A/N: I do not own anything. Except for the plot. But you know that.
She gasped in pain as her back landed on the cold, hard ground, her head wildly spinning. It had stopped. She closed her eyes gently; lashes brushing against her flushed cheeks as she marveled at the lack of pain. After days, it had stopped. It'd felt like she was picking at a portkey for countless hours; a swooping sensation constant in her belly. Now her frame rested peacefully beneath the moonlight, on the still land covered by fresh, soft grass. It had finally stopped, and she'd made it to 1944.
Armando Dippet sat idly with a stiff back and his hands folded on the desk; gaze steady on a crinkled piece of parchment. It was eight at night. Soft murmuring had broken out among the portraits of headmasters and headmistresses; all shooting curious glances at their current predecessor, who'd been immobile since the past 20 minutes, lost in his own musing.
A timid knock sounded at headmaster's door, startling them all into silence.
"Enter," said the old man lightly, shifting into his seat. He'd been warned of a visit at precisely this time by a strange letter; the very same crinkled parchment that now rested on his desk. He stared, slightly unnerved, as the witch appeared from behind the door and walked up straight to his desk, as if it wasn't her first time in his office; clicking heels sounding in her wake. She was skinny and tall, clad in muggle attire; an open pale coat over her blue checked blouse and high-waist boot cut jeans, wearing black ankle strap pumps with two-inch heels. She'd brown, shoulder-length, wavy hair. But what had headmaster slightly disturbed was her face: eyes perpetually narrowed with sharp brows and prominent cheekbones; the model-like perfection on her seeming almost sinister.
"Sit, please." Dippet was almost uncomfortable now, pondering over what he'd read in the letter as he took in the appearance of the girl who smoothly sat herself upon the leather brown chair facing his desk; simultaneously crossing her arms and legs with gaze trained upon him.
"So I have it that you're interested in taking up the teaching post of Defense Against the Dark Arts, Ms.-"
"Obviously," she cut in lazily, voice as frigid as the look on her face.
"There isn't much to your background in this." He plopped his elbow on the table with her letter clutched in his hand. The witch made it apparent there was no use in resorting to customs and she meant only business. "Regardless, I expect you to be aware that you've to be of age to qualify for this job?"
The witch leaned back against the chair, deciding over a vacuous response as her honey-brown orbs regarded Dippet nonchalantly.
"Ms. Granger," he said with more volume, as if she hadn't heard him. "You're yet too young to be teaching at Hogwarts. We require wizards and witches with prior experience that, I'm afraid, comes with age, too."
"Dumbledore," the brunette divulged in her high, cold voice, after a long moment, during which he'd been turning more and more impatient. "I need Dumbledore."
"And whatever is it that you seek of a transfiguration professor?" Exasperation now tainted Dippet's ancient voice.
"Why, that's to remain between him and myself," She said with finality, as if to question her any further may lead in vain. Dippet tried to search her face for something, while she merely returned his troubled gaze with a bored one; finding deep satisfaction as he visibly turned more clueless by the second.
Unable to understand what to make of her, Dippet simply stated, "Very well, then. You'll find Professor Dumbledore in his classroom, located on the ground floor. Look to the left of the courtyard. But I must warn you, Ms. Granger, Albus won't be of much help to you in this regard. The rules that have been guiding Hogwarts the past millennium shall remain in force."
"Of course, Headmaster," the girl responded coolly as she got up and swiftly walked out, leaving a very confused Armando Dippet behind.
"Evening, professor," the girl said airily as she breezed into the classroom.
Albus glanced up to see the witch come and stand in front of the teacher's desk. "Ah, Ms. Granger, if I'm correct. Headmaster did tell me to expect you. Please," he said, not taking his eyes off the papers he was grading as he gestured her to a student's desk nearby.
"Of course he did." Hermione sat herself on the chair, pushing away the desk as she made space to cross her legs.
"Now, to what do I owe this pleasure?"
"You know very well what I want, Dumbledore," She coldly stated, not minding to keep up with the niceties. Dumbledore finally looked up over his spectacles as he regarded the witch ahead of him with the deep, penetrating gaze of his, which she returned coolly.
"I'm afraid I don't," Albus said, not letting his gaze stray away.
"Well, I'm aware that the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher has retired, and that you haven't found a replacement yet."
"Indeed. Indeed, Professor Merrythought has retired, and the vacancy made by her hasn't been filled. Do care to enlighten me, though, how you're aware of this, Ms. Granger. She took her leave only last night," he said simply as his gaze scorched hers; eyes twinkling.
A smirk managed to crawl its way on her face. "I have my sources," she answered softly. "Suffice it to say, I'm here now, and quite sure you won't find someone better."
"Ms. Granger, you do know we aren't even slightly acquainted with your background, or credentials. Furthermore, I'm sure Headmaster Dippet's already mentioned-"
"The age requirement? I'm aware," She interrupted, seeming restless for the first time. "You don't need to worry about my credentials. I'm very well trained and adept in the knowledge and application of the subject, I assure you. You can have all the proof you want, just ask for it. I can give the students what they need, Dumbledore. In fact, I feel you're going a bit soft with them. With dark wizards like Grindewald on rise, you need this generation prepared, and strengthened.
"As for my age, I have lived over 25 years."
She was met with his penetrating gaze yet once more before he said, "That still doesn't explain who you really are and how you came about to be here."
Only due to her quick senses had she spotted a fleeting look of surprise which he'd quickly deterred, when she'd disclosed the fact about her age. A sly smirk formed on her face. "You're known to be a trusting man, Dumbledore. Yet, you seem incapable of trusting me...I'm not surprised, you know. You want facts. I'll give you the facts, but on one light condition."
"You want the post." It was not a question. Dumbledore leaned ahead, folding his hands on the table; eyes on the witch unwavering. "Come now, Ms. Granger. It isn't about the students. What is it that you truly seek from the job?"
"It's not about what I want, you see. To you, it's really about what you could gain from what I know. I know things, things that could turn the entire course of history; things that only I know, and no one else does. Think about it, Dumbledore. I don't plan on hiding much from you if you agree on that one condition." Hermione leaned back against the chair triumphantly; arms folded, as she allowed him time to consider her words. She knew she'd had him highly intrigued, which was some feat, considering he was Albus Dumbledore, after all. Of course, being someone who appeared out of thin air and knew quite as much as herself would have made anyone curious.
The transfiguration professor finally got up and swayed toward a bookshelf, running light fingers over the spine of different volumes. "Do tell me, Ms. Granger, how I decide on whether giving you this position is worth the risk of whatever information you give."
The girl let out a little snort of laughter. "You mean help you decide whether you could trust me?"
"And by words of who else could I go but yours," He stated gently. "I assume whatever information you choose to divulge is to be kept with myself only?"
"Certainly," she responded dully, picking at a nail.
"Then I think we both know that I'm seemingly at a dilemma." He finally pulled out a hefty tome and turned around to meet her gaze.
"I could tell you this- When you get to know what I know, I'll be far from your concerns, for a while, at least." A smirked appeared on her face when she caught a glimpse of surprise on his, which swiftly vanished.
"But that could be a serious complication, too," Dumbledore said as he scrutinized the witch from over his glasses.
Her face turned hard. "We're on the same side, Dumbledore."
"And what side is it that you call it?"
"We seek the ends to one cause, even if the reasons for wanting it might differ. And before you go on and inquire about the cause or reasons, you must know that you won't have more answers until I have your word." Her face remained stony as she regarded Albus with even narrower brows.
Albus regarded the brunette for a whole moment before letting out a soft sigh. He swayed towards his table and dumped the volume on the desk before pensively saying, "It doesn't seem I have much of a choice."
She stood and strolled towards him as she pleasantly claimed, "You won't have much time for regrets, professor. Shall we make it official?"
Albus gave her a long, hard look. "Do allow me to consult headmaster. Also, he's the only one who must carry out the incantation for the vow, if that's how you intend to make it official, that is." The smirk on her face dismissed any possibility for doubts. Hermione knew he was right. After all, it was Dippet who'd decide if she'd get the job. Moreover, handing someone else the same task might stir up suspicion, and won't remain as hushed up as she'd like. Following Dumbledore out the door, her smirk positively turned into a grin as she heard him whisper, "Gods be good."
The door to headmaster's office opened as Albus stepped out. "Come on in." He beckoned the girl inside and followed after her. She'd been waiting on them for the past 15 minutes in silence as the two were presumably discussing over whether they could trust her. Her gaze met with Dippet's and she knew she was victorious. The look on his face seemed somewhat defeated.
She kneeled opposite to Albus as he came to rest on both knees, extending his right hand forward, which she grasped with hers. "I hope you know what you're doing, Albus." There was a worried edge to Dippet's tone as he came to stand nearby where their right hands were clasped. Headmaster sighed at Dumbledore's silence and extracted his wand from his robes, pointing the tip at their linked hands.
"Will you, Albus Dumbledore, keep merely to yourself, what I, Hermione Granger, disclose to you in the course of next few hours?"
"I will." A brilliant emerald flame issued from Dippet's wand and wrapped its way about the pair of hands.
"And will you promise me the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts, upon learning what all I let you know?"
"I will." Another blazing tongue issued from the wand and encircled around their hands, joining the first one as the two formed a glowing serpent. The snake gave a brilliant flash, before it dissolved into nothingness and the vow got sealed.
Now the duo sat in Dumbledore's office; the girl toying with a silver instrument which looked like a miniature of a secrecy sensor, as Dumbledore got himself seated opposite to her in his leather chair. He extracted his yew wand from his robes and cast a non-verbal silencing charm on the door of his office, returning his intent gaze on the witch.
This was it. The shield she'd put up had to be let down, if she wanted him to know. Now she merely hoped to keep her emotions in place. "I'm from the year 2005," she began, sounding uncertain for the first time. She dimly heard a sharp intake of breath. The notion of time-travel wasn't that obvious even for Albus Dumbledore. Staring at her hand fidgeting with the silver object, she relied further, "And, no. Time-travel isn't viable for humans; not physically at least. I'm 26, really. But I never got to be older than 21, so-"
"I'd guessed right, then," Dumbledore breathed out. Her head shot up in bewilderment.
"Guessed what, exactly?" Her tone gained back the cold edge.
"You're still a newborn vampire," He wondered aloud, ignoring her question, "How are you able to control your thirst?"
Hermione merely looked flabbergasted at his placid response, which was quickly replaced by a glaring realization. He was Dumbledore, after all. Yet she couldn't help inwardly commending him at how well he was handling the truth about her existence. Indeed, Vampirism had caught hold of her at the age of 21, and she hadn't aged since. She collected herself before responding, "I was trained. I've fed on animals ever since I was turned."
Dumbledore quietly gazed back with twinkling eyes as one side of his mouth quirked.
"Now, now, Dumbledore, you can't possibly be prejudiced? And here I thought all you've been known for was that big, kind heart of yours."
"Oh, don't mistake me for being prejudiced, no," He smilingly said as he shifted into his chair, "Please, do continue."
Hermione cocked her head to one side, wondering what seemed so humorous to the old man, but let it go as quickly. "Obviously, I couldn't use a regular time-turner; the day-turners that can't go beyond 24 hours. Wizards have been known to experiment with this field of magic, of course, all ending up with casualties. But I knew it'd be different for our kind," she said, wonderment lightening up her tone. "You see, vampires heal incredibly quick; physically, and it's impossible for them to sustain injuries. One reason we can't ever have scars," she voiced out additionally, not noticing as she ran mild fingers over her left arm. Her mouth set into a hard line as she remembered to meet his gaze.
"I reckon travelling through time proved to be a bit unpleasant."
"You bet," she murmured, giving a soft mirthless snort.
Albus simply looked back at her for a long moment; hands folded on his desk. "Now, to ask you why exactly you chose to be here, at this time; but I'm not sure…" He gave long, thoughtful pause. "You see, the question in its own essence is probably moot. For one, I know you're from the future. This switches the whole notion of how much I ought to know. To tamper with what has passed has never been called too wise. But the moment you stepped foot in this time, different courses of events had already took in effect, which, I'm sure, further affected their subsequent proceedings, and so on. There isn't much we can do to avert this." He lightly scratched his cheek with his index finger. "Shouldn't we rather be wondering what we can do to shake what follows into our favor? I guess the real question is where we draw the line on how much you ought to tell me…"
The sides of Hermione's mouth turned up a little. "You're really working over convincing yourself that deciding to do this wasn't just a lapse in your judgment."
"Now, you can't blame an old man for holding on to hope," he answered lightly, mirroring her amusement.
She gave a soft laugh. "Damn straight, I won't. So, in a nutshell, you're about to tell me how much I should tell you?"
"Something to that effect, yes." A slight frown creased his forehead. "I feel I may just have to disregard knowing the exact details. But you must let me be aware of the basics." He met her gaze. "Your purpose isn't solely teaching. There's something else that brings you here, back in this time. Am I correct?"
"Yes," Hermione answered, eyes falling on the table. She'd thought a lot about it, in fact. The prospect of teaching had always had her fascinated; to be endowed with the ability to possess power, influence, and impact over young minds; to have raw access to their brains and hone them. It was an excuse, however, as she rather sought after only a young lad who was to be within the very confines of Hogwarts for one last year, as he completed his seventh year. And she was positively convinced there wouldn't be a better opportunity to have him rounded up; when he'd seem the least dicey, and indeed the most vulnerable.
"What is it, then? A person, or maybe some event that you-"
"It's because of someone."
Dumbledore gave her a long look. "Is it a teacher, or a student?"
"A student," she answered shortly, expression now seeming defiant as her gaze met his.
There was a brief pause. "Students at Hogwarts are to remain unharmed, regardless of what circumstance presents itself; regardless of whatever it is that you're aware of. Please do well to bear this in mind."
An impish smile materialized on her small face. "I know how you can get about your students, Dumbledore," she softly said. "Needless to say, you won't need to be concerned about that." She'd known already she'd be kept an eye on. The game she was wagering had to be a careful one.
His stern gaze softened a bit as he analyzed the witch from over his glasses. "Perhaps you know much more than I'd anticipated."
"I guess." Her smirk turned into a small frown. "I wish that wasn't the case, though. I mean, there's nothing really I wasn't ready to give up to have you know everything." She eyed him somberly and for the first time, Dumbledore caught a glimpse of tiredness and dejection on her face. "So do keep in mind these are your rules we're playing with," she added, and like that, any receding emotion had completely disappeared.
She chided herself inwardly for letting any emotion spill on her face. Somehow, she found it hard to put up an impenetrable mask in front of Dumbledore. But she couldn't use him, or anyone else, or anything at all, for that matter, as an excuse to let her guard down even for a moment, no matter what.
"But I hope you realize the conditions I place upon my knowledge are much more than rules? They're more of a necessity to make this work."
"I understand." As if she needed the explaining. Wasn't he always quite the gracious one.
"Good. Now, as for your credentials; anything which might help prove that your capabilities meet the post requirement?" The witch had already produced an envelope from her tote bag from which she retrieved few pieces of parchment as he spoke. Dumbledore carefully examined the papers as he lightly commented, "Perfect amount of OWLS and NEWTS, with nothing less than an Outstanding, however I do seem to notice, there's a gap of 3 years between your 5th and 7th year," one side of his mouth almost quirked up.
A small scowl appeared on her face. "I didn't fail, of course," she stated indignantly. "I had to skip a year for….well, it's very much related to what I'm here for."
He didn't grace her with a response. "Your Auror training, too, has seemed to have yielded excellent results. But you don't appear to have completed your last year of training." And then he fixed her with an expectant gaze.
"Does my Auror training really affect my chances at this job?" She asked sardonically, lifting one thin eyebrow.
"It does not." Dumbledore gently wedged the papers inside the envelope which he handed back to her. "I was merely curious," he said simply, folding hands at his table as he met her gaze.
"I couldn't, of course, under the circumstances that had come into being," she answered a little sharply. "Why ever would I let go of an opportunity like that?"
"It's true, you wouldn't," He lightly remarked as his gaze rested on her. "However, this is exactly what seemingly frightens me. How truly bad were those circumstances that even the likes of you couldn't pursue your life ambition?"
A quiet look of understanding settled on her face. "I know where you're going with this. It was just me, Dumbledore. As I'd told you, I was turned when I was 21. Not continuing with the training was just a part of keeping me away from doing anything reckless. And to teach me any form of control took almost 3 years. Until I was 25, my senses and reflexes were razor-sharp. Auror training seemed like child's play."
"But why not, nevertheless, complete your training so you could officially carry the tag of an Auror?"
"The world knew me to be dead the moment I was turned," she quietly stated, as Albus' frown faded into a grim understanding. "Even to all my friends, and family, whatever was left of them, that is…And I couldn't break this impression, since they wouldn't be able to see me otherwise for who I really was. People are more susceptible to prejudice than to reason, and I hadn't expected any better of them." Her voice had gained a bitter edge; expression unfathomable.
"Are you sure you weren't being too hard in your opinion about how they'd have taken it?"
"No," she answered. "Even if I'd hoped for their acceptance, how could have I seen them without killing someone off?" A light frown crinkled her brow. "Initially, at least…I hadn't learnt restraint, you see. And this thirst," a wild look could be glimpsed on her face, "had imprisoned every aspect of my life. I simply detested it. I hated to be ruled by a mere feeling; a want that went against everything that I'd taught myself. I worked, and I worked hard till I mastered this self-control. But then things had gone too awry…." A dazed expression formed on her face. "And now I'm here."
"Something else happened," Dumbledore spoke gently. "You're not here by chance, but by intention, as you said. Why go out of your way to seek the means of time-travel?"
The fresh jot of gentleness in his tone only caused her face to be more hardened. She didn't need anyone's pity. "I've lost so much. Don't assume I'd have chosen to do differently was I presented with the chance to come back in this time any sooner or later." It was almost true. Now she was trained, prepared, strong…and had known time-travel was physically possible for her new body.
Slight dubiousness colored Albus' eyes which regarded her for a few moments. "So, you seem to have mentioned more than once about being taught control…I assume someone helped you with it, and also in keeping your existence a secret, presumably?"
Now Hermione's face turned to stone as she unflinchingly returned his gaze. Was it that easy to guess she wasn't being completely honest? Even if he did know, how would he know to point straight to the root of what she was hiding? Her reluctance might have been obvious, but she wasn't ready to talk about him. Not yet. Not to Dumbledore. "That's completely irrelevant to why I'm here, or what you need to know," she responded coldly. "Does make me wonder, not one question that you've asked is about the information I'd promised you."
"No, I didn't. But I think I just got everything I need, Ms. Granger." His voice lightened up. "You'll find your office and attached quarters on the sixth floor next to the portrait of Edgar Stroulger. You can use the floo in your room anytime to go out and about, since you'll need to bring in your personal belongings. And of course, if there's anything you need, you know where to find me," he pleasantly stated, eyes twinkling. "I bid you good night!" and with that, Dumbledore dumped files on his desk and started working on them, humming a cheery tone.
Hermione felt a bit unsteady at his abrupt dismissal even as she smoothly hoisted herself up from the chair and wordlessly stormed out of his office, lips still slightly parted in surprise. He was such a strange man.
A/N: Leave it to Dumbledore to make everything awkward. Hey, guys! Now, I've had this idea for years, and now I'm finally posting it. Tell me what you think, PLEASE. All your words will truly matter X