Part Three

To Make an End

Part Three

24 June 1995

"Severus, calm down!" Albus demanded, getting up from his seat as Severus paced back and forth before his desk.

"The boy could have been killed, Albus. Barty Crouch, right here in the school all year, and you didn't even notice?!"

"Nor did you," Albus pointed out quietly, restraining the anger he barely managed to keep from seeping into his tone. "Harry is alive..."

"No thanks to you!" Severus insisted, stopping his pacing to glare menacingly. "Four children dead in as many years, a reincarnated Dark Lord running around Britain with the stolen life-force of a girl left in your charge.... Hogwarts is too vulnerable, Albus. Harry shouldn't be here. Surely there is a safer place to teach him what he needs to know to get through his NEWTs."

Albus considered his next words carefully. Perhaps, he thought, it's time Severus knew the truth.

"It's not quite so simple as all that," he finally answered, sinking back into his seat and gesturing for Severus to take the chair opposite him. Only once the other man was seated did he continue. "There was a prophecy..."

"Yes, yes, I'm well aware," Severus said impatiently. "Obviously."

"No, you're not," Albus snapped, taking a moment to regain his calm before going on. "You didn't hear the entire prophecy. No one but myself, in fact, is aware of what else was said. But it's time you knew." He leaned forward over the desk.

Despite his irritation, Snape silently nodded, waiting to hear what Albus had to say.

25 June 1995

The sound of the front door banging open made her nearly leap out of bed. Footsteps thudded up the stairs, and in a panic, Petunia reached for the phone on the bedside table.

"Aunt Petunia!" Harry's voice called from the hallway, sounding frantic, and she dropped the phone back into its cradle and bolted out of bed, throwing the door open to find Harry and Severus standing before her.

"What..." she started to ask, then glanced back the alarm clock. What on earth were they doing here at two in the morning?

"Go wake your cousin," Severus said, nearly shoving Harry out of the room. Petunia blinked in surprise, turning a confused and terrified look on the man standing before her.

"Get dressed. We must hurry," he ordered. He turned to walk away from the doorway, but she grabbed his arm to stop him.

"What's going on?!"

"Harry's in danger," he said, spinning back around so quickly that she lost her grip on his arm. "On the word of a known fraud, Dumbledore is sending your nephew off to die."

Petunia's eyes widened in shock, even as her brain scrambled to process the insanity she'd just heard. "But... but he's fourteen," she protested numbly. "He can't get involved in the war. What is Dumbledore..."

"He's not being sent to war; he's being sent to die, like a sacrificial lamb," Severus interrupted, bitterness and anger radiating from his tone. "We don't have much time. Albus will realise I've left and taken the boy. Hurry," he insisted again.

Petunia stared at him in shock for the briefest of moments, then nodded and ducked back into her room, pushing the door shut behind her.

"What about Vernon?" she called through the door as she pulled her nightgown over her head. "I can't just take Dudley away from his father without..."

"There's no time," Severus nearly shouted.

"I'm going with you and Harry," Dudley's voice echoed through the wall. "I'm not living with Dad. I want to go with you!"

"Of course you're going with us," Petunia answered distractedly.

Severus's voice rang out again a moment later. "Dress warmly and comfortably!"

"Should I be packing our things, or..." Harry asked from somewhere in the hallway, and Petunia listened in horror, though not quite surprise, as Severus told him to pack nothing; everything must be left behind. Finally pulling on the last of her clothing, Petunia threw the door open and then leaned on the doorjamb as she tugged her shoes onto her feet.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"Out of the country. After that, I don't know," Severus answered. His words did little to reassure her.

Almost afraid to hear the answer, but wanting to know, she pressed on, "For how long?"

"Until the war ends," he answered softly. "I'm not sure. Years. Maybe forever, if the rumours of the Dark Lord's new-found immortality are to be trusted."

Petunia stared at him in shock, only looking away when Harry and Dudley came barrelling out of Dudley's room.

"We're ready," Harry said, pulling out his wand. Petunia reached out and snatched it away from him.

"No. Wait. This is... we can't just disappear!" she insisted, looking pleadingly at Severus.

"Then Harry will die," he snapped.

A feeling like an icy fist clenching around her heart raced through her at those words, and with a trembling hand, she gave Harry his wand. "Okay." She nodded as it to reassure herself. "Okay, let's..."

A thud echoed from downstairs, and the very walls seemed to ripple.

"Hands, now," Severus demanded. Harry clutched Dudley's hand tightly in his in an instant, locking his other hand around Severus's wrist. Not allowing herself to hesitate, Petunia clutched onto her son's arm as Severus tightly squeezed her other hand in his. For a horrible moment it felt like the world had turned upside down, and then the very air seemed to press in on her as the four of them disappeared from the hallway.

Less than a minute later, Albus Dumbledore broke through the wards protecting the house. Still clutched in his fist was the note he'd found on Severus's desk just moments earlier.

I won't allow him to become your pawn, Albus.

I speak from experience when I say that no good

can come of such a thing.

Two of the beds upstairs were unmade, and clothes were strewn around the otherwise immaculate bedrooms. No one was in the house.

With anger burning in his eyes, Albus Dumbledore Apparated away from Privet Drive.

26 June 1995

Harry and Dudley had fallen asleep nearly an hour ago, curled together in the room's only bed. Petunia sat on the small sofa, watching Severus as he hovered near the window, his eyes darting here and there around the busy street below. It was only just beginning to get dark, but none of them had slept much the night before, and they'd been moving from place to place all day.

"We left Madge," she suddenly realised, more panicked at the thought than she was inclined to admit.

"She'll be fine. Owls are self-sufficient," Severus answered reasonably. She frowned.

Petunia had to agree that Madge was fairly capable of taking care of herself, but still... the thought that the poor bird would be waiting in the tree near her bedroom window for a family that wasn't coming back nearly broke her heart. Somehow, she found herself missing that little owl more than she missed the house itself.

"Are we safe here?" she asked quietly, changing the subject to get her mind off of the owl.

"For tonight," he answered after a moment. "We'll need to be on our way again by morning."

"This prophecy..." she asked reluctantly, her voice dropping nearly to a whisper so as not to wake the boys, "is there any chance that it's true?"

"No," Severus answered without hesitation. "I wouldn't trust Sybill to accurately predict the weather."

Petunia sighed and looking around. Both Harry and Dudley had argued that they should be allowed their own rooms, but Petunia hadn't much liked the idea of them being out of sight, and Severus had agreed. Unfortunately, that didn't leave many other places to sleep in the tiny room. She wondered if perhaps she could squeeze into the bed beside Dudley and manage to not get shoved out over the course of the night. She knew he tended to toss and turn in his sleep.

As if hearing her thoughts, without even turning around, Severus said suddenly, "Take the sofa. I won't be sleeping."

"But you've been up for as long as we have," she protested. "You can't just..."

"I'm a Potions master," he interrupted, a hint of amusement in his voice. "I didn't come empty-handed. I can stay awake on Pepper-up for days." Finally turning away from the window, he waved his wand at his cloak where it lay draped over the end of the bed. It seemed to stretch and grow, and a few moments later it had turned itself into a blanket. He picked it up and carried it over to the sofa, handing it to her. "Get some rest."

Petunia didn't know what 'Pepper-up' was, but Severus sounded sure of himself, so she didn't push the matter. Toeing off her shoes and leaving them beside the sofa, she pulled her knees up close to her chest, curling up on her side. Tugging the blanket around her, she watched as Severus made his way back to the window, standing protectively between her family and whatever danger might lie outside the heavily-warded room.

"Thank you," she said softly. "For everything."

He glanced over his shoulder, offering her a grim smile before turning away again. Her gaze didn't leave him until she drifted off to sleep.

14 November 1997

"Arthur's dead." Minerva nearly collapsed with exhaustion onto the worn mattress that had served as the only bed for five different people for two weeks now. She delivered the day's bad news without expression or emotion; she'd long ago stopped allowing herself to cry for every lost life, if only because after a while, she'd never have been able to stop crying. Of all the things that had happened, Minerva's quiet acceptance of loss seemed to make Albus's heart ache the most.

"Molly?" he asked quietly.

"She's a wreck. Of course. Who can blame her, with half her family gone inside of two years?"

He'd been wrong; indifference made his heart ache, but hearing the bitter despondency that seeped into Minerva's tone with those words hurt infinitely worse.

Across the room, seated at the scarred table, Andromeda Tonks and Kingsley Shacklebolt continued their conversation in angry whispers. Minerva seemed to try to listen to what they were saying for a moment, then shook her head and turned onto her side. Her own voice dropped to a whisper as well as she asked, "I take it that the tip we received..."

"Came to nothing," Albus finished for her. "Wherever Harry Potter is, Severus seems to have hidden him away entirely and without any outside help. No one knows where they are."

With a sigh, Minerva twisted around onto her back, closing her eyes. Albus leaned his head back against the wall, willing himself to rest for at least a few minutes, but was dragged to consciousness by a barely audible, "This is all my fault."

Frowning and opening his eyes, he turned to look down at his long-time friend, shaking his head. "No, Minerva. Arthur's been reckless ever since they lost Ginny. It was only a matter of..."

"No, not..." she interrupted, her gaze focused on the ceiling, but then shook her head as her words trailed off, blinking back the first tears he'd seen her cry in nearly a year.

"We cannot waste time on regrets, my dear," he said softly, reaching out to squeeze her hand in his. "There are a thousand things each of us would do differently if we could, and there's no way of knowing whether it would have made any difference. Torturing yourself by second-guessing things that cannot be changed is pointless. Try to get some rest."

She nodded against her pillow, tugging her hand away and turning to face the wall. He sat beside her for a long time, but knew from the pattern of her breathing that she never actually fell asleep.

2 May 1998

Normally Petunia was the first one awake in the mornings, and she didn't even notice anyone else as she made her way through the dark kitchen and began filling the tea kettle. She nearly leapt out of her skin in fright when a paper crinkled behind her. Spinning around, she sighed and shook her head as she caught sight of Severus sitting at the table.

"You're up early," she said, trying to mask her fear in the mundane. Even after all these years, she still felt as though she were constantly jumping at shadows and looking over her shoulder.

Severus didn't answer for a long moment, and she shut off the tap and left the tea kettle on the counter in order to see why the newspaper he was holding seemed to have captured his attention so thoroughly.

At a glance, she could see it was a wizarding paper. The moving picture on the front caught her eye. She didn't know where Severus got them, and never asked, but once a week or so, a paper would be delivered by a ratty-looking old barn owl. For the longest time it had been only The Daily Prophet, but then the Prophet had been taken over by the Death Eaters, and now the papers came from all over the world.

Severus stared blankly at the front page, his expression terrifyingly grim, but when she reached out to take the paper from his hand, he quickly folded it and placed it on his lap.

"What is it?" she asked, her heart racing.

He opened his mouth, then closed it again, seeming to consider his words. Finally he answered, "The war's over. Voldemort's won."

Stunned, Petunia sank into the chair beside him, unsure what to say. Holding out her hand expectantly, she waited until he finally relented and pushed the paper across the table toward her. Even though it was the Canadian paper, all of the news was of the war back home. No, not home; England hadn't been home in nearly four years. But somewhere in the back of her mind, she'd always expected to go back one day. Now, that didn't seem like even a remote possibility.

Each page that she turned detailed a new horror, a new atrocity. Not just things happening in the wizarding world, but in the Muggle one as well, as the Dark Lord had turned his focus to the world as a whole. Finally she couldn't read any more, even though she hadn't made it even halfway through, and she folded the paper and pushed it away. Severus didn't say a word the entire time.

In the faintest of whispers, she found herself asking, "Could he have stopped this? Could Harry have... the prophecy said...."

"No," Severus answered firmly. "I've told you, prophecies...especially ones made by Sybill Trelawney...are pure rubbish. If Dumbledore couldn't stop Voldemort, then no one could have. Least of all a teenage boy."

Any apprehension she felt was quickly outweighed by relief. Harry was just a child; there was no place for him in a war zone. And honestly, even if the prophecy had been true, she didn't know that she would have done anything differently. That realisation made her feel so selfish and guilty that she thought she might be sick.

"Dudley will ask about Vernon," she said quietly. "Is there any way to find out if he's still alive?"

"I can't imagine he's high on Voldemort's list of priorities. And there's a chance that he may have left the country already; many Muggles have. But no... there's no one I trust left in that part of the world at this point. If we're going to find out, it'd have to be through Muggle means. I'm sure Harry or Dudley would be able to find out more on the internet than we could discover through my sources. Knowing the Muggles, they've probably set up some sort of registry for refugees and survivors."

Petunia nodded, not feeling certain at all that Vernon would have left before things got really terrible. She'd never met anyone more stubborn, or more capable of self-delusion, than her ex-husband. The thought brought tears to her eyes. Despite all that had happened between them, the thought of anything happening to Vernon terrified her, and she could only imagine how scared Dudley would be.

Overhead the sound of an alarm clock blared, stopping abruptly as footsteps creaked across the floor.

She stood and walked in the direction of the stairs, but then hesitated. "How am I going to tell them?" she asked in a watery voice, listening as a toilet flushed and a second set of footsteps joined the first.

Severus appeared behind her, gently placing a hand on her shoulder, and she turned into his embrace, letting herself lean her head on his shoulder as she cried. Without a word, he tightened his arms around her, resting his cheek against her hair. "I'll go with you," he said after a moment. "We'll tell them together, and then we'll see what we can do about finding Vernon and getting him out of the country."

She blinked up at him in surprise. "You despise Vernon."

"But you don't, nor does Dudley. If he's alive, we'll find him and have him brought somewhere safe," he answered, then qualified, "Not here." The corners of Petunia's lips twitched with a weak smile.

Dabbing at her eyes with the back of one trembling hand, she stepped away from him and reluctantly led the way up the stairs.

24 December 2002

"It's remarkable," Albus said, reaching out a hand to gently run a finger along the bevelled edge of the largest hourglass in the tiered Time Turner. He'd never seen one quite like it, and he'd been looking forward to seeing this one finished for quite some time now.

"It's nearly completed," Hermione Granger said. At his questioning look, she explained, "We're not sure it would bring you back to this time. The charms are... difficult. It's never been done before. I'm fairly certain it would take you further than the average time turner...one year per rotation of the largest glass, one day per rotation for the next, and then one hour for the smallest. It'll go back as far as fifty years, certainly...but you may not be able to return."

"If this works, there won't be a here to come back to," Albus pointed out. Hermione nodded slowly, looking away.

"Will we all just... disappear, then?" she asked quietly.

"We'll start over," he answered. "And if I may be frank, Ms Granger, I doubt there are very many futures that could be worse than the one we're living."

Her eyes were still hesitant, almost fearful. "I knew I was magical before I got my letter," she says after a long moment. "I knew all of my books before I came to school. I thought finally, finally I'd have a place where I fit, where I didn't have to hide things. Hide myself." She looked around the underground shelter that had housed her and six others for nearly two years now, letting out a weary sigh. "You don't know what you're asking of me," she finally finished quietly, reaching out to lift the Time Turner from its place on the table. The muscles in her arms tensed under its weight. "But I want better. Not just for myself. For my family. For everyone. This thing we're living... it isn't really a life, is it?"

Albus accepted the Time Turner, holding it steady so as not to send the hourglasses spinning. "You're making the right decision, Ms Granger. Your invention may be the thing that saves the world."

"Have you decided on a time yet?" she asked, changing the subject. The right time had been the topic of discussion during each of the five meetings they'd had over the last seven months, ever since he'd learned that his former student was holed up in a hideaway in Spain, busily working on a way to fix the past while Voldemort's forces quickly spread over Europe, systematically ruining the future.

Selecting the correct time was important. He wouldn't have long. If the past changed, so did the future. If the new timeline did not involve Hermione Granger inventing an advanced Time Turner, or if it didn't include Albus's decision to use said Time Turner and go back to the exact same time, he would blink out of existence. One couldn't change the past from the present...he would still have existed in the new timeline, even if the future changed and he never actually went back. And such an outcome was inevitable; something had to be changed to bring about a different future. So the dilemma had become finding a time he could alter enough to make a difference, but in such a way as to not make any real changes until the very last second. There would be no second chances; in a different timeline, Hermione Granger may never have spent four months in hiding with an Unspeakable who'd worked closely with Time Turners before the war, or Albus may never have heard the rumours about her project, or the girl may never have survived her run-in with a troll when she was twelve. There was just no way to know.

After five months of poring over endless parchments filled with Arithmantic equations, running the numbers over and over and matching them against seemingly random memories stored in a cracked Pensieve, the decision had been made, albeit reluctantly. Numbers didn't lie; his chance of success, of truly creating a different future, was substantially higher in one particular scenario than in any other, and despite having started over numerous times, despite searching and searching for another moment that looked equally...or even comparably...as promising, he'd finally had to admit to himself that in this thing, what was right couldn't be considered; only what was necessary.

"Yes, I think I have," he finally answered. "I need to go back to 28 October, 1981. Early evening, if possible."

She nodded, kneeling down to set a small dial near the bottom of the Time Turner. "Push this button," she said, pointing to a little knob on the side of the dial, "and it will take you to that date and time. The Turner doesn't travel well by Apparition, so you should jump back from somewhere nearby, then Apparate once you're in the correct time." Her hands shook as she made the final adjustment. "This place wasn't built then. You'll need to go outside first, or you'll end up twenty feet underground."

He nodded. "Thank you again, Ms Granger. You will not regret this."

"Of course I won't," she said wryly, her tone reminding him so much of Minerva that his heart ached. "I won't be here to regret it, will I?"

He inclined his head, conceding the point. "Do you wish for me to wait a few days? Until after Christmas, perhaps?"

She seemed to consider that for a moment, then shook her head. "No, sir. It wasn't going to be much of a Christmas anyway."

28 October 1981

He hadn't seen Hogwarts in over three years, back in his own time, and when he had been there, the grounds had been battle-scarred and one of the towers had leaned. What a thousand years of harsh winters, countless misfired hexes, Potions class explosions and a basilisk hadn't accomplished, the final year of the war against Voldemort had; the school had closed, too damaged to be considered safe. There were rumours that Voldemort was planning to reopen the doors in 2004, once repairs were completed, and Albus wasn't sure what was worse...the school sitting unused and broken, or being used as a recruitment tool for young Death Eaters.

In 1981, the sight of the castle made his breath catch in his chest. It was perfect, standing tall and proud and undamaged in the shrouded darkness. Hogwarts recognised him, and the locks instantly slid open to allow him to enter the school, as they always had.

Making his way up to his office, he gave the password, grateful that he'd checked the Pensieve to see which one he'd used that week, and then stepped inside. Fawkes trilled happily at him, then cocked his head to one side and studied him, looking vaguely confused.

"It's me, old friend," Albus said reassuringly even as he waved his wand at the portraits that lined the walls, causing each one to fall asleep almost instantly. "In a few moments I will need you to deliver a letter to Griphook at Gringotts. Will you do that for me?"

Fawkes fluttered his wings, a familiar action that Albus knew was a sign of agreement.

"Thank you."

Albus reached into his pocket, pulling from it an envelope addressed to himself, and quickly tucked it under a book he knew he'd pick up later that evening. Then, with a wave of his wand, he sent his Patronus soaring toward Minerva's office. A few moments later, she tapped at the door, then stepped inside. Something in his chest twisted painfully at the sight of her. It'd also been three years since he'd seen her, and just like the school, she too had been too injured that day to go on any further. He'd buried her in an unmarked grave in Germany...the best way he knew to protect her from ending up like so many others, on display and degraded even after death.

"Good evening, Albus. I thought you had a Governors' meeting tonight?" she said in a tone that suggested exactly what she thought of the school Governors and their regular, yawn-inducing meetings. She didn't seem to notice the way he was looking at her.

"It let out a bit early," he answered, motioning for her to take a seat. He sat beside her instead of behind the desk, his solemn expression causing her to frown.

"What is it?" she asked, and when he didn't answer, she went on impatiently. "Albus, what is it? What's happened?"

Of course she'd expect the worst. Even in 1981, it'd seemed as though they were losing friends every other day.

"Minerva," he began slowly, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees, "do you trust me?"

She blinked in surprise. "Of course." Her answer, offered so quickly and without hesitation, made Albus's heart ache.

"I need to ask something of you."

She shook her head slightly in confusion, her frown deepening. "Anything, as always." She studied him critically. "You look as though you haven't slept in weeks. I just saw you a few hours ago.... What's happened?"

He had to choose his words carefully. Small things could be changed without affecting the time line. This conversation, for one, had not changed the future, or at least, hadn't changed it so much as to affect his decision to return to this night. But one wrong word, and all of his effort would be for naught.

"Think of your favourite memory of Bellona," he said, and she sat back in shock.

"But... why?"

"Please, my dear, it's important."

She stared at him for a long moment, but then slowly nodded.

Reaching into his pocket, he removed a vial and offered it to her. "I need you to give me that memory."

At this she abruptly stood up, backing away. "No," she answered firmly. "I've given the Aurors enough of my memories. I don't have any left that will be of use to you or anyone else."

"Minerva," he said with just a hint of hurt in his tone, "you claim to trust me. I am asking you to do this not only as your friend, but for the sake of the war." Even as he said the words, he hated himself.

Some of the defensive fury in her expression ebbed away, but she kept her distance.

"This memory will not help you," she insisted again. "We were only children at the time."

Offering her a gentle smile, he said, "It's more important than you think."

He waited patiently, watching her as her usual tendency to follow his orders unconditionally warred against her desire to protect what memories she had left of her little sister. Finally she sighed and looked away, her lips pursed in irritation, and he knew that the hardest part was over.

"Will I get it back?" she asked, her voice strained.

"I don't know," he answered truthfully. He felt he owed her that much.

Reaching quickly for the vial...once she'd determined that she was going to do something, Minerva had never really been one to procrastinate...she concentrated for a moment, lifted her wand to her temple, and removed the memory, carefully depositing it into the vial. Putting the stopper into the end of the vial, she handed it over to Albus.

"Thank you, my dear." He hoped she could feel, somehow, just how grateful he really was. Getting to his feet, he took a roll of parchment out of his pocket. Poking the vial into the centre of the roll, he put the entire thing into a long tube, then tied the tube to Fawkes's leg. Having already received his instructions, Fawkes hopped onto the windowsill and then took off into the night.

Albus would have to hurry now. Fawkes's appearance in London tonight may change something unforeseeable. There wasn't much time left.

Turning back to Minerva, who was watching him curiously, he gave her a weak smile. He reached out, taking her hand in his...a show of friendship and closeness, but more importantly, locking his fingers around her wand so that she couldn't point it toward him.

His other hand twitched, angling his own wand toward her head.

24 December 2002

"Aunt Petunia," Kayla whimpered, tears streaming down her tiny cheeks, "Lisa said Santa isn't real!"

Petunia sighed, kneeling down in order to be eye-to-eye with Harry's daughter. "Don't listen to Lisa. She's wrong, and besides, don't you know what happens to people who don't believe in Santa?" she asked, the American name for Father Christmas still feeling odd on her tongue even after all these years.

"They don't get presents?" Kayla asked, sniffling and wiping her tears with the back of her hand.

"That's right," Petunia answered, nodding solemnly.

"I believe, I do!" the little girl reassured her.

With a smile, Petunia replied, "Well then, you have nothing to worry about, do you?"

Kayla shook her head, wrapping her great aunt in a quick, slightly sticky hug before dashing off to play. Cindy, who'd somehow managed to escape both her mother's arms and her nappy, chased after her.

"I despise that woman," Petunia muttered to Severus, who was standing beside her with an amused smirk on his face. "That nasty, awful...." She trailed off, her lips pursing into a tiny frown as she glared across the room at Lisa, Dudley's latest girlfriend.

"I would have thought you'd be the one most likely to give her a chance," Severus replied, "considering she's you, thirty years ago."

Mildly offended, Petunia turned her glare on him. As usual, he didn't see bothered by it.

"I wasn't that abhorrent," she insisted. His right eyebrow lifted in smug, knowing way that always made her feel torn between wanting to laugh and wanting to yell at him, and she rolled her eyes. "Okay, fine, I was. But I grew out of it."

Severus shrugged. "Perhaps she will as well. I'm rather more concerned with the fact that your son seems determined to marry his mother. This is the third one like this that he's brought around."

Petunia was about to answer with a rather scathing retort when she felt a sudden pressure in her chest, as if the very air were closing in on her, chasing away all thoughts of Lisa. She froze, the errant thought of, But I'm too young to have a heart attack, running through her mind. Leaning against the wall, she looked over to see Severus pressing one hand against his chest, the other holding his wand out defensively. A quick glance around showed that Harry had pulled his wand as well, and Lisa was staring at them all as if the world had turned upside down. Everyone seemed to be in pain; in the other room, Cindy and Kayla started screaming, and Natalie was on her feet in an instant, her wand clutched in her hand as she hurried to her daughters.

"What's happening?" Harry groaned, looking to Severus for answers.

Severus leaned forward, bracing his hands against his knees. "I don't know. Petunia, you and Lisa... upstairs, now. Harry..."

"Yeah," Harry interrupted as he stumbled toward the back door, "I'm on it."

"The children," Petunia managed to get out as she slid down to the floor, unable to even imagine walking as far as the stairs. "You have to...." She couldn't continue, but Severus nodded, crawling more than walking past her, gripping his wand so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

"What's going on?!" Lisa demanded, curling up into a ball on the sofa. "Make it stop! What are you..."

28 October 1981

"I'm sorry," Albus said softly, tightening his grip almost painfully on Minerva's hand, and her eyes widened in sudden fear and anger. Before she could react, he thought the spell: Obliviate.

Her expression turned lax, her free hand hanging loose at her side. Stroking his thumb over the knuckles of the hand he still held, Albus sighed. "If I'd ever had a daughter," he told her, "I'd have wanted her to be like you." She blinked at him slowly, not seeming to hear his words.

"We never spoke tonight," he continued, stepping back. "You spent the night marking essays, and came in here to get some sherbet lemons. You're going to lift the charm on the portraits, but you won't remember doing so. When you see me this evening, it will be the first time you've seen me since lunch." He paused. He was reluctant to go on, but he had to. For the sake of everything. For the greater good. He shuddered as those words played through his mind, but pressed on.

24 December 2002

"What if this doesn't work?" Hermione whispered into the curly hair that brushed against the underside of her chin. Bill's grip tightened around her. The tiny, warm body tucked between them was both comforting and heartbreaking.

"Then... well, then we'll try something different in another world," Bill said, sounding more sure than he really felt. "It'll be all right, Hermione, I promise. No matter where we end up, I'll find you. I swear I will."

"You won't know to look for me," she pointed out in a watery voice, a fresh wave of tears welling up in her eyes. "You'd already left school by the time I got there. We're only here together because of the war and you know it. If there isn't a war, then there won't be an us." She hugged the sleeping boy in her arms closer, adding in a whisper, "There won't be a Hugo." A sob wracked through her body, tears that she'd been holding back finally streaming down her face.

"Hey," Bill said, reaching to stroke his hand across her cheek, "nothing in the world will keep me from loving you. You could rewrite the entire universe, and I would still find my way to you. We'll be together, and we'll have our son. I know we will. We'll have Hugo, and he'll be raised in a world where he can play outside, and go to school and be happy."

Hermione wished that she believed him, but she could tell that he didn't even believe himself.

"Mummy?" a sleepy voice whispered into her neck. Hermione leaned back to look down into Hugo's confused eyes. "Why Mummy cry?" he asked, leaning up to clumsily pat her cheek and press a kiss to her chin.

"I had a bad dream," she said with a weak smile, trying to reassure him. "But I feel all better, having you and Daddy here."

Hugo grinned, nuzzling his head into her hair. Hermione closed her eyes, the twisting ache in her chest growing by the instant. Then the ache turned into something more, something truly painful, and she whimpered. This was it. It was starting.

"Ow, Mummy!" Hugo shouted, trying to push her arm away. Hermione was barely touching him, and the thought that he was feeling the same pain she was experiencing nearly made her burst into another wave of tears.

Bill's face contorted into an expression of agony.

"Daddy!" Hugo screamed in her ear, flailing his tiny arms and legs around. "Mummy, stop!"

She held him tighter, even as she felt like she was being torn in two. "I'm so sorry," she gasped out. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm..."

28 October 1981

"You never had a sister," Albus finished.

With the last word, he felt an enormous pressure, then the feeling of being stretched, too fast and too far and too thin. It hurt, hurt more than he'd thought possible, and he collapsed to the floor. Above him, Minerva stared blankly at the space where he'd been.

With a barely audible POP, Albus disappeared.

Minerva remained where she was, as if in a trance, for only a few moments longer. Then with a sudden shake of her head, she awoke the portraits, moved to the desk, and reached into the first drawer. She'd never really liked sherbet lemons, to be honest, but she'd suddenly been gripped by a craving for a few, and she opened the tin Albus always kept in his office, pocketing a few sweets before popping one into her mouth.

2 November 1981

Minerva trusted Albus, she truly did. She trusted him with her life, with the lives of the students she fiercely protected, with the fate of the only world she'd ever known. But watching him place a letter among Harry's blankets and turn away, doubt threatened to overshadow that trust.

She'd watched those people, those awful, hateful Muggles, all day. How would they react, finding a baby on their doorstep in the morning? What if they said no? What if they refused him, or sent him away somewhere? What danger would befall the little boy if Death Eaters came looking for him in a place where there weren't wands waiting to rise in his defence? Minerva would be the first to admit that her experience with children started when they were age eleven, she didn't know anything about babies, but the entire thing just seemed... wrong.

But still... Albus probably knew best. He usually did, and who was she to question him, when he'd been planning this for the better part of the last two days? He'd taken the time to write the letter he was leaving, so surely he'd considered all of the consequences and benefits of handling things in this way.

Beside her, Hagrid cried, his shoulders shaking. Albus came back to stand on her other side, looking sad and worried, and she couldn't quite bring herself to question his judgment. Blinking back tears...for Lily and James, for poor little Harry, for Mrs Dursley, for everyone...she waited, not wanting to leave just yet. The baby seemed so very small, lying there. And so alone.

"Well," said Albus finally, "that's that. We've no business staying here. We may as well go and join the celebrations."

Minerva couldn't manage any circumstances that would bring her to celebrate this night, but she nodded anyway.

"Yeah," said Hagrid, "I'll be takin' Sirius his bike back. G'night, Professor McGonagall ... Professor Dumbledore, sir." Minerva watched as he settled himself onto the motorcycle and sped off into the night sky.

"I shall see you soon, I expect, Professor McGonagall," Albus said, nodding at her. She didn't answer, just blew her nose.

He turned to walk down the street, and she started off in the other direction, letting herself shift back into cat form as she passed through a dark shadow. Once around the corner, in a less visible, less well-lit area, she Apparated back to the gates of Hogwarts.

5 March 1999

"And what is it that you expect to do as an Unspeakable, Ms Granger?" Minerva asked, eying the girl's proposal critically.

"I want to work with Time Turners," Granger rattled off, obviously having anticipated the question. "More need to be created anyway, and I'm already well-suited to that task; I've been reading about them quite a bit ever since my third year. I've always found them fascinating, for some reason."

Minerva nodded more to herself than Hermione, reading over the parchment covered in careful, precise script. It was obvious that the girl had put a lot of work and thought into her career choice, and Minerva would have been hard pressed to think of anyone else that she'd want researching and developing something as dangerous as a Time Turner. She would write the letter of recommendation that Granger wanted...she'd known that as soon as she'd received Hermione's request...but she'd asked for this meeting because she wondered if the girl didn't have some specific motive for wanting to pursue such a specific and rare field of study.

"Is there anything in particular for which you think a Time Turner should be used?" Minerva asked. "There are many who believe that their destruction was a good thing...that playing with time is too dangerous."

Granger seemed to consider this for a moment, and when she finally spoke, there was a very cautious edge to her words. "I believe the danger associated with them is dependent on the person using them, Professor. At the beginning, my research would be strictly academic, and it may never go beyond that, but...." Her eyes flickered up over Minerva's head as her words trailed off. Minerva didn't have to turn around to know where the girl was looking...Severus Snape's portrait. Of course. Granger and Potter had both spent the better part of the last year trying to devise some way to resurrect Severus, despite the impossible odds stacked against such a venture.

"Well," Granger finished, "if there is a way to right some wrongs that occurred during the war, and to do so without creating major changes to the time that's already passed... isn't that worth exploring? At least theoretically?"

Minerva sighed, doubting the wisdom of such a pursuit. But she knew that even without her recommendation, Granger...and probably Potter as well...would still attempt to go through with their plan. And honestly, if there were anyone who could figure out the mechanics of such a thing and manage to not destroy the world in the process, it was probably Hermione Granger.

"You are playing with fire, Ms Granger. I hope that you will keep all the possible consequences in mind; I'd rather not wake up one morning to find myself living in a Voldemort-run world."

Granger nodded hurriedly. "Of course, Professor. All of my work would need to be approved by the Ministry anyway; I'm sure they wouldn't approve anything that involved too much risk." She smiled reassuringly, nearly causing Minerva to roll her eyes. The Ministry, well-meaning as the current administration was, never seemed to think anything through. That much hadn't changed in all the years Minerva had been alive.

Still unsure whether she was doing the right thing, Minerva reluctantly said, "Leave your proposal here with me. I'll send off a letter of recommendation to the Ministry before the week's out."

Granger thanked her profusely before scurrying out of the office, an ecstatic smile on her young face. Shaking her head, Minerva turned her attention to yet another bit of paperwork for the Ministry (she had better things to do than deal with their bureaucratic nonsense, but she didn't want to make things any more difficult for Kingsley than they already were) and was just finishing it up when she heard a loud rapping on the windowpane. She turned to find an owl glaring impatiently at her, and with a sigh...honestly, did Shacklebolt really have nothing better to do than send her letters all day?...she stood and opened the window. The owl hopped in and perched primly on the windowsill, looking thoroughly annoyed.

Minerva flicked her wand at the string tied to the owl's leg, deftly catching the leather tube that dangled at the other end before it could fall to the floor, then placed a few owl treats on the windowsill while examining the delivery. It was marked with a Gringotts seal, not the Ministry's, and she expected it to contain nothing more than a notification that a sum of Galleons had been left to the care and maintenance of Hogwarts in the will of yet another former student. These letters always made her heart ache; more often than not, this was the first information she'd received about the death of someone she'd taught for seven years. But still, the Gringotts letters had tapered off six months ago, so she cast a few revealing charms before finally twisting the end off of the tube and carefully removing the enclosed piece of parchment.

Unfurling the first few inches of the rolled letter, she blinked in surprise at the handwriting that she recognised instantly despite not having seen it in over a year.

Dear Minerva,

If you've received this letter, then the war has ended in our

favour, but I have not survived. There are things you need to

know, and I could not allow them to go unsaid, even in the

event of my death. Once you read this, I expect that you will

find yourself hating me. I cannot say that I would particularly

blame you...but please know that no matter your feelings now,

in another life, you would have agreed that what I did was for

the best.

Minerva glanced up at the portrait behind her desk, frowning when she found that Albus had disappeared. What could he possibly have done to make her hate him? The closest she'd ever come had been just after the war, when she'd learned the truth about Severus and had seen Albus's manipulations for what they'd truly been, and even that she'd come to terms with, in time. Despite only existing within the confines of a portrait, Albus remained her oldest and dearest friend.

When he didn't return to his frame, Minerva turned back to the letter, unrolling the parchment a few more inches. She felt something tumble inside the curled paper, and as she turned the parchment onto its end, a small vial dropped into her hand. Holding it up to the light streaming in through the window, she inspected the thick liquid inside the vial, almost certain that it was a memory. Now more curious than ever, she set the vial down on the desk, settled into her chair, and returned her attention to the letter.

I think that, all things considered,

the best place to start this tale is at the end....