A/N: I know, I know. The last thing the repetitive pool of Sirius/Hermione fanfiction needs is yet another time-travel story. But to my knowledge, this particular type of S/Hr time-travel hasn't been done before, and the idea of these two cooped up together in Grimmauld Place makes me cackle with glee. What happens when we have a reckless, depressed ex-con and an overachieving woman trying to find her way home? I guess we'll find out.

This will be a fairly short story, only five, possibly six chapters long. This one is comparatively short, but they'll get longer as the story progresses. Updates will come weekly or bimonthly, because well, life happens and jobs need to get done. Regardless, it should be all complete and shiny by end of the year. Are you along for the ride?

Disclaimer: Nope.

"History, Stephen said, is a nightmare from which I am trying to awake." James Joyce, Ulysses

Of all the ways Hermione had expected to spend her twenty-fourth birthday, being held at wandpoint by a group of friends, several of whom were dead, was not one of them.

There she was, however, standing in the middle of the basement kitchen in Grimmauld Place and wondering why on earth her she couldn't seem to spend twenty seconds in the Department of Mysteries without losing friends, being chased by Death Eaters or, apparently, winding up in the past. Or an alternate dimension. She wasn't sure which it was just yet.

"Who are you?" Remus demanded, eyes flaring in warning. When she didn't answer, he growled. "I asked you a question."

She took a breath. It was either that or passing out.

"Answer him," a female voice hissed.

Tonks. Another blast from the past.

Her eyes took them all in. Not just Remus and Tonks, she thought. Molly was there, too. Bill, Fleur. Hestia Jones. All of them kept their eyes and their wands trained on her. Watchful. Waiting.

And sure enough…

"We're waiting." Remus again. "Who are you? How did you get in here?"

She opened her mouth. "I..."

"We should call Albus," Molly said, voice shaky but forceful. "He'll know what to do."

"Good thinking, Mum," Bill agreed. "You do that. Dumbledore is on his way," he added, this time to Hermione. "Wanna tell us who you are before he gets here? Because before or after, you stand no chance."

Her throat finally came unstuck. "I'm Hermione."

Tonks snorted. "Nice try. Now how about the truth?"

"I am. Tonks, really…"

Hestia watched her closely. "She kinda looks like her, doesn't she?"

Bill snorted. "Yeah. Too bad she looks about ten years too old for the role. Who did your glamour? It's a wonder they even passed their Transfiguration OWL."

Even a wandless witch could occasionally get fed up, particularly when she was terrified. "You know, if you want answers, you might try shutting up and letting me speak."

"Go on." Remus this time. She turned to him immediately, trying not to look at the wand he pointed directly to her heart.

"I'm Hermione Granger. I met you in my third year at Hogwarts, on the Hogwarts Express, when I was with Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley. At the end of that year, right before we found out that Sirius Black was innocent, you forgot to take your Wolfsbane and shifted. Peter Pettigrew escaped."

His eyes narrowed. "How did you find out that I was a werewolf?"

"I noticed that you were always ill at the full moon, and I realized that the Boggart changed into the moon when it saw you."

"Merlin," Molly breathed. "Hermione?"

"Wait." Remus no longer looked murderous, but he also didn't look quite ready to trust her yet. "One more question. What did the Boggart change into for your Defence against the Dark Arts final in your third year?"

"Professor McGonagall. She – it," she corrected, "Said that I'd failed everything."

Remus stared into her eyes, his wand unwavering. Then he let it down in an explosion of breath. "Dear God. It is you, isn't it?"

"What happened?" Tonks demanded. "Some sort of aging magic?"

"Er. No. I'm not quite sure myself, actually. My two best guesses at the time, though, are alternate dimension or time travel," she pressed a hand to her stomach as the room seemed to waver. "Whichever it is, it would appear that queasiness is a side effect."

"Sit." In a show of much welcome practicality, Molly took hold of her arm and led her to a chair. A glass of water flew into her hand. "And drink."

She obeyed, grateful when her stomach settled again. "What year is it?"

Bill stepped up. "1995."

"And clearly the war is already taking place? I mean, since you're all staying at Grimmauld Place?"

"Yes. Not that most people would agree," Hestia said with a huff. "Fudge is adamant that nothing is wrong. But yes, for all intents and purposes, a war is on."

"I see." And she did. She nodded, once, then twice, before getting to her feet. "Then I guess this is a case of time travel after all."

"What happens, Hermione?" Remus asked quietly. "At the end. You're alive in your time, so… Do we win?"

She hesitated. "Voldemort is defeated, yes."

Bill's eyes narrowed. "But?"

Her throat closed up. Her eyes wanted to fill. It was beginning to hit her now, the fact that she was talking to dear friends who would be dead in a matter of years. "But there are a lot of losses. And… not everybody in this room makes it."

She decided then and there, as she watched her friends try to come to terms with the news, that she would've happily gone another round with Bellatrix Lestrange rather than have to tell them that.

"That's all right. I mean," Remus said with something like a laugh. "It's not like we didn't see that coming."

"I'm so sorry," Hermione whispered.

"Don't be." Hestia lifted her chin, a fierce, elated grin creeping on her face. "We win. Even if some of us die, we win. The wizarding world won't be lost to that slimy excuse for a wizard after all."

Bill agreed. "I don't think you should tell us who does or doesn't make it. Not until Dumbledore is here, at any rate. I'm not all that familiar with time travel, but I'm pretty certain that something like this could alter history."

"Bill's right," Remus said definitively. "You'll tell us nothing. Albus should probably be told, but that's it."

They were right, she knew that, but… "I'm not sure I can do it."

"Tonks, did you see…" A familiar voice trailed off as the man in question took in the strange woman loosely holding a wand in her hands. He immediately pulled his own wand on her. "Who the fuck are you and how did you get in here?"

Remus sighed. "Hermione, you better put that away. Padfoot, I'll explain."

"Time travel." Sirius said incredulously, too incredulously in her opinion considering his own history with it. "So you're Hermione from the future?"

"Yes, I am. And yes, I still have trouble wrapping my mind around it."

"But that's impossible. Time turners can only go back a limited amount of time. Even if you were Hermione from the future, you would still be sixteen. How old are you, kid?"

She nearly rolled her eyes at the endearment. "Twenty-four."

He whistled. "How the hell did that happen?"

"If I knew, don't you think I would have done something to prevent it?" She snapped, then pressed her fingers to her temples with a sigh. "I'm sorry. I'm upset."

"Small wonder. Here," he pushed a glass in front of her. "I think you could use it."

They were alone in the kitchen, the rest of its inhabitants having left to attend to various matters before Dumbledore's arrival. She picked up the glass and sniffed. Firewhisky. "I'm not usually a fan, but I could use it right now. Thanks."

"No problem," he looked at her for a moment. "I know everyone decided not to ask questions about the… losses."

For a moment, her mind blanked. She couldn't possibly tell him he'd be the first serious casualty among their group. Then the light dawned. "Harry makes it."

Sirius' eyes closed for a split second. "Thank you."

Hermione couldn't help it. She'd held on fairly well with the rest, while she'd been trying to convince them not to stun her. But now that the adrenaline was fading, the grief of the loss of so many of her friends and allies, added to the knowledge that she'd play a role in it simply by staying silent, overcame her. She reached out and took hold of his hand, blinking back tears that refused to withdraw.

"Hermione?" He said, his tone gentler than she'd ever heard it. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, I'm just," her voice broke. "So happy to see you."

He linked their fingers together. "I-"

The door opened. Dumbledore stood in the doorframe, looking calm and powerful and in control. That was his skill, she thought. Even knowing what she now knew, she couldn't help but feel anchored. Like he would figure it all out somehow, and all would be right in the world again.

But of course, it wouldn't. She'd go back to her time and these people would die again.

She let go of Sirius' hand.

"Headmaster."

"Miss Granger. You seem to have been misplaced." His eyes twinkled. Did he do that on purpose? Just twinkle on command to cover up any uncertainty he might feel?

"You could say so."

He summoned a chair and sat. "Tell me."

She did.

"The Department of Mysteries. Interesting. What was the last thing you touched?"

"Nothing. My assignment was simple – to renew the wards holding the place impenetrable. I took a few steps back, stumbled into a table," she remembered. Her repulsion for the Veil had not let her get any closer than strictly necessary. "God. Did I set something off?"

"It's possible. Did you hear any clinks? Crashes?"

"Not a thing. I did feel a breeze, but as I was standing in front of the Veil, I assumed it was coming from it. It does sometimes. I got goosebumps. Next thing I knew, I was in the basement of this house, surrounded by wands."

"I understand."

That made one of them. "Do you really? What happened? Why am I here?"

"Why, I do not know. But the circumstances you describe sound familiar. I need some time before I can give you any answers. In the meantime, Miss Granger, you must not be seen. I'm sure I don't have to explain why to you."

"What are you saying I should do?"

"I suggest you stay here. The people who spend regular time in this house are already aware of your presence. It's mid-September, so your younger self, Harry and the young Weasleys are back at Hogwarts. This is the safest place for you."

"I have to go back."

"I imagine you do. But without knowing how you got here, we don't hold much hope of sending you back."

"So what do you want me to do? Go through the war all over again? Only this time, I should sit back and watch my friends die?"

His eyes flickered. "I suggest neither. But we must learn all we can about your arrival. Surely you understand."

Oh, how she wished she didn't. "I won't stay idle while you figure out my life."

"I wouldn't ask you to. You are a remarkably skilled researcher even as a 15-year-old, Miss Granger. I imagine that skill has improved in the nine years since. I hope you'll help me look for a solution."

She held his eyes. Her Legilimancy knowledge was newly acquired, and he had decades of practice deflecting probing eyes. It did not come as a surprise to find nothing in his gaze. "I'd like that."

"Wonderful. I'm sure Sirius wouldn't mind showing you to the library when you're ready."

The mocking twist of his lips told Hermione that might not be true, but Sirius didn't argue.

"Now. There is something else we must discuss. Sirius, would you mind?"

The Sirius Black that Hermione remembered would have, indeed, minded, but the man sitting across from her rose without a word. She didn't watch him go – all her attention was centered on the older man watching her steadily. "What do you want to know?"

"Only one thing: does the Order win?"

"Yes."

"Good. Then you'll tell me nothing more. I don't suppose I have to explain why."

No indeed. But… "The losses are plentiful."

"As they should be. Miss Granger," he said when she opened her mouth, stunned despite everything. "Hermione. You of all people know the risks of meddling with time. Say we save one person. How do we know dozens of others won't die in their stead? How do we know we won't lose the war the second time around?"

Hermione was too practical to miss the inarguable logic in that statement. But she didn't give a damn about logic at the moment. "Don't you even care?"

"Of course I do," he didn't look like everybody's favorite grandfather at the moment. The twinkling blue eyes gave way to an aura of power that was almost blinding. "But I can't afford to let sentiment get in the way of the greater good."

She very nearly slapped him. "Who are you to decide what's for the greater good?"

"Are you saying stopping Voldemort from rising to power might not be it?" He asked quietly, waited for her to argue. Knew she couldn't. "I'll contact you within the week. Let me know if you've made any advances. And, Hermione, stay here. It's too dangerous for you to leave this house."

She could think of nothing more constructive to do than sigh.

The bastard always managed to get in the last word.

Long after dinner was over, Hermione found herself tossing and turning in bed. Her room, the same one she'd once shared with Ginny, was stifling. Shoving the covers aside, she gave up. There'd be no sleeping for her tonight, and she desperately wanted caffeine.

Coffee might not be the smartest idea for an already restless woman, but it would clear the cobwebs in her brain.

She wasn't surprised to find Sirius already sitting at the kitchen table, nursing a glass of Firewhisky. He raised his head at her approach, but said nothing.

"Hi. I'll get out of your way in a minute. I just wanted some coffee."

"At one in the morning?"

She gave a kind of shrug. "I couldn't sleep. May I?"

"Suit yourself. You're in a for a long string of sleepless nights," he gestures vaguely. "Now that you're cooped up here as well."

"Is that a problem for you?"

"No. A little weird, maybe. Last time I saw you, you were nine years younger. That was two weeks ago."

She chuckled under her breath. "That would be disconcerting."

"You could say so," he watched her over the rim of her glass. "I should probably ask what you do, right? My parents were big on etiquette, but I don't recall ever learning how to catch up with a time-traveler."

"I work at the Ministry. The Department of Mysteries."

"Hence us having this little chat."

"Hence."

"When are you starting your research?"

"Yesterday if I could. I need to go home," away from you, from Remus and Tonks, from everyone whose death I will now carry on my conscience. "Is tomorrow morning okay?"

"Yeah. Do you know where the library is?"

"Mmhm. I've worked there in the past."

"I see," he examined her closely. "Are you as… rule-abiding as you were at 15?"

The little pause before the description made her smile. "Tactful. And no, not quite."

"So. What are the odds of you going against Dumbledore in this?"

She looked down. There was no way she could look him in the eye. "Slim to none. Why?"

"Tell me about Harry. You already said he lives," he barreled on before she could protest. "And it occurs to me, looking at you, it occurs to me you wouldn't have given me even that much if I was going to be there to see it myself. So tell me he's fine in your time. Not just alive. Actually fine."

She wanted, desperately, to contradict his instincts about his own fate. She knew she couldn't. And to tell him Harry was happy, a promising Auror, newly engaged, basically amounted to admitting that, yes, he would die long before he got to witness it. Could her tacit acknowledgment potentially alter the course of history? Should she even risk it?

But he was Harry's godfather.

"He's fine," she said in a low voice, still not looking at him. "He'll be fine."

She looked up, startled, when he reached out, clasped her wrist. "Thanks."

Not knowing what to say, Hermione nodded and surged to her feet. "I'm going to bed. Goodnight."