A Dance Through Thyme [Harry Potter]

There are no strangers here; only friends you haven't met. An unknown man sends Hermione back to the Marauder's Era as revenge, however, the consequences are far more disastrous than what even he imagines when Hermione loses her memory of the past. Why did that man do this to her, and what secrets will be spilled? Who is the guilty party?


16. Chapter 15: Glasscherben

Shards of Glass


Remus winced as the heavy oak door of the Room of Requirement shut behind him – not because of the injuries he now possessed, but because it made more noise than what he had intended. Now Hermione would wake up scared and then almost certainly be angry with him.

James had said that she hadn’t exactly been in the best mood when he had seen her and had to pass his message on. Yet, Remus could hardly blame her. She had every right to be angry when he had been so vague with her. It was for her own safety that he did not tell her what kind of a monster he really was during the full moon.

“Who’s there?” a shaky voice came out of the dark. Remus could just about make out one of the pokers from the fireplace seemingly holding itself aloft in the dark. It moved forwards slightly, and this allowed enough light from the dying embers of the fire to illuminate that it was in fact Hermione holding the iron poker in the air, ready to strike.

“Relax, Hermione,” said Remus, in the calmest voice which he could muster. “It’s only me; please don’t hit me with that.”

Hermione lowered the poker, but her gaze did not shift.

“Oh, I thought that you weren’t going to be able to come over until tomorrow morning. What are you doing? It’s well past midnight.”

Remus shrugged his shoulder as best as he could given the shooting pain which travelled across the bruise that was swiftly forming across his back.

“It was my turn to patrol the corridors tonight...” his voice slowly died away as he thought about the best way to let Hermione know that he would need her help to heal where he couldn’t quite reach on his back. He could have asked one of the other Marauders, but he did not want them knowing that it had happened again. Sirius and James in particular would have gone completely mental and wanted to beat the lights out of Rowle, and Remus did not have the physical strength to restrain them both at once. Madam Pomfrey could have also helped, but she would have asked too many questions.

“What’s wrong?” he heard Hermione ask, her voice losing all sleepiness as she sensed his hesitation.

“Ah, that’s a very good question....” Remus trailed off again.

“Remus,” Hermione reproached. “Tell me what is going on. Where were you the other day when we were supposed to have our date?”

In the absence of a wand, Hermione used a box of muggle matches to light a single taper and use this to light all the lamps across her lounge room. Turning to face Remus, it was only in this light that she was able to see how dishevelled his clothes were. In fact, she could see a hint of purple across the side of Remus’ neck, moving down towards his back.

“I knew it...” she muttered, stepping closer towards him. “I am going to kill James.”

“No, don’t hate James. He doesn’t know about this.”

“Then why did you send him to cancel our date the other day. You don’t mean to say that you’ve been hiding these injuries for days?”

Hermione mentally planned a painful death for James whilst she waited for Remus to explain himself.

“I haven’t been hiding any injuries from James, or from anyone else for that matter. At least I haven’t seen him yet to decide whether or not I want to tell him. Rowle only did this about fifteen minutes ago. I missed our date on Friday because of something entirely different and unrelated.”

“Well, what was it?”

“Hermione... if I could tell you, I would. But I can’t.”

Hermione felt anger effervesce from within her, and yet she still took his wand from his hand and motioned for him to take his shirt off so that she would be able to heal his wounds. Remus shivered slightly as he felt a coolness trickle against his back where Hermione rested the tip of the wand on the bruised parts of his back and shoulders. After a minute or two of this, she allowed him to pull his shirt back on, satisfied that her attempts at healing had been successful.

“Why can’t you tell me?”

It seemed as though the emotional hurt was coming through stronger than the physical hurt when Remus looked at Hermione.

“Please don’t beg me to tell you something I can’t.”

“And I’m just supposed to accept that, am I?” asked Hermione, not sure if she was just angry at a lost date with Remus, his injuries or what was seeming to be a lack of trust in her.

“I do the same for you,” replied Remus, his voice rising slightly as he began to get annoyed at the hypocrisy that Hermione was not willing to acknowledge. He stretched his shoulders back, testing out the recently repaired muscles, taking a step forward he realised that the pain in his shoulder was only masking the real level of pain within his left leg. As he took a step, he seemed to momentarily lose his balance. Reaching forward, he grabbed the first thing that he could reach.

Unfortunately it was the rickety little table on which Hermione kept the various pots of herbs he had brought her. Alone, it was not sturdy enough to support his weight and so it came crashing down as Remus regained his balance with it. He watched on in horror as the table was not the only thing which came crashing down.

Instinctively he reached out to grab Hermione’s body, stopping her head from hitting the solid floor before manoeuvring his wand to point at his hurt leg. He quickly muttered one of the healing spells he had heard Hermione use before he attempted to help Hermione regain consciousness.

Where there were previously only splinters, there were now fine shards of glass. The previously impenetrable glass ball Hermione imagined to be holding all her memories had exploded with the force of a bomb, thereby revealing what she had been keeping from herself.

Her mind was whirring at a pace faster than what she had ever experienced, and she only had fleeting moments to acknowledge the presence of various scenes before they were taken away and replaced with new images depicting her past.

“What are you doing here?”

The gravelly voice was coming from behind her, and Hermione had to resist the urge to jump into the air when she heard it. She must not show weakness.

Instead, Hermione stood up to her full height, and with her wand clenched tightly in her right hand, she spoke with the most authority that she could muster.

“What you’re doing is wrong!”

Her voice reverberated across the room, mingling with the brilliant white light that seemed to be emanating from the bell jar at the far end of the room.

She felt the firm pressure of his hand grasping her around the wrist. In one fluid movement, he spun her around so that he had the advantage of being able to tower of her.

“Wrong, is it? Wrong to serve my master? To prove myself loyal? I’ll be rewarded above all the others, because I would be the one to reverse all the damage!”

He spat on the ground, and Hermione had to move her foot away, swiftly, before the foul-smelling slime could hit it.

Hermione, however, did not back down. He may have been a foot taller than what she was, but she had not let him know that his strength on her left arm was futile. She lifted her other arm, so that her wand was pointed directly at the self-confessed Death Eater, and he did not even have the chance to blink.


Thin cords shot out of Hermione’s wand, and the Death Eater was bound to floor, effectively severing his grip from Hermione.

“The aurors are on their way,” she said, wand still pointing at the head of the man.

The more the man wriggled, the more the stench rolled off him and into Hermione’s nostrils.

“You think that Harry Potter, the Golden Boy with his cronies, will be able to stop me?”

Hermione looked down at his oversized frame with contempt one last time, ears pricked for other sounds that she might be able to use as clues.

All that could be heard was the monotonous sound of many ticking clocks. Each of them hung on the wall; each giving no more information than the one next to it.

Her eyes kept swivelling around the room, looking for something she could use to distract him.

Finally, the sound of many feet running invaded her ears. They stopped abruptly just outside of the door, and it swung open to reveal Harry and Ron, wands aloft.

“Mione, you’re ok...” Ron breathed as he rushed forward to help with the arrest of the man.

Hermione stood back, contemplating what a close call it had been.

Harry stood with her, watching closely as his students worked.

“You’ll pay for this!” shouted the man, as Harry hooked his arm around Hermione’s waist to lead her out of the Department of Mysteries.

“He was sick...” said Hermione, who up until that point not realised that she had been trembling.

She did, however, feel Ron move up beside her and take her hand in his.

“It’s ok...you’re safe now.”

“He was using muggles as guinea pigs for his experiments.”

“What kind of experiments?” asked Harry, suddenly looking very serious. “Did it have anything to do with what he was doing in that room tonight?”

Hermione nodded.

“He was sending the muggles back in time... trying to.... it didn’t work...they’ve been dying... Harry.... torture...”

Her speech came out in gasps as the enormity of what this man had been doing, hit her.

Harry took one look at her and knew that they would not be getting any answers out of her tonight.

“We’ll take her to your mum’s” he said to Ron, as he wrapped his travelling cloak over her now visibly trembling frame.

With a resounding pop they were gone, entirely unaware of the revulsion brewing inside Conrad Rowle.

It was then that Hermione found herself on the floor, Remus trying to hold her up in a half-sitting, half-standing position; his face as pale as the moon.

“Hermione? Open your eyes for me!”

Hermione tried to put her hands on the ground so that she would be able to push herself back to a standing position; however, she found that she couldn’t.

“Don’t try to get up Hermione,” she heard Remus’ voice close to her ear. “I’m going to lay you back down on the ground.... don’t touch the plant. I think it might be poisonous. I’m going to get Madam Pomfrey.”

“It’s not the plant,” replied Hermione, noting how shaky her voice had become as she sat herself properly onto the floor.

“What do you mean?” he said, a perplexed tone entering his voice as he lowered himself to sit behind Hermione so that she could lean against his body in support.

“Well.... it is the plant.....but it’s not poison....oh, I don’t know how to explain it,” she cried out, her voice becoming more exasperated with every attempt.

Remus ran his hands gently along Hermione’s arms where they were resting against his knees. He could feel her muscles repeatedly tense and un-tense as they sat in silence. He pressed a kiss to the crown on her head, knowing that it was something that always calmed her down when she was stressed.

 “What happened to me?” she asked. “Just then, what happened? How did I end up on the floor?”

“I don’t know really,” said Remus after a short pause. “I bumped the table over there, and it caused some of the pots to fall and break. You kind of stared at the mess on the floor for a minute before you went completely rigid... it was like you were having a fit, or something...I tried to catch you before you hit your head on the floor. It was like what happened at Hagrid’s hut, but worse.”

Hermione nodded, trying her best to absorb all of this new information and link it to all that was going on inside her brain.

“Why did you do that? Are you feeling ill? What happened?” Remus implored Hermione.

“I remembered,” Hermione replied, her voice full of the shock and awe which she was experiencing. “I remembered everything. That’s what happened.”


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