122DON'T BE ANGRY WITH ME FOR POSTING THIS! This is the plunny that broke my writer's block, so it deserves some love & attention D:
IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTES:
(some points repeated from the A/N of my Time Turner fic, Haunt)
1)This fic's full title is Bad Influence -OR- How Hermione Granger Accidentally Created An Alternate Reality, but that didn't all fit in the space provided by FFN XD
2) There is no intention for Bad Influence to be like 'this' or 'that' time travel fic that is already out there. I haven't actually read any other time travel fics. Honestly, the idea just snuck up on me after remembering a meme in which it was pointed out that as James and Sirius both came from pure-blood Wizarding families, it was more than likely that they'd have picked up Muggle swear words from half-blood Remus. So I got to thinking, what if Remus wasn't the mild-mannered one everyone assumes? What if James and Sirius were always getting in trouble because they were carrying out plans created by Remus? And here we are.
3) 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.
4) Updates may be sporadic, chapter lengths may vary wildly (some chapters may be less than 2k, others may be over 5).
5) The rest of the cast will make their appearances next chapter, this opening sequence is really just to set the scene.
FANCAST (just go with it [imagine them in their younger years 😉])
If you do not agree with my fancast choices, feel free to imagine whomever you prefer in these roles
Jared Leto as Sirius Black; Tom Hiddleston as Remus Lupin; Emmett J Scanlan as James Potter; Katherine McNamara as Lily Evans; Charlie Heaton as Peter Pettigrew (any roles not listed intended as portrayed by their film actors).
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
Albus Dumbledore & the Space-Time Continuum
She landed hard on the floor, sprawled flat on her stomach. Well, that was unfortunate. Uttering an agonized oomph, the witch curled onto her side and wrapped her arms around her midsection. The impact was disorienting, as was the pain, and she had to take a few silent heartbeats to remember what had just happened.
Last thing Hermione recalled was . . . the Department of Mysteries, okay, yes. She'd volunteered to spend the summer months between War's End and the start of her final, returning year at Hogwarts, assisting the Unspeakables in their research—none of which was she allowed to mention outside of the halls of the DoM, of course, keeping her bound by the same rules as those she was assisting.
All right, this was starting to make sense, she thought, as she remembered the dread that had pooled in the pit of her gut as Danvers . . . Mathers . . . some two-syllable 'ers name, led her down into the chamber which housed the Arch. She hated that bloody thing, and thought she'd find its existence unsettling even if her last memory of it hadn't been Sirius tumbling backward through its Veil after that bitch Belllatrix had tagged him with that Stupefy. She'd barely been conscious at the time, but she couldn't forget that flash of red. Couldn't forget the way Sirius' body had arced backward with the stunning effect of the spell and he'd fallen through the black, wispy curtain of the Veil. If only he'd not been in front of the Arch when he'd been immobilized . . . .
She stopped the forlorn acknowledgement in its tracks and concentrated her flagging attention on the situation at hand.
Hermione hadn't felt especially secure following 'Ers about, either, as he seemed the sort to have trouble finding his own arse with both hands—how he'd gotten a post as an Unspeakable was beyond her. But then, perhaps his sheer inability to communicate the many mysteries he encountered daily had been a considered a plus.
She gave herself a shake, trying to get her bearings. There was something familiar in the feeling of the room around her, but she still couldn't quite focus. What had happened next? Oh, that daft bastard. They'd been scanning the arch—an examination was conducted approximately every six months to determine if any new information could be gleaned about the Arch or the Veil within, but one had not been performed in some time given the misdirection of internal Ministry resources under Pius Thicknesse—and something unexpected had happened.
The Arch had made a sound.
The loud, unexpected noise, rather like the hollow, metallic gong of a large bell, had startled Ers-the-Timid, apparently, and he'd jumped . . . stumbled . . . . And the next thing Hermione knew, she was sent flailing through the Veil.
Maybe she was dead? She sat up gingerly, wincing as she kept one arm around her tender midsection and blindly reached out, searching for her wand with the other. No, no, she was pretty sure death would be less painful than this.
"That moron," she said in a hissing whisper.
Hermione realized she was facing a corner, and when she couldn't locate her wand, she was forced to finally turn and look about the room.
Still in pain, she shifted around where she sat . . . . And stopped short, certain she was still disoriented—perhaps suffering some sort of head trauma—as the wizard seated before her, his chair turned away from an ornate desk at his back as he held her wand pinched between the thumb and forefinger of one hand, yet out of her reach, was someone who simply could not be there.
In his other hand was the unmistakable artistry of craftsmanship that was the Elder Wand . . . and it was aimed at her.
"Professor Dumbledore?" Her voice was shaky as she tried to understand.
One of his silver brows arched above the rim of his half-moon spectacles. "Young miss," he began, his voice exactly as she recalled despite that there was the faintest edge of a threat buried beneath his tone. "I do not know who you are, nor how you circumvented my wards to get in here, but I will give you precisely five minutes to explain your abrupt appearance in my office before I become angry."
As she stared back at him, gaping and scrambling for what to say, she noticed that while he looked nearly as she recalled, the lines around his eyes were just a bit less pronounced. There was still some dark blonde mixed in with his wiry, lengthy silver hair. And his long beard, which she'd never recalled him trimming even once over the six years she had personally known the man, was shorter than she'd ever seen it.
Her skin iced over and her already large eyes opened wider, still. "What . . . Professor, what is today's date?"
His eyes narrowed, clearly unsure what to make of it that she kept referring to him with a note of familiarity in her wavering voice. "27th of August."
"And . . . ." She exhaled a shivering sigh and closed her eyes, willing the sudden, fearful tears she could feel gathering to stay precisely where they were. Lifting her lids to meet his gaze once more, she nodded slow. "The year?"
Albus Dumbledore's twinkling blue eyes narrowed, gauging her reaction as he answered, "1977."
Hermione's face drained of color and another breath, this one loud and shuddering, escaped her before she could shield the sound with a hand slapped across her mouth. There . . . well, there'd really been no preparing for that, had there?
Oh, now she couldn't stop them. Stupid tears started rolling down her cheeks quite without her permission.
Her hand fell, numb, into her lap and she started a nearly incoherent bit of babbling at him. "No, no. I can't—this can't be. You can't be here. I can't be here. None of this, no, no, no! This can't be happening!"
Clearly having seen what he needed to—this was not some clever attempt by that wretch Tom Riddle to infiltrate the castle's defenses, whatever had happened had clearly traumatized this girl—Albus set both wands upon the desk behind him and returned his attention to her. Standing from his chair, he held his hand down to her.
"Here now, young lady," he coaxed in a warm tone. "Come take a proper seat, I'll have some tea brought up—you do look in dire need of a cup or two. Perhaps four."
Forcing a gulp down her throat, she merely stared at his outstretched fingers for a few heartbeats. There was a decision to make here—while bearing in mind, of course, that he probably wasn't above slipping Veritaserum into that tea if he felt such a tactic warranted, and that the rules she'd adhered to as a pseudo-Unspeakable did not apply any longer given her circumstances. She knew Albus Dumbledore was not the doting grandfatherly wizard she and Harry, and all of Dumbledore's Army, had once thought him to be. Oh, that hadn't been entirely their fault; it was certainly a guise he'd cultivated and used to his advantage.
He was crafty, that was for certain, and while she couldn't always say his heart was in the right place—because dear Gods, what soul with any ounce of compassion would have left a child in the care of neglectful, mean-spirited relatives when other, safer, options were available, just to ensure the child's location remained secret to fulfill future plans?—he was calculating and shrewd, and could be kind when it suited his purpose.
If Albus Dumbledore was in a war, then you wanted him on your side, not as your enemy.
She could be honest with him about who she was and where she was from—he was someone who always knew more than everyone else in the room, after all, what was one more secret—or she could protect her secrets as well as she was able and try to go it on her own, but realistically she did not see herself getting very far that way. Her only option for how to find a way back home would be to strike a bargain with the man before her.
Nodding, she schooled her features and let him help her to her feet.
"Now," he said, deliberate in making a wide arc around his desk—she knew it was to keep her out of arm's reach of the wands in case he'd miscalculated in lowering his guard with her—to seat her in one of the chairs facing it. "Let us begin with introductions. It would seem you already know who I am. So, who are you?"
Three cups of tea and an entire plate of biscuits later—she had no idea falling through the Veil could take so much out of a person—she finished explaining as much as she dared without divulging any specific details she might need for future bargaining. Maybe . . . if she'd fallen through and somehow landed in 1977 Scotland, maybe Sirius was here somewhere, too?
"That is quite the story," Albus said with a nod, stroking his not-as-long-as-she-was-used-to beard while he nodded.
Hermione frowned as she set down her empty cup against its saucer on the silver tea service dear little Winky had carted in. Oh, it had been difficult reminding herself at the last minute that she did not know this Winky. "That, Professor, is the sort of thing one says when they don't believe what someone is telling them."
His eyes narrowing pensively, he propped an elbow on his desk and balanced his chin on his fist. "I gather you were one of my favorite students during your time here."
"I don't know about that. I was more Professor McGonagall's favorite, but yes, you were a great influence in my life, too."
"Likely Minerva saw herself in you." He sighed and shook his head. "It is not that I do not believe you, Miss Granger, but it is a lot to take in."
"I suppose it is, yet you don't seem terribly surprised by anything I've said."
"Time magic is tricky at best, a nightmare at worst, and always capable of delivering most unexpected things, I find."
Hermione let it go unsaid that she'd always been curious why it was that he'd known how to use a Time Turner. It made perfect sense, in hindsight, that he'd dabbled in time magic, himself.
"That aside," he continued, "I believe it fair to say you might be in shock right now, as you are not reacting to your predicament as one would expect."
Her brows drew together as she regarded him in silence for a few seconds. She wasn't in shock, she was simply ignoring thinking on the worst case scenario. "What do you mean?"
"You don't actually know what happens to someone who falls through the Veil, do you? Not surprising I suppose, as not many have a solid notion on that."
The witch felt a violent thump in the center of her chest, completely cognizant that she was not going to like whatever he was about to tell her. "I'm not dead, am I?"
"I assure you, you are very much alive," he said with a dismissive wave of his free hand. "However, my personal research with into the Arch and its Veil—"
"Research you never shared with the Ministry." She understood suddenly with a sharp coldness, she also felt she was seeing a truer version of Albus Dumbledore than any person who 'thought' they knew him in this moment.
"The Ministry, like any powerful institution, is fallible. I trust myself, so it is with myself such information remains." He paused for a quenching sip of tea. "My personal research suggests that while the Ministry is correct in surmising that once one has passed beyond the Veil, they cannot return, I believe I know the reason, whereas the Ministry does not yet have any plausible theories as to why that is. Your appearance here today, and your story, backs up my own theory."
Nope, didn't like this at all. It took everything she had not to curl in on herself, not to pull the warmth of her own body around the instant flash of iciness in her aching middle, as she waited for him to elaborate.
"The Arch, well, for lack of a better term, it is a hole what the Muggle world of science would call the space-time continuum. But it is an ancient artifact which predates such understanding. It is a meeting of magic and science without intent." The elder wizard shrugged. "The structure of science makes the magic more potent, while the chaos of magic makes the science . . . unpredictable."
She did not even currently have the presence of mind to question when Albus Dumbledore had learned about the Muggle discipline of quantum physics, but it was another thing she supposed made sense in hindsight. The man's brain should be studied.
"Unpredictable?" she echoed. Now that she'd heard that word, had heard his very astute and insightful theory, she realized the horror of what more he was about to tell her.
"The destination of one who falls through the Veil cannot be controlled or foreseen, there is no way to determine or track where they will find themselves, but the Arch is not a stable gateway, thus said destination would be different each time."
She blinked back tears, feeling a stinging in the tip of her nose as she forced a nod. It felt so strange that the entire conversation alluded to Albus Dumbledore, war-time mastermind for the Light, considered her near-enough his intellectual equal that he expected her to understand everything he was saying. Maybe the way she'd explained her own story had given him that perspective. "So if . . . if someone else fell through, say, two years ago when I'm from, the likelihood of them being here now, or two years ago in your past is—"
"Infinitesimally small, I'm afraid," he concluded in a grave tone, clearly aware this was something difficult for her. "You know someone else who had fallen through?"
Hermione swallowed hard, aware that in 1977, Sirius, Remus, and the other Marauders were alive and well and preparing to begin their seventh year in just a handful of days. "I'd rather not say, if it's all the same to you. All I will tell you is that he was a friend."
"And you hoped you might be able to reunite with him?"
Lines of doubt creased her forehead as she shook her head. "Foolish, I know."
In that moment, she was reminded of why no matter what Albus Dumbledore had done, Harry refused to see darkness in him. He leaned closer across the desk, his blue eyes gentle as he held her gaze. "Hope is never foolish, Miss Granger, it is only the things we might do in pursuit of it that are."
A sad smile curved her lips. "But this is what you meant, isn't it? The Arch is uncontrollable, there's no way to determine where I would end up if I went back through, so I'm . . . stranded here."
Albus nodded. "That is one way to look at it. Your friend, wherever he is now, it is very unlikely you and he are in the same world at all, anymore."
Her entire frame sagged and she sank back in her chair, the weight of it all settling on her in one fell swoop. "Because his very presence in a time not his own would change things. Just like . . . ."
"Just like your presence, here and now, has already changed our future."
"There's no way back," she clarified, her tone hollow, "and the world is different now. I—I can't believe I was tripped and it changed time."
Albus shrugged. "From what you have told me thus far, it seems as though if such a thing could happen to anyone . . . ?"
Though she knew he was right, she couldn't stop herself from fixing the elderly man with a lethal glare the likes of which she'd never have dreamed of giving him when she knew him in her original time.
He was not at all oblivious to her impending meltdown, but she was still calm, still trying to process, so he ignored that she was probably hanging on by a thread and continued on. There was no way to tell what type of person this young woman was when she was handling grief, so best to get the matter sorted now.
"Based on what you have shared, I believe you possess information that can help end this war now, before it truly gets out of hand. Information that can help see to that very troubling second one you mentioned never coming about. I will make an arrangement with you; I know that was what you were hoping for, yes?"
She nodded, though the arrangement she was originally hoping to make involved her getting back home, so she could not begin to imagine what he thought to offer her. However, if he was correct, this was a new timeline, a new world. She could stop Lily and James Potter from dying, she could prevent Peter Pettigrew from betraying them . . . she could save Sirius and Remus without fear that she was damaging the future. "Go on."
"In exchange for the information you gleaned about the Death Eaters and Tom Riddle in your Second War, you will have my protection. I will enroll you here, under a false identity for the safety of any living relatives you may have in this time, where you will be safe and where you can have the time you need to heal and to start your life anew."
His words sent a shockwave through her and suddenly Hermione found herself blinking back a fresh wave of tears as a lump formed in her throat. Start her life anew?
This was really happening. The world she knew was lost to her and her only ally, the only person in this world who even knew her, was a man she was aware she could not fully trust.
