It Must be Tuesday

It Must be Tuesday
by Mignonette

Hermione stared solemnly at the wizened hand and the small scrap of parchment it pushed across the table towards her. She considered for a moment all that it could mean, the monumental changes such a thing could wreak in her ho-hum existence. If, that was, such a thing were actually possible. But how could it be?

Minerva McGonagall harrumphed with authority and pushed the paper towards the former student whom over the years had become one of her very best friends. “Truly girl, be sensible.” She forced the parchment into Hermione’s hand and grasped the younger woman’s fingers warmly. “Do you really have that much to lose?”

Hermione’s brown eyes filled with tears as she considered that statement. She knew without reservation that the answer was no. After twelve barren, lonely years as Mrs. Ronald Weasley, there was absolutely nothing to lose. She glanced up and saw the kind pity in the old woman’s eyes and felt ashamed. How easy it had been to let all that potential melt away into a banality that matched that of her husband. How easy it had been to fail to notice as the years slipped by uncelebrated, as the pounds slipped on unheeded and as the best years of her life melted away into nothing. At the age of 34, the brightest spots of her life were Tuesday afternoons and tea with a 97 year old woman.

“Are you sure it’s possible?” She asked, unable to control the quiver in her voice. At the old woman’s compassionate nod Hermione shook her head in disbelief. “Is it dangerous?”

McGonagall’s wrinkled face lost it’s kindly expression. “This knowledge, in the wrong hands, could be more than dangerous. It could be catastrophic.” At Hermione’s flinch, the old woman softened her tone. “The wizard on that parchment is the only one in the world I would trust with this.” She smiled. “Now my dear, why don’t you pour the tea?”

***

Mr. and Mrs. Ronald Weasley spent that Tuesday night much like they’d spent a thousand nights before. A peck on the cheek as he came in from “work”, a few minutes of meaningless small talk in the kitchen before he swept off to the shower and she began to prepare dinner. The meal itself was unmemorable, some sort of casserole, or perhaps a meatloaf that was eaten without relish and with little more that the clatter and clank of utensils to break the silence. After dinner, he retired to the small, dingy room in the back of their house that he called his “study” and after doing the washing up, she curled up in bed with a stack of ancient parchment. She’d spent the last several years translating ancient runes and publishing the results. It wasn’t the most profitable of occupations, but it paid the bills.

Hermione stared at the printed symbols on the page in front of her, unfocused and unmoving for almost an hour. Her mind was in turmoil. No, by no one’s stretch of the imagination could she call herself happy, but she WAS comfortable. Her life was boring and passionless yes, but it was also safe. In a way it was almost comforting to know that tomorrow would be just like today, and so would the day after that and the day after that, until,,, until what? She died? No, death would be far too dramatic. Perhaps she would just continue to fade out of being, becoming slightly less substantial day after day until there was nothing left but empty air. Would Ron notice? Well, maybe when his dinner wasn’t on the table. But still, what Minerva had suggested, well it was just insane!

***
The next day, as she neared the address on the parchment, Hermione thought for the hundredth time that she was being a fool. Of course the grass always seemed greener on the other side. Didn’t she have a comfortable life? Okay, not exciting or passionate, but definitely comfortable. Who was to say that this change would make it better? Maybe her life was everything it was meant to be. Oh, what a depressing thought!

Sighing, Hermione stopped before the crumbling stone stairs and looked up at the door. She checked the number there against the writing on her parchment. This was it. She felt her heart pounding as she peered at the heavy oak with it’s boar’s head knocker. Something about the gleaming metal animal seemed sinister, almost as if when she grabbed the brass ring through the creature’s nose it would come to live and pierce her skin with the metal tusks.

Knowing she was being ridiculous, but still unable to quiet the shaking of her fingers, she took a deep breath, mounted the stairs and grabbed the shiny ring.

The door opened before the knocker could hit the plate. Hermione stumbled back in alarm and felt her feet sliding down the stairs. A strong hand jerked hers, saving her from the fall. She was pulled forcefully into her savior, her head slamming hard into a muscled stomach.

Lucius Malfoy let out his breath in a great gasp and released the hand he held. Doubling over in pain and shock he waited for the spasms to stop. When he felt he could breathe again, he looked up angrily at the woman before him. It took a moment for him to realize that this red-faced, slightly lumpy creature before him was not a stranger.

“Miss Granger.” He said matter-of-factly, the lack of oxygen giving her name a wheezy note. He straightened and looked her up and down disdainfully. She’d really let herself go. There’d been a time he remembered, when she’d been quite a looker. Always with a stick up her shapely ass, but still, there’d been a fire there. He’d fantasized, many years ago, of stoking it to life. Now look at her. Shame really. He shook his head regretfully.

Hermione, though embarrassed beyond belief, saw the expressions flicker across his face and read his thoughts. Slowly, her embarrassment turned to anger. Who was he, the traitorous bastard, to make her feel so dreadful?

“Actually it’s Mrs. Weasley.” She said stiffly.

Lucius grinned sardonically. “Well of course it is.” He said, as if that explained everything. “Do you always go about falling down stairs and then assaulting your rescuer?”

Hermione pursed her lips and forced herself to take a deep, calming breath. “Thank you for saving me from a fall Mr. Malfoy, but if you hadn’t come barging out of the door just as I was about to knock,,” She paused as he raised a straight, dark eyebrow. “Well you did you know. It was quite impolite.”

Lucius looked at her blotchy face blankly, eyes cold. He should have let the bitch fall, at least he’d have had an amusing tale to tell his son. “Your logic is astounding as usual Mrs. Weasley. Now, if you’ll be so kind as to let me pass. My business here is finished.” With a slight nod he slid past her, careful not to touch her and made his way down the stairs without looking back.

Hermione watched the wizard go with tears filling her eyes. Her fingers tightened on the wand in the pocket of her robes and for a quick moment she considered pulling it out and leveling a curse at the older man’s back. Discarding the notion, she leaned back against the iron railing and steadied herself. Of all the wizards in the world, why did it have to be Lucius “I’m too pure and beautiful to be real” Malfoy who witnessed her humiliation? Damn! Yet she had to admit, the man had certainly aged well. He must be nearing 60, yet he looked barely older than when she’d first seen him so many years ago in Flourish & Blotts. It simply wasn’t fair!

With anger making her forget her earlier trepidation, Hermione straightened and grabbed the knocker, rapping it forcefully against the door. Before she had time to regret her rashness, the door opened again, a small wizened man in magenta robes looking up at her from within. The little man smiled at her kindly, showing the few teeth remaining in his mouth.

“Ah,” He said in a squeaky voice. “I’ve been expecting you Mrs. Weasley.”

Hermione looked at the wizard in doubtful confusion. “How do you know me Mr.,,,”

“Weller is my name, Tomkins Weller.” He said, still smiling. “You can call me Tomkins, and I think I’ll call you Hermione. Minerva’s been telling me about you for years. I almost feel as if we’re old friends ourselves!” The smile left the wizards face and for an instant he looked stricken. “Dear oh dear, where are my manners?” He moved aside and motioned her to come in.

***

“But how does it work?” Hermione asked later, sipping at the now cold tea the old man had provided. “How can it possibly work without serious repercussions?”

The old man smiled genially. “Trust me my dear!” He reached across the table and patted her on the hand. “In the universe there is a perfect path for everyone. Sometimes it just takes more than one try to get that path right.”

Hermione shook her head. “But how do you know that I’m not living that path right now? How do I know that this reality is not the one that’s meant to be?”

Tomkins stopped smiling and looked at her sadly. “I can see, dear Hermione, from the muddiness of your aura to everything about you that this was not your intended path.” He shook his head thoughtfully. “However, if I am wrong there will be no harm in it.”

Hermione looked perplexed. “How could there be no harm in it? I could make everything worse!”

“No deary. If this is the life that was meant to be for you, then it will be. No spell of mine could change it. You’ll go through the motions, but in the end it will all turn out the same.”

Hermione shuddered. “Okay. But how will I know what things to do differently? What choices to make?”

Tomkins laughed. “No one knows that! It would take all the fun out of it. The choices, the mistakes, the victories. Those are what make us what we are.” He leaned back in his chair, watching her. “Besides,” he said, squeaky voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper, “Because I like you Hermione. I’ve decided to put a fail-safe on the spell for you.”

“A fail-safe?” She asked, perplexed.

“Yes my dear. Any mistake you make will reset the spell, allow you start over. Not little mistakes mind you, only the big ones. Any severe wrong turn down your path will be rectified when you wake the next day. Only you will have a memory of it so that you don’t repeat the mistake again. You’ll know you’ve made the right choices when you wake to a new day, and a new future.”

“A new future.” Hermione repeated dreamily. Oh, the things he’d proposed sounded heavenly. Suddenly, an arrow of a thought pierced her heart and she shriveled. “A spell like that must cost a fortune! My husband and I have never made very much gold. I’m afraid I could never pay you enough.”

Tomkins grinned. “Never you mind my dear. Minerva has already paid me. You know she has no children or family of her own. You’ve been like a daughter to her.”

Hermione sighed, a little ashamed at her relief. She promised herself that she would pay the old woman a visit before her adventure started, and thank her for everything. “When can you do it?” She asked.

“Well, first I must look into your heart and discover where you lost your path.” Tomkins said, sliding his little frame off the chair and coming around the table to take her hand, pulling her up. “Come with me.”

Hermione followed the old wizard down a darkened hall to a small room with nothing in it except a small, unadorned bed. She looked at it, expression blank, then glanced at the little man warily.

Tomkins laughed, his high-pitched giggle filling the small room. “I’m flattered Hermione, but trust me, there has been nothing to worry about in THAT respect for many long years!”

Hermione felt her muscles relax and she sat upon the mattress. She watched as the wizard pulled a small vial from the magenta robe. He handed it to her solemnly.

“All right deary. Drink up now.” He said, staring intently. “We’ll have things set to right before you know it!”

Hermione unstoppered the bottle and drank the contents quickly. Before she’d had a moment to consider the taste she found herself lying flat on her back. She knew that she was in a bed, but also somehow knew that it wasn’t the bed in the old wizard’s house. Heavy bed-curtains surrounded her on all sides, shrouding everything in darkness. She felt an interesting familiarity fill her. She knew this place, knew it’s smell, it’s feel. Hogwarts.

Hermione gasped as Tomkins’ face loomed before her through a gap in the curtains. “Is this where it went wrong Tomkins?” She asked, her mouth was not really moving and her ears could not hear the sound, yet he nodded at her.

“Yes my dear, this must be it.” He pulled the draperies back from the bed. “Get up. “ He encouraged. “Look around you.”

Hermione felt the queerest disorientation as she got up off the bed. A part of her realized that this was nothing but a dream, that her actual body was still lying on that bare mattress in the old man’s house, yet here she was, as solid and real as she’d ever been. The girls’ dormitory of Grifyndor house was exactly as she’d remembered it. All around were beds identical to the one she’d just risen from, their occupants still hidden inside. As she moved toward the window, where the first lightening of the sunrise began to illuminate the grounds she felt a strange, painful ache between her legs.

A strong sense of déjà vu filled her being. She’d felt like this only once before. It had been a Tuesday, she’d just come back from Christmas break the day before, and the night before she’d given her virginity to Ron. Oh dear Gods!

“I know what day it is.” She told Tomkins bleakly. “Couldn’t we go back just a bit farther?”

Tomkins shook his head. “Sorry. This was the day.” He moved closer to see her face clearly in the gloom. “I want you to think back clearly. What was special about this day?”

Hermione sat on the window seat and stared at the colors beginning to fill the sky. She thought hard about what had happened on this day. She’d woken early, before everyone else. She’d sat in this very seat and thought about the previous nights’ events, the excitement of kissing Ron after their separation, of feeling his hands fumbling on her breasts. She remembered the spasms that filled her as he’d ground his erection against her stomach, how powerful she felt as she realized that she’d caused his excitement. Then she remembered her disappointment at the memory of the actual act. He’d been so clumsy,,, and quick.

“What happened?” Tomkins asked carefully.

Hermione reddened at the thought of telling the old wizard the thoughts that filled her mind. “I can’t tell you.” She whispered, mortified.

“You must! “ He whispered back sternly. “I must know everything so that I can help you. Now what happened on this day?”

Hermione looked away. “I went to my classes, as usual. I ate my meals in the dining hall. I talked to my friends,,” Her voice trailed away.

“And?” Tomkins waited patiently for her to continue. “Come now dear. You must tell me everything!”

“Ron and I had sex for the second time and I had my first orgasm.” Hermione felt that she could not possibly be more embarrassed.

“I see,,” Tomkins said thoughtfully.

“It was after that when I decided that he was definitely the one for me.”

“Well then, the path is much clearer.” The little wizard said, smiling.

“It is?” She asked, not feeling clarified at all.

“Well certainly my dear.” Tomkins climbed into the window seat beside her. “You chose your life-mate on this day and it was obviously the wrong one. You’ve simply got to find the right one.”

Hermione shook her head. “I was supposed to find the right one today,, I mean on THIS day?”

Tomkins smiled. “It’s the only way to set the spell and set you on the path to your new future. You must use this day to explore those around you, to find the partner that will complete you and help to make you the woman you were meant to be.”

“But I’ve never considered anyone but Ron, not seriously. How will I know who it is?” Hermione let her mind race over all of the boys she’d known in school, as well as some of the men. None of them leapt out as an obvious choice.

Tomkins laughed his squeaky laugh. “Why you must explore my dear!” His giggle turned slightly lecherous. “Oh, how I envy you!”