your business is nothing I am concerned about. Especially if it needs to be dealt with…privately.”
Realising what he meant, Peter blushed furiously. “It’s nothing like that!” Like anyone would be interested in him other than to get an in with the Marauders.
Not deigning to answer, Regulus just started walking, and Peter scrambled to follow.
---
“Why is Wormy with my brother?” Sirius gasped.
James looked up from the stink bomb he was securing to the wall. “What?”
Furious, Sirius stabbed a finger at the Map he was holding. “Look! Regulus Black and Peter Pettigrew, together on the seventh floor. What the hell is he doing with a slimy Slytherin?! My brother, no less.”
James rushed over to look. His face became grim, knowing how sensitive Sirius was about his family. Especially his baby brother. “It’s probably nothing. Maybe they bumped into each other accidentally.”
“He better not do anything,” Sirius muttered, and James didn’t know which one he was referring to. He let out a tired breath.
Sirius had been in a (understandably) foul mood, and James had just been able to coax him to get out of his head and invite him to do a prank. He had thought a happy Sirius would be easier to convince into apologising than an angry one, but it seemed all his efforts were wasted.
James’ heart sank. How much longer would this fight last? It had been two weeks, the longest the Marauders have been apart. He didn’t begrudge Remus for hating Sirius, but why did the two have to be so stubborn?
(Deep down, James kind of disliked his best friend too – nobody deserved what he had done, not even Snivellus. But he couldn’t admit that because it would drive Sirius further away, and then who knew how long until they would make up?)
“Maybe they’re having a little roll in the hay,” James suggested, trying to lighten the mood.
Unfortunately, the joke just made Sirius’ expression darken even more. “They’d better not.”
“Pads, please,” James sighed. “We can ask Wormy about it later. You have a bigger problem to solve now, don’t you?”
Sirius stiffened. “So what?” His voice was tight.
“Aren’t you guys going to talk?” he prodded.
A silence, and then, “He called me a murderer, Prongs.”
James flinched, remembering the aftermath of that night.
---
The evening after the full moon, Remus returned to the dorm. He walked across the room to his bed without saying a word to anyone else – including Sirius, whose gaze was transfixed on him, following his every move.
When Remus settled on his bed and pulled the curtains around it shut, Sirius’ face twisted through a complicated set of emotions – confusion, sadness, and finally, determination. He stalked to Remus’ and pulled apart the curtains.
“Don’t have anything to say to me?” he demanded.
Remus’ eyes were chipped ice. “I wasn’t aware there was anything to say.”
Sirius let out a rough breath and seemed to be steeling himself for something. Haltingly, he said, “I’m…sorry for yesterday. I shouldn’t have endangered your secret like that.”
Immediately, a dangerous aura filled the room, and Peter gasped. Remus’ eyes flicked with glowing amber. The werewolf was still unstable, the transformation having only happened the night before.
James nervously ran a hand through his unruly hair. “Pads, why don’t we leave it be for tonight? Moony just got out of the hospital wing.”
“It’s fine, James,” Remus said, then without looking up at Sirius, told him, “I don’t forgive you.”
“What do you mean?”
He tensed at the angry tone. “Like I said, I don’t forgive you.”
“And why not?”
“You don’t even know what you did wrong!”
“I told you I’m sorry.”
Shaking his head in disbelief, Remus said, “Sometimes, I can’t believe I’m friends with you.”
Sirius’ eyes flashed with shock, and hurt bled into his expression. “I can’t believe you just said that.”
Quick as a flash, Remus shot up from the bed and stood chest-to-chest with Sirius. In something resembling a growl, he spat, “No, I can’t believe you did something so horrible and you can’t even comprehend the severity of your actions. Let me spell it out for you then. Snape almost died, Sirius. I would’ve become a murderer – and you, an accomplice. The main orchestrator, in fact!”
Sirius’ face twisted with anger. “Why do you care about Snivellus? Who would care if someone like him dies?”
Peter and James sucked in a breath, taken aback by the carelessness of life their friend displayed. Remus similarly stared at him with wide eyes.
“You can’t honestly mean that,” he whispered.
Indeed, Sirius’ own expression was frozen, as if he couldn’t believe what had just come out of his own mouth.
“I – I don’t –“ he stuttered. In an unsteady gait, he took a step back, and then another before bolting out of the dorm.
“Siri!” James called, immediately rushing after him.
But the damage was done. That day, a friendship was fractured.
---
“Just talk to him,” James said. He knew better than to say ‘apologise.’ Sirius always got defensive at that. “Please, Pads. I miss our friends.”
Sirius looked at James, and his heart twisted at the despair in his face. He wondered how long his friend had been secretly hurting because of his actions. “Alright,” he found himself saying. “I’ll try and speak to him tonight.”
James beamed, and Sirius couldn’t regret his decision.
---
“Let’s stop here,” Regulus said after they had walked around in silence for a while. “Go a little further down this corridor and you’ll be able to see Barnabas’ painting.”
Peter came to a halt just next to him. He was glad to realise that this hallway did look familiar – like an itch in his memory. It had occurred to him that the Slytherin could be leading him into an ambush, but he had no choice but to follow him if he wanted to find his way around.
He was immensely relieved he wouldn’t have to explain to Sirius that his bruises were caused by his estranged brother.
“Thank you,” Peter said politely.
Regulus’ eyes flicked to him, as grey as the rest of his family’s. “Remember our deal.”
Something unpleasant churned in Peter at the reminder. He had begun doubting whether he had made the right decision, but it was too late. Hopefully, whatever Regulus made him do wouldn’t get him into trouble.
Peter nodded, and they went their separate ways.
As he reached an intersection, Peter saw the portrait he was looking for to his left. Relief and anticipation warred within him; he would finally get his answers.
Recalling the instructions of the supposed time traveller, he walked back and forth three times, thinking, I want to meet Hermione Granger, I want to meet Hermione Granger, I want to meet Hermione Granger.
Peter blinked, and the door suddenly materialised. His heart nearly jumped out of his chest.
Just how does this work? he wondered. Then his anxiety returned, other thoughts fighting to the forefront of his mind. They were centralised mainly around; did he really think the woman was a time traveller?
Peter bit his lip. He didn’t know anymore. He’d been so sure the woman was part of an elaborate prank of some sort, but then how could she have accurately predicted the future Minister?
Of course, it could’ve been that the prankster’s parents had an insider in the Ministry, but that didn’t occur to him at the moment.
Taking a deep breath, he turned the knob.
Disappointment unexpectedly flooded him when he realised it wasn’t the living room of his home on the other side of the door. Instead, it was a gloomy kitchen that held a heavy atmosphere. Dark, worn wooden cabinets lined the walls, and cobwebs covered the dishes. Ancient and exquisitely carved silverware littered the space.
Despite its shoddy state, Peter had the feeling the kitchen used to be something impressive.
Then, his eyes focused on the woman sitting at the island table. Her head was turned away from him, seemingly lost in thought.
“Granger,” Peter called.
She jumped, and quick as a flash, there was a wand held under his throat. He held back his squeak and gulped, staring into hard eyes. A few seconds passed before she realised who it was.
She gasped, and her arm returned to her side.
“I’m sorry,” she said, looking genuinely apologetic. “It was a reflex.”
Peter wondered what life she had lived through for fighting to be a knee-jerk reaction. Perhaps the comparison to Remus wasn’t too far off.
“It happened,” he told her, and Granger immediately realised what he was referring to.
She eyed him. “You believe me, then?”
Pursing his lips, Peter shook his head. “Not…not yet. I still don’t believe in time travel, but I can’t help but admit you were right about the Minister. Still, I have to ask. Why was I the one who found you?”
“It’s a long story.” Granger gestured to the chair across from her. “Take a seat. I’ll tell you everything.”
---
Hogwarts had been reduced to rubble. Hermione could see bodies everywhere she looked, and the ground was a field of blood. She met Neville’s eyes; she saw her exhaustion reflected in them.
They wouldn’t last for much longer.
Where are you, Harry? she wondered desperately.
Voldemort’s ultimatum had been given hours ago, and Harry had been missing since. Hermione knew what that meant. Despair filled every inch of her being.
“Hermione!” a familiar voice called out, and her knees became weak.
“Ron,” she breathed, falling into his arms. The warmth he radiated was so comforting she just wanted to sleep. To relax and let go.
“’Mione, we gotta go,” Ron said hurriedly. “Ginny’s rounding up the sur – the survivors. We’re going back into Ariana’s portrait and escaping through Hogsmeade.”
Hermione felt a chill sweep through her. “But Harry–“
“He’s gone,” Ron choked out, tears falling from his eyes. “The Death Eaters confirmed it – bragged about it. It’s horrible. Vol – You-Know-Who’s gonna be here soon to take care of the last of us. We gotta go.”
Despite being the brains of the Golden Trio (not a trio, not anymore, never again), Hermione could only be dragged away by Ron, her mind not responding to his worried pleas.
He’s gone. Harry was dead. Sacrificed himself to Voldemort. Like a martyr. Hermione choked on a sob. Harry wasn’t supposed to be some dead figurehead of the war – he should’ve been a hero.
Too late, too late, too late. Hermione knew, distantly, that his death didn’t just affect her. It shaped the fate of the Wizarding World, just like the prophecy had foretold. But at the moment, she couldn’t bring herself to care.
“Ron–“ Hermione sobbed. She knew she should be strong. She had always been the clear-headed one, the one who solved all their problems.
But she couldn’t solve this one.
Ron’s face fell, and he tugged her into the safety of Ariana’s hidden corridor. He enveloped her in a hug. “It’s alright, ‘Mione. It’s gonna be alright.”
He sounded like he was trying to convince himself.
It wasn’t alright.
Death Eaters were waiting for them in Hog’s Head. Out of the one hundred survivors, only thirty-five remained. All students, most of them younger than fifth year. The older ones had died trying to protect them.
Including Ron.
“RON!” Hermione screamed as Neville dragged her away.
Ron’s face was half-burnt – nearly unrecognisable – but he managed to give her one last, sad smile before he was enveloped by the wild flames of Fiendfyre.
Hermione kicked against Neville’s hold, reaching out for the heat. “LET ME GO! LET ME GO! RON!”
“I’m sorry, Hermione,” Neville murmured, grief coating his words. He said it again a few more times until she finally calmed down enough to regain clarity.
“Hermione,” Neville repeated. “We have to go.”
A sob was stuck in her throat – that was exactly what Ron had said.
But she looked at the sea of young, haunted eyes staring up at her – hoping – and she sucked in a deep breath, gathering herself. She would break down later. Right now, she had to ensure their safety.
The Death Eaters were gone, having thought the Fiendfyre would be enough to wipe them all out. They would check for bodies once some time had passed – or what was left of them. They would have to be gone before then.
“I know a place,” she said.
They had to get to Grimmauld Place the Muggle way. The journey took multiple days, and they had to keep to the outskirts of cities in case they were recognised. It was hard with such a large group of children, but they managed it.
Until Voldemort invaded the Muggle world.
They didn’t realise it until they came across a whole street littered with dead bodies. No blood, no signs of struggle. Death Eaters had shot the Killing Curse left and right.
It wasn’t long before they were found. Luckily, she and Neville had drilled some training into the kids, so they were able to defend themselves.
They lost ten people that day.
It could’ve been worse, she told herself, but she just felt empty.
They arrived at Grimmauld Place, and they had lost five more people. Twenty of them remained. Not even a quarter of the hundreds of students that had attended Hogwarts.
She and Neville redid the Fidelius with the help of a sixth year. He and Neville as the participants, and she as the bonder. She would’ve become the Secret Keeper, but nobody else could handle such complex spellwork.
The sixth year was then Obliviated, with his consent. They couldn’t take any chances.
Hermione spent her time in the Black library. She and Neville had agreed that if there was some way to defeat Voldemort, it would probably be in there. Even if it was Dark. They had agreed that morals and personal beliefs didn’t matter much when they were all dying and being hunted down.
She didn’t eat, she didn’t sleep (except for the times when her body gave up on her), and she didn’t stop researching.
Neville couldn’t bear for her to waste away.
“Please, ‘Mione,” he begged, so earnest. “You’re the only one I have left.”
Hermione broke. She sobbed for what felt like hours, then fainted afterwards. When she woke up, she went out of the library. She ate with the kids and spent time with them, but at the end of the day, she returned to her books.
She found an attempt at a time travel array. It was in one of the older scrolls, so ancient it wasn’t even bound in leather. Hidden behind a shelf of very Dark curses.
She quickly found out why it had been abandoned. Time travel just couldn’t work. Not in a way that would allow themselves to be transported into the past and change the future. It would create a paradox.
But what if, she wondered, someone originally from the past decided to change it?
So she searched for a way to transfer her knowledge into the past – knowledge of the future, and how to change it. And she thought finally found a way.
Hermione told Neville, who suggested she make a method so the knowledge would go to the right person. The one who would be able to change the future and who would actually want to modify it for the better.
It took tons of calculations and several weeks. Even then, they couldn’t be sure it would work.
“Take the risk,” Neville said firmly. “Whatever happens, we are already in Hell.”
They asked the kids, just to make sure, and they all agreed that if there was a chance they could turn it all back – to make everything better – they should take it.
So she did.
---
Peter couldn’t speak. Just what could he say to that?
There were so many things to address, and he felt like his brain hadn’t even processed some of them.
Hermione Granger tilted her head, watching. Waiting.
It was all too much for him. He pushed his chair back and winced at the resulting screech.
“I’m – I’m sorry,” he stammered, feeling overwhelmed and guilty all at once. “I – I know you think I’m some kind of saviour for the future, b-but I’m not! I don’t think your array worked correctly.”
She nodded, acknowledging. “That could’ve happened,” she agreed. “But either way, you’re all I’ve got.”
Peter shook his head, backing away. “I-I’ll get Dumbledore for you! Or if you want someone young, then James or Sirius or Remus. J-just not me. Trust me, you don’t want me.”
“I think I can decide that for myself,” Granger said firmly, with the gravity of a war veteran. “Think on it. I know it was a lot, but I believe there’s a reason the array chose you.”
Peter’s breathing became laboured, and he shook his head vehemently.
He ran from the room, the weight of what he had just been told lying heavy on his heart.