Shadows crept further along the oak table top, reaching the spot where Hermione’s elbow rested. Her jaw was held up by the palm of her hand but nothing was there to keep her eyelids from drooping. She blinked tiredly, pushed back a few long strands of unwashed hair and continued to stare out the window in front of her.
It had been two days, and her owl had still not returned. She had been very clear in her message; she respected that he wanted some time by himself but she was worried. She needed him to answer so she at least knew that he was alive. That much she deserved.
Hermione started chewing on her bottom lip, slowly, even though it was already chapped and frayed.
He wasn’t giving her any choice. She had to go there.
Quickly she stood, almost surprising her own stiff limbs with the sudden movement. The floorboards beneath her creaked as she covered the short distance to her dark living room. When her hair had been gathered in a tight bun and her jumper had been straightened out she was standing in front of the wide, stone fireplace.
Hermione reached out towards the jar standing on the mantelpiece and cleared her throat.
–Harry’s!†she called out, letting the green flames engulf her.
Hermione coughed as she crawled out of the small fireplace in Harry’s one-room flat. The lack of proper-sized windows made the place even darker than the flat she had left. Hermione had never quite understood why Harry chose to live so modestly even though he could easily afford something much grander. Perhaps it was because he did not like to flaunt his fame or fortune, perhaps there were things he would rather do with his money. He had claimed that he would not spend much time at home anyway, what with Auror training and all.
These last couple of weeks, however, Harry had had a low period. He had spent nearly all his time in this cramped, rather depressing space. He had even been excused from training camp in Portugal, where Ron currently was, and this was what had made Hermione really alarmed. Harry had never let his depression spells affect his work before.
Hermione did not have to look around much to determine that the flat was a mess. Harry’s fold-out coach stretched out across the room, still in the shape of an unmade bed. There was a faint smell, Hermione noticed, and the small table by the kitchenette was cluttered with jars, vials, empty bottles of Firewhisky and a copper cauldron. Hermione stepped over an abandoned pile of clothes to move closer.
Hermione’s brow contracted. What had Harry been up to? It seemed he had brewed some kind of potion, based on the ingredients strewn across the tabletop and counter and the two tall, slim bottles standing atop a few pieces of parchment. Hermione narrowed her eyes to see in the dim light, only to widen them when she managed to read the heading.
Why would Harry be meddling with time travel? Surely he couldn’t be thinking… he must not have thought about traveling 21 years back in time. Hermione knew that Harry could be moody (and had every right to be) but she hoped earnestly that Harry had not spent his lonely days wishing to travel back to before his parents were killed. Back before that single event that had determined how the rest of his life would be.
Skimming through the tattered sheets of paper Hermione learned that there were two separate formulas; one to travel back in time and one to return to the present. She noticed that one of the bottles was filled with a cloudy, greenish mixture and deduced that this must be the potion to travel back in time.
So he had actually managed to brew the potion. Hermione felt guilty for not realizing to which lengths Harry would go, attempting to ease his loneliness and pain while barred into his tiny flat. Something took hold of Hermione’s heart, and squeezed it tightly, as she noticed dregs of green at the bottom of the second bottle.
Harry had left, and he hadn’t even brought the parchment with the instructions on how to get back.
Hermione swallowed hard. She felt her body trembling, but her mind was already set. She had never abandoned Harry before and she wasn’t very well going to start now.
Without allowing herself any more time to think she stretched out one shaking hand towards the bottle of green.
Hermione sensed the taste of something hard and rough. Realizing she was lying face down on the ground, she rolled on to her side and opened her eyes.
The bright light was nearly blinding her, but what she could perceive from her surroundings were stones, grass and tall trees. Hermione sat up and rubbed her eyes.
Beneath her was a flat, rock surface, protruding only an inch above the lawn. Around her several more stones were placed, propped up like tombstones. Other than this odd installation it seemed she was in the middle of a grassy field on a dazzling summer day. A swift wind made the leaves in the trees rustle, and the hairs rise in the back of her neck.
Where was she? And more importantly, where was Harry?
Hermione stood, brushing off her pants and rearranging her jumper. As she straightened up, she suddenly froze to the spot.
A short distance away there was a stone formation of chairs beneath a tree. She discerned that one of the chairs was occupied by a small, dark-clad figure.
Hermione hesitated. –Hello?†she called out, tentatively.
She stepped carefully in the direction of the mysterious person, who slowly slipped off the stone chair and stood in front of it. Hermione could tell that the person was short, but a dark hood was obscuring its face.
As Hermione came to a stop a few feet away, the figure lowered its hood. Hermione was surprised to find a little girl before her, pale-skinned with dark eyes and long, black hair.
–Hello,†Hermione said again, her voice a bit softer. –My name is Hermione. What is yours?â€
The girl’s eyes bored into hers, making Hermione feel slightly uncomfortable.
–Mother says I shouldn’t go out,†the child finally said. Then she was silent.
Hermione stepped back half a pace, slightly flustered. –Why is that?†she asked.
The girl was observing her shoes, peeking out beneath the lengthy hem of her cloak. After a long silence she looked up, her head tilted, one eye obscured by her dark mane. Her voice was quiet and monotone. –Because of the things I can do.â€
Hermione almost shuddered, and realized that the sky had grown darker. She wrapped her arms around herself as she started to feel cold.
Suddenly, a crack of thunder sounded and the girl quickly spun around, her long hair lashing behind her. She set off at a run down a narrow, unkempt path through the throng of trees.
–Wait!†Hermione called instinctively. She was confused, not knowing where or when she was, and had still not seen any sign of Harry. Cold, hard raindrops started to fall. She hesitated for only a moment longer before throwing herself into the vegetation and sprinting after the dark-haired little girl.
Hermione’s feet pounded the uneven earth as she fought to catch up with the small figure disappearing away through the trees. The rain was coming down hard and she cursed herself for not being as physically fit as she probably would have liked to be. Soaked through and gasping for air, Hermione keeled forward crying, –Wait!â€
She bent over and placed her hands on her knees. Hermione struggled to catch her breath, not sure if she was panting or sobbing, or both. Eventually, she stood and wiped her wet eyes on her sleeve.
It had stopped raining. The sun was peeking through the myriad of green from above, and the girl was standing before her with an odd expression about her face.
–What do you want?†the young one queried.
Hermione smiled with relief and exasperation. –I’m looking for my friend. He… You might know of him, he’s...†Hermione hesitated, not completely sure what she could assume seeing as she did not know quite when she was. –…Harry Potter?â€
The girl eyed her quizzically. –Why would I know who Harry Potter is?â€
Seeing her point, Hermione shrugged. They stood for a moment, and Hermione felt the sun making a bleak attempt to dry her wet hair.
–Is there anyone else around who I could ask? Is there a village…†Hermione stopped when the girl raised her arm and pointed into the woods.
–I live just through here. You can ask my parents, if you like.â€
Hermione nodded and followed the little girl further down the path. She was just about to ask how far they were going when they passed a throng of green, and arrived at a small clearing.
The terrain had rapidly changed. Trees were sparser, revealing more of the pale sky. Hermione came to a halt and watched the girl step between uneven slabs of rock, her long, dark hair flapping in the increasing wind.
Hermione determined a faint ‘pop’ to be the sound of a bubble bursting in a pit of liquid ahead. Curious, she moved closer.
As Hermione peered into the depths a waft of sulfur filled her nostrils. The pool reminded her of something she had seen on a trip to Iceland with her parents many years ago. However, rather than being a hot spring, this seemed to consist of boiling mud.
Hermione deemed it unwise to touch the substance, but considered taking a sample with her. It would be interesting to study at home… home, where she would not go until she had found Harry and convinced him to come back with her.
She looked up. The girl had climbed atop a rock, her mane of black rippling back and forth in the breeze.
The girl raised her arm and threw a glance back at Hermione.
–Down there,†she said, hopping down from the rock and seemingly disappearing beyond it.
Hermione gasped and hurried forward. She reached the ledge only to spot the girl further ahead, leaping from rock to rock down a steep, gravely slope.
The view from the rock shelf was astounding. Spread out before her were wide plains of green, dotted with trees and tiny, sedum-roofed cottages. A serpentine road weaved its way about the landscape, through a cluster of houses that had to be a village, and further up a hill towards what looked like a manor under construction.
Hermione did her best to climb carefully down the slope, without losing sight of the little girl. By the time her feet reached grassy ground she had broken a sweat. The girl, however, appeared quite unaffected and was waiting up ahead by a road sign.
Hermione stepped forward and was just about to complement the girl on her swiftness, but was held up mid-step. Her mouth fell open as she read the wooden sign above the girl’s head.
Hogsmeade was the handful of houses on her left? And Hogwarts was the large, yet relatively modest building she had seen up the hill to the right?
Not only did the sign tell Hermione something about the where, but she now also had an idea of when she was - it seemed she had traveled to the age when Hogwarts was first founded.
Hermione eyed the little girl with increasing skepticism. –Umm… exactly who did you say your parents were?â€
But the girl had set off up the dirt road to their right with brisk steps. Hermione had to fight to keep up, still panting slightly.
Tall, thin trees stood on both sides of the track in high, beaten grass which swayed in the wind. Hermione could not help but smile at the building she could glimpse between the trunks, on the other side of the dark, still lake.
It did not seem to be as large as the Hogwarts she knew, but she spotted Gryffindor tower and the high ridge above the Great Hall. She hurried along, a few paces behind the girl, in a way eager to return to the place that had been her home during her young years.
While rather excited to be where and when she was, Hermione had still not been able to figure out what business Harry could have here. Hermione thought for a moment that perhaps he had listened to her all those times she had recited Hogwarts, A History, and had suddenly become utterly intrigued. She smiled to herself and quickly brushed away the improbable thought.
After a few minutes, the road made a bend and they arrived at the gates. Or rather, what Hermione knew would later be gates, as what stood there now were merely two high, stone pillars forming a gateway for the path that led to Hogwarts castle.
It seemed to be the best time of year for Hogwarts; the grounds were green, blooming and sounds of wildlife filled Hermione’s ears. She guessed that it must be the high of summer, July or maybe August. The grounds seemed to be so wide and open, probably because there was no Quidditch pitch yet, no Hagrid’s hut, and no boathouse by the lake, she noticed.
As they neared the great, wooden doors, Hermione was momentarily struck with awe. She could not help it; she always was when returning to school after the summer months. She knew Harry always felt the same way.
The little girl heaved one of the wooden doors open with unsuspected strength, and disappeared inside. Hermione climbed the stone steps towards the door, one by one, suddenly growing apprehensive.
When Hermione stepped into the Entrance Hall, it was as breathtaking as ever. The space seemed almost more majestic with its walls bare, void of the many paintings and banners she was used to, and she had never seen it so quiet. The stone staircase appeared wide and untouched, having not yet seen the soles of hundreds of students’ feet as they made their first venture towards Gryffindor tower. Hermione was curious to have a peek in the Great Hall, but noticed the girl vanishing through the doorway that Hermione knew led to the dungeons.
Quickly she followed, letting her hand brush against the rough stone wall as she walked down the sloping corridor. Torches were lit sporadically, reinforcing the slightly daunting feeling Hermione always felt when visiting these parts of the castle.
The corridor bended this way and that, occasionally passing closed wooden doors, and Hermione sometimes barely caught a glimpse of the girl’s long, dark mane before it whipped behind another corner. Hermione was now certain that the tunnels did not have the same appearance as they would in roughly a thousand years, in the Hogwarts that she knew and remembered. She fought to keep up with the girl as she would otherwise be utterly lost.
Finally, as Hermione rounded a corner, she noticed a door standing ajar with light pouring out into the corridor. She stepped inside.
Hermione had entered something that reminded her of what had once been professor Lupin’s study, as this was clearly living quarters. A lit fire crackled in one corner, in front of it stood a large, black, leather armchair. There was a desk laden with several books, quills and parchment rolls, and across from her was a single, wooden door.
Hermione was about to continue onwards in pursuit of the girl, but stopped mid-step when she noticed some peculiar objects hanging on the right-hand wall. They seemed to be small potion vials, some labeled and some not, and even more stood on a rickety table below. The tiny bottles looked like they were made of ceramics and possibly crafted by hand, as there were many different shapes and sizes.
Hermione caught sight of a label which made her hesitate, and reach for the piece of parchment which she had folded up in her pocket.
She had remembered correctly; the miniscule bottle contained one of the ingredients needed in order to travel back, or in Harry and Hermione’s case forward, to their original period in time. Without allowing herself enough time to dwell or feel guilty about it, Hermione stuffed the small vial in her pocket before approaching the next wooden door.
The door stood only slightly ajar, and Hermione was just about to knock on the solid wood frame when she heard a familiar voice from inside.
–No, thank you, Sir, it was a pleasure meeting you. I won’t keep you any longer now; it seems that someone else wants your attention.â€
Hermione inched the door open to see Harry shaking hands with a tall, handsome man with dark hair and beard. At his side, the mysterious little girl was tugging gently at the man’s sleeve.
Harry looked up, and Hermione saw candlelight reflect in his wide green eyes. At first he looked completely stunned to see her. Then he smiled.
–I can’t be away for even a day without you setting out to save me, can I?â€
Finding no suitable words for a response, Hermione smiled back.
It seemed they could not exchange politenesses fast enough with the man and his daughter; Hermione had a million questions to ask Harry and could only concentrate half-heartedly on anything else. She eyed the tall, dark man up and down, wondering who he was and what had possessed her friend to travel back in time to meet him.
–Salazar Slytherin?†Hermione was baffled, but tried to keep her voice low as they had only reached past a few bends of the stone corridor. She was following half a step behind Harry, who oddly seemed to know his way.
–Yeah, I… You know, I’ve been thinking a lot of thoughts lately. Some dark thoughts.†Harry paused. –Complicated thoughts. In here,†he said and led Hermione into one of the dungeons.
Harry silently lit the torches with his wand, and the room before them was revealed to be prepared as a classroom. Benches and tables stood in rows, while books and potion ingredients were neatly stacked on shelves and in glass cabinets along the walls.
Harry approached a cupboard. He slowly started retrieving articles as he spoke, keeping his back to Hermione. –I don’t feel… I’ve never felt like a good person. I’m not sure if there’s in some way a part of him left in me, or maybe all of it has just… changed me.â€
Hermione stood rooted to the floor. Her eyes were locked on the back of Harry’s head, her hands clenched in concern.
–I just felt that if I could talk to someone, someone who could be objective and doesn’t just see me as the chosen one, as their savior… I don’t know, I just…â€
When Harry turned around, his eyes seemed distant.
–I wanted to talk to Salazar and see what he was like, before everything. Did you know that the very first Hogwarts students are coming in just a couple of weeks? No, how could you know,†Harry laughed as he saw Hermione’s expression. Then he turned solemn again.
–He’s everything the Hat always described him as. Very ambitious, obviously. He cares a lot about the school. And about his friends, he and Godric Gryffindor-–
–…were great friends. Up until they started disagreeing on how to run Hogwarts.†Hermione gave a small smile.
–Yeah,†Harry answered quietly. He turned towards the cauldron and ingredients he had collected from the shelves, and started unscrewing the cork to one of the vials.
Hermione stepped forwards, withdrawing the neatly folded piece of parchment from her pocket. She spread it out on the table beside the cauldron.
Harry looked up. –You always come prepared. Luckily, I have a good memory,†he said, tapping with his wand first to his head and then at the base of the cauldron, bringing its contents to boil. –Not always something I’m happy to have, I’m afraid.â€
Hermione’s face mirrored the pain she could see in her friend’s. Empty bottles of Firewhisky flashed before her eyes.
–So did you find what you came for?†Hermione asked.
Harry did not answer immediately. –I know that I can’t change who I am, or what I’ve done.†He spoke slowly and determinedly. –I needed to figure out on my own what all this makes me. The world expects me to be a good person, but am I? I’ve killed people. I’ve yearned for revenge. I’ve felt hatred.â€
The dungeon was silent for a moment as Harry stirred in the potion. He seemed to be contemplating his words.
–It felt good, talking to Salazar. It gave me a lot to think about. I’m ready to go home,†Harry announced, flashing Hermione a glance. –All we need now is…â€
Hermione dug into her pocket to retrieve the vial she had stolen.
–Where did you get that?†Harry asked shrewdly, to which Hermione just shook her head. She pulled out the cork and poured the transparent liquid into the cauldron.
A distinct, but not completely unpleasant smell filled the room. The potion had settled on a light shade of bubblegum pink.
–I’m glad you found me,†Harry murmured.
–I’m glad you found yourself,†Hermione whispered back.
***
Teach Me How to Smile by Hokey
Chapter Endnotes: Thank you for reading! You know I love reviews, right? :)