Disclaimer: P&P belongs to JA, though now in the public domain, and HP belongs to JKR and no violation of copyright is intended.

Summary: The insufferable know it all of 1998, Hermione Granger, finds herself transformed into the bookish Mary Bennet while trying to save Snape from death after the battle of Hogwarts. The war heroine witch now finds herself in a stifling Muggle family, her fate reduced to marrying the most eligible man who will have her. Hermione Granger however, is made of sterner stuff, she will leave a mark in whatever century she inhabits. She is after all, a Gryffindor. HGSS eventually.

Author's Note: This story is a crossover between the Harry Potter (book) series and Pride and Prejudice. It will have a degree of drama, adventure and romance (HGSS), though it will build slowly. If you are looking for instant gratuitous smut this is not the story for you. I will attempt to update regularly (1-2 weeks) though it is a work in progress fic (the story arc is plotted, but the chapters have not been written). It is thus a relatively dynamic story and I can incorporate any reader suggestions.

I would be grateful if any one is interested in beta-reading as I have no background and little practice in creative writing. I hope to improve my writing skills here, and welcome constructive criticism. Reviews are of course always welcome.

The pre-incarnation of Hemione Granger

Prologue

I

2nd May, 1998

As the adrenaline of victory faded, Hermione could no longer ignore the faces of the injured and the dead: Lavender, never really a friend, but still a lively, vivacious girl, Fred, in whose presence there never could be a dull moment – George would be devastated…and Snape a hero, who died reviled by all. Killed by his "master's" snake. Was it all over so soon? Only two hours ago had Snape duelled Flitwick and McGonagall, and had flown to apparent safety. And half an hour after that, he was lying bleeding red and white on the floor of the shack where he had nearly died twice. Dead only an hour and a half ago. His body could still be warm.

Shit! He could still be alive!

Hermione ran towards the shrieking shack, her beaded bag in hand, jumping over debris and the body of Bellatrix Lestrange.

Mr Weasley had survived in spite of the order reaching him over an hour after Nagini had attacked, she realised. A bit of blood replenishing potion to stabilise…the antidote for the venom could come in later. After all, the beast's venom was not really a toxin, more of an extremely nasty anticoagulant if she remembered correctly. And St Mungo's had the antidote for it anyway. Hermione couldn't believe they had passed Snape up as dead. She prayed as she ran that his carotid artery was intact.

The floor of the shrieking shack was dusty, with bloody footprints and streaks recreating the movements of Voldemort and his pet, being smudged by the slowly trickling flow of blood coming from the rather still body of Severus Snape. Good! There was still blood in Snape to bleed out. Not the carotid, then. With trembling hands (the adrenaline rush was really over now), Hermione rummaged through her bag, extracted the blood replenishing potion and spelled it into Snape with precise wand motions and a crisp incantation. An increase in the trickling flow…it was working! At least a bit of Snape was alive. Hermione hoped there was no brain damage as she knelt down to bandage the wound. She would try to staunch the flow as well as she could, even though St Mungo's antidote would render it moot.

As Hermione put the finishing touches on the bandage, staunching the blood flow almost completely (it was brilliant what knowledge of plumbing could contribute towards first aid), she heard the door of the shack squeak. Before she could turn, there was a flash of light and a sharp transient pain between her shoulder blades where a spell undoubtedly hit her. In a flash, the shrieking shack disappeared, as did everything around her. For a moment, all she could see was her wand, her beaded bag and Snape.

Then, just as suddenly, with another flash of light, she found herself dressed strangely in a gown that belonged to another era, standing on brilliant green grass under a spectacularly clear sky with what looked like an undamaged Hogwarts towering magnificently in the distance and Snape (no longer bleeding) still collapsed on the ground.

It was Hogwarts. Hermione was certain, but found that she could not explain the absence of the shrieking shack or the lack of damage of the building. The only theories that could explain her situation seemed ridiculously far-fetched. Had she travelled in time to before the damage to Hogwarts or a time after its repair? How far back was she, unless gowns came back in fashion? It was difficult to be certain in the wizarding world. Was she in another dimension?

Going to the castle with an injured (nearly dead) man without knowing whether its inhabitants were friends or foes could be suicidal, but Hermione was an exhausted Gryffindor, whose brain had temporarily shut down. In spite of being overwhelmed, dirty and tired, however, Hermione had the presence of mind to cast a disillusionment charm on herself and her former professor as she trudged towards the castle, dragging along Snape with a mobilicorpus, all the while hoping that they wouldn't be greeted by Death Eaters.

Hermione needn't have worried. They were not greeted by Death Eaters. Indeed, they were not greeted by any one at all, for the castle was empty for the summer break and the gates were shut. It seemed as if Hermione's camping days were not over, yet. With a sigh, she forced herself to plod towards Hogsmeade for shelter. The Hogs Head Inn had been there forever. The headmaster was a century and a half old, surely that inn should still exist. Whoever was there at Hogwarts, at least Aberforth Dumbledore could be trusted. However, as she walked on and on, she found she could not identify any of the familiar shop fronts. Where were all the brick cottages? They seemed to be replaced by wattle and daub…on and on she went, with Snape still bobbing behind her until exhaustion overcame her spell work causing both Snape and the disillusionment spell to abruptly fall.

The last thing that Hermione heard before she blacked out was Snape's cry as he fell.

Severus came to just as Granger collapsed on top of him. The pain increased ten fold. Was that even possible? God! She was heavy! Taking steady breaths to overcome his lightheadedness, he turned himself slightly to move from under her. After a moment to compose himself, he sat up, taking in his surroundings. They were near a village. He could see quaint wattle and daub houses in the distance. The air was cleaner and the castle was not visible. The cotswolds? No...the terrain was more rugged. Still in Scotland, then, possibly quite near Hogsmeade. And was Granger wearing a frock?

As he tried to get his bearings, Severus realised he was till alive. Coming to the realisation, he deduced that (a) somehow Granger had saved him and (b) his bleeding had somehow been controlled. His hand flew to his neck, and he felt a mechanical barrier stopping the blood flow, realising with a shock that under the carefully crafted and perfectly tied bandage, his throat was still ripped open. He tried (and failed) to suppress a shudder. He needed St Mungo's. Was it safe to go there? Who had won? If Granger came back to save him, it seemed obvious that Potter had seen his memories and shared its contents. Did Potter succeed? Was the Dark Lord dead? He hoped so. Poor Potter...he never really wished him dead.

Suddenly Severus decided he needed answers. He had played the pawn for nearly twenty years - almost all of his adult life. No more! The only person who could answer his questions lay before him - if only he could ask his questions with his throat in tatters. With the last of his rather considerable will, he opened his throat and rasped out his own spell to knit back wounds. He had designed it specifically for wounds inflicted by Dark Magic, though it was technically specific to sectumsempra. His injured throat made it impossible to sing it, but, when it came to the Dark Arts, what mattered was intent, and Severus poured his frustration of not knowing, of not being told, of his complete desperation for survival if only to finish his job and finally his feelings of love and duty into his chant, all the while mentally imagining the pure cadence of the song. To his surprise, he felt the flesh knit back, of his pain reduce. In a reckless move he ripped off the bandage - a move that could have killed him if the spell hadn't worked - but to his surprise, found his throat whole but for a scar.

Now he needed answers.

Enervate

II

15 days later, 17th May, 1813

When Netherthorpe Cottage was let, there was nary a stir in the neighbourhood. Only the foremost of intelligence gatherers like Mrs Bennet had heard that it had been let to an older gentleman with six hundred pounds a year. While Mrs Bennet did share this news with Mr Bennet, she did so only in passing, out of habit, rather than by design. After all, six hundred pounds a year was merely comfortable, hardly a large income and certainly not enough to merit her interest as far as matrimonial match making was concerned. Indeed, even her brother and Mr Philips managed a thousand pounds, and they were not even gentlemen. Kitty could indubitably do better. She was quite popular at Pemberley, and with Elizabeth's support, she should soon have a handsome gentleman courting her.

Thus, the news of Netherthorpe cottage being let certainly did not merit the excitement of Netherfield Park being let, nor did it necessitate the nearly military planning required that had resulted from that news and yielded the marriages of three of her five daughters. There was little for Mrs Bennet to gain in pursuing her new neighbour. He was merely a new curiosity. She did not attempt to persuade Mr Bennet to visit.

AN: Updated with very minor edits for grammar.