Chapter Text
The sound of the round of musket going off confirmed that someone was going to be fired when – if – Hermione managed to get back intact.
Because you see, when you study Revolutions, you’re bound to understand they aren’t pretty. Most historians avoid being too close to the battlefield, always jumping around its area or arriving a couple of days before and after. The government has a very precise and bulletproof – ha! - system to avoid overlaps, and bounty hunters are always far away from the sources they’re interested in. It works.
That’s why Hermione believed that when she went through the five months of research approval to receive one hour to find a letter that ‘will for sure be the turning point of my thesis,’ she was expecting to be released at the exact place and time she requested.
“Allez a la Bastille!”
A man leading a group of sans-culottes screamed as they passed by the entrance of the alleyway Granger was hiding. She looked to both sides and, once she thought it was safe, kneeled between two barrels.
“Seamus? I mean, Usher, do you copy?” It took one, two, almost five seconds for her earpiece to crackle with her ‘usher's' voice.
“Roger. How’s the past Visitor?”
“Visitor is detached. Repeat, Visitor is detached. Right hour, wrong place. Requesting extraction and exchange.” This time it took almost a minute for the crackling to appear.
“Visitor, I can open the door in twenty minutes. Relocate to place on the map provided — Door with a group from present minus 20. No interaction. Key has not allowed an exchange. Do you copy Visitor?”
“For fucks sake!” Hermione punched the side of the barrel, making whatever putrid liquid was in it splash on top of her head. She took a deep breath and repeated to herself that she was well vaccinated. She just needed a bath. And that letter. That fucking letter.
It was bound to be lost in time either way. The house is going to burn down in a couple of weeks.
She looked at the wristwatch showing the tiny map of Paris. The dot Seamus sent is a five-minute walk. With the revolt, it probably will take fifteen minutes to get there for the extraction. The house on the other way could still be reached. Half an hour if she runs and takes the alleyways. She’d be going against the flow of people going towards the Bastille.
She can do this.
“Usher. Won’t need early extraction. Will...” As she got up and left the alley, a body slammed on her, throwing her on the street as a cannonball went through a barricade. Her ears were ringing with the explosion and possible concussion. The body on top of her moved, trying to escape its unfortunate position. It held Hermione’s shoulder and whispered, “Move, now.”
Hearing English made Granger freeze instead of move, which made the person chuckle. A round of musket fire went above their heads. “You’re always the proactive one. This is a change of pace.” Raising their head, Hermione was now able to see the person’s face. It was a woman in her sixties. Short grey hair, now full of gunpowder, cheek with an extended cut, probably done by a sword. If Hermione had to describe her with a couple of words, it would be intensely gentle.
The woman got on her feet and dragged them down the streets of Paris. Gunshots and screams around them. Granger was too shocked and her head still buzzing to protest.
“You need to get to that door.” The woman shouted at her.
“No! I need to get to my source!” Granger screamed back, throat dry from all the smoke in the air.
The woman didn’t answer, just running more and more into Paris. Granger stopped in her tracks, pulling the woman with her, almost falling to the ground a second time.
“We don’t have time, Hermione. You need to get out of here.”
“How do you know me? Did McGonagall send you? Tell Key I’m capable of finishi...”
“Hermione! Not the time!” Their voices muffled by the chaos around them. The woman stepped closer to her and, in an intimate gesture that Granger had never received or allowed, cleaned her face with a tissue taken from inside her coat pocket.
The clean, pure white cloth was stained black within the contact.
“You have to go. You’ll find another way.” She hissed and held her side. A stain of blood finally makes its mark on the textile. “That building is the one your Usher sent.” She stopped once more and looked behind Hermione, eyes moving from side to side. “Go now.”
“You’re bleeding. Come with me.”
“I can’t. I’m a Hopper. If I go through it, I’m breaking the law.” Hermione didn’t budge, holding tight to the woman’s hand with the tissue. “My exit team is close by. I promise I’ll be safe.”
Hermione looked at her face. She knew it, even if this was the first time seeing it. There was something behind it, a truth, a lie, sadness and relief. She was trying really hard to pinpoint the emotions, but the sound of muskets going off was getting closer once more.
The older woman crumbled the tissue onto Hermione’s hand, giving them a tight squeeze.
“If I love you, is that a fact or a weapon?” She whispered and pushed Hermione towards the door. She turned around to ask what she meant when a musket went off, and the body went down crying and smiling.