439IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTES:
1) There is no intention for Haunt to be like 'this' or 'that' Time Turner fic that is already out there. I haven't actually read any Time Turner fics, this plunnie just bit and wouldn't go away (yes, this includes Debt of Time [unthinkable to some of you, I know]. Shaya is actually a good friend of mine, and she knows I will not read her story. I love her, but I refuse to read any story in which I may get so caught up I forget to see to my basic survival needs [same goes for Canimal's fic The Minister's Secret]).
2) May contain some AU elements. We don't have many solid canon facts about this time period (barring afterthought nonsense heaved on us via Pottermore), so I will go with things that feel right for this story, even if they fly in the face of what has been dictated otherwise in Post-DH 'canon' reveals. This is especially true, given the nature of this fic's plot, in that it relies on upsetting the canon order of events.
3) I love you all, but do not come at me with 'science facts' about theories of time travel, the butterfly effect, or any other wibbly-wobbly timey-whimey stuff. Yes, Hermione metaphorically steps on a butterfly in a big, BIG, way here, but the telling [and reading] of this story is meant to be all in fun, sheerly for entertainment purposes, as such, potential scientific ramifications of time magic can go hang ?.
4) Updates may be sporadic, chapter lengths may vary wildly (some chapters may be less than 2k, others may be over 5).
FANCAST [in no particular order, and no guarantee they will appear]:
Jared Leto as Sirius Black; Tom Hiddleston as Remus Lupin; Emmett J Scanlan as James Potter; Karen Gillan as Lily Evans-Potter; Henry Cavill as Voldemort; Charlie Heaton as Peter Pettigrew; Alexander Skarsgard as Lucius Malfoy; Charlize Theron as Narcissa Malfoy; Jason Momoa as Fenrir Greyback; Michiel Huisman as Antonin Dolohov (any roles not listed intended as portrayed by their film actors).
* If you do not agree with my fancast choices, feel free to imagine whomever you like in these roles (literally the only reason I post fancast lists is because when I don't, I get barraged with questions about who I picture as the characters).
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter, or any affiliated characters, and make no profit in any form from the creation or sharing of this work.
Chapter One
One Really-Dead Butterfly
"What? No!" Hermione was seething. It wasn't what Harry was asking. It was that he knew how dangerous even thinking it was. He knew how dangerous meddling with such things could turn out.
And yet, he was attempting to play on her sympathies to get her to see things his way, all the same.
Pressing her fingertips against her temples, she glared at her best friend. If she'd told him once, she'd told him a thousand times . . . .
"But you don't think it's—"
"What? Fate?" Her brows shot up as she continued to gape at him.
He threw up his arms, the offending artifact clutched in the fingers of his right hand. "Well, when you say it in that tone . . . . Look, all I know is with everything moving so fast with Gin and me, I've been really wondering what it'd be like to have my parents here. To be able to talk to them about this. They were our age when I was born, so you know . . . ." He shrugged and looked off, his voice dropping low. "Only Time Turner left in existence, and I happen to stumble across it just when I'm thinking all this. Can you really say you wouldn't think the same thing in my shoes?"
Her entire frame seemed to droop. Here he was talking about tones, and he went and used the one that always pulled at her heartstrings. Bastard.
With a sigh, she shuffled across the floor of the parlor at 12 Grimmauld Place and dropped herself to sit beside him on the sofa. "I can't say that, of course I can't," she said with a shake of her head. "But you know it's dangerous. Time magic is inherently dangerous, Harry. I mean, why else would everyone worry about something as seemingly innocuous as stepping on a damn butterfly?"
"But what if it is possible? You know?" He frowned, giving a headshake of his own. "What if it is, and the only reason we're told it's not, shouldn't be, or can't be changed, is because no one has dared to try it?"
"And with good reason! No one knows what could happen if someone changed the past. Maybe your parents live. Maybe Voldemort still dies, maybe Peter Pettigrew gets stuck as a bloody rat and has to live out his days as Scabbers. But there are so many things that can go wrong. That's why Time Turners are only designed to safely travel back a handful of hours."
"Isn't that kind of a loophole right there?"
The witch's brows pinched together as she asked, "How so?"
He shrugged once more. "Well, if you go back say . . . five hours. You're five hours in the past. What's to stop you from going five hours back after that, and so on and so on, until you're in your desired time, but only traveling in those safeincrements of time?"
Her eyes widened as she stared at him. Holy . . . Mother of . . . . He was right! That was madness on the face of it. The monotony, alone, of traveling backward a handful of hours at a clip was likely to drive one insane, but he was right. That was possible. Big, fat loophole staring her in the face this entire time and she'd never even seen it!
The zip of thoughts whirring through her head at the very idea—
"Whoa, wait, no!" She slapped her palms against her forehead and squeezed her eyes shut.
Harry wasn't looking at her. He'd dropped his gaze to the toes of his own shoes as he chewed at his lower lip. "It could work, couldn't it, though? Potential induction of madness aside. It could possibly work if it was done that way, couldn't it?"
She let out a huff of air and shook her head. "Honestly? Maybe. But it's all theory. I'm not going to be the one to give it a try. And if you tried it, and something happened to you, and Ginny found out I was the one who let you? Hell, no, Harry!"
"But—"
"Tell you what," she said, knowing he wasn't going to let this go until she gave him a concrete why of this not working, or at least no one risking their neck to try. "I will do the research. I will look into precisely how many hours back a Time Turner is thought to safely travel. From that information, I'll work out just how much time and effort it would take to continuously move backward by increments to . . . let's say 1980? When you see those numbers before you, because I know they'll be daunting, will you give this up and let me take that thing to the Ministry?"
Tipping his head up to meet her gaze, he responded, "Okay. But . . . you really want to do that research now, don't you? You'd be running to fetch books even if I said to forget the whole thing."
She offered him a withering expression even as she climbed to her feet to go about finding research materials. "Oh, you just think you know me so well."
Neither of them paid much mind to the shifty little shadow that slunk past the parlor entryway, presumably on his way to handle some household chore or another.
Some nights later, Hermione fell asleep at the rolltop desk in the room Harry'd lent her as a research space. She had thought for certain she had a few more hours in her, but after barely sleeping a wink since he'd pointed out that loophole, her body betrayed her.
Just as she'd found the answer, but God, how she hated having to account for leap years,and the number of turns, alone, was daunting. Breaking them up into twelve hour intervals—the absolute outside estimate for travel before things became uncertain—only seemed even more daunting. So much to keep track of!
As she stared at the final figures, confident in her calculations—Harry would surely back down when he saw the math behind it all—the surge of excitement took the last little bit of energy from her and suddenly, she was snoring face-down on the polished, antique wood surface.
He stepped into the room, hardly needing to sneak, as his footfalls were so light. He'd heard them discussing this fearsome meddling days ago, but he'd ignored it. Until he heard his master talk the filthy, corruptive Mudblood into math'ing! It was all her fault, anyway—her influence on Master. He was sure it must be. He would not lose another master. Blood-traitor perhaps he was, but all good pure-bloods were dead now or gone away.
Kreacher needed Master. He did not want to be free, ever. Did not want to be like those other lazy elves.
He couldn't harm her. No, Master ordered such. But this . . . who could really call this harming? He was sending her away to protect Master. Yes, that was all.
Looking to the final figures on the parchment laid out beside the sleeping witch's head, Kreacher held up the artifact he'd sneaked from his slumbering master's room. That was a lot of turns. That was all right. He had hours enough while Master and the Mudblood slept. The number was right there.
He simply had to do it all at once.
Carefully looping the chain around the witch's loosely-curled hand a few times, he started to turn the dial as fast as his fingers would let him.
Hermione awoke in a bit of a daze. She was aware of light streaming into the room through the window . . . aware of her head pounding and her body aching from sleeping at the desk. Aware of a faint metal-on-metal rolling sound somewhere close by. And of Kreacher's face not far from hers—all while he seemed ready to fall asleep standing up—as he counted in a whisper.
Her first instinct was to pat at her neck as she sat up and screamed, "Harry!"
Her voice and the wrenching of her arm from beneath his turning fingers jarred the elf awake and he immediately scrambled backward. Had he counted enough? Yes, yes, he was . . . close, maybe . . . ?
As she searched to see if Kreacher had managed to slip the chain over her head as she slept, she felt the tangle of metal against her palm and the back of her hand.
Harry rushed into the room as she shook her hand to remove the chain.
He blinked, shouting for her as Hermione was ripped away from him. The Time Turner was gone, all that was left behind were her notes and the mess of books she'd used to do her research for him.
Him and his stupid bloody loophole!
Harry was so angry his limbs trembled as he turned a seething glare on Kreacher. The elf was staring at the space where the witch had vanished. Master could punish him for days and it would not bother him. He had done what he must.
"What did you do?!"
Kreacher's smile was so satisfied that it only infuriated Harry further. "Kreacher made Master safe."
Hermione fell out of the chair, clamping one hand over her mouth as she braced the other, still tangled in that damn chain, against the floor. The dizzying whirl of time around her had been so strong and chaotic, she thought she might heave out her entire stomach.
"Kreacher!"
She heard a woman's voice bellow from somewhere on the floor below. OH, no. No. If the number of turns she'd heard Kreacher stop at was correct, that voice had to be . . . Walburga Black?! Damn. She'd thumped down harder than she'd realized when the Time Turner stopped, hadn't she?
"What was that noise?"
Looking about, Hermione spied the open study window. Good Lord, she was two floors up! Groaning to herself as she heard Kreacher—that treacherous little Oh! She didn't have words for him, right now!—garble something in response, she forced herself to her feet and hurried to the window.
She eased herself out onto the narrow ledge below. Clinging to the wall as best she could, she shimmied away from the open window and held her breath.
Just barely she could hear the sound of the door creaking open. Luckily, she'd not knocked anything over when she'd fallen from the chair, so nothing appeared to have been disturbed.
She overheard the elf muttering about ghosts as he went right back out to report his findings—or lack thereof—to his mistress.
Drawing in a shuddering breath, Hermione looked about. All right. The turning of the leaves in half-bare trees told her it was autumn. Okay. The calculations had been off a bit—or at least Kreacher's turning had—as it was the wrong season, so clearly not eighteen exact years. Was this even 1980? She had to get somewhere that could tell her when she'd ended up.
She could have the nervous breakdown about being flung across time that she so richly deserved once she had her bearings.
Swallowing hard, she peeked down. Luckily, there didn't seem many people about right now. No one to report what probably looked like an attempted break in just then. She also supposed it was lucky she was dressed in non-descript blue jeans and a t-shirt. Nothing to make her stick out like a sore thumb.
The ground wasn't far . . . if she could turn around and slip down.
Wincing, she stuck her back hard against the wall and eased herself downward , resting her fingers against the ledge. Her breathing shallow and her extremities tingling with nervous energy, she gripped the stone lip as best she could as she turned . . . .
And tumbled right off the side of the building, landing hard on her back in the grass below.
Jarred and having the wind knocked out of her, she painfully pulled herself to sit up. She'd instinctively curled her arms inward, so the ruddy Time Turner, and her little bag, had been shielded from the fall. That was good, she was pretty sure she'd stuck her wand in her bag somewhere. She barely ever took it off, now. One of the many lessons the War had taught her.
She didn't expect the spectacular soreness in her back would subside any time soon. Climbing to her feet—perhaps falling was going to be a theme for today—she limped her way out onto the sidewalk.
Pausing to brush herself off and self-assess for injuries only when she was far enough away from the Black house to not seem suspicious, she looked about again. Okay. She knew businesses might've changed hands by the time she'd become familiar with this particular neighborhood years from now, but she recalled the general direction of some shopfronts.
Hermione tried to sort her situation as best she could while she walked . . . painfully. Once she found out her actual timeframe, she could start researching on how to undo this. Because there had to be a way to undo this. Reversing time magic was probably going to be one hell of a headache for her, but there had to be something in Flourish and Blotts, or perhaps Tomes and Scrolls in Hogsmeade. Yes, she knew where she was, and she knew she could easily Apparate to either location, but she still felt woozy from her abrupt time-travel, and off kilter at having no idea even what day it was, let alone year.
Spotting a newsstand, she hurried over, inwardly screaming over the myriad aches that shot through her body at her rushed movements.
Offering a quick grin to the old man seated behind the tiny counter, she leaned over to glance at the nearest paper. That grin slid right off her face.
31st, October, 1981
She backpedaled a step, feeling her heart lodge in her throat. No, no, no. She had to get away—she had to get back! This was the day that . . . . If she stayed, she'd be tempted to do something, she just knew she would!
To stop Peter from revealing the Potters' location to Voldemort, or warn the Potters their safehouse had been compromised . . . . Things that seemed right, that she knew were right, but that would change the future.
The very thing she knew she couldn't do!
"Tomes and Scrolls," she said in a whisper as she forced herself to breathe, trying to reason her way out of the situation. "Wider selection than Flourish and Blotts . . . okay."
Ducking behind the newsstand, she withdrew her wand and hid away the Time Turner inside one of her pockets. Assuring herself no one would see, she Apparated.
. . . . Only to pop into existence right between two very familiar faces she'd not seen in what felt like far too long. Only, they were younger than when she last saw them, and, well, alive.
The men both appeared quiet startled, and she had the sense she'd just interrupted some deeply private conversation.
Sooner than she could stop herself, however, their names popped out of her mouth. "Sirius! Remus!"
They exchanged a glance over her head before each turning questioning looks on her. "Do we know you?" The achingly familiar voice of Sirius Black seemed to ring in her ears.
Wide-eyed at her moment of thoughtlessness, Hermione tucked her wand into her belt and started backpedaling, both hands outstretched. "No, no. Um, sorry, I'm so . . . . Just . . . sorry."
As she turned on her heel and started away from them, the pair shared another look. Not at all liking that some mystery woman seemed to know them, they took off after her.
Hearing the footfalls behind her, Hermione picked up her pace.
"Miss? Wait!"
She desperately wanted to stop. To turn back and get just one more glimpse of them. When they were young. When the world had not yet fallen apart on them. But she couldn't. She might be thoughtless again and do or say something she shouldn't.
For all she knew, simply interrupting their discussion a moment ago might've already been the proverbial butterfly under her boot. Once more, she picked up her pace.
But the faster she ran, the faster they ran—and both being taller than her, the effort was definitely worse for her, especially given how battered she already was from her ordeal.
Before she knew it, she was stumbling down some random village side street. As she rounded the side of some little, rundown looking cottage, she glimpsed a sight that had her all but falling over her own two feet in an effort to stop.
In her shock, she didn't really feel the collision as the two men bumped into her, she heard the soft sounds of their midsections hitting her bruised back and shoulders.
"What the bloody hell?" Sirius said in a whisper that was barely a breath of sound.
She could tell Remus was frowning, that he was shaking his head in confusion as he spoke. "This . . . this can't be."
They were staring at the meeting where it had happened. The clandestine moment . . . . She stood here with Remus Lupin and Sirius Black, watching as Peter Pettigrew knelt before someone who could only be the Dark Lord. Watching as Peter's mouth moved to form hushed statements.
"Go get word to Lily and James," Sirus' voice drifted in the air around her as he drew his wand.
Remus sounded in utter disbelief, despite drawing his own wand. "But—"
Sirius spoke through clenched teeth. "He's their Secret Keeper. They need to move, now, in case this is what it looks like."
Hermione had no idea what to say or do as she watched Sirius advance on the private meeting while Remus took off in the opposite direction to get a message to the Potters. There were shouts . . . the words made no sense to her ears. There was groveling—well, that'd have to be Peter, wouldn't it?—and there was a stilted moment. Voldemort Disapparated, but not before he looked past the advancing wizard.
Not before his gaze—set into a face that was not the snaky, repulsive creature she recalled—landed on her.
She watched as Sirius cornered Peter, able to overhear Sirius' demands to know what he'd stumbled across.
Feeling her legs go out from under her, Hermione crumbled to the ground. Giving herself a shake, she thought she could actually feel the sensation of a butterfly crunching beneath her.
