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?

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49. Chapter 40: Schwach

A short chapter this week, but important nonetheless… read and review!

 

 

Weak

 

 

Hermione’s eyes could not leave the piece of parchment in her hand. In the days it had been since the owl had first delivered it, she had been in a state of numbness. It felt impossible to believe, and yet there it was in black and white.

 

Death Eaters had come for Marley’s parents; they had openly declared their hate for the Death Eater regime on a number of occasions. Marley and her brother had simply got caught in the crossfire, trying to protect their family. Their funerals were to be held that afternoon. 

 

James in particular would be sure to hate her. He knew her secret, and the power that her knowledge held. She had failed them all.

 

Lily had cried all night when she found out. James had told her that much.

 

But really, it was Dumbledore’s fault.

 

For months, Hermione had been telling him of what was going on, and he was doing nothing about it. She could hardly believe that it had only been one month since Severus had stormed out of Dumbledore’s office. A simple ‘I told you so’, was not sufficient.

 

Tears began to spill out of Hermione’s eyes once more as she sat in the dim light of her kitchen. Putting the parchment down on the wooden table and away from the wetness of her eyes, she tried to calm her mind enough to be able to form a coherent thought.

 

She ought to have been more adamant.

 

She should have demanded that Dumbledore act when she told him to. If he had intervened when she told him to then this whole disaster could have been avoided.

 

It was no more than a series of mistakes from the start. She had been weak, and it had taken the life of a friend.

 

This was the unprecedented second chance she had at preserving life, and yet a Death Eater by the name of Travers had been able to flick his wand and destroy it all in a flash of green light. Their house was practically flattened, and made level with the Earth all in the name of fun and blood purity.

 

Mr and Mrs McKinnon only had time to rouse their adult children from their beds before Voldemort’s followers took them captive. Dumbledore revealed that it had been Marley’s brother who raised the alarm to the other members of the Order. 

 

It only took minutes for the other members to arrive; but in that time the entire family was wiped out. Murdered and mutilated to the point where their faces were no longer recognisable. Skin and flesh had been sliced away cleanly from their faces and limbs as the younger Death Eaters used the deceased bodies to practice their aim, eventually turning it into a game. They tried to see who could remove certain organs as efficiently as possible. Sectumsempra was a favourite between them; Mr McKinnon lost an eye because of this.

 

It was later found that Bellatrix was the one who set the remains of the house on fire. It made it difficult for Gideon and Fabian to collect the bodies; and they spent the remainder of the night in St Mungo’s being treated for smoke inhalation.

 

Wiping away her tears, Hermione put the letter down. She had not been called into action on the night that the McKinnon family were murdered. Instead, she had been asleep in her bed dreaming of unimportant things. It was at times like this that the Order could have used every helping hand. Hermione was one of these hands.

 

Dumbledore was in charge of organising the Order when it came to unplanned attacks such as these; but the task of getting the message out and rousing everyone out of bed had been delegated to Alastor Moody. Had it been a simple oversight on his part? Or had Dumbledore given him orders not to contact Hermione?

 

Her head began to throb as she contemplated the recent deaths. Standing, she found that she was a little unsteady on her feet; but they still carried her well enough to be able to get a glass of water.

 

Gulping down the cold liquid, she used her sleeve to wipe away a rogue trickle that had escaped from the corner of her mouth. Her hands were shaking as she tried to put the glass down. She put it to rest on the kitchen table, but it was just a fraction too close to the edge, and a pinky finger nicked the side of it just enough for it to crash to the floor. Glass shattered all over the floor, and Hermione could only find the strength to stare at it. Her eyes unfocused as she kicked away the larger chunks of glass, moving to sit back down on the seat which she recently vacated.

 

All the energy had drained out of her body. It was like being a small child again.

 

She remembered her father chasing away all the monsters that may have inhabited the space under her bed, then he would tuck her in tightly so that they could not get to her. Still, she felt scared of the monsters that apparently lived under her bed, and so she would curl up further under the blankets so that even her head was submerged. Eventually she would have to come up for air again, but by this time the monsters would be forgotten, and a peaceful night of sleep would ensue.

 

This is what that felt like. That feeling of being under the blanket with only a limited amount of oxygen. It was the feeling of being smothered.

 

She knew that sooner or later she would have to come up for air; but that one question remained. Would she be able to face her monsters when she did that?

 

 

 

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