I usually don't really write, so this itching to write was a surprise. But not really, because after all, Tom/Hermione is addictive. And there just aren't enough out there. Expect a slight amount of wangst (ew, but after all, they're teenagers), and lots of mushy and/or fluffy content, though later in the story. Enjoy and review, but don't expect too many updates, as it's hard to keep up with this story while doing homework that takes hours. I'll usually write on Fridays, when I have the weekend to finish homework. And please don't be flaming me or rushing me. Also, one more thing…if I discontinue this (though I really, really hope not to), please don't be surprised. My inspiration tends to burn out very quickly. I'm sorry. Thank you for your patience.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter does not belong to me. Plot and all extra characters do.
A Different Reality
Chapter One: Falling Asleep
Carrying a heavy load of books up the twisting stairs, Hermione made her way to Arithmancy. Seventh year hadn't been very nice to her: barely visible bags, thin face, frazzled hair, a deathly pale color from locking herself inside all day, and an ever shortening temper were just some of the effects her stint as Head Girl and her heavy courseload had done to her. It was like a repeat of third year, and worse, and Hermione had only been in school for two months.
Besides, she was weak. She was weak. Her Gryffindor pride prevented her from backing out, and the Slytherins and even some others from different Houses had made a betting pool on when she would fall. Not if – when. It was inevitable. Hermione only thought to herself that she only had to run this race through for one more school year, and then she could relax.
Ron and Harry were concerned, of course, but nothing they could do would dissuade Hermione to drop any of her classes or renounce her late nights working on homework. Hermione hardly ever went out anymore; trips to Hogsmeade were waved away with an ink-stained hand as easily as a fly, and the library become Hermione's daily 6-hour haunt.
Ron tried to ask her for help on his Transfiguration homework one day, but Hermione snapped at him and said why didn't he find someone else to help him instead of relying on her all the time, who was going to do his papers when he got a job, what was he going to become if he had to rely on others to complete his assignments.
The staircase abruptly switched, but Hermione, unfazed, only tiredly made a well-known detour to a hallway, her uniform shoes clicking against the stone floors.
There were times when the sleep deprivation got to her. Sometimes she woke up in the middle of class with no idea how she got there; her notes were neat and tidy and already done. Sometimes she blacked out in the library when she studied and woke up with her cheek plastered against the hard binding of her Potions textbook. Sometimes she just felt like she was moving within a dream, everything in slow motion and colors blurred together like a Van Gogh painting.
"Hermione. Hermione, wake up!" Ron shakes her shoulder.
A soft sigh. "Mmh…agrm…hm?" Shake. "Wh…wha…" Shake. Brown curls tumbling over an open Charms notebook. "R…Ron? What do you want? …time for…class, yet?" Shake, shake. Bloodshot eyes open blearily.
"Hermione, it's Saturday. Honestly, can't you think about anything other than school?"
Harry speaks up in concern. "You alright? I haven't seen you like this since third year…Hermione, you shouldn't do this. You're destroying yourself, can't you see that? You spend seventeen hours a day in school and in homework. You get up at seven, go to class at eight, get out of class at four, go to the library at four thirty, come back to the dorms at ten, and sleep at midnight. Actually, I don't even know if you sleep at midnight. You probably stay up even later than that. You don't even go to lunch or dinner-"
Why were red and gold bleeding together why were they melting into the fire behind Harry?
a frantic babble
"-Merlin, he's right! 'mione, you can't do that! You'll starve-"
the voice of reason
"-you never go out with us anymore, and your temper just bloody went through the roof, you look thinner, 'mione, don't you see, you can't do this, we care for you we can't watch you do this to yourself Hermione-"
a muffled sound from dry cracked lips and throat dry from reading to herself from notes
"Ngh…Harr…Ron…I- hrgn…mm-"
Prompt slump into hardwood oak table in front of overstuffed red armchair. Eyes clouded over with exhaustion. Eyelids droop.
"Fuck," says Harry.
a fiery, argumentative explosion colored red, red
"-WAKE UP – YOU CAN'T – HERMI – OKAY – YOU – COURSEWORK TOO – STOP DOING – TOO THIN – OH MERLI – I – MCGONAGALL – TALK TO – DORE –"
odd patches of black spacesoundwordsbutnotwords
"'mione, you – I – Ron wants – don't do – come with – stop – concerned – Madam Pom – Infi – don't – St. Mung – worried –"
drifting, drifting words on a raft in the sea, an explosion of color behind her eyes, wild music where is that carousel I've heard this before zoo in London ring around the rosie Black Death oh no where Scotland Hogwarts grindylows cackles of laughter medley of muddle sound butterflies kimono wings flutterbyes flitting why is everythingspinning my headohwhyblack-
Black. Darkness.
Black.
black
black, black, Sirius Black, why did you die black Black family line Black disowned
"-mio-ee"
-black and a final darkness
"-symbol represents vitality, health. You'll often see this in– "
A cold seeping from the chair through her skirt. Hermione's eyes opened fully from their half-lidded state earlier. She glanced down at her notebook, symbols and arrows and chicken scratch in Cornell note taking form were scrawled in purple ink over the paper. Purple ink. A grimace crossed her pallid face. She never used purple ink. It was scandalous, disrespectful to take notes in.
"-many cultures often used this as a way of warding off– "
Hermione pursed her lips. This was getting worse, but she would get over this. Her trembling fingers took up the tattered quill again, dip, dip into the ink, scratch against the parchment.
"-so to calculate and add up these numbers, use– "
A soft sigh escaped her, a defeated sound. Nobody seemed to notice it, as they were all engrossed in taking notes. The Arithmancy class had seventeen students; Terry Boot, Dennis Creevey, Justin Finch, Ernie MacMillan, Draco Malfoy, Pansy Parkinson, and a smattering of other houses. The group of Slytherins huddled in a back corner of desks in the classroom didn't even bother her when the professor wasn't paying attention; they were too busy trying to take notes and to catch up on information.
They aren't bad students, Hermione thought. Just…bad people. Unpleasant. I guess. Either way, I don't trust them a bit. At all. Haven't ever met a decent Slytherin, or even one I got along with.
Once again, Hermione had no recollection of ever entering the Arithmancy classroom or making her way up other staircases after that turn into the hallway. It eerily reminded her of second year, when Ginny described being possessed as large black spaces in her memory, but she knew that this was due to her exhaustion. She could just up and quit right now. She could, she really could.
But she knew she wouldn't. The position of Head Girl meant too much to her, the responsibilities and burdens something she was proud to bear. Her classes enriched her knowledge, and the library too much of a second home to give up.
The Head Girl bowed her head and scribbled away at her paper.
"Oftentimes, 14th century wizards and witches would try to…"
Her eyelids started closing. Hermione shook her head, her hair sliding from its loose ponytail and covering her face. But she couldn't fight the wave of sleepiness, the deep-boned exhaustion that threatened to consume her and ached in her very blood. It had anchored itself there and attached itself to her soul and grew roots that clung to her mind and refused to leave and muddied up her thoughts with dirt and dust.
Black ate away at her vision and the drab colors of the classroom brightened with sunlight and blurred together again.
She woke up in the Infirmary on a clean bed with starched white cotton sheets. The rows of empty cots stretched away before her, before stopping at the Infirmary door. She panicked. I'm not supposed to be here – supposed to be in class – I'll fall behind –
She took a cursory glance at her small, feminine wristwatch, taking comfort in the steady tick of the gilded second hand and intervals of space between the silver minute hand and bronze hour hand. She noted that nineteen minutes had passed since she had presumably passed out in the middle of class, and felt surprisingly better.
A small mirror stood on the nightstand beside the cot. Hermione picked it up in her hands and glanced in it, and almost reeled in shock. Her bags and bloodshot eyes were gone. Her hair was tamed again, and her complexion was healthier. I guess Madam Pomfrey must have dosed me up with some potions.
Suddenly realizing that she could still catch up on notes and material, Hermione practically leapt to her feet out of the bed, and almost fell to the floor from her dizziness. Trying to balance on her feet, Hermione smoothed out her robes and picked up her bookbag that was slumped against the foot of the bed, and stumbled towards the door, desperate to get back to class. She hoped that Madam Pomfrey wouldn't catch her trying to sneak back to Arithmancy.
Putting a hand on the door handles and cautiously pulling it towards her, Hermione was surprised at the absent of a long, squeaking creeeak of the Infirmary door that usually alerted Pomfrey to students trying to sneak out or in. Must have oiled it, she thought absently.
Slipping out quietly, Hermione closed the door again and made her way towards the Arithmancy classroom. The halls were strangely quiet and empty, as she passed through closed doors and open doors with empty rooms and more closed doors –
"I do believe you're quite early, miss?" A bemused voice echoed in the hall behind her back.
Hermione turned around abruptly, flustered. "I- I – I was only getting back to class because I – oh…"
A small man stood before her. Hermione knew him on sight; she had seen his portrait in Dumbledore's office. Armando Dippet.
How the hell had she gotten here? She didn't have any Time Turners on her, she didn't want any anyways, she had sworn off them after the incident in third year that scared the crap out of her.
Hermione took another glance at her watch and noted the date. The 12th of July. 1944.
Shit.