Work Text
Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny woke up in the bodies of Hogwarts' founders. It's not like they had enough drama in their lives already.
Now they're stuck in the Dark Ages, dealing with:
Food that's barely edible (Ginny: "What's this gunk? Pottage?!")
Toilets that are basically just holes in the ground (Ron: "Who needs privacy, anyway?")
Castles with drafts worse than the Burrow's attic
Medieval English that sounds like gibberish (Ron: "Verily? Whither? What sorcery is this?")
Families who think they're insane (Godric's wife: "Why dost thou keep calling me 'Mrs. Gryffindor' and not 'my dear wife'?")
Explaining their situation without sounding crazy (Hermione: "Uh, hello, I'm actually a time-traveling witch from the future...in your wife's body...with her face...yeah, that's going well.")
Armor that's more hindrance than help (Harry: "Who designed this? 'How to Wear Armor 101' is now our top priority.")
Quidditch-less lives (Ginny and Harry are secretly building broomsticks in the castle's basement)
Showers that involve buckets and servants (Ron: "I miss showers...and towels...and soap that doesn't hurt.")
Potions ingredients that don't exist yet (Hermione: "Dragon heartstring? Unicorn horn? Anyone?" crickets)
No familiar faces (Hermione: "We're orphans...in the past...with no Wi-Fi.")
No modern plumbing (Ron: "Who invented chamber pots, anyway? The Torture Ministry?")
No treacle tart (Ginny: "I'd kill for a decent dessert!")
Their mission? Prevent the Gryffindor-Slytherin rivalry from becoming the stuff of legend. Simple.
Ron: "I miss Mum's cooking."
Harry: "I miss cars."
Ginny: "I miss Quidditch...and treacle tart...and not wearing 50 pounds of armor."
Hermione: "I miss logic...and indoor plumbing....and modern hygiene products...and not being married to a medieval stranger."
As they navigate medieval mayhem, they're learning:
How to wear armor without tripping
How to explain "time travel" in medieval terms
How to make broomsticks without modern materials
How to tolerate pottage for breakfast
Join the time-traveling quartet as they:
Accidentally joust each other
Struggle with medieval dance moves
Get lost in the castle's tapestries
Try to invent Quidditch centuries early
Rating: PG-13 for humor, mild cursing, and Ron's continued struggles with:
Medieval life
Not getting expelled from his own school (again)
Not losing his mind (completely)
DISCLAIMER OF EPIC PROPORTIONS
WARNING: READING THIS FANFICTION MAY CAUSE
Uncontrollable laughter
Unpredictable tears
Sudden urges to rewatch/reread the entire Wizarding world
Increased cravings for treacle tart and butterbeer
Spontaneous outbursts of "Expelliarmus!"
Irrepressible desires to invent Quidditch centuries early
Loss of sleep
Neglect of responsibilities
Temporary (or permanent) obsession with medieval wizarding fashion
THE AUTHOR IS NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR
Your lost productivity
Your neglected responsibilities
Your newfound obsession with medieval wizarding fashion
Your inexplicable urge to wear armor to work
Your sudden interest in pottage recipes
Your failed attempts to build a time machine
Your disappointment with modern plumbing
Your increased sarcasm levels
Your urge to shout "Verily!" in everyday conversations
ALL COMPLAINTS, SARCASTIC REMARKS, DEMANDS FOR REFUNDS, AND RANTS MUST BE DIRECTED TO
Morgana, Arthur's Evil Sister
c/o The Dark Castle of Doom
Camelot, England, 537 AD
Phone: 1-800-MORGANA (1-800-667-4262)
Email: [email protected]
Owl Post: Send your complaints via owl to Morgana's personal owl, "Shadow"
SEND MORGANA YOUR
Complaints about the author's sanity
Demands for more treacle tart
Suggestions for improving medieval wizarding fashion
Theories on time travel paradoxes
Favorite Quidditch team jerseys
Recipes for pottage alternatives
Drawings of Ron in armor
FAILURE TO COMPLY WILL RESULT IN
Ron being informed that you invented chamber pots
Harry being told that you designed the most cumbersome armor ever
Hermione receiving "evidence" that you're secretly a terrible cook
Ginny challenging you to a Quidditch match on broomsticks made of straw
YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.
Proceed with caution (and a sense of humor).
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Harry Potter's eyes snapped open, his mind reeling from the sudden jolt. One moment, he was nodding off in Professor Binns's History of Magic class; the next, he was...elsewhere. Disoriented, he struggled to sit up, taking in his unfamiliar surroundings. The stone hallway seemed to echo with memories, yet everything looked off.He glanced down at his clothes and blinked. What was he wearing? A loose-fitting, green-colored tunic with intricate embroidery, paired with hose and pointed shoes that made him look like a noble from the Middle Ages. A wide leather belt cinched at his waist, and a cloak draped over his shoulder, clasped with a ornate brooch. It made him think of the fat friar."This is madness," Harry muttered to himself.As he stood, a woman turned the corner, her expression mirroring his confusion. Her outfit was equally bewildering: a flowing, blue kirtle with a tight-fitting bodice (so tight he had to fight the urge to blush), adorned with brass buttons and intricate lace. Her hair was styled in an elaborate braided headdress, complete with a veil."Um, excuse me," she said, her voice laced with uncertainty, "could you tell me where I am?"Something in her tone sent a shiver down Harry's spine. Familiar, yet...off."Who are you?" he asked, his eyes narrowing."My name is Hermione Granger," she replied, her brow furrowed.Harry's laugh was instinctive. "You're not Hermione Granger."The woman's eyes flashed. "I am!""Fine," Harry said, skepticism etched on his face. "Then tell me the title of the book where we found Nicolas Flamel in our first year.""Our first year?" Her repetition hinted at a deeper confusion."Who are you?" she countered, her voice tinged with wariness."I'm Harry," he said, his tone even.Her eyes widened. "That's...impossible."Harry shrugged. "Nothing's impossible, Hermione. You should know that."The woman's – Hermione's? – gaze lingered on him, searching for answers. Harry saw the faintest glimmer of recognition, but it vanished, replaced by determination."So, what happened?" Harry pressed.Hermione's shoulders sagged. "That's what I'm trying to figure out."