Minerva McGonagall was hardly one to startle easily. In fact, in all of her years of teaching, only a small handful had ever managed to surprise her. The stern witch had handled generations upon generations of pranksters, hooligans, rebels, troublemakers and time wasters, to the point where she'd begun to watch closely- often enough these traits ran in families, with scarcely any outliers (the Weasley twins being a prime example- she shouldn't have let her guard down just because their brothers were well behaved, what with the Prewett blood that ran through their veins). It had became something of a game for her to watch them try to one-up the unofficial records of the past.

So when she'd seen the name 'Potter' on the list of incoming students, she had done nothing more than sigh and remind herself that, while difficult, his father had been intelligent and sometimes kind as well. However, while his outward appearance screamed 'James', his manners and attitude more resembled Lily, or even Remus. She'd relaxed slightly, hoping that he'd simply have a quiet, relatively uneventful run before moving on. And then he took on a full grown mountain troll.

After that, his foolhardy moral compulsion to help others and natural curiosity had lead him, the youngest Weasley boy, and Miss Granger (who, also much like Remus, seemed to balance out the other two and kept them mostly out of harms way) into situations that would curl the hair of a lesser witch. Even so, they had yet to truly knock her flat; Harry was hardly the first Potter to attract danger and mischief.

In the end, it was Miss Granger who finally managed it. The day had started normally enough- in fact, it was downright uneventful. A slow, overcast day in mid February; the kind that made you want to curl up under a blanket with hot tea and a good book. McGonagall was in the middle of a lesson with the Third year Gryffindors. A loud crash cut the witch off mid-lecture. Turning as though to Apparate, she spun on her heel to figure out the source of the ruckus.

There was a pile of debris where her blackboard had been. A large chunk of slate fell off the top as the pile shifted, the cause of the disturbance revealing itself with a low groan of pain.

Somehow, a seventh year had wandered into her classroom and destroyed her blackboard without her noticing. Nostrils flared, McGonagall seemed to inflate with rage. The audacity-!

"You there! Get up! What on earth were you thinking, you'd interrupt a lesson, cause such a scene and skip away scot-free? I assure you, you will lose points for thi-"

Grabbing the girl's arm- as though not wearing a uniform would stop her from being recognized-the stern witch pulled her to her feet. Abruptly her words cut off. Staring up at her with a wan smile and tears in her eyes was a dusty, bedraggled, much older looking Hermione Granger.

"Hullo, Professor, erm… What year is it?"

McGonagall said nothing.

"Right, er, let's see…" The younger witch gently removed her left arm (which the professor dimly registered was wrapped wrist to elbow in faint green bandages) from the elder's slackened grip, reaching for a small device around her neck. Her right reached into the small beaded bag at her side, from which she removed her wand. Murmuring quietly, she began tapping the small thing, which resembled a time turner in the same way a porcupine resembles a hedgehog- similar, although the former was much larger.

"1994. Well then, could've been worse. Sorry about your blackboard, Professor… I really must go though. I'll explain everything later, I promise." And with that, the curly haired teen calmly stepped out from behind the desk, through the rows of speechless Gryffindors and out the door.

McGonagall blinked. Once, twice.

"All of you, back to your common room until your next class." Swiftly making her way out of the room, she sighed. Whatever this was was bound to be trouble.