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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50. Chapter 41: Getrennt

Segretated

 

Spring came by and almost passed completely without a hello. The Order was slowly but surely infiltrating the ministry so that they would be able to pick up clues about Voldemort.

 

Lily’s figure had blossomed rather magnificently; and she was eagerly accepting any donations of baby clothes or toys. She had wanted to go on a big shopping trip to be able to buy all the necessities. Indeed it would have been lovely to be able to do that, if only it wasn’t so dangerous to be seen out on the street.

 

At Hermione’s insistence James and Lily had placed their house under the protection of the Fidelius charm, just as Hermione had protected her own home. Sirius and Remus were renting a muggle dwelling in the local countryside, and had done the very same to their home. James and Sirius served as each other’s secret keepers; although Remus, Lily and Hermione knew of the secret, and were frequent visitors.

 

In spite of the camaraderie and small celebrations between them, there was an overarching sense of fear that pervaded the entire magical community. No one went out for fun anymore. The streets were grey and empty.

 

Shop-owners were finding the times harder than most, as they were essentially being deprived of their livelihood. Hermione no longer ventured down Diagon Alley; either in disguise or otherwise. Those who supported Voldemort were outnumbering those who didn’t. No one could be trusted and it would only take one mistake on her part to be named as shamed. She was not pureblood. Indeed there was nothing that she could use to prove that she was even a half-blood.

 

Even the meetings of the Order were few and far apart; however every so often Hermione spend the afternoon visiting Aberforth in his pub. He was able to give her news of the outside world.

 

It was on one such afternoon that Hermione received a satisfactory piece of news. She had walked into the pub to find it empty. Hearing some scuffling coming from the back room, she called out a swift hello to Aberforth before settling herself down on one of the bar stools. He must have been expecting her because there was a pile of newspapers sitting on the edge of the bar. Hermione pulled one closer to her, and flipped through the pages, reading snatches of text, here and there.

 

The Prophet had been printing lies for well over a year and a half, but Hermione was glad that they got one detail right. Peter Pettigrew was named a Death Eater.

 

An old photo from school was placed among several law enforcement photographs on the bottom of page six. It was almost insignificant to the others in the Wizarding community, and Hermione had already known of the truth; but there was something satisfying in seeing fact printed there.

 

He had chosen his path, as they had chosen theirs. He was a grown man, and there was nothing she could do to influence him.

 

There had been some talk of Elphias Doge working in the newspaper before it was too far gone into the hands of Voldemort. Clearly he had made his mark, however small it may be.

 

Hermione looked up from the paper when she heard the noises around her getting louder. Aberforth appeared at the door.

 

“I can’t believe you still read that rag,” he told her. “It’ll do you no good, besides there’s plenty missing from that. Albus only just told me… it’s Gideon and Fabian –”

 

Aberforth cut his words short, not sure how to say it. He was still processing the information himself.

 

“They were at the Ministry today, weren’t they?” Hermione felt her heart begin to race. Her mouth became so dry that she suddenly couldn’t speak.

 

Aberforth nodded at her.

 

“Yes, they were at the Ministry today, collecting something for Albus. Alastor was with them. They thought that they had made a safe escape, but a couple of Death Eaters caught wind of what they were doing and followed them out with back-up. They were in some alleyway, and from what Albus says they were cornered by about five or six Death Eaters.”

 

Hermione felt that she knew where this conversation was going, and she did not want to hear it.

 

“No!” she gasped. “They didn’t. They’re far too skilled at dueling for that. Alastor was with them. They should have been safe!”

 

“Albus has gone to inform Molly now,” said Aberforth gruffly, allowing his arms to fall limp by his sides.

 

“Even Alastor!” Hermione was practically wailing now. It was too soon after Marlene’s death. The Order was not recruiting as heavily as it once was, and to lose some of the most valuable members in such a short space of time was difficult to comprehend.

 

“No, not him; although he’s badly wounded. Lost a lot of blood, and got a nasty cut to his cheek from what I heard.”

 

Hermione gulped down her tears.

 

She was a part of a war. People died, and that was a reality that she had to live with. It was foolish to think that resurgence of some aspects of the past was avoidable.

 

“I’m sure Molly will get a funeral organised for them in no time,” Aberforth said, his eyes not quite reaching Hermione’s.

 

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

 

Hermione left the pub quickly, taking the pile of newspapers with her. Before her emotions could cloud her thought, she scrawled a quick message to the others to let them know of the news. It sounded as though Alastor would be out of action for a little while.

 

She then wandered around the confines of her home. The sun was streaming through the clouds in the sky, but the air held a dampness that made it feel like rain was approaching despite the warmth. Hermione thudded down onto a chair by her kitchen table, pressing her face into her hands until she felt like her fingers were pushing her eyeballs painfully back into her skull. Removing some of the pressure, she felt the shooting pains dissipate from her eyes, only to be replaced by the stinging of tears.

 

It was a sin to kill Gideon and Fabian. Yes, it was torturous to take their life away from their family and friends, because they had done nothing with their lives except love others and give them the gifts of joy and laughter. So, it was a sin to not have them here to bring light to the dark times.

 

Hermione closed her eyes, and for once in her many lives she could not hold back. The tears began to flow as she grieved her friends. She thought of all the missed opportunities in her life. She thought of all the times she should have given in to temptation. An extra glass of wine with friends; holidays abroad; sharing food with family; learning all that she could about as much as she could. That was what life was meant to be.

 

Her throat was momentarily constricted as she felt a wail rise from within her. She let it free, and the air around her felt her pain. Her fist met the hard tabletop, but the pain felt good. It was finally being released. The wail had become an outright scream, and her lips were pulled back to reveal her teeth because of it. The skin on her cheeks became blotchy and damp.

 

Hermione allowed herself to think of not only the people in this life, but of the people in her past life whom she would never know again. For the first time ever, she allowed herself the chance to grieve for the life she might have had with them.

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