Future Imperfect

Three weeks ago, fourteen years later.

* * *

Hermione began to panic. They were closing in on her. An icy chill ran up her spine, and she felt the hard point of her wand digging into her palm as she tried to curb the terror rising like bile in her throat. She heard Bellatrix's triumphant shriek behind her, then the sickening crunch of bone. She turned to see Ginny flat on the ground to her right, and felt her stomach lurch as she noted the unnatural angle of her left leg. She couldn't stop to check if she was breathing.

She ran blindly, madly, forgetting the zig-zag pattern, all the drills.

A stray curse sent clumps of moss flying as it ricocheted off the marble façade of the Ravenclaw Mausoleum. For an instant she saw their hooded faces, stark silhouettes made featureless in the blue afterglow of the Discutio hex. The headstone to her right erupted in sparks, and she was sitting on her father's shoulders on Guy Fawkes' day, watching the fireworks at Burchetts Green. The blue ones were always her favourite. They were the hardest to make, he had told her, because they needed to burn at such a low tempera-

No. She had to stay rational. It was all she had.

She felt a strange sensation, and her stomach churned as she realized she was flying. No- not flying- falling. Tripping over a bloody sodding tree root, she thought bitterly. As she landed heavily on the mossy earth, she finally caught sight of Harry, looking in no better shape than she or Ginny.

He looked as though he could barely lift his head from the ground without pain, and Hermione could see through his torn and bloodied robes that his wand arm sported a nasty looking gash. Still, he had his wand raised, and a look of hard determination gleamed in his green eyes. From the wand's tip a silver filament stretched out, through the darkness and the fog, locking it to another, beads of energy pulsating along its length with every breath Harry drew through gritted teeth.

It was then that she saw the eyes - those horrifying reptilian eyes - gleaming ... and the thin, sickly lips, stretched into a hideous mock-grin across the pallid skull of a face, moving almost imperceptibly, whispering... whispering what? She strained to make out the sounds, barely audible amidst the din of the fray raging about them.

Harry- she had to reach him... had to... had to warn him, somehow...

A sudden blinding flash of light drove all thought from her mind.

"HARRY!"

Hermione woke with a start. She sat up, heart pounding and head reeling from the force of her vision. She glanced automatically at the figure beside her, holding herself still for an eternity of seconds before noting the gentle rise and fall of covers and allowing herself to breathe. She wiped the sweat from her brow, and, bringing two fingers to her throat to check her pulse, waited for her breathing to return to normal.

When Ron spoke, she nearly jumped out of her skin.

"Pardon?" she managed, when she had caught her breath for the second time

"I said, are you alright," he asked, his voice heavy with sleep and concern. He propped himself up on one elbow.

"I'm fine... I'm fine." She shook her head. "Aside from my husband startling me half to death," she continued, with forced mirth.

"You don't look fine," he probed, placing a hand on her shoulder tenderly.

Hermione rubbed her eyes.

"It was just a bad dream, that's all," she sighed, in a tone that told him she didn't want to talk about it.

"Do you want me to make you some warm milk?"

"No, no... I'll get some myself- you get back to sleep."

"You sure?"

She smiled weakly, squeezing his hand gently with hers.

"Of course."

Hesitantly, he eased himself back down onto the pillow, as Hermione slipped out of bed and headed towards the kitchen.

"Accio mug," she murmured absently, and with a few flicks of her wand, poured and heated the milk. She stood a long time by the kitchen window, gazing out at the snowy garden. With a slight shiver, she wrapped her robe tighter around her. She felt decidedly unsettled.

This was silly. She needed to get some rest. The Ministry Christmas party was tomorrow, and Merlin knew she would need all her strength for that.

* * *

"Granger, isn't it?" the thick-set man leaned in dangerously close to greet her, his hand seeming to engulf her entire forearm. She smelled alcohol on his breath, and by her reckoning, something much stronger than the Ministry-provided punch. "Cormac McLaggen, Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

"Hermione Granger-Weasley," she answered, diplomatically disengaging her arm, "Muggle Relations." Hermione peered desperately around the room. Where had Ron gotten to?

"These office dos are so dull," he commented, clearly failing to interpret her less than subtle body language, "but you should stop by my flat in Leicester afterwards- a few of us are throwing a real party."

Hermione fought hard against the look of disgust forming on her face, and, pretending to catch someone's eye across the room, excused herself and made a beeline for the refreshments table.

"Hermione?"

She gave a little gasp, spilling her newly poured punch onto the tablecloth, which instantly absorbed the stain and sprouted a doily in its place.

"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you," the handsome wizard began, smiling apologetically.

"Oh, Cedric!" She gave a relieved smile. "No, I'm sorry, I've been a little... jumpy today. How've you been?"

As he spoke, she finally caught sight of Ron a short way off, engaged in conversation with Romilda Malfoy. By the look on his face, he might as well have been talking to a blast-ended skrewt. She thought momentarily about rescuing him, but decided against it. Serves him right, she thought, for leaving me trapped with McLaggen.

"Do you still speak to Krum?" he continued.
"Viktor? No, I haven't heard from him in ages, actually. We sort of grew apart, after..." She trailed off, with a significant glance toward the corner where Romilda had Ron cornered.

"Say no more," he said with a laugh.

They continued to talk, pleasantries mostly, but it was nice to catch up with him. Apart from Ron and Ginny, she hadn't really kept in touch with anyone from Hogwarts over the last few years.

But something was off. She couldn't quite put her finger on it

They had been reminiscing about the tournament. The night of the Yule Ball, when the Champions had thrown their own private party afterwards- Ron had been mad with jealousy. Cedric, of course, had been the Hogwarts Champion. And he had won, hadn't he? And donated most of his prize money to St. Mungo's, if she remembered correctly- Hufflepuff through and through.

But no, there was something else... hadn't Harry? Of course not, that was silly, Harry hadn't entered his name, none of them had; they were too young, obviously.

She was becoming confused.

Looking at Cedric, she was suddenly gripped with an intense, inexplicable sadness.

Hermione set her drink down.

"Well!" she began brightly, mentally shaking herself, "if you'll excuse me, I think I'd best rejoin my husband before the awards begin."

"Of course." He smiled genuinely. "You must floo me sometime though; we should all meet up for a drink- get a few of the old faces together again, eh?"

"Yes, yes of course, lovely." She smiled, distracted but sincere.

Cedric watched her go, sporting the look of confused geniality that suited him best.

She found Ron by the refreshments table, about to reload his plate with fresh pumpkin pasties. She touched him gently on the arm, and he opened his mouth to speak, but, seeing her face, thought better of it. She glanced about for a secluded corner. Finding none, she took him by the elbow and steered him back the way they had come, into the now relatively unpopulated antechamber. On the tapestry above them, a pixie peered out at them from her embroidered grove, her electric blue wings glinting in the silken moonlight.

"Can we leave soon?"

"Funny, this conversation usually goes the other way around." He smirked quizzically.

"Please?" It was her tone, more than her words, which made him take note. He scanned her dark eyes with concern.

"You're not well."

"I- I didn't sleep well last night."

"Your dream?"

She nodded reluctantly.

"It was about Harry," she began, her eyes not quite meeting his.

Exhaling slowly, Ron reached out and gathered her into his arms. She leaned against his shoulder, her eyes open, fixing her gaze on the pixie in the tapestry.

"Oh, sweetheart." He rubbed her back in slow, deep circles.

"Ron?"

She broke free, pulling back to look at him again, more earnestly. He said nothing. If there was one thing he had learned about his wife over the years, it was that she didn't like to be prodded. If she had something to say, you could be sure you'd hear about it.

"There's something else." She paused to wet her lips, gathering her courage. "This wasn't the first time."

Once she had broken the ice the words poured out quickly and relentlessly, and Ron had to strain to keep up.

"I- I've been having them for months, but they've never been this bad- it was horrible, Ron! Ginny was hurt and I was so scared for you - Merlin knows where you were - and Harry-" she faltered, her voice hitching, "we were fighting for our lives. And every time I wake up, Ron, you can't imagine- I can't shake that feeling! It's not like any dream I've had before- when I'm there, it's real."

"Why didn't you tell me?" he said, finally.

"I don't know... You- you were doing so well, Ron! You're happy- we're happy- I suppose I didn't want to..."

"To burden me?"

"I know how cliché that sounds-"

"You thought that if you told me, I would stop being happy?"

"I thought that if I told you, it would bring it all back again, and you wouldn't be able to keep moving on."

"Hermione, listen to me." He held her gently by the shoulders, forcing her to meet his eyes. "Harry was my friend- he was our friend. Moving on doesn't mean we stop thinking about him. We're never going to stop thinking about him. And we owe it to each other - and to him - to talk about it."

Hermione smiled weakly at her husband. Trust him to come out with something like that- trust him to say the exact bloody right thing at exactly the right time.

"Honestly, Hermione, sometimes you really are the thickest smart person I know."

And then ruin it.

"Well I love you too, Ronald."

"Do you want to leave?"

She let out a slow, ragged breath. "No," she sighed, "I'm sorry. I'll be alright. Let's stay for the Orders of Merlin".

He squeezed her hand and led her back into the main ballroom.