This piece is dedicated to my lovely friend and rare-pair enthusiast, Frumpologist.

You have sailed a thousand ships and I wouldn't be writing this without you blowing wind in my sails!

xXx

April 1997

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardy

"I'm afraid I must again ask too much of you." Dumbledore's weathered voice shook, his mangled hand tracing the worn photograph in front of him.

"You never ask too much, Headmaster. Whatever I can do." Hermione sat on the edge of the cushioned chair, her lips lifting into a weak smile. Exhaustion had long since seeped into her bones, hours of research on top of her schoolwork and the worry of the impending war constantly weighing her down. She was tired.

Unruly silver brows pulled low over his half-moon spectacles, and she found that the sparkle that had been ever-present these last six years was gone. "I am only human, Miss Granger. I've made so many mistakes, so many wrong turns when I was sure I was making the right ones. Now, we've gone too far. I'm afraid we may not be able to fix it going forward." His lips folded into a tight line, nearly disappearing behind his wiry silvery beard. "We must go back."

"Sir?"

A tremor shot through his blackened hand as he offered her the photograph. She eyed it cautiously a moment before reaching out to take it into her lap. A cluster of people gathered in a small room, some grinning broadly, others looking as though they could barely stand. She'd seen the photo before, absently remembering it stuck to a mirror during their tenure as Dumbledore's Army, but things had changed since then.

She found that staring at the image brought on a wave of unfamiliar emotion, a connection that spanned decades and death. A grin stretched over her face. "Is that…" She pulled the photograph closer. "Is that Sirius Black?"

"It is."

"And Professor Lupin?" Disbelief coloured her words, her finger dragging over his handsome face; he looked like a different person. Dumbledore hummed his agreement, and then her eyes caught on another person, one she wasn't sure she'd seen before. There was something distinctly familiar about him, about the square set to his jaw or the riotous way his hair stuck up. "Is this Harry's dad?"

Her gaze flickered up, landing on Dumbledore's crooked smile, his hands folded neatly over his long white beard. "It is, and to his left, Lily Potter. That is the original Order of the Phoenix, taken in July 1981."

A small huff of surprise pushed past Hermione's lips as she traced her fingers over the image once more. There were so many there, so many that she would never see again or meet at all.

"What does this all have to do with me?" she asked, brows drawn together as she set the photograph back down on his desk.

"If things do not go as intended, I need you to go back."

"Go back where?"

"To the past." There was a beat of silence as they stared at each other. As her lips parted, ready to retort, he continued. "I meant what I said, Miss Granger; I fear we can not fix this going forward. We must defeat Tom Riddle before. Before he marked Harry as his equal and set the prophecy in motion; before he made himself immortal."

The blood drained from her cheeks, eyes rounding. "Sir, I can't—surely, there is someone else? Harry needs me, I can't just—"

"It is you. There's no one else."

"Ron and Harry… Can they—"

"If things continue on," Dumbledore paused, eying his cursed hand for a moment before returning his gaze to her, "I will not be here. I have exactly one of these left." From the confines of his desk drawer, he lifted a time turner and dangled it from his finger. Although, this one looked slightly different than the one'd she sported, two extra hour glasses of varying size nestled within the rings.

"If in the Spring of next year you have not found the remaining Horcruxes," Dumbledore continued, "These will find themselves to you by a most trusted friend." He procured a small leatherbound notebook wrapped in cord and a velvet satchel clanged with coin when he placed them in front of her. "This has all you need if you're to be successful."

"Successful?" Her brows tugged low, and she studied the journal between them, his fingers tracing the engraving on its surface, a bird—a phoenix—rising from the ashes in a wake of flames. "And what, exactly, would constitute a successful mission?"

"You must destroy Tom Riddle prior to Halloween 1981."

OCTOBER 1979

Flats over Darwin Street, No. 4B

Hermione checked the journal—again. It was the right address, no doubt there, but it looked rather unimpressive. A grimy little stack of flats on the wrong side of town, with weathered shingles and dull yellow lights glowing from dusty windows.

In the autumn of 1979, the First Wizarding War was coming to a head. The sides had been set, the numbers rising steadily in disappearances and deaths, turmoil in the Ministry; it was all a hideous mirror of the time she'd just left.

Climbing the stairs, she felt the familiar pulse of anxiety thrum through her veins. It'd been present for days now as she prepared, readying herself for the days, weeks, months to come. There was no end date, no guarantee she'd come home. There was only this, a last-ditch effort to save the world. No pressure at all.

Once on the fourth floor—and slightly out of breath, if she were being honest—she began her slow trudge towards No. 4B. Silently, she practised her speech for the countless time. There were moments like this that existed only to remind her that no matter how hard she prepared, she was utterly at the hands of fate.

Stopping at the end of the hall, Hermione steadied her breath and quickly rapped her knuckles on the worn door. Inside, she heard the shuffle of feet and hushed voices. The door opened wide, and a girl no older than Hermione leaned casually against the door frame. She had long, wavy blonde hair that fell loose and full over her shoulders. Her jeans went up nearly to her belly button but her black tee shirt was cropped so high that a small sliver of ivory skin still shone through.

"Help you?" the girl asked, a lilting Irish accent colouring her words.

Swallowing the knot of nerves that had quickly tangled her vocal cords, Hermione nodded. "Hello. My name is Hermione Granger, and I need your help."

Her pale brows tugged together, and she straightened, craning her neck down the hall. "Are you in some sort of trouble?"

"Are you Marlene McKinnon?"

The girl in the doorway bristled, her eyes tightening. Her arm came up, resting on the doorjamb. There was a shuffling in the flat behind her, and suddenly a man with shaggy black hair and a serious set to his eyes came forward. "Everything alright, Marley?"

Hermione exhaled in relief, a smile curling her lips; she'd know his face anywhere. He was younger, sure, less weathered and untouched by the harsh realities of the years to come, but there was the same glint to his gaze that even Azkaban hadn't been able to steal. "Sirius."

Sirius' eyes never left her even as he crossed the room and fell onto the corner of the sofa, boots kicking up on the table. "Who's your friend, love?"

"Don't know her. Thought you did." Marlene turned back to Hermione, her pretty, pale blue eyes narrowing slightly. "What can we do for you?"

"I need your help."

Marlene peeked over her shoulder, shrugging and then finally moving to the side, gesturing for Hermione to enter.

"Are we supposed to you know you?" Sirius asked, draping his arm across the back of the worn sofa. Marlene padded over to him and collapsed into the cradle of his arm.

"I'm Hermione Granger. My situation is rather complicated and requires a fair bit of trust from the both of you, which I understand is a lot to ask." Panic seized her throat as they laughed quietly with each other, and she tilted her chin in a vain attempt to regain ground. "I need you to take me to the headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix."

If she hadn't thought to look for it, she would have missed it. Would never have noticed the way that they both stiffened and Sirius' hand curled around the girl's shoulder.

"'Fraid I'm not sure what yer talking about." There was a smugness to Sirius Black that had been decidedly missing after twelve years in Azkaban; she wasn't sure she enjoyed it much.

Steeling her reserve, she tried again. "I'm here to speak to Albus Dumbledore, head of the Order of the Phoenix. It's a time-sensitive matter, and I need you take me to Longbottom Hall."

Marlene stole a glance back at Sirius and shrugged. "It appears she knows, Sirius."

His gaze darkened, and he ran his tongue along his teeth. "It appears she does."

xXx

They'd relocated, travelling via magical motorbike, which caused no shortage of duress to Hermione. How Marlene had taken to curling around Sirius' back, all while Hermione was stuffed in the sidecar, was beyond her. They looked so at ease—even that heightened her anxiety—surely they should be more diligent in the task at hand and less on Marlene petting her boyfriend's thigh.

They landed on a lawn in another part of London, Hermione trembling from the flight. Sirius offered his girlfriend a hand, steadying her as she unmounted the bike and then tossed his leg over the side, strolling for the modest house before them without nary a look back. With a chuckle, Marlene helped Hermione out, then began to fuss with her wind-blown blonde hair.

"Don't take it personally; he doesn't like people," the witch offered, as though that were supposed to make her feel better.

The pair quickly followed behind Sirius, climbing onto a rickety porch covered in dust and dried leaves. The house itself looked sturdy enough, although it felt a bit rundown by nature. There were no other houses in sight, not even a road, and behind the house stood an endless forest. It was if the home had been dropped here on accident by the same tornado that had stolen Dorthy.

Sirius whistled loudly through his teeth as he crossed the threshold. "Marauders! I've got a surprise!"

Smirking over his shoulder once, he crossed the room into a dingy, poorly lit kitchenette. The refrigerator was a hideous shade of dull green and came complete with a soft whirring noise that appeared to be ever-present. Wrenching the door open, he retrieved a six-pack of beer then walked straight for Hermione, pulling one can free and offering it to her.

Every one of his moves made him feel like a predator, circling her, waiting for her to slip so he could take her down. "No, thank you," she squeaked, eyes rounding at the girlish noise that escaped her.

His lip curled in an amused sneer and without taking his eyes off her, he held the beer out for Marlene who plucked it easily from his fingers and popped it open. "Figures—seems we've got a duckling on our hands, Marley."

Grabbing a beer for himself, he dropped the container on the centre table with a loud thud. He didn't sit, instead standing near the front of the room with his eyes intent on her.

She gulped, long and slow, and averted her gaze, studying the dusty bare walls with great interest. In the main room were two lumpy arm chairs and a long sofa, all of varying fabrics that didn't seem to match but didn't exactly clash either. It seemed that putrid orange, avocado, and burnt brown were rather interchangeable in the late 70's.

There was a sad bookcase with a few haphazardly strewn books, a small round table with a few dirty dishes on it, and a magazine with a busty woman on the cover, scantily clad and pouting, sitting proudly on their coffee table. Hermione wrinkled her nose at the entire scene, quickly deducing that this was not Longbottom Hall.

Curiosity won out, and she turned to Marlene, still avoiding Sirius Black like a plague. "Where are we? This can't be headquarters; I heard it was a manor in the country."

Marlene's lips parted, but Sirius interjected. "You know an awful lot about headquarters for someone not able to get there yourself. Strange, isn't it?"

At that, her gaze snapped to the oddly combative teenager across from her. "Not to me, it's not," she replied with an easy shrug. "Now, if this isn't headquarters, then I need you to take me there, or at least put me in touch with—"

A door slamming down the hall silenced her and the sound of impending footsteps caused her to crane her neck around the corner. Her jaw fell open as another young man appeared, this one shirtless and buttoning up his denims, but not before Hermione caught sight of the curly thatch of hair behind his trousers that he was absently covering. A blush blossomed on her cheeks, and she quickly averted her gaze without even bothering to look at his face.

"Who's this?" A husky voice asked, followed quickly by the hiss of a beer opening.

She finally looked at the newcomer, and her breath was quite nearly stolen from her lungs. There was no doubt in her mind that this was James Potter, his wavy hair as messy and black and unruly as his son's. His jaw was slightly more square, light stubble covering it where Harry still boasted none. But there was more, something in the set to his eyes or the crooked way his lips quirked up before he stole a beer and took a long sip.

"I think she likes you, Jamie," Sirius chuckled. The blush that had apparently taken up permanent residence on Hermione's cheeks burned, and she quickly looked away.

"Well, she's got good taste, then." James eyed her for a moment, then rose again with a quiet grunt and came to stand just in front of her.

As much as she didn't want to look at him again while he was quite so naked, she knew this was some odd little test of power. Rolling her face towards his, she locked her gaze on his and raised her brow. Everyone was right, Harry did look like his dad—except the eyes. James's were hazel, soft green bleeding into pale blue with a brown burst near the pupil.

Thank Merlin they couldn't hear the way her heart rioted against her ribs as she slowly dipped her gaze from his face to his bare torso, watching in wry amusement as he flexed his abdominal muscles. He was fit, thick bands of muscle and a smattering of dark chest hair, another trail just under his belly button. She shrugged and pulled a face.

"Sorry, not my type," she lied and returned her gaze to his face. "Now, if one of you will please—"

The front door opened and a much younger Remus Lupin walked in, glasses perched low on his nose and a fuzzy brown sweater adorning his frame. Without conscious volition, Hermione breathed a sigh of relief.

"Profes—" she bit her tongue, flinching at the near slip and breathing his first name into existence instead. "Remus."

"Who's this?" He jerked his chin in Hermione's direction just as a woman appeared in the hall, and Hermione watched as her old professor's expression faltered at the sight.

The newest of newcomers had long, pale legs that seemed to never end as they stretched from the hem of a large men's t-shirt. She had thin, fiery-red hair that cascaded around her shoulders and the most vibrant emerald eyes. Hermione had seen pictures, but they didn't do Lily Evans justice. Not even a little bit.

James remained in front of Hermione, too close for her comfort, his stare hard and scrutinizing her every movement. But Hermione refused to concede, refused to take even a single step back as she glared back at him.

"Are you going to move?"

His lips quirked and he tilted his head to the side. "Why, love, making you nervous?"

"No. You're making me mad," she deadpanned, her expression narrowed.

"Who's the girl?" Lily whispered to her friends, leaning lazily on the wall and crossing her arms, all whilst still half-naked.

"For fuck's sake." Hermione groaned, palm landing on James' bare shoulder and redirecting him to the side. "I'm Hermione Granger, and I've asked very politely—several times—to be taken to Albus Dumbledore and the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. I know you're all members, so will one of you, please, take me there? It's quite important or, I assure you, I wouldn't bloody be here!"

"Oh hoh hoh!" Sirius cheered, a genuine grin breaking over his features as he tossed an empty beer can on the couch. "Kitten's got claws. And how exactly do you know anything about us?"

Remus moved further in the room, silent but studious as he watched the scene unfolding in front of him. There was something curious about the way he moved, making a wide berth from the hall and Lily Evans only to come the long way round and stand next to Sirius.

Turning, Hermione swept her curls off her neck and tugged her collar down, revealing a tiny rising red phoenix on her shoulder. She'd had to cast it herself; using a spell hidden deep in the pages of her journal, a magical tattoo that had existed during the first war.

"How in the hell did you get that?" James scoffed, whipping his face around to his counterparts.

Precariously pointing her wand to the small bird, she pressed into it once. "Resurgemus Minor." It wouldn't be enough magic to summon anyone, but it was enough to alert them. She watched carefully as everyone in the room shifted, feeling the magical call of the mark. James played a hand over his biep, eyes darting up to hers.

"And," she continued, covering her tattoo and turning back to them. "If that's not enough proof then, I know you're Remus Lupin and that you have lycanthropy and that your friends call you Moony. You're Sirius Black, or Padfoot, you take the shape of a shaggy and rather stinky black dog. Your London family residence is at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place."

Hermione swallowed, eyes traveling to Lily, her lips pursed and brows tugged tightly together. "I know you're Lily Evans and you've a sister, Petunia, but you're not close." Finally, she turned to James, who still seemed unconvinced. "And you're James Potter."

"What?" His chin jerked, and he stepped towards her again, his lips fighting a smile. "No fun little memories about me?"

"You're a pain in the arse. Although, I'm afraid that's not something I brought with me—picked up that knowledge first hand," Hermione offered flatly, brows inching towards her hairline before she turned to address the group at large. "I know you three boys, along with Peter Pettigrew, make up the Marauders. And I know that the war is about to take a turn for the worst." Her throat tightened, and she pushed the final words out painfully. "Finally, I know that in 1998—the year I come from," she paused, swallowing solemnly, "—most of the Order hasn't made it." Her gaze flickered to Remus, the last standing Marauder. "I'm meant to stop that from happening, so if one of you could please take me to headquarters, I'll begin my job and get the hell out of your hair."

The air in the room crackled with static magic, each of them sharing nervous looks with one another. Slightly to her right, James lifted his arm, bringing his hand up to massage the back of his neck as he turned to the rest of the room. She stole a peek at the small phoenix on the inside of his bicep, and her breath caught embarrassingly in her throat.

Remus pulled his glasses from his face, cleaning them on his shirt tail.

Sniffing, Hermione lifted her chin just barely and fixed her stare on him. There was a phrase—a mantra or motto, of sorts—that had been written on the first page of the journal. She tossed it into existence on a prayer. "The phoenix never flies alone."

Remus' pale gaze flickered around the room and he shrugged. "That we don't. Let's get her to HQ."

xXx

A/N: Welcome to 1979! Thanks so much for reading along and I hope you'll give me some grace if headcanons and canon don't match up here. I'm just doing this for fun :) This will be a pretty long multi-chap, definitely my longest to date!

I never thought I'd write a multichap that wasn't Dramione, especially a time travel… especially of potentially epic length. But alas, I am a slave for my muse.

Endless thanks to my Alpha's on this piece: MCal and Ravenslight and my beta: NuclearNik.

If you'd like to see facecasts, covers, and aesthetics for this piece please checkout my tumblr! Handle is LadyKenz347 and is tagged under 1979

Would love to know what you think!

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