Disclaimer: Harry Potter is the property of J.K. Rowling. This story was written for fun, not profit.
Author's Note: Thank you for the kind reviews. I'm having a lot of fun writing this story, and I'm glad you're liking this as much as I am. This is my first longish Trio story, so I hope I'm getting the characterizations right. :)
Future Imperfect
Chapter Two
"I don't need to fight
To prove I'm right.
I don't need to be forgiven."
-- The Who, "Baba O'Riley"
the present
"What do you mean they're gone?"
Neville Longbottom took a quick step back -- a perfectly understandable reaction when faced with a furious Ginny Weasley. "I mean they're missing," he managed, holding up his hands as if to ward off an attack. Given Ginny's mood at the moment, that might not have been far from the truth. "If Ron's with Harry, I'm sure he's fine. Please calm down?" What was supposed to be a request came out as a plea. If he'd had any delusions of staying cool and collected, they were rapidly vanishing.
"I'm worried about Harry too, you idiot!" Ginny bellowed. Although they were crammed into the Great Hall with the rest of Hogwarts's student body, she made no move to lower her voice. On the contrary, the audience seemed to make her louder and more volatile than ever. Arms rigid at her side, hands clenched into quivering fists, she stood on her tiptoes in an effort to scowl down at him.
Since Neville was used to this tactic, it did little good. He just leaned away from her and met her glare as calmly as he could. "Ginny, this isn't helping anybody -- "
Ginny's face turned a shade of red previously unknown to man. "And I'm worried about Hermione and Natalie and everyone else who's missing!"
"You think I'm not?" Neville snapped. He wasn't one to raise his voice, but he was anxious and more than a little hurt by her insinuations, and under such circumstances he wasn't inclined to put up with a lot.
"We're all worried," Luna Lovegood said from her perch on a bench near Neville and Ginny. The blonde Ravenclaw didn't sound worried, to be sure, but she wasn't staring off into space. That was enough to tell Neville that she was terrified for their friends' safety too.
Ginny finally stopped pacing and glared at them, her arms folded across her chest. Then, very abruptly, she seemed to wilt. She collapsed onto the bench next to Luna and put her head in her hands. Her shoulders shook as if she was trying very hard not to break down.
Suppressing the urge to join Ginny and Luna on the bench, Neville stuffed his hands in the pockets of his trousers and surveyed the Great Hall, grimly tallying up how many people were still missing. The rumors flying around suggested that twelve people had definitely died, a fact that he refused to think about because it hurt too much. One of the limp bodies he had seen sprawled on the floor of the Three Broomsticks had belonged to his housemate and fellow seventh year Parvati Patil. He knew that the sight of her twin sister Padma sliding to the floor of the Great Hall, eyes blank and staring as her friends tried to comfort her, would stay with him for the rest of his life.
His gaze skimmed past the shocked, disbelieving Gryffindors, Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs before finally coming to rest on the knots of Slytherins huddled far away from everyone else. Draco Malfoy, the pale, pinch-faced Seeker and Quidditch captain, had gathered his fellow seventh years around him and was speaking in a low voice, gray eyes darting furtively around the Great Hall. For a moment he caught Neville's eye. His lip curled into a mocking smile until, disgusted, Neville turned away and took stock of the rest of the Slytherins. Here and there were little groups that seemed to be in as much shock as the others, and occasionally he caught sight of a green and silver scarf as a Slytherin moved to comfort a friend in another House, but for the most part none of them seemed terribly upset -- or surprised.
"Bastards," Ginny hissed behind him. He looked back at her in time to see her scowling at the Slytherins, her hands still balled into white-knuckled fists. The famed Weasley temper, never very contained in her case, seemed ready to erupt all over again. "Bloody bastards. I bet they knew and thought it would make a great joke!" She started to get louder, only subsiding when one of the Aurors guarding the entrance shot her a stern look. Even then she kept swearing under her breath. Neville stopped trying to keep her quiet. He had the feeling that if she didn't stay angry, she would start to cry.
He shivered, hugging himself and peering through the ranks of Gryffindors. He didn't see sixth year Colin Creevey or fourth year Natalie McDonald anywhere. Lavender Brown was sobbing into Seamus Finnigan's shoulder and Dean Thomas was just staring straight ahead, looking very grim indeed. There was an empty space too, right where Harry, Ron and Hermione usually sat. It was as if despite the chaos, everyone had instinctively left a place for the three friends. They were supposed to save the day, after all. They were supposed to come back. They had to come back.
A treacherous little voice rose up in a bleak corner of his mind. What if they don't?
Neville glanced at Ginny and Luna, an unpleasant weight settling on his chest. He remembered Harry explaining Professor Trelawney's prophecy to him at the beginning of their sixth year -- the one that told him that but for You-Know-Who's choice, he could have been the Boy Who Lived. He had felt the weight then, because he had looked at Harry and known, in a way that had nothing to do with learning and everything to do with instinct, that if Harry failed somehow, he was the next in line.
Which meant that if Harry didn't come back, something intangible and very important would pass to him. And knowing his luck, he would mess it up.
That left him with Ginny and Luna. Right now the three of them were the only students in the Great Hall who had ever fought Death Eaters. They had been hexed and cursed too, and although they weren't Ron or Hermione, they were still closer to Harry than anyone else. If Harry, Ron and Hermione didn't come back, someone had to take their places. There had to be three, although he couldn't have said why. It wasn't something from a prophecy. It was just that there had always been three students performing some kind of heroics. The trio were a symbol of sorts, and if there was one thing Neville had come to realize over the past couple of years, it was the importance of symbols. There had to be someone who could recreate that trio, because the rest of the students would need it.
He just wished the task could have fallen to somebody -- anybody -- else.
"Ginny?" he said softly.
She jerked her attention away from the Slytherins. "What?"
He opened his mouth to explain everything to her -- and couldn't. The words just wouldn't come. Yet again, his courage completely failed him. Some Gryffindor he was.
"Maybe we should go look for them?" he said instead.
"Finally!" As if she had been waiting for this very suggestion, Ginny scrambled to her feet and began peering at the Aurors, obviously hunting for ways to get around them. After a moment, Luna stood up too and scanned the crowded Great Hall. Neville had no idea what she was looking for, and, to be perfectly honest, he wasn't about to ask.
Ginny made a noise that was half growl, half exasperated sigh. "I don't have any Dungbombs with me," she muttered, running her fingers through her tangled hair. "How are we supposed to avoid the Aurors? Marching up to them and telling them we're on a rescue mission doesn't strike me as the best idea."
"We could use the Slytherins," Luna said idly.
Neville and Ginny exchanged glances and, as one, turned to the Slytherin table.
Just in time to see one of the other seventh years throw an impressive hex at Draco Malfoy's head.
For a moment there was utter silence as the entire Great Hall gaped. Neville was no different from the other students. He wracked his brain, but couldn't remember a single time when one Slytherin had outright attacked another in front of everybody. It was as if whoever was in charge of the world had decided to mess up everything all at once.
Then one of Malfoy's troll-like bodyguards threw a punch at the bizarre attacker and all hell broke loose.
"You'd think they could've picked a better day to have a civil war!" Ginny muttered as she, Neville and Luna all sidestepped the mass of jittery students trying to get away from any kind of hostile magic. Neville just tried to peek over the sea of heads. He saw flashing lights and lots of splintering wood as curses flew everywhere. The Aurors who had been standing guard were calling for order and wading through the panicked students in an attempt to reach the Slytherin table.
"The doors are clear!" Ginny hissed and grabbed him by an arm. He reached out blindly and caught Luna's sleeve. Fighting against the crowd, the three friends began to elbow their way toward the unguarded exit. Neville risked a glance over his shoulder and saw that the Slytherins seemed to have divided themselves into two unequal teams -- Malfoy's, and a much smaller clump of older students, including some from the less wealthy, less pureblooded families.
Ginny had been right, he realized belatedly. On top of everything else, the attack in Hogsmeade had apparently triggered a Slytherin civil war.
The doorway was still clear when they reached it. Taking one last look around the Great Hall, the trio slipped around a few gaping first years and ran for the exit. Neville had no idea how they were going to get to Hogsmeade, much less find Harry and his friends. He just knew that this attack was the beginning of something, and he had to act.
Unnoticed, someone else dodged through the doorway and chased after him.
~~
Helen Grandin's tiny apartment was above a dingy-looking, boarded-up shop just outside of Hogsmeade. Between the roundabout route she took and her insistence on dodging every other wizard and witch in the village, it took the unlikely group almost fifteen minutes to reach their questionable sanctuary. By that time Hogsmeade was crawling with Aurors and Harry, at first willing to trust the waitress who had probably saved all their lives, was beginning to grow suspicious.
Ron was more vocal than he was. "Hermione's hurt," he snapped suddenly as Helen led them through a narrow alley, her wand held in front of her as if she was expecting an attack at any moment. "I don't see why we're following you."
"Because Potter could die if you don't. Now shut up." Helen stopped halfway down the alley and tapped an unremarkable brick three times with the tip of her wand. At this cue, a wooden staircase descended from somewhere above and touched down neatly on the ground. Helen climbed the first two steps before stopping and frowning down at the three friends. Her voice was soft and dangerous.
"I want you to listen very carefully," she said. "I'm not an enemy. I'm not going to hurt you. Right now there is still at least one more Death Eater out there somewhere, and I am the only person who can protect you. If the Ministry tries to take custody of you, I guarantee that all three of you will be dead by tomorrow morning. Do you understand me?"
Harry tightened his grip on his own wand. He hadn't put it away after the attack on the Three Broomsticks. Ron was scowling up at Helen, and even Hermione, who was by far the most groggy of the trio, seemed to tense up as if waiting for a fight. She was the one who spoke first. "Why do you think we won't be safe at the Ministry?"
"Because Cornelius Fudge is under Imperius," Helen said simply, and led them up the rickety staircase to her apartment.
There were two children in the single room, both on a narrow cot covered with a coarse-looking green blanket. One was a squirming baby with a shock of strawberry-blond hair and a toothless smile. The other was a little girl, no more than five or six years old. She was kneeling over the baby as if she had been watching it, but when Helen led her companions into the room she looked up sharply. Her eyes were a bright leaf-green and her black hair was even messier than Harry's.
Helen didn't seem to acknowledge either child's presence. She just slammed the door behind her and tapped another brick with her wand, probably to retract the staircase. Without waiting for her instructions, Harry and Ron steered Hermione over to the cot and set her down next to the two children. The little girl peered at her intently for a moment before pressing her lips into a strange, disapproving line and turning away.
"What do you mean the Minister's under Imperius?" Ron carefully untangled his limbs from Hermione's, kissing the top of her head before he marched over to Helen. Harry realized with a start that despite his best friend's stature, the waitress was almost as tall as he was -- much taller than Hermione or Harry himself. She was thinner than he had originally thought, with a face that seemed to be all planes and angles. Every inch of visible skin seemed to be covered with pale, almost unnoticeable scars. Despite her shabby home and her plain, utilitarian clothing, he saw two chains running around her neck and disappearing under the color of her tunic. One was silver, and the other looked like some kind of burnished gold.
Ron was still scowling at her, but although he was tall enough to intimidate most people, Helen didn't back down. She did, however, look away very quickly. "I can't prove it," she said, brushing past Ron as she moved to examine the room's single window with a critical eye. When she was apparently satisfied that she wasn't being spied on, she closed the faded blue curtain and lit a few candles with a wave of her wand. After a moment's thought, she corrected herself. "Actually, I can prove it, but I don't want to."
"Why not?" Harry demanded from his perch on the cot. He would have stormed over to Helen too, but Hermione was leaning on him and he didn't want to leave her.
Helen gave him a sharp look. "Who would replace Fudge if I removed him? Weasley's father? Shacklebolt? Another member of your Order of the Phoenix?" She let out a strange, cold laugh that made Harry shiver. "Even under Imperius, Fudge is still an idiot. You'll have worse later, so don't bother to play the hero."
Harry bristled. That was a phrase he hadn't wanted to hear again, especially from a stranger. "What do you want?"
"Besides to save your hides?" She looked between Harry and Hermione, her eyes narrowing to thoughtful slits. "I'm going to tell you a story, Potter, and you're going to learn from it. Maybe it will tell you something of what I want."
She sat down on one of the few pieces of furniture in the room -- one of two rickety chairs set around a small table. Ron took the other chair, earning a startled glance from the waitress. A moment later, she had recovered and was looking right at Harry.
"My name is Helen Grandin," she began. "I already told you this. I'm a fighter. It's what I do, and I'm good at it." She flicked her wand from side to side as if picking her next words from a list. "I've been fighting the Dark Lord for years. At the moment I'm the best chance anyone has of beating him."
"I thought that was Harry's job," Ron muttered. Hermione threw him a sour look.
Helen ignored them. "Potter is dead where -- or perhaps I should say when -- I come from. The Order of the Phoenix has been destroyed. Most of our fighters are gone. The ones who are left are thinking about surrendering. The only way to win the war is to change things, and that's what I'm here to do."
"What do you mean, you're going to change things? When you come from?" Hermione sat up very straight and propped herself on her arms, peering at Helen as if she wanted to interrogate her. "You're talking about..." She sat back suddenly, like she had been struck. "You have a Time Turner."
In answer, Helen just pulled the silver chain out from under her tunic. A tiny silver hourglass caught the light oddly, as if it was reflecting the flickers of candlelight a few seconds before they actually happened. "I'm from the future," she said. "This brought me get here."
"Time Turners can only be used to go back a few hours. I don't believe you."
"Of course not. Because you only believe what you can see with your own eyes. Right, Granger?" Helen's expression was almost a sneer. "I'm sorry I can't demonstrate it for your benefit, but I don't want to call the Dark Lord's attention to myself. I'm running enough risks as it is."
Harry grimaced and exchanged dark glances with Ron, while Hermione just held him tighter. "We've already got Voldemort's attention," he said, ignoring Ron and Helen when they both cringed at the name. "He must have attacked Hogsmeade for a reason."
"He was trying to terrorize you. If your headless chicken impressions were anything to judge by, it worked splendidly." Helen stood up quickly and began pacing back and forth, arms folded in front of her. "The Dark Lord is a megalomaniac. He is also very intelligent. He's bided his time and now, when all of you were stupid enough to feel secure, he's starting his war again." Her hard, cold stare found Harry's. "You are the Boy Who Lived. How could you be selfish enough to think you could have a normal life?"
"Leave him alone!" Ron yelled, climbing to his feet so quickly that he overturned his chair. Hermione pushed off Harry and struggled upright as well, silent but practically radiating fury. Harry couldn't bring himself to do the same. Helen's words, however harsh, had stabbed through him. Hadn't he been happy to be worrying about Quidditch and his best friends' relationship instead of saving the world? He had heard Trelawney's prophecy. He had known that he was the one Voldemort wanted to destroy more than anyone else in the world. Why hadn't he spent the past two years making preparations, instead of trying to hide from reality?
He was as much to blame for the dead and injured in the Three Broomsticks as the Death Eaters were. He should have done something.
"Stop it!" the little girl yelled suddenly, displaying a more impressive set of lungs than Ron and Hermione combined. Harry turned to see that she was standing on the bed next to the whimpering baby. Her hands were balled into fists and her jaw was set, as if she was preparing to do battle with someone. She was glaring right at Helen.
Their unlikely host, in turn, seemed taken aback by this newest protest. She stopped mid-motion, staring at the little girl as if she had never seen him before. "Sit down."
"Stop being mean!" the little girl retorted.
"Sit down, Samantha!" When the little girl settled beside the baby and lapsed into silence, Helen rubbed the bridge of her nose and glared at Ron and Hermione. "It's very chivalrous of you to defend Potter. It's also pointless. I'm telling the truth and he knows it. Are there any objections, or can I continue my story?"
Ron opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something else, but Harry and Hermione's simultaneous headshakes stopped him before he could make a sound. Instead he righted the chair he had overturned and moved to stand next to his girlfriend. The little girl stared at him as if she had never seen anything like him before.
None of this seemed to faze Helen, who had regained her composure. "As I was saying," she said acidly, settling herself back in her chair. "Granger is correct. Normal Time Turners only allow a person to move a few hours backwards or forwards. They also don't allow you to change what has happened. You can't use a normal Time Turner to alter the past, just to make sure what must happen actually does. Potter and Granger's adventure with Black and the hippogriff should be proof of that."
"How do you know about that?" Harry asked warily.
Helen just shook her head. "That's not important. My point is that if one wanted to change history, an ordinary Time Turner would be useless. My little toy is different." She smiled -- a terrible, chilling smile reminiscent of a wolf's. "If the theories are correct, I should be able not just to witness history, but rewrite it."
None of this seemed to sit well with Hermione. Despite her injuries, the Head Girl had looked dubious from the beginning of Helen's story. Now she exploded. "That's impossible! If you already know what's going to be in the future, it has to have already happened! Otherwise you wouldn't have known to come here!"
"My head hurts," Ron muttered under his breath. Harry and the little girl both nodded their fervent agreement.
Hermione wasn't done arguing with Helen yet. "You still haven't told us what you're supposed to change! Assuming you're who you say you are and that Time Turner can do what you think it can, that still doesn't mean you can actually change anything! There's no single event you can change right now to stop Voldemort from coming back! And another thing!" she began, and then stopped when she caught the look on Helen's face. The waitress was very pale, and her mouth was set in a bloodless line. When Hermione spoke again, her voice was much quieter than before. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine!" Helen snapped, although she didn't sound anything of the sort. "And if you must know, Granger, there is one event I can change. I can give Potter the means to defend himself and tell him what to expect. That's what I'm here to do."
Hermione's mouth opened and closed, but whatever she had been planning to say seemed to disappear under Helen's stare. The witch from the future had a terrible light in her eyes and was holding herself straight and proud. She looked far more dangerous than most of the Death Eaters she was apparently fighting against, and just then Harry was quite sure that in many ways, she perfectly capable of the same ruthlessness and cruelty Voldemort's followers had displayed. The only difference was which side she was on.
Ron's voice brought the tense silence. "Why did you bring the kids?"
"What?" The question seemed to catch Helen off guard, just like almost everything Ron did or said. When his words registered, she blinked once or twice and nodded to the wriggling baby. "That's your nephew, Weasley -- your little sister's son. I didn't have the option of leaving him behind."
"He's Ginny's son?" Ron stared at the baby as if he had never seen anything like him. The little girl displayed a truly impressive snarl and planted herself between them. For a moment Ron seemed about to protest, but then he tilted his head to one side and peered at her. She scowled right back at him.
Harry stared at her too, taking in her flyaway hair and green eyes, and even the way she carried herself. A suspicion formed in his head, one that was impossible and made his heart hurt. "She looks like me," he managed to say.
There was utter silence for a long time, as Helen looked from him to Hermione to the children -- indeed, as she seemed to look anywhere but at Ron. When she did speak again, her voice was soft and very sad.
"She's your daughter, Potter." Her eyes flickered to the floor. "She's yours and Granger's."