The Unforgivable Curse: A Love Story

A/N: This is my first Harry Potter fic, so be kind. My spell check HATES the Harry Potter world. Every other word was a mistake to it. Sheesh. Any mistakes are mine alone, I have no beta, but would love one if anyone is up to it. Hope you all enjoy. Read and Review please, it makes me write faster. ----

Meggie

Chapter One - The Minister’s Proposal


Hermione sat very still, seething. The handcuffs had been removed and her wand returned to her, but that did nothing to improve her mood and the witch sitting opposite her was looking like she wished that there was more than a mere desk between her and the young Hogwarts student.
“What in Circe’s name is this all about?!” Hermione demanded angrily after several minutes of tense silence.
The witch squeaked and her hand automatically reached for her want, but she relaxed when she saw Hermione was in the same position and not readying herself the cast a nasty hex.
“Honestly, miss,” she said with a thick Irish lilt “I have no idea. I’m just himself’s secretary. I take his calls and make his appointments.”
She eyed Hermione for a moment, then added:
“You weren’t on the schedule.
Hermione nodded her thanks and turned back to the door that possible held her doom. Just hours ago she had been at The Burrow, basking in the afterglow of Bill and Fleur’s wedding. Most of the guests had departed and the Weasleys, Harry, and she had been having a marvelous time forgetting recent events. For the first time in a very long time, everyone seemed happy and relaxed, and Hermione was glad for it, even if it was only a brief respite. Then, during what was turning out to be a very embarrassing toast by Fred and George, six men apparated into the middle of the wedding party. They identified themselves as part of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad and asked for her. She stood up and Arthur Weasley had placed himself between her and the Hit Wizards.
“What’s she supposed to have done?” he asked.
The leader of the men implied it was nobody’s business just yet and took Hermione’s and magicked handcuffs onto her wrists. Every person present drew their wands and she gave them a final, bewildered and frightened look before the Hit Wizards took a hold of her and disapperated. Now, she was sitting in the Minister of Magic’s office waiting, presumably, to be ushered into the inner sanctum.
The witch behind the desk looked at the computer screen in front of her and made a few quick keystrokes. Hermione shook her head. Computers….
“He insisted on installing them,” the witch said, sensing Hermione’s amusement. “They’re only accessible from within the Ministry, of course.”
“Of course,” Hermione conceded.
The witch looked back at the screen and nodded at the Minister’s door.
“He’ll see you now,” she said.
Hermione stood and was disgusted to find her knees were shaking. Composing herself as much as possible, she crossed the room. She reached towards the doorknob and her fingers had almost touched it when the door flung open, revealing Rufus Scrimgeour sitting behind a vast desk, his fingers tented, watching Hermione intently.
“Typical,“ she thought bitterly “Ministry and it’s bloody theatrics.“
“Have a seat Miss Granger,” the Minister said, gesturing to a seat that would put her considerably lower than him. She gave a small smirk and sat down.
“Colloportus,” he said powerfully, pointing his wand at the door. He then regarded Hermione with a look that seemed to shift from surprise to resolve and for a moment, she thought she saw fear. This silent sizing up went on for so long that she began to squirm in her seat, which she feared was his whole intent in the first place.
“Do you know why you’re here, Miss Granger?” he asked finally “May I call you Hermione?”
“I haven’t the foggiest,” she said “And no.”
“I thought not. On both counts.”
He smiled at her warmly, but the warmth didn’t reach his eyes.
“Tomorrow,” he said “The Daily Prophet will run a front page story about a star student at Hogwarts being found out as a Death Eater.”
“Malfoy,” Hermione growled.
“Draco Malfoy is hardly what I would call a star student,” Scrimgeour scoffed “His family line is stellar, well, it was….No, you. You are the star student.”
“Me?!” she cried, all color draining from her face “I’m not a Death Eater! How could you even--”
“Roll up your sleeve,” he said calmly, flicking his wand in her direction.
She did and gaped at the Dark Mark on her arm.
“That wasn’t there--” she started “I mean, I never….It’s not real.”
“Of course it’s not,” he said “But you and I are the only ones that know that.”
“Wrong,” she said between clenched teeth “You and your Ministry cronies will be the only ones who will believe it. Harry and--”
“Harry Potter is just a boy!” Scrimgeour roared “People put entirely too much stock in that scar of his! The Wizarding community will believe what I tell them. Why, even your wand speaks against you.”
“My wand?” she asked, looking down into her lay where it lay.
“May I?” he asked and without waiting for an answer, grabbed it.
“Prior Incantantem!”
Hermione looked on in horror at the image that displayed before them. Scrimgeour clucked his tongue.
“Crucio,” he said “So young to be using Unforgivable Curses. Deletrius.”
The image disappeared and Hermione deflated, silent tears running down her cheeks.
“Why?” she asked.
“Why you or why am I doing this?”
“Both.”
“Why am I doing this is simple. Two reasons: One, I needed to prove to you that anything is possible with magic. I know Dumbledore has taught you the dos and don’ts and right from wrong, but if you suspend those….rules, there is nothing you can’t accomplish. Two, I needed a way to make you disappear. Azkaban is a convenient excuse. Why you, though, is far more interesting.”
“Why me then?”
Scrimgeour patted a sheaf of papers that had materialized on his desk. The parchment was yellowed with age and held together by a brittle leather thong. Somehow, the smell coming from them reminded her of Dumbledore.
“This came into my possession after Dumbledore’s death,” he said “Did you know that he knew how to cross time?”
Hermione bristled, the student in her rising to the surface. She had to resist an almost unstoppable urge to raise her hand.
“Time travel is not possible.”
“Haven’t you been listening,” he chided “Anything is possible. Once again proving how a girl who knows so much can actually know so little. Have you ever wondered, by the way, why you know so much?”
She shrugged her shoulders, but Scrimgeour continued on.
“How many Unforgivable Curses are there?”
“Three,” she answered “Cruciatus, Imperius, and Avada Kedavra.”
“Wrong again,” he said, an element of taunting entering his voice “There are four.”
He paused dramatically, obviously waiting for her to ask what the fourth was, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
“You know,” she said “Harry once said he thought you looked like a lion. I think he was right. Funny, though, all that comes through is weasel.”
Color rose immediately to his cheeks and he visibly struggled to control himself. After a moment, he returned to normal and faced her again.
“In what was the seventh year for Harry’s parents and several other people you know, a very bright Slytherin student created a fourth Unforgivable Curse. It seems Dumbledore went to great lengths to obscure this curse and prevent it from falling into Voldemort’s hands.”
“Would this student be Snape?” she asked, still reeling from his betrayal “Harry had this old Potions book this year and--”
“This student would be you,” he said, matter-of-factly.
There was a great buzz in Hermione’s ears and everything seemed to grow dark for a moment. She gripped the arms of the chair she was sitting in and from sheer force of will, pulled herself back from the edges of a faint.
“I don’t understand,” she said weakly.
“Praeter Letum,” he said “According to Dumbledore’s notes was conceived by one Hermione Jane Granger in her seventh year at Hogwarts Academy. The spell does not kill or torture, but is by far the most cruel of the Unforgivable Curses. It wipes all existence of the person it is used against from the fabric of time. No one will ever remember having known that person, because they never existed. If they wrote a book, it will no longer be. If they won an award, someone else will have won that award instead. If they had children, the children will cease to exist. It blinks them out like a light. So, you see why this had to be concealed.”
“Why didn’t he just use it on Voldemort?” she managed to choke out.
“It seems the risk of him using it was far greater than the benefit of having it in our arsenal against him.”
“I still don’t understand how I created this,” she said “I am here. Now. Not then. And I’m not a Slytherin, I’m a Gryffindor.”
“Dumbledore has played with time” Scrimgeour said almost regretfully “He realized how dangerous you were in that time, but also appreciated the potential of your mind. Apparently he has a weakness for brilliance. Severus Snape being another prime example. He took your eleven year old self out of the time frame in which you created the curse and became a Death Eater and put you into the one you know now. Anything before eleven is a fabricated memory. Even your parents are not your parents. He makes no mention of your actual parents, as a matter of fact. States that you were muggleborn, so I suppose you’re a mudblood after all.”
“So the curse doesn’t exist?”
“Yes and no,” was his answer “You never created it, but Dumbledore has stretched the fabric of time so taut that it still exists, but was unknown to any but him. Until now, of course. He even made sure you’d be sorted into Gryffindor. He wanted you near Harry. He wasn’t sure you’d become friends, but he said and I quote ‘My substantial mental prowess tells me she’ll be drawn to an enigma like Harry, especially since he bears the taint of Dark Magic.’”
“I’m not Dark!” she protested.
“You were,” he countered “Dumbledore’s downfall was that no one can foresee their own death. He had no clue Severus would turn on him. He says in here that, without him, Voldemort will surely succeed. I have no reason to doubt him or his substantial mental prowess. It would seem Harry Potter is no longer our greatest weapon against the Dark Lord. You are.”
Hermione sighed.
“How am I?”
“In a world without Dumbledore, we can’t succeed. Voldemort will win. Can you imagine what the world would be like if he came to power? You are going to go back to your seventh year and negate Severus Snape from the fabric of time.”
“If I refuse?”
“You, knowing what you now do, are entirely too dangerous to continue to exist.”
He let the bulk of his threat go unsaid.
“Why not go back and warn Dumbledore?” she asked “Or tell Dumbledore to get rid of Snape?”
“Dumbledore is dead. He is removed from the fabric of time. Nothing he does then will have any effect on the now.”
“Send someone else,” she pleaded “Anyone.”
“Anyone?” he said, amused “One of the Weasleys then? Harry, perhaps? No, then? You’ll find that though your memories of this other life have been Obliviated, you’ll fit back into your niche quite rightly.”
“What if getting rid of Snape doesn’t save Dumbledore?” What if it causes other problems? Snape saved Harry from falling at a Quidditch game. He stopped Quirrell from getting the Sorcerer’s Stone. Without Snape Harry could be dead and Voldemort could have returned long before he did. I don’t even know who I’m supposed to be back then.”
“Bridges to cross, bridges to cross,” he sing-songed “And just be yourself. Will you do it?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“There is always a choice.”
“How do I-”
“Fix a time and place firmly in your mind. Firmly or you’ll end up Merlin knows where. Visualize it completely. Receo to go backwards, Proveho to go forwards. I will be able to check up on you, by the way. You are not beyond my reach.”
Hermione stood.
“Should I ever get the chance to repay this favor,” she said darkly “I will. Then you’ll see how Dark I can be.”
Scrimgeour took a flask or firewhisky from his jacket and took a long pull.
“Here’s to hoping you get the chance”
“Receo,” Hermione said.

And she was gone.