The Most Popular Hufflepuff

Sunday, 2nd of September, 1997

HeadMaster's Office, Hogwarts

10:28 am

At times like this, it was when Dumbledore began to think desperately for a way out. With a sigh, he let his chin rest over his entwined, long fingers. The black scorching mark on his hand ached, but it was nothing compared to what the people in Europe would suffer would he give up on his cause.

And that was the reason of the knock on his door.

Raising his worn out pale blue eyes from the moving painting of Phineas Nigellus Black, the old man gazed at the mahogany double doors, waiting for the now familiar trio which had been walking through his school's hallways for six years. Time did go rather fast on him.

"I hope you know what you're doing, Dumbledore," the painting scowled with a frown.

"I hope so too, Phineas," he sighed in a whisper. Then, with a louder voice, he called out. "Come on in."

Three pairs of feet walked inside the vast room, the first one being a rather lean boy with glasses supported by transparent tape—not so transparent anymore, though. His messy hair on the top of his head made him seem slightly clueless as to everything around him, but his eyes spoke sixteen years of knowledge through experience. And not only his eyes, for the bags underneath them contrasted greatly against the sick paleness of his skin. Oh, yes. Harry Potter had been through a lot in his life. Hopefully, it would all end soon.

"Good morning, professor," he greeted politely in a typical British accent.

Second teenager walking in, Ron Weasley was much taller than Harry Potter, but also much slimmer and ungainly than the first. His red hair was now cut shorter than the previous school year, and he had gained a couple of inches through the summer. A worried look was edged on his features, though it was soon forgotten when his feet tripped over themselves and his chest hit against his friend's back.

"Ronald Weasley!" a contralto to soprano voice shrieked behind the two Brits. "Watch your feet! This is a serious matter!"

The ginger adolescent turned a deep crimson colour as the bushy haired girl scolded him. Hermione Granger was the girl who had probably grown more of the three of them. Her hair, still the same as ever, frizzled around her petite head and shoulders. The body of near a woman took place, and her features sharpened and grew. Her eyes were larger, her eyebrows more defined and her school uniform adjusted to the curves. It was blatantly obvious that Hermione was now a woman. But her mentality, formalities and other things such as those stayed the same, if not more mature.

"I'm so sorry, professor," the tallest boy apologized.

"It's quite alright, Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore nodded. "You three, please, sit down."

The Golden Trio obeyed, moving to the three chairs facing the writing desk of the famous wizard and headmaster. They all sat down in silence, most of the present members in the room wondering why exactly they were there. Harry Potter was one of them. He asked himself what in the world would Dumbledore probably want when it was just a day in the sixth school year.

"For Merlin's sake, Dumbledore, say it already!" Phineas exalted from the old painting. "If they've been able to keep up with everything so far, I think they can let this new information sink in!"

"New information?" the raven haired boy tore his emerald eyes form the floor and looked towards the headmaster. "Is it regarding the war?"

War.

Such a short word.

But it did chill Albus Dumbledore to the bone. He realised then, the gravity of the situation. It was worse than he thought. Standing there, with their expecting eyes and their young bodies, three children were looking up to him. And they were just about to receive the craziest idea he had come up with since he was their age.

"My dear children," he began. "I do not know how to say this softly, so I'll state it clearly and simply."

Taking a deep breath, everyone prepared to hear the words of the headmaster.

"We are losing the war."

The blow didn't hit as hard as the students thought. The fact wasn't new, and it definitely didn't surprise them at all hearing them from the very same mouth that had given everyone hope. It did hit Hermione hard, but not Harry nor Ron. Not after those endless nights at the Burrow, discussing the war in the summer. Not after the death of Sirius. Not after the battle in the Ministry.

Not after the night terrors.

"Sir," Harry spoke first after a while of silence, which even Phineas kept. "We do know we are not in shape to fight anymore, but why are you telling us this?"

"Yeah, isn't the Order of the Phoenix the one who should be hearing that?" Ron commented suddenly and, rather, rudely.

"Ronald!" Hermione chastised.

"Sorry," he mumbled.

"You are right, Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore nodded. "I should be telling the Order of the Phoenix about this. But I am afraid that this was merely an introduction of what I am about to say."

"Oh," Hermione let out.

"Yes," the blue eyed wizard chuckled. "Oh indeed, Ms. Granger."

"What's going on, professor?" Harry's brows furrowed.

"A lot had been going on, Harry," azure orbs turned into a sad glow, void of the twinkle which used to glisten in them. "When the summer began, Voldemort began to travel throughout Europe and has rapidly increased the number that resides in his army. I'm afraid that, even if we do win the war, the damage caused to us all will be irretrievable."

"Have we lost, then?" the Boy Who Lived was incredulous to the small speech given. "Are we going to give up? Is that what you're saying?"

"Harry…" Hermione warned, darting her eyes between her friend and her superior.

"No, Harry, dear," the powerful man stood and walked over to place a hand over the boy's shoulder, giving a sad look. "What I'm saying… is that we have finally come to desperate means."

"Desperate…" Harry Potter frowned with worry. "… means?"

Public Library, Hogwarts

11:51 am

"Adelaide!" a hushed call travelled through the library, reaching the ears of the sixth and seven year girls. The tallest one—also the oldest one—raised her head the furthest, snapping her neck to see one of her friends waving at her. She wiggled her fingers back at her and giggled, making the other girl, a more reserved figure, scowl in disagreement.

"I told you I'd help you write a schedule for the studying times for your NEWTs," the brunette hastily snapped, making Adelaide turn back to her with surprise at her sudden burst. "Either you pay attention to what I'm saying and stop getting distracted, or I swear I'll ignore you every sodding time you ask for help."

There was an edge on her tone, one that quivered. And that quiver cost the brunette her credibility. Her older sister grinned widely and leaned to her, her flawless, slightly freckled face closer than the sixth year would rather have.

"You won't do anything," she stated, and her sister blanched at the tone she gave her. The grin had turned into a smirk and her nails were now digging slightly into the skin on the side of her hand, the polish drawing a small wound. "Because we both know that you're all bark and no bite. You don't even bark. I don't know what got into you."

Raising her body into an erect position, the blonde smiled freely now. But her sister knew better. It was fake. All about her was fake.

If only people could see that…

"Finish up the schedule, I'll come pick it up later," she wiggled her fingers and turned around, exiting the section where she had been before.

She found her friend quickly, but just as she opened her mouth a familiar voice spoke before her, the Hufflepuff hiding her irritation with a smiley scoff.

"Oh, Clevin, what do you need?" Adelaide asked politely to the seventh year Head Boy, Gryffindor and also a fellow of hers.

"Dumbledore told me to give you this," he put the parchment on her hand, a purple lace holding it together. "He was with the Golden Trio, though, so I don't know if he wants for later…"

"Oh," she frowned, looking at the parchment he had given her. "Thank you, I'll read it right now."

"Alright, see you," he waved, stalking off the library.

"What does it say?" her friend moved to read over her shoulder, which moved so that it hit her jaw softly.

"Don't be curious," Adelaide beamed widely at her. "It'll only get you in trouble."

She scoffed, but walked back to the other prefects at the table which they were sharing. Opening the parchment gingerly, the Hufflepuff Head Girl read everything on it, her eyebrows raising to her hairline when she finished it. Tucking it into her cloak, she briskly took her bag and began to run out of the library to the Headmaster's Office.

Reaching the Headmaster Tower, she breathlessly chanted out the ridiculously easy password and climbed the steps, almost barging inside the room when she placed her hands on the heavy doors, pushing them. They were lighter than she thought they would be, but when she was in she almost froze.

The Golden Trio was looking at her.

And more importantly, Harry Potter was looking at her.

"Adelaide Ravensdale?" Hermione Grange exclaimed in disgust. "Ravensdale?"

"Hello to you too, Granger," the blonde crossed her arms and sassily moved her head. "I see you haven't changed at all. Still letting everyone use you and walk over you?"

The brunette's eyes narrowed and she looked about to retort something with a sharp tongue when the Headmaster stood, making himself present since she had entered the room.

"Ms. Ravensdale," he greeted. "I hope I haven't disturbed your Sunday before the school year."

"Not at all, professor," she replied politely, sending him a smile. "Although the note was rather cryptic, why exactly am I here?"

"I am here because of you position as Head Girl in this school," he stood now in front of her. However, she was still visible to the three Gryffindors still sitting.

"M-My position?" she stuttered.

She knew it. She'd been busted. Ever since she got to be prefect on her fifth year at Hogwarts—all thanks to her sister's aid—she knew Dumbledore had set his eyes on her. Now he was about to give her the scolding of the year and only because she had been incredibly high as to her grades. Most of the things were done by her sister, which made sweat break into the back of her neck. It was cold and it made her shiver.

Oh, bloody hell, she really had been busted.

"Yes," he nodded. "Don't worry, dear, I'm not about to remove you from your place."

Adelaide visibly relaxed, something that made Hermione scoff from her place. She had had a quarrel with her back in fourth year—they had worn the same dress, only Adelaide's had been red and Hermione's had been periwinkle—and since then, they had been mortal enemies. That, and the fact that Hermione Granger could not stand her gloating when nobody was looking. Adelaide Ravensdale wasn't a good girl. And most people in Hogwarts were not aware of that fact.

Including Dumbledore or so it seemed.

"Then why am I here?" she asked again.

"You're here because, with your knowledge regarding the wizarding world, and with Ms. Granger's knowledge over the muggle world, you could help save Europe from the hands of the darkest of the lords."

If the Hufflepuff had been tense before there was no word to describe her now. The mere sound of the syllables which composed 'Dark Lord' freezed her to the ground, fear exploding inside her mind. No, she thought, no no no no NO.

"Sir," she stuttered. "I c-can't defeat the Dark Lord."

"No, I'm not telling you to," he rubbed her shoulder affectionately. "What I'm asking you to do is a much more complicated thing, although it won't be as dangerous."

I hate complicated things, she spat in her mind. She was thinking of how much would she rather have her sister have all the credit to everything she did over the years. Now she regretted taking the credit for all her hard work. Bloody hell, just take m sister already, I have no idea about the wizarding world.

"What is it?" she rasped.

Dumbledore watched her from behind his glasses, blue eyes connecting with her for a second before the twinkle always present returned to them.

"These students," he looked briefly to the Golden Trio. "will travel back to 1944 and stop Tom Riddle Jr. from becoming the Dark Lord. From what I gathered in your free topic projects and other syllabus, you have a vast knowledge towards the 40s and 50s."

"60s," Adelaide corrected with a strained voice, though it wasn't her who knew all of that. It was her sister. She knew because The Beatles were her favourite band, but she also had favouritism over the 80s and 70s. Basically any old music she could find which was either muggle or wizardry. Adelaide never understood why.

"Ah, I see," he nodded.

"If I do go back…" Hell, she was even contemplating this. "… how will I get back to 1997?"

"That's the thing, Ravensdale," Granger glared at her. "You won't."

"I won't?" the blonde snapped at Dumbledore, her face paling at the statement.

"You won't," he nodded sadly.

"But neither will we," Potter answered, and her knees shook as the Boy Who Lived stood. He screamed power, and everyone knew it. Adelaide knew it. Oh, and she loved it. "So choose, Ravensdale. Either stay and live away your worries while the war consumes Europe. Or come with us and save the wizarding world."

The aspect of staying was rather attractive.

And let's not forget that she wasn't what Dumbledore thought she was.

So as a cunning, self-proclaimed, queen bee of the fake smiles, she grew a big one on her lips and crossed her arms defiantly.

"I won't go unless my sister comes with me," she stated, drop dead serious.

Hermione Granger's jaw dropped to the floor, her eyes widening when she heard the words coming out from the glossed lips of one of the worst girls she had even been given the displeasure to meet.

"What?" she shrieked.

"Of course," Dumbledore agreed. "She is your only family, after all."

"Thank you, sir," she sighed in false relief, placing a hand over her heart. "This really does help me get over everything that has happened."

"You're welcome, my dear child," he placed a hand over her head and she smiled again. "I will fill you in with everything you need to know throughout next week and on October you all will be on your way. Your sister will also have to come, if she agrees."

"Oh, she will," she nodded, shooting her gaze briefly to the Boy Who Lived before she waved and walked out of the office. "Goodbye! See you all later!"

Ron waved, but Hermione quickly slapped his hand, earning herself a hard glare. With a challenging look on her eyes, she turned to her headmaster.

"Professor Dumbledore, you can't possibly think that Adelaide Ravensdale, the 'most popular hufflepuff in Hogwarts'," she spat out the title. "will help us gain the trust and friendship of a future Dark Lord."

"No, Ms. Granger, I certainly don't," he responded, to which she blinked rapidly in surprise.

"I'm afraid I don't get it, sir," she frowned.

"Don't you get it, silly girl?" Phineas exploded from his portrait, and they all turned to him as he threw his hands up. "She hasn't done a bloody thing since her sister came into Hogwarts! It's the sister we want, not the Head Girl! Only we can't ask the sister right away because we'd have to answer a lot of questions from the student body, so we're asking the empty headed blonde! It was a one hundred percent chance that she'd want to go with her sister to the past!"

"Is that true, sir?" Harry questioned.

"Yes, Harry, it is," he sighed. "Isolde Ravensdale is the girl you need, not Adelaide."

"Why do we need her?" Ron was the next one to talk, hoping that he hadn't been rude enough to make the bushy haired girl hit him or scold him.

Turning around to face his students, Dumbledore sat on his writing desk and smiled at them all, grabbing a parchment from near his hip. Passing it to them, Hermione took it and began to read.

"This is an essay from 1942," she stated, reading the corner of the parchment. "About someone's thoughts of the war against Grindewald."

"Yes, it is," Dumbledore nodded and next passed her a much newer, much clearer parchment."

"This is from two years go," Ron read the date. "And it's about the war against Voldemort back with the original Order of the Phoenix."

"They're almost the same," Hermione whispered, looking from one to another. "Same vocabulary, similar handwriting, perfect grammar and almost same length."

"You, children," the old man sighed with tiredness draining his voice. "are looking at the reason why I need Isolde Ravensdale to go with you."