Future Imperfect

She met Ron on the landing with a collision that could've bowled over a Hippogriff.

"So, er... how was the appointment, then?" He asked, bracing himself for an annoyed tirade.

"Brilliant!"

"Listen, I know it was daft of me to suggest it, and you needn't- er- hang on- what?"

"It was brilliant. Very helpful. Thanks so much, love." She gave him a quick peck on the cheek, before turning back in the direction of her study. She paused a moment at the door.

"Listen, can I use your spare Pensieve?"

"Of course love- something the matter with yours?"

"No, no- I could use the extra space, though- I've got some homework for Dr. Morgan I want to get started on."

"Homework! Blimey..." Ron chuckled, "I can see why you liked her so much."

Hours later, Hermione's supper was getting cold. Ron padded up the stairs, careful not to upset the contents of his tray. Leaving it afloat momentarily in midair, he knocked tentatively at the door. When he received no answer, he opened it a crack. His wife sat at her desk amid a sea of parchment and reference books. Some were familiar to him - their History of Magic textbook, a few Ministry-issue readers on basic defensive magic - but other, more sinister looking tomes looked as though they had been lifted from the restricted section of the Hogwarts library. On the corner of the desk sat Hermione's Pensieve, the brimming surface positively seething with silvery filaments. His own lay on the windowsill not far behind. She seemed at the moment, however, to be thoroughly immersed in the scroll lying open in front of her, which was periodically emitting strange bursts of energy.

"What's all this?" he asked, attempting to sweep away the tiny points of light which hovered about the room, jumping from book to book. Hermione scarcely looked up from her scroll.

"Oh, just a little cross-referencing charm I threw together," she offered nonchalantly.

"Cross-referencing char- Hermione, you will never cease to amaze me." Ron's brow furrowed in fond bemusement. He leaned over her chair to embed a tender kiss in the thick curls at the crown of her head.

"I brought your supper."

"Oh! What time is- oh, Ron, I'm so sorry, it must have slipped my mind-"

"Never mind, love, it's nice to see you back to your old self again- what is it you're so hard at work on?"

"Ronald, do you love me?"

"Hermione! How can you even ask that? I've just brought you Rarebit, haven't I?"

Hermione smiled. Even magically reheated, it did smell good.

"Seriously, Ron, do you... do you trust me?"

"'Course I do," he started, warily, "what's all this about?"

"I think the timeline's been tampered with."

Ron's brow arched involuntarily. True to his word, though, he didn't say anything. He swallowed, and looked at her to continue.

She explained about the session, about the memory spell she had tried in the bath.

"I don't think they were dreams at all- they were memories! So I've used the Pensieves to try and sort them out," she concluded. "I think I've got it worked out, now. Well, I can remember everything the way it really happ-" She stopped herself - this was the only reality he knew. "That is," she continued, "I can remember everything that happened in... the other one."

"The other timeline."

"Right."

"And who, exactly, is behind this...this tampering?"

"Voldemort."

Ron flinched. He had grown up fearing the famous dark wizard, as had so many witches and wizards of his generation.

"Harry asked us to use his name, Ron."

She explained about the prophecy, about Voldemort murdering Lily and James, and turning his wand on their infant son. Harry was the Chosen One, she explained; it was on him to defeat Voldemort, and they had sworn to help him. She came to the crux of it.

"I don't think Harry's death was natural, Ron. I think Voldemort killed him."

Ron swallowed. He stood in silence a moment, his face pale.

"But, he's gone," he uttered finally. "Defeated, ages ago! I was just a kid, but Charlie remembers it; Dad took him to the parade in London-"

"That's just it, Ron, I don't think he is gone, not really! Think about it. Vol - fine, You-Know-Who, then - was the most powerful, most evil wizard in history! Worse than Salazar Slytherin, worse than Grindelwald. And he was just reaching the height of his power! He had followers all over the country, all over Europe! Where did he go, Ron? Not Azkaban! Where's his body?"

"I... the Ministry..."

"Exactly!" She cut across him. "The Ministry! They're tangled up in this somehow, I'm sure of it."

"Hermione, what you're talking about... it's treason."

"I'm talking about facts, Ronald!" Her palm smacked against the open parchment, sending a flutter of sparks into the air.

She held up a Daily Prophet; it looked 20 years old, at least.

"Victory! You-Know-Who Defeated in Brilliant Ministry Plan," it announced. Millicent Bagnold, the then-Minister for Magic, and her Chief Investigator Cornelius Fudge beamed up at him from the faded front-page.

"I've read this cover-to-cover, and every issue for a month afterwards, and there's nothing in it but generalities! In every article, they hail Fudge for his bravery and fortitude, and make vague references to this cunning, top-secret plan of his. If it was such a brilliant victory, where are the details? Who fought in that battle? I can bet you it wasn't Fudge!"

"And the history books are no better," she continued. She presented him with fact after fact, inconsistency after inconsistency, referring often to the parchment in front of her. Ron was silent for a moment, taking it all in.

"If what you're saying is true, if V-vo-" he stuttered. "If You-Know-Who isn't gone, what's he been up to? If he was so bent on killing Harry, why did he sit around twiddling his fingers for 23 years? And why the...aneurysm," he pronounced carefully. "Why didn't he just use a curse?"

"I-" Hermione was caught of guard by this. "I don't know," she admitted. Her brow furrowed in thought. "But last time," she mused, "when he tried to kill Harry in... in the other one, the magic was so powerful that it nearly killed him! They all thought he was dead, too, no-one knew about the Horcruxes-"

"The what?"

"I-" This was going to take far too long to explain. "Never mind about that. The point is, they thought he was dead until he turned up at Hogwarts in first year and tried to steal the Philosopher's stone!"

Ron gaped. "He was at HOGWARTS?"

Hermione sighed. She was over the biggest hurdle: she'd told him. But if she'd thought the next part would be easy...

Over the next hour or so, she filled him in as best she could with what she could remember. They had moved the conversation down to the lounge; they sat on the settee, a pot of tea steeping on the coffee table.

"The thing is, though," she was saying, "I've no idea about any of the history. I only know what I saw, or else what Harry told me. I can't ask anyone, and there obviously aren't any books about it in the library..." She trailed off. "Without that, I've no way of knowing when exactly things went wrong - split off, I mean. I wouldn't know where to start."

"So how do we stop it?" he asked.

"So, you believe me, then?" Relief flooded her face.

Ron's brow furrowed. The story sounded mental. Dark wizards, time travel - she talked of these things like they were old hat. It was not at all the sort of thing he could believe in. But looking into her dark eyes - her entirely focused, rational, distinctly un-addled eyes - he found that he could believe her.

"Yeah. Yeah I do. What's next?"

Author's note: Thank you so much for your reviews, and your patience! I know updates have been slow (that'll teach me to start a multi-chapter time travel AU while writing a thesis...) but I promise I won't let this bunny die. I think bottlebrush may have caught me in a Flint about Hermione's age though :( - apologies.