Unspeakable Sorrow

Hermione stepped out of the time barrier she had erected in the past, the same one she had walked through in the future. That is, the present. It was what had got her into trouble in the first place. Unfortunately, she was fully aware of the ethics of time-travel.
Much as it pained her, she couldn’t return to those two men… sinfully handsome… dangerously seductive… She could go on spouting double-adjectives forever.
For there was one last word to describe them: dead.
“Welcome back, Hermione,” Unspeakable Duckley said. He patted her on the back. “Glad to be home?” She nodded, unable to speak. “Are you all right? How long were you there?”
“L-long enough.” She breathed in slowly, trying to remember how this whole ‘living’ thing was done. She felt dead inside. “Um… could I take the r-rest of the day off work?”
“Of course,” her supervisor said. “What name did you use?” Hermione looked at him blankly. “In the past.”
“Hermione Gelder.”
“We’ll see how long you were working there, and you can take that many days off here, how about that?”
“Thank you.”


Walking along the corridors in the Ministry’s lowest level, Hermione recalled her first time. Or, to be more accurate, the conversation that led to it…

“Miss Granger, isn’t it?”
Hermione’s eyes widened as she looked up at the new Minister for Magic. “Sir! Uh, yes. That’s me.”
Rufus Scrimgeour watched her carefully as they shook hands, and she frowned when he wouldn’t let go.
“Hermione Granger, am I right?”
“Yes, Minister,” she said. He wasn’t hurting her, but she could feel just how strong he was and knew that he could crush her hand if she tried to pull it away. She could have cursed herself for wandering outside alone, but how could she have anticipated this? “Can I help you?”
“I was wondering…” He trailed off, and she swallowed as he looked her over. “You are a pretty thing.”
“Say what you have to say, Mr. Scrimgeour,” she said coldly. His eyes narrowed.
“You are Potter’s friend, aren’t you?”
“I am.”
“And you will work at the Ministry one day, yes?”
“Most likely.” She tilted her chin up. “Do you have a point… sir?”
“Yes,” he said. His thumb stroked the back of her hand, and she shivered. “Could you possibly convince young Mr. Potter to help the Ministry out in this great time of need? He is…” he looked thoughtful, “reluctant to do his duty to the wizarding world.”
“Harry is doing his duty!” she said. He raised an eyebrow. “Look, you don’t understand how hard it is for him, Minister…”
“Times are difficult for all of us, Miss Granger,” he interrupted. “Your friend does not hold the concession on…”
“But he’s only sixteen!” she hissed. “For Merlin’s sake, do you know nothing of his history? A troll in our first year, a basilisk in our second, You-Know-Who at least… five times in various forms, including when he was a baby. Have you ever faced that sort of thing?” Slowly, the Minister shook his head. “And how old are you?”
He winced, and then seemed to shake himself. “Miss Granger, you forget who you are talking to. I have faced more dark wizards than the three of you combined, sometimes just in the one battle.”
“Are you fighting against the Death Eaters these days, or is the Ministry just putting up a front?” she asked. He scowled at her. “Minister, I have some of the best test scores in the history of Hogwarts, at least according to Professor McGonagall. I don’t need your influence to get a job at the Ministry.” He tilted his head.
“Then perhaps something else in exchange for your help?” he suggested. He stepped forward, and Hermione realised that the stone wall was behind her back. More to the point, they had somehow moved into a dark area, where no one could see them. With the Minister between her and the house, she doubted anyone could have seen her in broad daylight, let alone now.
“M-minister?”
“Miss Granger,” he said, leaning forward. She came in contact with the cold stone behind her and gulped again. “If you would just allow me to show you some… pleasure,” she gaped at him, “then surely we can…”
“I will not compromise my friendship with Harry,” she said, shrinking back. He pressed forward, and she couldn’t deny that her heartbeat sped up in excitement. “Never.”
“Not even for the war? Just think how useful you could be.” He played with her hair, his face closer than ever. Her breathing was getting shallower.
“I can be useful in other ways.” The Minister chuckled as he stroked her neck and her eyelids fluttered.
“I’m sure you can, Hermione,” he said. His other hand slid down to her waist, and for one brief, irrational moment she wished that she didn’t have so many layers on. “You will be wonderful, and I look forward to seeing that. But for now,” he brushed his nose against hers, “you could make me so happy. And I could make you happy, too. Just,” his lips moved closer, “let me.”
It was the slight pressure of his mouth that snapped her out of it. She was tingling in a way she never had before, in a place no one had ever explored, not even her. But she couldn’t do this. No. She just couldn’t.
“Get off me!” she exclaimed, shoving him away. “You may be the Minister, but that gives you no right to violate young, innocent girls. You… you can show yourself out. And take Percy with you.”

She used to think that his look was one of annoyance, or even anger. But now that she looked back she could see what it was: hurt. He had been hurt by her rejection, and she couldn’t blame him. After what they had shared in the past…
It had been so tempting to take care of her new problem by herself, but she just couldn’t bring herself to do that. For one thing, she was sharing a room with Ginny. For another, she was convinced that it would go away on its own.
Sadly, her dreams did not allow her that luxury. After the first night where she had woken, gasping and aroused and waking Ginny, she had had to place a charm around her bed so that she wouldn’t disturb her friend a second time. She couldn’t have people knowing who her teenage body was lusting after.
Then things took another interesting turn.

Two days before she was due to go to her parents’ house, Hermione answered the door to Alastor Moody.
“Good morning!” she said. “Come in, sir.”
“Thanks,” he said, walking past. His limp worried her. Rufus limped, too. (She called him Rufus in her dreams, and it just seemed to stay with her during her waking hours.) Was it the fate of all Aurors? Would Harry and Ron both end up with limps by the time they reached middle-age?
“How are you, sir?”
“I heard the Minister dropped by for Christmas,” he said, studying her. “That true?”
“Yes; he visited,” she said, gaze dropping to the floor. “He’s trying to get Harry on his side, to be a ‘mascot’. It’s a complete insult, of course. After everything the Ministry did to him, inflicting Dolores Umbridge on us…” She shuddered, and looked up at the former Auror.
“Wish I’d known,” he said. He placed a hand on her shoulder. “Forget about her, Granger. She’s not worth it. Why no one told us…”
“Harry tries to be too independent,” she said, crossing her arms. “He doesn’t like people to feel responsible for him, and he doesn’t like to follow my advice. Look at what happened to Sirius.” She screwed her eyes shut. “If only we had told you. I should have written…”
“Plenty of people could have,” Moody said. He placed his walking stick aside and held her by the other shoulder, too. “You can’t solve every problem, Hermione. Don’t even try. Besides, the Ministry was under the control of that fool, Cornelius Fudge. At least the new Minister is tougher.”
“But that’s just the thing!” she said, waving her hand to the side. “It seems like the Ministry is just trying to look like it’s doing something. Like no one knows what to do.”
“Administrators are like that,” he said. “Promise me that you’ll do something useful if you ever work there, Granger. Something practical. Don’t get caught up in red tape if you can help it.” She smiled at him as he uncharacteristically stroked her cheek.
“Of course,” she said.
“Atta girl.” He patted her shoulders. “That’s the Gryffindor spirit.”

Later she had realised just how tender he had actually been with her. He was never like that with anyone else, she was sure of it, and his touch stayed with her the rest of the day… and beyond that.
Now she saw what they had been doing; ensuring that she would work at the Ministry, perhaps even imprinting themselves on her mind. Neither had known just how things would end, though, although they may have suspected.
She’d been at her parents’ house for only a week – now, to her amazement and horror, dreaming about both men – when an old schoolmate popped around for a visit while they were at work. Funnily enough, in her dreams they looked younger, were younger. Their limps were still there, but then none of them did much walking in the dreams…

Anyway, her old schoolmate – a boy she had known since preschool – started sweet-talking her. She had been thinking about one of her steamier fantasies when he came over, so the feelings were already there. He took her on the couch, and she tried to picture one of her dream men to distract her from the pain of the abrupt entry. Alternating between one and the other in her mind brought her close, but the boy finished early and pulled out. He hadn’t noticed the blood, not even when he pulled off the condom he ‘just happened to have’. Then he left.
A flick of her wand had got rid of the evidence. The memory, however, had stayed with her.
Well, now she had much better memories to keep her warm at night. But Hermione knew that she could never replace the two men. They were embedded in her psyche just as much as they had been embedded in her body less than forty-eight hours ago.
“Oh gods,” she said, stopping just outside the lift. “Protection. Bugger.”
She ran through the options in her mind. The potion had to be taken within twenty-four hours, something she had forgotten to do the morning after. They probably thought that she had taken one when she went to the first aid room to get a Pain Relief Potion.
The charm had to be performed before intercourse, so unless one – or both – of them had remembered to do that and she just hadn’t noticed, that was also out.
The wizarding world had no concept of condoms. Perhaps that was something she could recommend to George sometime, for the shop? But it couldn’t help her now.
There was no way in the world that she would have a child aborted.
She would just have to hope… and pray… and wait.
“It would be just my luck,” she muttered as the lift took her to the Atrium. “Pregnant because of something that happened a few decades ago. Marvellous.”


“The spell doesn’t lie. Congratulations, Miss Granger! You’ll have to go to a midwife or specialist Healer to find out the due date, but they’re both healthy.”
“Both?” Hermione asked weakly. The nurse nodded.
“You’re carrying twins. So, who’s the father?”
“Twins,” she said dazedly. “I’m having twins. Oh god.” She looked at the nurse. “He’s dead. The father’s dead.” One of them, she added silently. She got a look of sympathy.
“Something to do with work, or the war?”
“Uh, yes. Oh gods,” she repeated. “I can’t do this alone. Twins.”
“Well…” The nurse bit her lip and looked around nervously. “There was a woman I met once, in the same situation as you. A month or so later she came back and told me that the problem was all sorted. She was married soon after, and after the baby was born… it was the splitting image of her husband. Well, as close as a baby can look to its father. Thing was, the husband was actually thought dead.” Hermione was listening, intrigued, and the nurse sat beside her. “Anyway, I was in Diagon Alley one day and passed the woman. Her hand was on her husband’s arm, and he was pushing a pram with the child in it. The woman… winked at me, and then nodded at her husband.”
“Really?” Hermione asked, standing up. “You think that he was the baby’s father?” The nurse nodded. “What was the woman’s name? I… I know you’ve got rules and everything, but this is important.”
“Miss Granger, after what you’ve done for the wizarding world, and knowing your story, how can I say no? Her name was… now, it reminded me of a river… Miss Niles, she was, when she came to me. Then she married… ooh, now what was his name? Something to do with a bird.” Hermione was practically bouncing on her toes. “Um… Swanley? No, that’s not it. Henley? N… Aha! Duckley.”
“Duckley? William Duckley?”
“That’s the one,” the nurse said. “Do you know him?”
Hermione smiled.


Dear Hermione,
I’m sure my wife would be glad to speak with you. Tomorrow suits her well. I just hope this isn’t work-related; you’re supposed to be taking a holiday, remember?
Sincerely,
Bill Duckley.

She smiled at the parchment. Hopefully her problems would be solved soon.
It was funny how she had forgotten about those two peculiar crushes until recently. After all, they had led to her losing her virginity, though she wished it had been to one of the men.
“Don’t worry, babies,” she whispered, putting her hand on her flat stomach. “I know you’re not even really real yet, but it’s just another miracle of modern magic.”
Hermione knew that she couldn’t find out whether or not she was pregnant for two weeks after the conception, so she had waited out the fortnight impatiently before seeing the nurse. Since she had now been in the past for almost six weeks she still had just under a month left before she was due to return to work. She would certainly work hard when she got there to make up for the maternity leave she would surely have to take.
If only they could return to her…
Much as it pained her, she knew that she would have to take a paternity test. They wouldn’t be able to do that for yet another two weeks, but she had made an appointment for that.
“Whatever I have to do, I’ll do it,” she said, staring out her window at the dark sky.


Mrs. Florence Duckley passed her guest the cup of tea. Her husband had stayed around long enough to say hello to Hermione and find out how she was, and then he left for work.
“It’s wonderful to see you again, Hermione,” Florence said.
“Thank you. I’m glad to see you, too.”
“You didn’t say why you wanted to talk to me. Bill even showed me your letter. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Of course not. I expected no less.”
“Well, when you’re married to an Unspeakable…” She trailed off and winked.
“Mrs. Duckley, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Florence, please, dear.”
“Florence,” Hermione said, and she smiled. “Can you keep a secret?”
“Of course. Again, I am married to an Unspeakable. We’re both excellent when it comes to keeping secrets.”
“Oh, good.” She looked down into her teacup. “You see… I’m pregnant.”
“Oh my!”
“Yes. And, you see, the father is dead.”
“I’m so sorry, dear,” Florence said, placing her hand on Hermione’s. “Who is it?”
“W-well… I’m not sure. It’s one of two men.”
“One of two men?”
“It was the sixties! They were both so handsome, and I was so lonely, and we’d been drinking, and…”
“The sixties?” Florence asked, her eyes getting wider and wider.
“This is where it gets particularly awkward,” Hermione said. “Let’s just say that I accidentally travelled back in time thirty-odd years, and that two men who died a few years ago seduced me at the same time, and we ended up sharing a bed one night, and th-then I returned to the future, and… and I’ll never see them again!” The teacup fell from her hands as she covered her face, sobbing. Florence quickly repaired the cup, saucer and cleaned up the spilled liquid, before drawing Hermione into her arms.
“There, there,” she whispered, rocking her gently.
“I already knew them in this time. I… I should have said good-bye to them p-properly in the past, knowing I’d never see them again. N-not alive.” Hermione sobbed into her shoulder, missing the men, missing her parents, missing everyone. “Harry and Ron would never understand. No one would. I just want them back!”
“Who are they, Hermione?”
She sniffled. “Alastor Moody and Rufus Scrimgeour.” Florence looked even more surprised.
“I see,” she said.
“They were younger then, you see. I really wasn’t thinking, and then I forgot about protection. We all did, but it was my responsibility to take a Morning After Potion, and I didn’t. I could have got one at the Ministry, but…”
“We all make mistakes,” Florence told her.
“A-anyway,” Hermione said, wiping her eyes, “the nurse I spoke to said that you had the same problem. That your baby’s father was dead, and that…”
“Good gracious, I’d forgotten about that,” she said, half-smiling. “It’s been so many years, and it felt as though nothing had really changed. Our son’s in his final year at Hogwarts, and our daughter in her fifth.”
“That’s wonderful.”
“It is.”
“So… was she right? Was Mr. Duckley dead? Did he somehow come back to life?”
“Hermione,” Florence said, looking a bit sad, “I love Bill very much. I did then, and I do now. We were in love when John was conceived, having been childhood sweethearts for many years. There were only two of us, and only one father. It is quite different. And Bill had only been gone for a few months. Nobody knew where his body was, so it was believable when he came back to life. I’d known that he was dead, and the way he seemed to have avoided death was bizarre, and yet miraculous.”
“Well, no one ever found Rufus or Alastor’s bodies,” Hermione said, edging closer.
“Before I tell you what I know, you must ask yourself two questions.” She stood up, but waved Hermione back down. “I will write down what you must do to find help. However, there is one question that I must ask: are you in love with these men? You must be in love with them, Hermione, or you may regret your actions. You must be sure that you want to spend the rest of your life with them.” Then she went to her writing desk and began to scribble on some parchment. Hermione mulled over the question. How could she tell if she was in love with them, if she’d never been in love before?
“Here,” Florence continued, her voice gentle as she held out the note. “I really hope things turn out well for you, Hermione. And I will keep your secret. But, above all, you must tell your friends about this. It is better to know where they stand sooner rather than later, especially if they just need time to come round to the idea.”
“Thank you, Florence,” she said. “You’ve been very kind.” She shoved the piece of parchment into her pocket. “You’ll be the first to know how everything goes.”


“You’re only a month along,” Madame Pomfrey said, waving her wand over Hermione. “Have you told your friends yet?”
“No,” Hermione said, looking down at her clasped hands. “I don’t know how.”
“Don’t leave it too long, Hermione. Though I can’t blame you. After hearing your story…” She clucked her tongue. “You poor dear. I can’t imagine what you’re going through. You will need support, more than just medical support. I’m sure the headmistress would willingly offer you room at Hogwarts.”
“I just want…” She trailed off and shook her head. “It doesn’t matter what I want. I’ll do whatever it takes to look after my babies.”
“Very well. Please drink this potion.” The medi-witch handed over a vial of purple potion. Hermione obediently swallowed every drop, and then waited. In the meantime Madame Pomfrey placed a piece of special parchment on the table beside them and then picked up a magical syringe. She used it to draw some of Hermione’s blood and then dripped it onto the parchment.
“Will it say the gender as well?” Hermione asked.
“Blue for boys, pink for girls,” Madame Pomfrey said, smiling down at her. “Not long now.”
Slowly two separate lines formed, one pink and one blue.
“One of each!” Hermione squealed, sitting up straighter.
“Congratulations, Hermione. And the father is… Oh my goodness.”
Tears formed in Hermione’s eyes. The blue line spelled ‘Alastor Moody’ and the pink line spelled ‘Rufus Scrimgeour’.
“It really is one of each,” she said.


“Come on, come on,” Alastor said, gazing at their witch from afar as she went to bed that night, determined to follow Florence’s instructions the next day. “You can do it, Hermione. Hold in there.”
“We’ll be with you soon,” Rufus added. How they both wanted to touch her again.
“Don’t give up,” they whispered together, before her image faded as she fell asleep.


A/N: I’ll be cruel, and split this up into two fics. That way you’ll get a trilogy. Doesn’t that just sound dandy?
Please review! The third part will have more interaction, I daresay. It might even contain actual lemons…
Happy?
I'm thinking about writing a story where Rufus successfully seduces Hermione sometime after the reading of Dumbledore's will. Then he dies by Voldemort's hand, so that the story's in canon, unless requested otherwise.