Opportunity
A little voice inside my head said,
"Don't look back. You can never look back."
Those days are gone forever
I should just let them go... But...
Don Henley - The Boys of
Summer
---
She takes long and purposeful strides as she exits the building, not daring to look back. She's both hopeful and afraid that someone, anyone, will stop her.
She unfastens the visitor's badge from her robes, trying to look for all intents and purposes as if she's late for an important meeting. Affecting what Ron lovingly calls her 'don't dare approach on pain of death' demeanor, she dispenses with all niceties as she tosses her badge onto the clerk's desk, then immediately exits the building.
She doesn't breathe until she's home.
Her heart is hammering and she's covered in a thin sheen of sweat by the time she casts the locking charm on the door to her private study. She wants to take a moment to rest just the slightest bit, but a driving momentum has seized her.
She needs to know it isn't a dream - another product of wishful thinking.
Hermione casts a critical eye on the room, her sanctuary for fifteen years, as if seeing it for the first time. Hedwig eyes her back from the perch near the ceiling. This room would always be home to her memories of Harry.
Her mind has been working in a fevered delirium during the entire journey home. She'd been formulating the first of many plans and now it was time to test one.
Feasibility.
She throws her cloak on the chair nearest the door, then goes to the closet. She reaches towards the back and drags out a trunk - his trunk - then kneels down before it almost reverently. She takes a deep breath, then opens the clasps on either side.
The first thing she notices is the scent. It's a bit musty, having never been aired in all these years. But underneath... underneath there's something stronger. Some of the strongest memories are tied to scent, and in Hermione's case, it's no different.
He's reaching across her in Potions class.
He's squeezed between her and Ron on the common room sofa.
He's holding her tightly after their first kiss.
She's almost overcome by the memories until Hedwig flies down and lands on the edge of the trunk. Hermione is startled at first, but when she looks at the snowy owl she swears she can see the same hurt and loss she's felt all these years. She knows that Hedwig can somehow sense the significance of the moment. She leans forward and strokes HedwigÕs feathers before gingerly sifting through the trunk.
Photographs and clothing and... oh Merlin, his wand. She wants to cry, but she's driven now. She will not stop until she knows.
Then she sees it, a silvery cloak neatly folded beneath his Quidditch robes.
She slowly stands, then loosens her fingers to let it unfurl for the first time in ages. She gives it a gentle shake, then drapes it over her forearm.
She moves towards her immaculate desk next, a smile forming as she looks at her muggle desk blotter - an oversized calendar with severe X's marking off each day. It was something she learned early in primary school: note all important events on a calendar, be diligent about crossing off the days. Simple and effective. It kept her organized from an early age and she never outgrew the habit.
Her seated position at the desk is directly opposite the doors, and above the doors is the antique wall clock given to her by her parents.
Behind her desk is a large window framed by an elaborate molding that extends nearly two feet at the top. She closes her eyes and tries to remember if there had ever been anything above that window. The ceilings were high, which accommodated her numerous bookshelves admirably. She often considered extending the wall of shelves to both sides and above the window. Thank Merlin she'd never gotten around to it.
She withdraws her wand, transfigures the topmost ridge of the molding into a large padded shelf, then conjures a ladder to the side. She tucks her wand into her trousers, turns, then walks slowly to her discarded cloak.
Her hands are trembling as she reaches for the package. She closes her eyes and holds her breath as she pulls the box out of her pocket. She cradles it in her hand, then opens her eyes.
She laughs. She laughs like a woman driven quite mad.
When she finally composes herself, she places the jewelry box meant for her student on the seat of the chair, reaches into the other pocket of her cloak, and smiles.
The box, the gift that Simone had given her, is there.
She opens it and withdraws her (possiblity!hope!) time turner. The only similarity with her previous one is the hourglass in the center. This one seems more advanced, with dials surrounding the outer edge. She puts it on, drapes the invisibility cloak over her shoulder, then heads up the ladder.
The shelf is comfortable enough and perfectly sized to hold her if she folds her legs. From up here she can see both the blotter and the clock without fear of being detected. She leans back, covers herself and the shelf with the cloak and almost laughs as Hedwig flies past her and back up to her perch. She's completely filled with nervous excitement as she holds the time turner in front of her, studying the numerals on each dial. Then she begins to experiment.
Seconds. Minutes. Hours. Days. Weeks. Months. Years.
Each dial does something different. She uses the antique clock, her desk blotter, and sometimes her younger self as reference.
She doesn't know how long she sits up there before she figures out how to set specific dates.
She returns to the present, finally leaves her perch, opens the doors, and, for the first time in fifteen years, rests.
***
Ron could find no excuse to stay out any later. He knew he'd have to return home eventually; he had only hoped it would be closer to midnight.
He apparated into the foyer, immediately noting how dark it was. On any other day he'd be worried. But today - today everything was meant to be dark.
"Hermione? Love? I'm home." He wanted to make certain to announce his presence. He couldn't bear to see her flinch in surprise. She looked so small and scared and lost whenever that happened.
"Hermione?" There was no sign of her in the sitting room - no traces of the night before.
Good. Maybe she's done for this year.
He made to head towards the bedroom, when the flicker of light pulled him towards the kitchen. There was an ominous air as he found her sitting quietly at the table, dimly lit, staring at him as if she'd been waiting all day. There was something different about her - something familiar in a way, but something he hadn't seen in years.
"Hermione?"
"Ron. Please, sit down." She rose from her chair and poured them each a cup of tea. Ron noted that the kitchen was a mess Ð potions ingredients strewn all over the countertop and a series of cauldrons sitting near the sink.
It was quite unlike her to work on this day, but then he remembered her mentioning something about a meeting at the Ministry. Perhaps she'd gotten caught up in a task that simply demanded her attention.
He remembered that Hermione could be quite passionate about some things.
She came back to the table and pushed the cup towards him. She began to drink and so did he, then she said the words that seized his heart.
"Ron, we need to talk."
Oh, Merlin! This is it. This is the day she leaves me!
"Hermione...," his voice faltered.
"Please, Ron." She saw his fear. "This isn't... it won't be simple, but I need you to listen to me."
Ron saw a bottle of firewhiskey on the table. He liberally added it to his tea, then finished it in one gulp, preparing for the worst.
"Do you trust me Ron? I mean... really and truly trust me? Not because I'm your wife, but because I'm your friend?"
This wasn't how he usually pictured this scenario. In his dark imaginings, she was cold and heartless, sometimes yelling at him. Yet now, she seemed... what was it?
"I need... I need to show you something. But I need you to listen to me, Ron, not just because I'm your wife, but because you trust me. You trust that I know what I'm doing." She looked up at him, a hint of fear and desperation in her eyes.
Relief washed over him. If she was leaving him, ending their marriage, she'd hardly be taking the time to show him trinkets.
"Hermione, what's...?"
"Please, Ron! Do you trust me?"
"Of course. With my life. Always."
She smiled quickly, then pulled something from underneath her shirt - a necklace - and she held the pendant before him.
"Ron, d-do you know what this is?"
Ron looked closer, squinting in the candlelight. He moved his hand to touch it, but she quickly pulled it back. He withdrew his hand and she held it closer to him.
"I've never seen one before but... is that a time turner?"
She smiled. Of course he'd never seen her original one. Only Harry had.
"Is that the time turner you got for your Ravenclaw student, then?"
"No Ron. This," she pushed another box forward, "is the time turner for my student."
"Oh, then why do you...," he stopped, then his eyes grew wide.
"Someone told me today, when they gave me this, that sometimes justice is more important than blind obedience. Do you believe that, Ron?"
"Hermione... what have you done?" His voice came out as a whisper.
"Do you believe that, Ron!?"
"It won't work," he shook his head, afraid to hope. "Those... those things... they can only do a few hours at a time..."
"Do you see these?" She pointed at the extra dials surrounding the hourglass. "They're for minutes and days and months and... oh, Ron... they're for years!"
Ron slumped back in his chair.
"I don't know why they gave it to me... to us! They said we'd suffered too much... we were too young..."
He recognized it now... what was different about herÉthe excitement, the determination - things he'd sworn she'd lost when she lost him.
"Hermione, we - we can't... " His voice sounded small, weak.
Her eyes flashed in anger.
"Why, Ron?! Tell me why we can't! The only thing we need to be certain of is not to be seen!"
The loudness of her voice awakened his ire - verbal sparring, the one thing they were best at. He suddenly stood up.
"Hermione, do you have any idea what you're suggesting? DO YOU?! You're talking about breaking a ridiculous number of laws!"
"We've done it before, Ron. We've broken rules plenty of times and you know it."
"Those were SCHOOL RULES, HERMIONE! Not something that'd get us both SACKED and landed in AZKABAN!!"
"Don't you think I've thought this through, Ron? Don't you think I know what's at stake?!"
"Honestly, Hermione, when it comes to Harry, NO! You never could think straight!"
"And what the hell is that supposed to mean?!"
"You know exactly what it means!" His face was red with anger.
"You know, Ron, I don't care what you think. This is Harry we're talking about, Ron, not us. And when it comes to Harry, you know as well as I do that we failed him."
"I won't let you do this, Hermione! Dammit!! You knew I'd have to stop you!! I'm an Auror, for Merlin's sake!!"
She leaned back, a small look of smugness on her face.
"And I'm still the smartest witch in a generation." Her voice had returned to normal. It was more a statement of fact than a challenge.
Ron narrowed his eyes at her, certain he'd missed something. She arched her eyebrows ever so slightly, a gesture he recognized well as 'you dare doubt me?' Then the very corner of her lip raised ever so slightly, and Ron went into full Auror mode.
That look. Her confidence. Her tone of voice. Her body language.
The mess of cauldrons in the kitchen.
The tea... the bloody tea!
He grabbed his teacup, sniffed, then looked at her.
"Bloody HELL!!!" He threw the cup across the room where it shattered into a hundred fragments.
"WHAT WAS IT?!! WHAT DID YOU USE?!!!"
She stood there, completely unsurprised at his outburst.
"Temporary binding potion. You most likely have the magical ability of Argus Filch right about now."
He was both incensed at her actions and mildly impressed, but both of those feelings were squashed by his sense of utter outrage.
"You think I need magic to stop you?" He advanced on her and before he could blink she had her wand trained on him.
"They wanted me to be an Auror, too, Ron, remember? But I chose to teach. So just sit the bloody hell down and listen to me!"
"You're mental!" His eyes were wide in disbelief. Surely this couldn't be happening. Hermione, his Hermione, would never do this to him, would she?
"Just sit down Ron, and let me explain!"
Ron glared at her defiantly. As much as he was afraid to admit it, he was frightened by his wife's sudden fervor. Then he sighed as she took the seat across from him. It was easy to yell at her in the heat of an argument, but when it came down to rational discussion, he never stood a chance.
"If this had happened on any other day, Ron - any other time of the year, I'd be inclined to agree with you. Every bit of rationality I have would tell me that this is ridiculous and dangerous and... and criminal..."
"Exactly!! It's criminal, Hermione..."
She raised her wand again and he immediately shut up.
"There's a reason this happened now, Ron. I have to believe that. I was meant to go to the Ministry today, on a day that I would never leave the house normally. Then for me to happen to be assisted by that particular Unspeakable... the one who trusted me with this responsibility the first time, back at Hogwarts. For her to trust me again, to trust me to do what I know is right. Ron, it's a gift! A beautiful and dangerous gift, but a gift just the same. And I cannot... I will not ruin the next fifteen years of our lives knowing that I... that we had the means of saving him and we did nothing!"
Ron couldn't help but notice how beautiful she looked right now. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears, and he could see in them something he thought they'd both lost forever. Hope. Hope and the end of their long suffering guilt.
"Ron, you have to realize, I've thought this through carefully. I've run dozens of scenarios through my head, planned for all types of contingencies. I'm prepared to do this, with or without your help. I've already decided on that. But I'd rather have you with me, beside me, because it was always meant to be the three of us, Ron - not two broken bits of three."
Ron couldn't help it. As much as he tried, all these years, to suppress the pain he carried with him, it was always there, always the same. Anytime he felt any happiness, whenever anyone praised him for his heroic efforts in the war, every time he touched her... it always left him with a sense of shame.
He shouldn't have this life. He was never meant for it. He'd only managed to survive the war when Harry actually won it, and yet he'd ended up with all the spoils.
The few times he had ever let himself dwell on those thoughts, he became physically ill.
His eyes began to glass over with tears.
"It's against all sorts of wizarding laws Hermione, and you know it," he said weakly.
"But that isn't a real reason, Ron. I know you want to save him as badly as I do. I simply know it!"
"I do, Hermione, but... I don't... it was horrible, Hermione. It was painful and awful and all sorts of terrible, and..." He looked down, his cheeks reddening.
"And what if we fail again?" She grasped his hand and he looked at her.
"We can't fail him twice, Hermione. I might be able to handle it, but we both know it would destroy you."
"But we're ready this time, Ron. Don't you see that? We're fifteen years wiser and we have the luxury of knowing what's going to happen. It would be impossible for us to fail again."
"You really mean to do this, then?"
She smiled, already knowing she'd won him over.
"You dare doubt me?"
He gave a small laugh, then swiped at his eyes.
"We can't fail, Hermione. You know we can't."
"I know." Her voice became more solemn as she rose from the table. She walked towards the kitchen counter, collecting her phials of various brewed potions.
"I spent the rest of today brewing these and buying the ones I didn't have time to make myself. Strengthening solution, general healing, wit sharpening, blood replenishing..." She began to cast unbreakable charms on each phial as Ron rose to join her. He placed his hands over hers, stopping her mid-charm. She looked mildly annoyed, until she noted his soft expression.
"Hermione...." He sounded scared. "What... what will happen? I mean, if we actually..."
"When we actually," she corrected, her voice soft and reassuring.
"Hermione, when we succeed, what... what will happen to us?"
Her eyes widened a bit and she set down the phials.
"Um... I'm... I'm not entirely certain. We may return here with our memories changed, or we might just get absorbed into the new time stream..."
He gently grasped her shoulders.
"No, Hermione, what happens to us?"
Her cheeks began to burn. She took a deep breath.
"Ron, I love you. You know I do. You've always been my best friend. These last years, you've been so much more.... comfort and love and home." She hugged him and he gripped her tightly. Her voice came out muffled, but strong.
"We need to believe, Ron, no matter what happens, that things will be as they were meant to be."
A strange mixture of pain and hope washed over him. He held his wife, for what he was certain would be the last time, then he gave her one long and bittersweet kiss that she returned with just as much feeling.
He had finally touched her on this day.
***
When they broke apart Hermione began outlining her plan to him.
They both recalled everything they could remember from that terrible night - the way Harry left, the dueling they had done with the Death Eaters, the escape of Bellatrix Lestrange (a situation that always left a cold place in Ron's heart - after all these years as an Auror, they had never found a trace of her, yet another failure he carried). No one had expected the final confrontation between Harry and Voldemort to create a bubble of such strong magical force that it prevented anyone from approaching the hilltop where they fought. After everything else was done, they, along with members of the Order and the Ministry, had all tried to find a way to penetrate the bubble. All they could see were flashes of light as spells were cast between the two. And then finally there was a ripple, then an explosion. The magic expelled knocked everyone to the ground, some completely unconscious, but the bubble had disappeared. They could all approach the battleground.
Hermione and Ron had been the first to run up the hill, desperate to find Harry. Through all the smoke and fog, Hermione could have sworn that she had seen Harry in the distance, just for a moment, staggering towards them. But when they found him...
Voldemort was dead. Harry had killed him before dying himself.
They would arrive early at the site of the final battle, each hidden in an invisibility cloak (standard issue for an Auror of Ron's ranking). They would sit and wait and watch what happened, making certain that Voldemort would never have a chance to throw the final curse at Harry.
After all her years of study on what had happened, Hermione knew they'd have to wait until the duel had a clear winner. If they were able to sneak their way into the battle's proximity, they still wouldn't be able to interfere until the very end. The sheer force of energy and the ancient magics of dueling prevented such an interference. But if Harry had weakened Voldemort enough in the end, then they'd be able to help.
She knew they could save him; all they had to do was a simple spell. Push him out of the way to prevent Voldemort's last spell from hitting its target... it was simple really.
Merlin, she hoped it was that simple.
She laid it out before Ron, and he agreed with and modified her strategies when necessary. They had a mission to accomplish now, a shared purpose.
Two of three.
They each took a swig of invigoration potion before leaving, then Ron suddenly grabbed Hermione's arm.
"Bloody hell, we almost forgot! Hermione, you have to give me the antidote. I can't do anything without my powers!!"
Hermione looked confused for a moment, then laughed.
"What's so funny, then?! We could have nearly ruined everything!" Ron was both cross and slightly hysterical.
"Oh, Ron, I'm sorry!" She dabbed at the corner of her eye, the laughter being the perfect tension breaker. She gave her bewildered husband a hug, then smiled at him.
"I knew you'd be cross, I just had to get you to calm down long enough to hear me out, that's all. Honestly Ron, what kind of wife and best friend would that make me if I went around poisoning people?" The grin she wore was infectious.
Ron couldn't help but laugh. After all these years, all the things they had shared, she could still surprise him.
"Smartest witch in a generation you say?"
"The smartest."
"Then we've as good as succeeded."
She kissed his cheek, looped the time turner around them, and vanished.
***