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?


19. Chapter 18: Phase Eins

A/N: Whenever I look at my movellas on the app, I find that the beginning and ends of chapters have been deleted. Is anyone else having this issue with either this, or any of my other movellas?

Step One


Hermione had assumed that Dumbledore, with his great mind and infinite wisdom, would be able to create a counter-curse within hours, and she would be back home before she had the chance to pack. However, she soon learned that this was not the case, at all.

It had been exactly two weeks since Hermione had heard even a whisper from the Headmaster.

What angered her even more was the fact that she had no choice but to bottle up her emotions because she could never reveal the true extent of her past to her new friends, the Marauders, and most especially from within this bunch, Remus. With all the recent revelations which Hermione had uncovered, her brain was now running in overdrive. She had been unable to still her thoughts for several days despite Remus’ attempts to calm her down.

At first, it manifested itself as an overall restlessness she had been unable to concentrate on one task for very long before she got too frustrated with it and moved onto something else. Then she progressed to that dark place in her mind from she had only recently escaped. It was that place where she would lie in bed each morning and stare at the ceiling, counting the cracks which separated one block of stone from another, not wanting to release herself from the sheets.

It was the place where she felt utterly drained of all energy, yet at the same time, she felt completely consumed by it.

Yet again, odd things began to start happening around her with no conscious effort on her part. On one particular morning, all the embossed, gold-coloured titles of books had disappeared from their spines on the bookshelf. Hermione did not know Hogwarts: A History from Secrets of the Darkest Art, and it worried her to no end.

All but one flowerpot had shattered when Remus had knocked over the rickety table in her living area. Most of the soil had spilled out of this remaining pot, effectively killing whatever had been growing inside of it; however, Hermione was sure that she could see the tender green shoots of a new plant beginning to poke through the soil. However, it was not a shoot of the parsley which had been growing previously. Instead, it had morphed into thyme – the very herb which Hermione deduced had brought back her memory when she smelled it.

Remus had taken to visiting Hermione overnight, sleeping beside her in bed with his arms firmly wrapped around her waist as he attempted to calm her. Despite herself, Hermione rather enjoyed these evenings. There was something incredibly comforting and appealing about having a muscularly-toned and shirtless Remus curled up to her side. There were many mornings where Hermione would almost want to beg for time to slow down so that she could spend a few more minutes of peace with a softly snoring Remus beside her, running her fingers through the soft waves of his fair hair. She always seemed to sleep a little better after she had been able to gently trace one of her fingers along one of the pale scars across his back.

Now that she had her memory restored, she knew of Remus’ lycanthropy. She did not tell him that she knew this, knowing that it was a painful subject for him – however, she no longer questioned any cancelled dates or prolonged absences. He would tell her in his own time.

Even though Hermione had more information than ever before regarding her time travel, she was still no closer to finding a way back home, and she couldn’t have been more frustrated with this.

In actual fact, it became more and more evident to Hermione that she needed a want. She could not go on for much longer in her agitated state, without using magic. Also, there was very little she could do by means of producing a counter-curse if she did not have a wand with which to do it.

She was laying in bed, very early one morning, mulling over these thoughts when she felt Remus shift beside her.

“Morning,” he rasped, throat dry from a night of good sleep. “Did you get much sleep last night?”

His body was relaxed but Hermione felt a wave of guilt flow through her stomach when she saw the concern in his eyes.

“I think I got a few hours, but I’ll be okay,” she replied, wanting to dispel any anxiety he had over her.

“That’s good. Let me know if your insomnia gets too bad. Perhaps Madam Pomfrey will be able to give you something for it.”

Hermione nodded.

“I will.”

“That’s my girl,” he said softly, gently pressing his lips against hers.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Remus, and I hate to kill the mood, but don’t you have an exam to study for today?”

She quirked an eyebrow up in Remus’ direction.

Remus laughed, wrapping his arms around his girlfriend’s torso, pulling her closer to him.

“Yes, I do. That’s why I brought my books with me. We can work simultaneously. I’ll study my things, and you can study yours.”

“That sounds like an excellent plan,” replied Hermione, returning the kiss her had given her before.


Studying together had proved to be more distracting for Remus than what he originally thought. He would spend vast stretches of time curled up, sitting across from Hermione on the floor with his textbook inform of him; however, the words on the page were no more than a jumble of letters which no longer made sense. Instead, he would peer over the edge of the book, completely transfixed on Hermione.

Hermione appeared to be having a similar problem because she caught him out far too many times, and would respond by wadding up a spare bit of parchment and lobbing it across the room at his head. But this did not stop Remus from noticing that what started out as feverish scrawling across the page had dulled to the occasional scratch of the quill as Hermione made notes.

Finally after a prolonged silence where there was not even a single scratch made on parchment, Hermione finally spoke.



“I was wondering if you would be able to do me a favour, and take me to Diagon Alley sometime next week?”

Remus look up at her in confusion.

“Diagon Alley?”

“Yes. I’m sure I could get Dumbledore to give you permission, but I need to go so that I can purchase a wand. I’ve never gone this long without one, since I was eleven, and you’ve been around me long enough to know that it’s becoming increasingly difficult to function without one.”

“Alright, we can do that – but what happened to your old one? Can’t you pop back home quickly to get it?”

Hermione wished it were that easy.

“it’s not that simple. I need a wand to be able to get back home, and unfortunately in this case, I can’t just borrow one of someone.”

Despite the innumerable questions running through Remus’ mind, he agreed and it was within the week that he and Hermione were walking the familiar cobbled streets of Diagon Alley, in search of Ollivanders.

After a brief conversation with Dumbledore, they had decided that it would be safe enough for Hermione to quickly drop into Ollivanders, purchase a wand and make it back to Hogwarts. Dumbledore even agreed to owl Mr Ollivander and ask him to open the shop early one morning for Hermione so that she could be as discreet as possible.

Upon entering the tiny, cramped shop Hermione had a number of her senses attacked with memories of buying her very first wand as an eleven year old.

She had no clue then what her life would turn out to be like. She barely knew of the existence of magic, let alone the part that it would play in destroying and rebuilding her life.

Grasping Remus’ hand for comfort she greeted the slightly bleary-eyed Mr Ollivander.

“Good morning, sir. I am Hermione Granger. I believe Professor Dumbledore wrote to you about me selecting a wand today.”

“Of course,” said Mr Ollivander, perking up immediately at Hermione’s introduction of herself.

Her immediately drew out a silver measuring tape which began taking Hermione’s measurements exactly where she stood, in front of the shop counter. It was only after it began measuring the webbing between Hermione’s fingers that the wand-maker told the tape to stop. He walked along many dusty aisles within the store, selecting various slim boxes seemingly at random, all the while quietly muttering to himself as he did so.

Setting the boxes down on the counter in front of Hermione, he took the cardboard lid from the first box, and picking up the wand from within, he cautiously handed it to Hermione.

“Willow and unicorn hair,” he said, as she swirled it through the air.

When nothing happened, he took the wand from her, quickly replacing it with another.

“Cherry and dragon heartstring?”

This time when Hermione swished the wand, an enormous puff of grey smoke seemed to completely obscure their vision for several moments. When the smoke had sufficiently cleared for them to be able to see again, Ollivander took this wand back as well, replacing it with yet another wand for Hermione to test out.

“Holly and phoenix feather?”

Hermione almost gasped aloud at this choice, knowing that this would be Harry’s future wand. She prayed and begged that this would not be the wand that would choose her.

Fortunately, there was no reaction from the wand, and Hermione allowed herself to breathe freely once more.

A small collection of wands was beginning to build up on the counter. Hermione was growing impatient with this whole charade, and she had to resist the very strong urge to throw all the cast-offs into Ollivander’s face and demand her ten-and-three-quarter inch vine wood with dragon heartstring.

Despite his general attitude of being kind and supportive of Hermione in her time of need, Remus had now chosen to sit off to the side of the shop in a chair, becoming thoroughly engrossed in the fingernails of his left hand. Hermione could not blame him. The entire process may have been exciting for an eleven-year-old; however, she was ten years off the mark, and it held the same level of excitement which peeling potatoes did.

Finally, after almost an hour of testing wands, Hermione felt the familiar warmth associated with holding her vine and dragon heartstring wand. She couldn’t be more elated, and sent a beaming smile towards Remus when he swooped up and gave her a quick peck on the cheek.

Apparently Ollivander was thinking along similar lines because Hermione was almost positive that she could hear him saying ‘thank Merlin for that!’ under his breath.

Walking out of the shop, hand in hand with Remus, Hermione felt her mood lift considerably. For the first time in months she felt mildly productive, and she would finally be able to properly produce magic.



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