Fragments of Fate.

Summary: He was so different from the desperate, broken man she used to know. SBHG TimeTravel.

oOo

The Lily she knew was in Harry's eyes.

oOo

"I suppose you expected me."

Peering down at her through impossibly thick glasses Trelawney barely managed to conceal her surprise. She hastily pushed her gem studded flask into the recesses of her pocket and slid over to the now open trap-door. The glaring early morning sun cut straight through the heady darkness of the previously silent room. The door was slammed shut moments later as a young woman lifted herself up and placed her leather satchel on the floor.

The room had not changed since she last visited aside from the fact that thick, unmistakable smell of alcohol now mingled with the heady, overpowering scent of lavender and roses. Trelawney took a seat on one of the overstuffed chintz armchairs, sitting as though her bones had suddenly melted to nothing - as though she had lost the will for independent movement. For a moment all was quiet save for the faint clanking of many bangles knocking against each other as the slightly startled Professor delicately re-arranged her glittering shawls around her bony shoulders.

"Of course, my dear. I Saw you coming through the trap-door, though I admit I was surprised by the vision."

A barely concealed snort of irritation. Professor Trelawney did little to hide her own expression of animosity as she reached out for one of the delicate, pink patterned china cups that sat arranged in a perfect circle on the low table in front to her. A strong smell of alcohol rolled off the amber liquid within it in waves. Her young visitor curled her lip as she watched; it quickly became clear that she had not lost that maddeningly superior aura.

"Certainly. Though, I can presume that you already know why I am here?" There was a faint hint of mocking in her visitor's voice.

Knocking back the rest of the "tea" she did her best to put on her usual, misty voice. Folding her hands together the young woman before her remained standing and she no inclination to offer her a seat. Hermione Granger never was a student she was fond of. Her soul was too withered and her eyes too unyielding to ever be of use in the most difficult of all the magical arts.

"The Mystic Realms did indeed gift me with that knowledge."

Hermione took a seat without being offered one and folded her noticeably longer legs before slapping a small, tarnished silver locket on the table with more force than was absolutely necessary. The teacup rattled faintly, causing the older woman to wince, and the entire table shuddered a little. Even in the suffocating dimness of the circular room it could be seen that Miss Granger had changed greatly. Her thick hair was more tamed now and her teeth no longer seemed quite so large and protruding.

That was probably for the best - she had been a slightly unfortunate looking child.

Reaching out with one thin hand Trelawney wrapped her long willowy fingers around the small, almost alarmingly warm, object. Three lines were slashed across its surface - perfect, parallel lines that could not have been done with anything other than magic. It fell open in her palm, revealing an interior that could only be described as similar to a pensive. The liquid inside of it floated beneath a layer of glass - ever swirling and billowing in a myriad of foggy shapes.

Pressing her lips in a thin line the Divination Professor looked up at her unwelcome ex-student. Hermione was, in turn, looking at her with an irritated expression; as though she did not want to be there. For a moment she was tempted to refuse the question she was about to be asked outright, but the chance to use such an object again would never come up.

"I would like you to find someone for me." That much was obvious to anyone who had the slightest knowledge of the instrument.

Her narrowed brown eyes conveyed what she did not say; if you can that is. The barely concealed disdain was what convinced her to accept. There would be nothing better than rubbing success in the face of this particular child.

"I will do my best. If the Realms allow me to See. Then I shall See."

Looking back down into the foggy depths showed nothing out of the ordinary. There were many rules for using these ancient objects and they had to be adhered to. The name of the person could not be spoken, or written, the Seeker had to be Gifted, only souls amongst the living could be Sought and countless other Laws lost in the passage of time. These lockets were also considered to be lost... It was strange, that this child should come upon one when her Inner Eye was so blinded by her precious logic.

Reaching out she, albeit unwillingly, clasped the girl's supple, warm fingers in her own cold, thin ones. They sat there for a moment. Both of them staring down at the tiny object between them willing it to show what was Sought. The fog swirled calmly as ever, undisturbed. The passage of time was forgotten as they both became mesmerised by the hypnotic chalky swirls.

Nothing.

"I should have guessed."

She snatched the object up from the battered table, stained with many rings from hot cups of scalding tea being placed carelessly on the surface. Ever an impatient child. The Realms could not be broken or commanded so easily. Brushing back a wispy tendril of greying hair she simply swigged straight from the silver flask that usually remained concealed within her many pockets.

"We were not meant to See who you Sought, my dear."

With one last irritated huff Hermione Granger gathered up her satchel and stormed out of the claustrophobic room, exactly as she had done around three years previously. Trelawney watched the departure sourly and poured herself yet another cup-full as soon as the door was slammed shut. It was a shame the girl took the locket with her. It would have been an invaluable resource. But, then again, they were said to be cursed...

Pressing her thin lips into a line she barely concealed her amusement. That girl wouldn't know a bad omen if it smacked her in the face. Such a shame that pupils like her still found their way up here - into her sanctuary. No matter. She was not meant to See.

Vaguely though, she wondered who the girl had been so desperate to find. Her features showed a moment of unguarded, fierce longing when she looked down upon the tiny object. A lover, perhaps? Laughing slightly at her own suggestion she abruptly teetered out of her seat across to the opposite end of the room. Homework needed to be marked and it was unlikely that she would ever meet little Miss Granger again.

For once her - involuntary - prediction was actually true.

oOo

"Who are you?"

The question echoed through her ringing ears and she looked up to see vague, liquid eyes and wispy blond hair.

Who am I?

"She's not answering Xeno, should we call Madame Pomfrey?"

Suddenly, she was aware of the most horrific burning sensation at her chest. Something tightened around her throat cutting off her air supply. Thick blond curls appeared in her line of vision as wiry arms slid beneath the joint of her knees and behind her back. Perplexed silver-blue eyes looked down at her with some hint of worry. They didn't seem to realise she was choking.

It didn't take long before everything went black.

oOo

Snapping the book shut she looked down at the silver locket with a twinge of irritation. Her usual methodical methods of study and research had failed, every other method she had tried had failed. It wouldn't work. It couldn't work. The Fate locket sat on the table atop a pile of books, glimmering faintly in the firelight, quietly mocking her ineptitude. For hours the only sound had been the soft, crackling of the fire, but the near silence was broken by the insistent 'thud' of footsteps.

"Bloody hell, Hermione. You still up?" The question ended in a yawn as a tall red head stumbled down into the dormitory.

The one person she hadn't wanted to see.

All she could focus on was his pale, exposed chest - peppered with freckles - and the large part of his calves exposed by too short pyjama bottoms. Turning away she blocked the view of too much skin, and too short pyjamas with a curtain of bushy hair. Unbidden, a faint blush rose to her pale cheeks. She heard her voice crack when she told him to go back to bed and go to sleep.

He slumped into the cushy chair beside her with a soft thump and awkwardly folded his long legs beneath the table. His eyes refused to meet hers and he looked slightly uncomfortable. She turned back to her book. Saying anything more would be inviting him to start a conversation with her which was something she didn't want to encourage... Their relationship had been emotionally charged lately and she simply didn't have the energy to fight with him anymore.

"He's not... You know, Hermione. He's dead. This won't help anything..." said Ron, trailing off with an irritated tone.

Pausing while she turned a page she sent him a small glare - a look which told him not to continue. For a moment he stopped and swallowed heavily. There was a faint redness building in his cheeks, obscuring his freckles. Somehow she knew that she wouldn't like what he was about to say. Bitter, angry, tired tears pricked the corners of her eyes as she watched him.

"Harry's my mate, you know. I want him to be happy just as much as you do!" His voice rose slightly and he continued.

"Obsessed with the bloody thing," he muttered gesturing to the tarnished metal, "He won't be able to get over Sirius if you keep dragging this up..."

Unable to contain her bubbling anger, and the residual irritation she had already been feeling, Hermione slammed the book shut with more force than necessary and made to stand. His hand curled around her wrist and pulled her down towards him. Ron's ears had turned red like they always did when he was angry. Frustration made her impatient and the lack of sleep made her angry.

"He could still be alive behind that Veil. You know that Ron, Harry knows that! Dumbledore said so and we have to find out. He can't be left there if he's alive!"

"They've tried everything. And do you know what, Hermione? I think you fancied him. That's what I bloody well think!"

She breathed in quickly when he spoke and stared down him with something akin to amazement. Of course he would think that. Of course he would think that. This was Ron Weasley; so possessive of her and Harry that it was almost painful. She couldn't look at another male without him practically leaping at her. A single heated tear followed down her cheek, followed by another.

It was times like this she hated him.

"I want to find him because no one deserves to spend eternity hovering between life and death. Besides, didn't you know I liked Cormac?"

His mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. His entire face and neck had gone scarlet. That would shut him up. Unable to resist twisting the knife she put on that dreamy expression that was so often painted across Lavender's features and looked away from Ron, who may as well have had steam pouring from his ears. He let go of her hand and pushed the chair backwards with such force that it toppled over onto the floor.

Wincing, she dearly hoped that the bang hadn't woken anyone up. He looked down at her, mouth working furiously for a moment, before storming off up to the boys' dorm with a trail of curses left in his wake. Hermione slid a cold hand up her forehead and tried to focus her eyes on the tiny text which seemed jumbled and swam across the page. That was what she had wanted; to make him angry, jealous.

He had been angry when he found out that she went to Slughorn's party with Cormac. Even angrier when he found them in the dark corridors, together, afterwards. Lavender had been quick to see the animosity between them and practically languished in it. Hermione could not see any real connection between the two of them save the very physical one that involved his mouth on hers.

It was like watching some kind of car-crash; horrifying, but she still seemed unable to tear her eyes from them.

Her head slumped forward onto the cool, re-assuring familiar pages of the book. The comforting smell of ink and aged paper filtered up into her mind and calmed her thoughts. Instinctively her fingers clasped around locket - warm and smooth and ancient - as she lay there. Tears filtered out of her closed eyes and rolled down her cheeks in hot, scalding, stinging waves.

She wanted to find Sirius. She needed to find Sirius. For Harry.

If this stupid thing would just show her him she would know he was alive somewhere. If it showed her blackness she would know that he was truly dead. Instead it showed her foggy nothingness that swirled and ebbed without revealing anything. Trelawney had muttered something about the Realms and Dimensions not being able to be controlled, but she said nothing of Time.

There was this dial at the very top of the locket, just below the loop the chain fed through. Her sweat-slick fingers clamped around the dial - which she had previously ignored - and she tried to turn it. It was almost like the tiny dial on the side of a wristwatch.

I need to see Sirius Black.

Her vision blurred a little then, but Hermione thought nothing of it and continued to fiddle with the tiny piece of silver. It was so hard to get a grip on... If she could just... Her vision swam alarmingly then, just as the dial began to move. Tiny flakes of rust fell when it finally made a full turn. Suppose this worked like a Time Turner. She had no idea what this turning was doing - if anything.

Maybe it would do nothing. Turning it for a third time she concentrated hard on Sirius's face. Maybe, if the mist behind the glass would finally clear and she would be able to find out whether he was still here in some form. Fifth turn. Sixth.

Perhaps she should open the locket. Her finger flicked the catch and it fell open. Still fog inside. Her fingers slipped on the dial when she turned it a final, seventh, time. Everything around her swirled with the strange, foreign fog that normally stayed beneath the glass panel. She couldn't bring herself to panic now that it had finally, finally, done something.

Sirius Black.

I need to see Sirius Black.

The world around her shook.

oOo

A sharp intake of breath from above her. The same hard eyes she knew well from the several times she had stayed in the hospital wing. There were no lines of worry, laughter or age around her eyes and that was disconcerting. Trying to take a deep breath proved to be painful - it felt as though there were white hot iron bands contracting around her throat. Madame Pomfrey made a soft "tut" "tut" sound above her before drawing away.

Concentrating on taking as deep a breath as she could manage Hermione looked at the pale green tiles that decorated part of the wall across from her - paler than she remembered and devoid of a few cracks. A small warm hand slid behind her back and pushed her up into sitting position, propped against the hard, cotton pillows. Breath puffed from her mouth with an unhealthy wheezing sound.

"Madame -" Her weak voice was cut off by a spoon of unpleasant tasting medicine being forced down her throat.

It cooled her aching muscles before burning and forcing her to cough again. Her chest ached from the exertion of coughing and her ribs jolted with pain as they moved out and up in order to give her lungs enough room to fill with air. The Fate locket hung scalding at her neck - so heated that it stuck to her pained flesh with every movement. Hermione knew she had not put it on that night in the dormitory, but the question of how it came to hang around her neck was not the most pressing matter.

"We'll get it off, don't worry. Dumbledore has gone to fetch something which will help," she said as she pushed another spoonful of the vile liquid into her mouth.

The Hogwarts Matron was much thinner than she remembered her ever being and she looked ridiculously young. Thirty or forty years younger than the Madame Pomfrey of her time - no lines on her skin, not a greying her on her head. In fact, she looked as though she had only just qualified for the job. It was her own fault, this mess, she should not have handled such an old and unstable magical artefact in the callous way she had.

But thirty or forty years? A Time Turner could fix that given the proper tweaking. The Ministry themselves had a small set of reverse Time Turners. It would not be too difficult to get a hold of one. Madame Pomfrey bustled off without another word leaving Hermione there, staring after the swishing skirts of the matron. Beside her someone coughed loudly jolting her.

You must not be seen.

Her heart jumped in her chest as she looked down at herself. So many people could have, would have seen her. How much would she have altered history? Struggling with the cotton sheets that clung to her like a second skin she attempted to leap up - to get away from Hogwarts, away from anyone who could see her. Her body refused to respond; giving little more than a few feeble jerks before she settled back on the pillows, chest heaving.

She felt disgusted with herself for being so reckless.

"What are you in for?" said a quiet voice from her right.

Her head snapped round with such a force she was sure to have a crick in her neck. For once in her life Hermione Granger was shocked speechless. The person who had addressed her ran a bandaged hand over his forehead, pushing sweat dampened hair (the colour of treacle, though she had no idea where that thought came from) back away from where it dangled over his eyes.

He looked as though he had been beaten repeatedly by a large, club wielding Troll.

She coughed weakly - and hated herself for sounding so pathetic - before answering, "Cursed locket."

"Back-fired spell."

There were several jagged red lines running across his exposed skin that looked deep and painful. Cursed wounds, according to a book she had once read, took around twice as long as normal wounds to heal, but certain potions could speed it up. His expression did not change when he lied to her; she supposed he was used to lying about this. Her attempt at smiling at him turned out to be more of a grimace. He smiled weakly back at her over the massive tome propped up in his lap.

"From friends?" She gestured at the three garish, pink, sparkling cards with an assortment of ballerinas, princesses and fairies prancing around the front of them.

He cleared his throat looking abashed, "Yeah, their idea of a joke."

One of the fairies - a voluptuous red head with rosy cheeks - blew a kiss in her direction while the rest of them giggled shrilly in the background.

"I can imagine."

Something like a grin flickered on his features, but it was quickly masked by an expression of pain. He wasn't as used to hiding the pain he felt as the Remus Lupin she had known, but he was still just a boy. The same age as her, she quickly reminded herself. Wishing he was asleep didn't quell the curiosity that bubbled up as she looked across at the teenage version of her old Defence against the Dark Arts professor. Merlin knows how much she had already messed up the time line.

"I'm Remus."

A stab of fear jolted to the very pit of her stomach and her heart throbbed painfully in her chest. Make up a name? Don't answer? A muggle name would do; something common and forgettable. She was saved answering when Madame Pomfrey swept briskly into the room, at her heels was Albus Dumbledore. Remus nodded to them before averting his eyes to the pages before him. Even in her head she struggled to call the young marauder by his given name.

The Albus Dumbledore that drew to a halt in front of her still had blazing streaks of auburn running through his silver beard and hair. He peered down at her with familiar piercing ice-blue eyes behind half moon spectacles. His voice was the same calm, devastatingly polite one she remembered.

"I would like you to come up and visit my office the moment you are well enough to leave here," he said coolly, watching her struggle back up onto her elbows.

"Albus, the locket, I've tried everything -" Dumbledore cut off the young matron with a simple movement of his hand before turning to address Remus.

"I believe young Mr Potter and Mr Black are just coming up to greet you?" he smiled serenely, as though at his own private joke, "I'm sure either of them will be able to assist this young lady in removing it."

He didn't wait for an answer before sweeping out of the room leaving a flustered looking matron in his wake. She looked as though she dearly wished to call him back and say something, but instead she turned on her heel and strode into her office leaving Hermione and Remus alone again. Lying seemed like the best option, but if he didn't ask again she simply wouldn't bring it up.

The silence was heavy and awkward for a few moments until the sound of footsteps and slightly raised voices reached them. Hermione's fingers curled around the sheets with a white knuckled grip. She had not wanted to see any more people, let alone James Potter and Sirius Black. If Sirius, or Remus, were to remember her... There was no end to the trouble it would cause. She had no idea how much damage she had already caused.

At the other end of the infirmary the swinging double doors burst open and a pair of boys dressed in mud splattered Quidditch robes tramped in leaving trails of mud behind them on the scrubbed marble floor. Madame Pomfrey shrieked, "Quiet", from her office when their voices lifted to an ear splitting clamour. They too had bruises and small cuts adorning their skin - apparently it had been a pretty rough Full Moon for them all.

It was almost painful to watch them smiling, laughing, when she knew the ways both of them would die. How one of them suffered. Remus managed a lopsided grin for them when they dropped heavily onto the ends of his bed. She had seen a picture like this; ochre tinted and dog-eared with the three of them laughing on some sunny day out in the grounds - Wormtail must have been the one to take the picture.

The greetings ended abruptly when Remus pointedly turned his eyes to where she lay - wheezing and unable to escape the three pairs of eyes which focused on her prone form. Grey, hazel and brown. The tiny females on the cards shrieked indignantly for attention behind the three of them. She smiled and looked down at the tiled floor in a way she hoped they would think was shy. The truth was she was unable to look at the man - boy - she had so desperately sought, or the man who looked so much like one of her dearest friends.

"Prongs, Padfoot, Dumbledore said you would be able to get the locket around her neck off. Go have a look, will you."

"No probs, mate. Lift your head up, love, can't get to the thing if you keep looking at the floor."

She had heard things - from people and Sirius himself - about his escapades with the opposite sex when he was younger. He had been a relatively attractive man when she knew him - after he moved into Grimmauld Place and began eating regular meals. Angular, chiselled features that were tempered with age and a sleek, lithe body. She had noticed, even had something of a crush on him for a time, but his muscles were still wasted from years of disuse, his skin never quite lost that deathly pallor and his eyes - they were the worst part - always held that flicker of madness, of soullessness.

This Sirius was different - in his prime with striking looks and an irritatingly cocky attitude to match. She understood how so many females had fallen for him in the past. His fingers were slightly rough as they brushed her collarbone, picking up the scalding metal that didn't seem to burn him. James Potter leaned over, scrutinising the battered metal. Sirius made a strange hissing sound through his teeth as he picked the clasp and wrenched the thing off her, leaving a ring of angry burn marks around her neck an oval scald where the locket had lain against her flesh.

"It could sense your blood, love." He frowned - as though he hated what he had just said - and glared at the Fate locket before setting it down on the bedside table.

It was open; beneath the glass panels there was no mist, only blackness. She choked at the implications. If one panel - the Seeking panel - went black, then the person Sought was dead. The Life panel never changed from the swirling mist, except when the locket itself was broken beyond repair. No problem, she thought to herself, a Time Turner was all she needed.

"Thank you."

Sirius slouched back onto Remus's bed, probably onto the other boy's legs, while James just grinned and ran a hand through his already tousled hair. She had already spent too much time here and she needed to see Dumbledore. Now. Swinging her feet around she hopped out of the bed. The muscles in her legs quivered in an ominous fashion as she slid her feet into her shoes and began to make her way towards the door.

She couldn't have been in the Hospital Wing long as she was still clothed in her crumped school shirt and skirt. Hermione almost regretted the abrupt departure she was making. After all, she would never speak to Sirius again, and would never have the chance to see them as they were in their happiest days. The thought of how that was shattered was bitter. If she saw Pettigrew she would be sure to hex him until he was crawling, dumb and sprouting all manner of unpleasant things.

Without being seen of course.

Behind her voices yelled indignantly; "Oi! What's your name?" and "Hold on a minute!"

Her steps were quick and faltering as she stumbled behind a tapestry, out of view of a group of Ravenclaw second years that had just stomped around the corner. Dumbledore's office was just a floor above here and thank Merlin for that. Her entire body was wracked with tremors and it was only sheer force of will that kept her shaking muscles moving. Pain flared up every time her clothes brushed the burns around her neck.

A stab of guilt and fear mingled with irritation when she realised she had left the locket lying in the Hospital Wing - she would have to see them again.

Their faces lingered in the forefront of her mind as she rapped on the gargoyle with her knuckles, unaware of the fact as a supposed stranger she should not have known the way to Dumbledore's office on her own.

Damn, I'm tired. I've recently got very into this pairing and wanted to write something for it - so I did.

Little note on the locket - the three lines on the front of it are representative of the three Moirae (The Fates, hence the Fate Locket) of Greek Mythology. They controlled the metaphorical thread of life of every mortal from birth to death (and beyond). Not that it matters - the locket is just another device to get Hermione back to the time we want her in. ;D Oh, and one more thing - the locket does not work exactly like a Time Turner, but I'll develop that point later.

Hope you enjoyed it!

Silver xxx.