Fire and the Flood

“Harry was tired. Tired of being stuck with his horrid relatives, tired of doing all the chores, tired of Dudley’s gang beating him up, tired of the nightmares, just tired, tired, tired, tired, tired.”

In the summer after Fourth Year, Harry is struggling with the aftermath of the Triwizard Tournament. Nightmares plague his sleep, and his Aunt and Uncle are doing their best to make his summer a misery. Harry’s tired of it, and just wishes for someone to help him - to help him break free and run away from it all.

His salvation comes the night before his 15th birthday, while he’s awake because of yet another nightmare, fists clenched tightly in his sheets as he struggles to control his anger. His salvation comes in the form of an owl - a nondescript, grey little thing that flutters irritatingly at the window before he opens it. His salvation comes with the letter it brought, written on aged parchment in a looped hand, inviting him to finally receive the training he so desperately needs. He takes the mysterious offer…

…and isn’t seen again for the next six years.

Prologue

Harry was tired. Tired of being stuck with his horrid relatives, tired of doing all the chores, tired of Dudley’s gang beating him up, tired of the nightmares, just tired, tired, tired, tired, tired.

As he sat on his bed, only a few minutes before his 15th birthday, after yet another nightmare, he just felt tired, and it showed. There were heavy bags beneath his eyes, and his skin was pale and sallow. He was also painfully thin, even to look at - due to a combination of a rather large growth spurt and a lack of food.

Harry clenched his fists tightly. No one had written anything to him all summer, and the only letters he had received had been sent only by his prompting - replies to letters he himself had written to his friends. They contained absolutely no useful information either - just a whole load of fluffed-up rubbish he didn’t care to hear. He was tired of that too - being kept in the dark and treated like a child. He was sure the headmaster was involved in it, because when wasn’t he?

The nearly-fifteen-year-old was brought out of his musings by the sound of a quiet tapping on his window. He did his best to ignore it. It persisted, however, and began to get on his already-frayed nerves so, with a sigh, he got up slowly, and opened it.

A small, grey owl swooped in and landed on his rickety desk, and gave a reproachful hoot, as if telling him off for taking so long to open the window. Despite this, it did hold out its leg for Harry to take the letter attached to it. The sullen teen did so with a sigh,  giving the bird a gentle scratch on the head as an attempt at an apology. Seeming please, or at least satisfied, the little bird took off back into the night, clearly not needing a reply. Harry shook his head slightly, before unfolding the letter and beginning to read.

Dear Mr Potter

We would like to offer you the opportunity to receive specialised training, as we know you are in need of it recently with the return of the Dark Lord known as Voldemort. As a few of the people who believe that you speak the truth on this matter, know that you have our full support. Please consider our offer, and reply as soon as you have made your decision. A verbal response will do, and we shall arrange transportation for you as well.

Kind regards,

Your mysterious benefactors

Harry read over the letter again in puzzlement. A mysterious group of people wanted to offer him training because they believed that Voldemort really was back? What a load of rubbish. On the other hand, what if the offer was real? He really did need training, and he might just be turning down the offer of a lifetime if he refused. But what if it was just the Death Eaters themselves laying a trap for him?

“How do I know you’re not just Death Eaters?” he asked the empty air, hoping that, if they could hear him respond to their letter, they could hear him ask questions as well. 

Years later, when recounting the tale, he would swear that he heard a humoured chuckle as another letter appeared, this time straight out of thin air. Harry blinked at the mysterious phenomenon as it floated a few inches in front of his eyes, before grabbing it and reading that one too.

We can assure you that we are not Death Eaters. We are also fully aware that Lord Voldemort is nothing more than an anagram made up by a half-blood boy with idiotic ideas of superiority, and would definitely have no wish to serve him.

Harry smiled to himself. At least his “mysterious benefactors” had a sense of humour.  Shaking his head, he placed the letter upon his desk, and looked up at his ceiling, thinking it the only logical place to look when attempting to talk to, what appeared to be, an omniscient person.

“I’d like to accept your offer,” he said clearly.

Almost before he’d finished speaking, a loud rumble started up, shaking the very walls of Number 4 Privet Drive. Harry found himself struggling to breathe as the air seemed to disappear around him, before his eyes rolled back in his head and he passed out.

A few moments later, any traces that Harry Potter had ever lived in the house had disappeared, including the boy himself.

And I’ll Always Feel You In My Blood

Hermione would always remember the day everything went to hell.

It had started off rather peacefully, which should have, in itself, been a warning.

She’d woken up slightly earlier than normal, and had ended up lying quietly in bed, mulling over the summer so far while she listened to Ginny’s quiet breathing.

She and her parents were supposed to have gone skiing in France that summer, but only two days before they were supposed to leave, Professor Dumbledore had come to speak to them. He’d told them that it wasn’t safe for Hermione to go anywhere that summer, because of Voldemort on the loose. Hermione had been about to protest vehemently, but then the headmaster had brought up her Achilles Heel - Harry.

“What would Harry do?” he’d said, eyes twinkling, “If something were to happen to you?”

Hermione’s breath had caught in her throat. He’d blame himself, she knew it, just as he had done with Cedric. He’d blame it just on her being his friend and try to distance himself from her. Hermione couldn't take that. She couldn’t!

So, she’d agreed to go with Professor Dumbledore, for Harry’s sake, apologising profusely to her parents for ruining their ski trip.

“It’s fine,” they’d said, “Perhaps we can go some other year.” Although their smiles had been mostly fake, and their eyes disappointed.

She’d spent all her time since then cooped up within the dreary walls of Number 12 Grimmauld Place. Grim-Old Place it was, too. Mrs Weasley had tried to make it better by having them clean, but it didn’t really do much good. The place needed a brand new makeover, and it wasn’t going to get one any time soon.

Another thing that had upset Hermione that summer was Professor Dumbledore banning her from writing to Harry. She’d even gone so far as to argue with him about it, nearly screaming that Harry needed support, not silence, not being outright ignored. But he just didn’t listen, didn’t listen, didn’t listen! He’d eventually made her swear an oath, on threat of taking her back to her parents and making Harry worry about her. She’d done it, and cried herself to sleep that night.

A crash from downstairs in the kitchen had brought her out of her reverie. Mrs Weasley appeared to have dropped a pot. At the noise, Ginny had only sighed in her sleep and rolled over onto her side. Hermione then got out of bed and got dressed, before heading downstairs.

“Good morning Hermione dear,” Mrs Weasley had greeted her with a soft smile, “I’m sorry if I woke you.” 

“You didn’t, Mrs Weasley, don’t worry,” she’d replied, “I’ve been awake for a bit, and just thought I’d come to see if you needed help with anything.”

“That’s very kind of you dear, but I’m alright.”

The rest of the day had gone pretty much as it always had that summer. Once Ron had finally gotten out of bed and made his way to the kitchen, they’d all had breakfast. After that, the teens had all been put to work cleaning yet another room. That had tired them out, and they’d all gone to bed early. Hermione had fallen asleep the moment her head had touched the pillow. That was where everything went wrong.

She’d been awoken during the middle of the night by various voices outside her bedroom door. They were loud enough to wake even Ginny, who’d looked at Hermione in a sleep-filled haze of confusion. Worried, Hermione had slipped out of bed and to the door, opening it a crack to hear what was going on.

“... the ground just opened up and swallowed the whole house! The place is in ruins, all broken up! They found the Dursleys’ bodies about 20 minutes ago, there’s been no sign of Harry, but from what I saw, only a miracle could save him.”

Hermione’s blood had run cold. Harry!

She’d flung the door open.

“What’s happened?” she’d asked, ashen-faced, “Where’s Harry?”

“Hermione!” Mrs Weasley had cried, “You’re supposed to be asleep. Why don’t you get back into bed?” The older woman had looked worried and shaken, which had done nothing to calm Hermione’s nerves.

“No,” she’d said, firmly, “I want to know what’s happened to Harry.”

Bill, who’d been the one speaking to Mrs Weasley, swallowed, before answering, “A massive sinkhole opened up at Number 4. The whole house went down. They’ve found what’s left of the Dursleys, but nothing of Harry.”

“No!” Hermione had cried, taking a step backwards in shock, “He can’t be… He’s not…”

“They’ve found him!” had come a cry, as Kingsley ran up the stairs and met them on the landing. He’d looked pale, almost sick, “They’ve found him. Harry’s-Harry’s dead.”

It was at this point that Hermione’s world crumbled around her, as she fell to her knees and screamed.

Everything Is Fine

Harry couldn’t believe he’d been with the Founders for six years already. Had it only been six years? It felt longer.

He could clearly remember the night he’d travelled back in time - the strange message, rumbling house and blackness that enveloped his vision. He’d woke up again roughly 1000 years in the past, lying on a cot in a much newer version of the Hogwarts Hospital wing. He’d been shocked to discover just who his so-called “mysterious benefactors” were, and had openly gaped at them when he’d discovered their identities which Godric and Salazar had laughed at raucously.

After recovering from his shock, the Founders had explained to him why they had brought him back in time. They could see the future, they’d said, but didn’t specify how. They’d only said that they had seen his future, specifically, and that it would have been dismal had they not brought him back. Which, of course, was why they had done it.

Then, Helga, who was the healer of the group, had told Harry that she’d done a full medical scan on him while he’d been unconscious. She’d said it sadly, and looked at him with pity in her eyes. He’d simply hung his head, ashamed, and feeling weak that he’d never fought back. Helga had told him that there was nothing for him to be ashamed of - he was not to blame for the actions of others. She’d then given him a brief description of all the injuries she’d need to heal, and told him that he’d probably be bedridden for the next week or so, and unconscious for quite a bit of it. He’d sighed, but agreed to it all, knowing that, if he was to go through with the training, he’d need to be physically fit enough for it.

All in all, he’d come out of that week of bedrest standing a full five inches taller at 5’11, a healthy weight for his height, eyes no longer hidden behind glasses and shining brightly. He was as he would have been had his parents not been killed, and he felt good.

Soon after that, he’d started his training. Godric had instructed him to go through a rigorous exercise routine every morning to keep fit, which he’d followed religiously. He’d begun to build up muscle because of that, which he hadn’t noticed until Salazar had pointed it out during one of their training duels. Harry had been distracted by it, and lost the duel, which’d he’d been teased mercilessly about for a long time afterwards.

He had lessons too, in various subjects. The one’s he’d done at his Hogwarts were continued and expanded on, but there had been others as well. Rowena had instructed him on magical etiquette, Helga on basic healing techniques, Godric on duelling and Salazar on parselmagic. 

On his 17th birthday, two years after he’d arrived in the Founder’s time, Harry had gone through his Magical Maturity. Thai had caused him to receive a rather large boost in magical power, and had made him grow another 4 inches, until he’d stopped at 6’3.

In total, he’d trained for six years with the famous Hogwarts Founders, getting better and better as time went on. Soon enough, he was beating Godric in their duels more often than not, and all of the Founders were immensely proud of him.

It was during one such duel that everything had changed.

He and Salazar had been fighting each other, spells firing rapidly from their wands as Godric and Helga watched from the sidelines. They were interrupted, however, when Rowena came running in, looking flustered and shocked. Godric, Helga and Salazar were alarmed, as they knew she had been looking into the future. Godric turned to her, expression serious.

“What’s happened?”

Rowena took a few deep breaths, noticing absently that Salazar and Harry had stopped their duel to listen in. She relayed her news anyway.

“It’s Hermione Granger,” she said, “She’s just defeated Voldemort.”

Harry's jaw dropped open in shock.

“What happened? Is she alright?”

His eyes were wide, and filled with anxiety. 

Helga smiled at the sight. Helga knew how much he cared for his old friend, even if he hadn’t seen her for many years. Helga could go so far as to say he was in love with the girl, but wasn’t sure if he knew he was aware that he held those feelings for her. Oh well, she’d let him work it out for himself.

Rowena nodded shakily, “Physically she’s fine, but she’s struggling emotionally. Taking a life is always hard, no matter how necessary it might be.”

They all nodded sagely in understanding. Harry swallowed thickly.

“I need to go back,” he said, “I can’t let her struggle on her own.”

The founders looked up at him. Salazar nodded.

“We’ve taught you all we can,” he agreed, sadly, “I think it’s time.”

They shared a sad smile, before starting plans for Harry’s return to the future.

…::-::...

A day later, Harry and the Founders shared tearful goodbyes. Harry thanked them profusely for what they had done for him. He knew they had saved him from a terrible future, and he would forever be grateful for everything they had done for him.

All too quickly, it was time to leave. Harry took a step back, as the Founders went to work, chanting the spell that would send him back. They shared one last smile, before Harry closed his eyes…

… and opened them again to find himself in the Room of Requirement, alone. He sighed sadly. He’d miss the Founders, but now was not the time to dwell on it.

He needed to get to Hermione.

…::-::...

Hermione sat, curled up, on her bed in her old bedroom at her parents’ house.

She’d arrived there not long after the battle was over, and had broken down in tears as her mother comforted her.

She’d killed someone.

She’d taken a life, taken away a person’s right to live. It was wrong, no matter how evil the person had been.

She’d fallen asleep soon after arriving, and her parents had, somehow, managed to get her upstairs and into bed. She hadn’t left the room since.

She hadn’t eaten much, just nibbled around the edge of a few biscuits when her mom had brought up a tray full along with a cup of tea. Suffice to say, she wasn’t in the mood for company.

Which was why, when her mom called up the stairs to tell her that one of her friends had come to see her, Hermione groaned internally, before shouting back down to tell them to go away.

There wasn’t a response to that, so Hermione hoped that her mom had done as she’d asked. However, about a minute later, she heard footfalls on the staircase, indicating that someone was headed up. They stopped outside her door. Hermione simply turned away from it to look out the window as the door opened behind her.

“Go away, Mom,” she said, irritably, “I don’t want to talk to anyone.”

“I’m not sure whether or not to be offended that you think I’m your mother,” came a voice from behind her, sounding vaguely amused but also concerned. Why did Hermione find it familiar?

She huffed, and turned around to face her mysterious visitor…

… only to look straight into gleaming, emerald-green eyes that brought back so many memories - memories she had long since buried away as they were too painful - memories of Harry.

When Your Hand Is Resting Next To Mine

Hermione fell backwards onto her bed at the sight of the man before her. He was tall, with unruly ebony hair that fell forwards to reach his eyebrows. He looked so much like the way she imagined Harry would do had he lived that it physically hurt her.

“I’m dead, aren’t I?” she asked, staring at him in a mix of shock and sadness, a few tears streaming down her cheeks, “I’m dead, and you’re Harry’s ghost come to lead me onwards.”

 The man (ghost?) laughed, and shook his head.

“You’re not dead,” he said, smiling, “and neither am I, but I’m pleased to know that you recognise me after all this time.”

“No,” she whispered, “You can’t be Harry. You’re dead!”

“I know about the sinkhole, Hermione,” he replied seriously, “I know that the whole world believes me to be dead. But I’m not, because, when the house went down, I wasn’t there.”

“But your body, they found it, how could you not have been there if they found your body?”

“That, I’m afraid, is a rather long and involved story I’d rather have once you’re feeling a bit better.”

“No!” she said fiercely, her shock being replaced by anger, “I demand answers from you Harry James Potter! How dare you?! You let me, let everyone believe you were dead for six years, and now you just show up here after Voldemort’s defeat and have the audacity to keep things from me?! I don’t think so!”

“Okay, okay, you’re right, Hermione.” Harry tried to placate her. 

He certainly hadn’t come back with the intention of upsetting her further. He’d come back to help her, and didn’t want to make anything worse.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “Truly, Hermione. I never meant to hurt you, or anyone else. The situation was taken completely out of my hands, and I’m fairly certain I was unconscious for a bit as well.”

He chuckled as an attempt to lighten the mood, but Hermione didn’t respond, still staring at him firmly from her position on the bed and didn’t make an effort to move any closer. Harry sighed internally and continued with his story.

“I was rather angry that summer,” he explained, “My so-called ‘family’ had been especially atrocious in their behaviour towards me. They made me do all the chores and barely fed me anything. Dudley and his gang took turns to beat me up every day and, on top of it all, I wasn’t receiving any useful letters from you or Ron.”

“That was Dumbledore,” Hermione explained, “He made me and Ron swear an oath that we wouldn’t tell you what was going on. I refused to at first, but then he threatened me.”

Harry nodded sadly, “I figured something like that had happened. We’ll get back to that later - I need to have a ‘talk’ with the headmaster.”

“He’s dead,” Hermione interrupted.

“He has a portrait, doesn’t he?” Harry asked, before shaking his head.

“Anyway,” he said, “As I was saying, I was angry at a lot of things that summer, and those were just a few of them. Nightmares had also been keeping me up at night and they weren’t helping anything. It was after one such nightmare when I was awake the night before my birthday, stewing that there was a tapping at my window. I did my best to ignore it, but it persisted and eventually began to irritate me, so I opened it, which let a little grey owl in. It had a letter attached to its leg addressed to me, which I took and read.”

He smiled at the memory.

“It was an offer to train me,” he continued, “At first I thought it was a joke, but it turned out to be real enough. I accepted their offer there in my bedroom, and not a moment later, the ground began to shake. It felt like the air was being sucked from the room, and I passed out. I awoke again in the Hogwarts Infirmary.”

“But that’s impossible!” Hermione cried, “We would’ve found you had you been there!”

“No, you wouldn’t have,” Harry elaborated, “because I woke up in the Hogwarts Infirmary 1 000 years in the past.”

Hermione gaped at him, “But-but how? Time-Travel on that scale has never been heard of.”

Harry smiled at her, and decided it was safe enough now for him to take a seat on the end of her bed, which he did.

“The people who offered to train me were the Founders of Hogwarts,” he said.

Hermione’s eyes widened, “You’re joking!”

Harry chuckled, shaking his head, “No, I’m not.”

“But-but how? How is it possible?”

“I’m afraid I’m not sure myself. It was never explained to me. They simply told me that my future would have been terrible had they not rescued me. They’ve been training me since my arrival there six years ago. Then, yesterday morning, Rowena announced, rather dramatically I might add, that you’d defeated Voldemort. As soon as I heard, I knew I had to come back.”

He watched sadly as Hermione’s face paled with the reminder of the fact that she’d taken a life.

Harry gently pulled her into his arms, providing comfort.

“You did the right thing,” he told her, as she clung to him, as if checking to see that he was truly there, “If it weren't for you, hundreds, if not thousands, of people would have died. Besides,” he smiled slightly, “Had you not done it now, I wouldn’t be here.”

Hermione looked up at him, a curious expression on her face, “You mean you came back because of me?”

“I came back for you,” he corrected, “I couldn’t stay away when I knew you were struggling.”

“You mean you gave up training with the founders for me?”

“I had finished anyway,” Harry replied, “We were discussing my return already, so it wasn't as if I lost out on anything.” He smiled at her, “And I missed you to boot!”

Hermione laughed, sounding more than a little hysterical, “I’m sorry to say I find that rather hard to believe.”

She pulled away from Harry, stood up, and began pacing the room, causing him to frown.

“You’ve been gone for six years,” Hermione berated, “and you decide to return now, after Voldemort’s defeat, for me?” she scoffed, “Forgive me if I find that difficult to understand. Why now, Harry? Especially after you faked your own death? Why bother to return at all?”

“I didn’t fake my death,” Harry cried, hurt by her accusations, “That wasn’t my choice! I never would have hurt you like that!”

“Oh really? Then whose choice was it?”

“It was a prank,” Harry explained, rising to his feet and gesturing with his hands, “Godric and Salazar were getting me back for beating them in a duel earlier that week. They thought it would be funny,” he scoffed, “They created a realistic fake body and somehow managed to plant it at the wreck of Privet Drive for anyone to find. I was furious with them when I found out, and I made sure they couldn’t walk straight for weeks afterwards. They didn’t dare to anger me again after that.” Harry shook his head, “I don’t think they truly understood what they did, the hurt and pain it would cause.  They claimed later that they thought it would give me an advantage over Voldemort, as he wouldn’t expect a dead man to come after him. It did me a fat lot of good, didn’t it?”

He looked up at Hermione, with sorrow showing clearly in his eyes, “I truly never meant to hurt you, or anyone else, Hermione. I certainly never expected to be gone as long as I was. I-I only hope you can forgive me. If not now, then maybe someday.”

He turned to leave, opening the door and stepping out into the hallway, casting one last, sorrowful look at Hermione before heading down the stairs. Hermione stared after him, stunned. Only the sound of the front door broke her from her stupor.

“Harry! Wait!” she cried, racing down the stairs and almost knocking over her mother, who looked shocked at the behaviour of her daughter after the last few days of silent depression.

Hermione flung open the front door just in time to see Harry reach the gate at the end of the path where she knew the wards ended.

“Harry! Harry, wait!” she shouted, in a desperate attempt to get him to stop before he left, to prevent her from losing her again.

Thankfully, he heard her, pausing just as his hand touched the gate, and turned to her. His eyes widened in shock, however, as she came charging down the path, crashed right into him, knocked him off his feet and kissed him soundly on the lips. As soon as Harry recovered from the shock, he happily kissed her back, and only stopped when they needed to come up for air.

Hermione smiled down at him, her hair glowing golden in the sunlight, framing her face.

“I’ll always forgive you, Harry,” she breathed, “and I’m never letting you go again.”

Epilogue

2 years later

To say that Harry’s return had not been well received would have been an understatement. 

The Weasleys in particular, had had a severe reaction. Ron had completely blown up at him for ‘abandoning’ them, as he put it. Ginny seemed to think that they should start dating, and had fumed at him when he firmly told her ‘no’, and that he was in love with Hermione. The twins, however, had thought it a great prank, and invited him to visit their shop at any time, all while giving him a rough pat on the back that nearly knocked him over.

Sirius and Remus hadn't taken it well at first either. Both had felt betrayed but, once Harry had explained everything to them and given them time to cool off, they’d slowly come around and welcomed him back with open arms.

Hermione’s parents, on discovering his identity, had been rather furious with him for breaking their daughter’s heart all those years ago, but once they saw how happy Hermione was to have him back, especially after the depression she’d been in only a few days ago, they gladly welcomed him into their family, and he hadn’t left since.

Now, Harry stood beside a hospital bed at St Mungo’s, holding his wife’s hand as she held their new-born child with the other. There were tears in his eyes as he smiled down at the small bundle, and he could only wonder how his life would’ve turned out had the founders not taken him back, and, whatever had happened, he wouldn’t have had it any other way.

The End