Hermione sat on Professor Dumbledore's olive settee, examining the back of her hands. She then gathered up the neck of the oversized dressing robe about her, nuzzling the soft material mindlessly.

Professor Dumbledore pensively examined the troubled young lady with softened eyes, hesitant to stir her from her thoughts, the soft hum of several wizarding knick knacks adorning his desk filling silence of the room.

"Professor, sir… I, sir…" Hermione still stares at her hands as she worries her bottom lip.

"I can understand that whatever has transpired has been, perhaps overwhelming… would you like for me to floo someone for you? Or perhaps another member of the staff would be bettered suited to…"

"No, no sir, please." Hermione cut him off, eyes wide. "I… I need to talk to you."

...15 minutes earlier...

Tom rounded the last corridor of his patrol, wand set at a dim Lumos. Patrolling had been near-pointless as the rest of the student body had yet returned for term. He stops still at the soft sound of footsteps, and lifts his head to see Professor Dumbledore, just rounding the corner but now very still at the mouth of the long, shadowy corridor. Tom squints at the Professor, irritated to be required to exchange false pleasantries before heading to bed. He steels his face in indifference and continues on his path towards the professor.

Abruptly, Professor Dumbledore breaks out into a fast dash down the corridor. What the devil? A running wizard is never a good sign... Tom stops still and his eyes dart around the corridor, looking for the cause of alarm and sees a lump of something up against the wall, halfway down. Before he can fully focus on the something he sees the professor strip off his dressing robe and fling it on the form and crouches down, now in just a dressing gown. Tom walks forward slowly, wand out. He sees a mass of chestnut locks peeking out from under the professor's lemon colored dressing robe. A body? A body quickly concealed; violently mangled, or perhaps indecent or naked... Tom begins to catalogue fellow students hair, trying to match the tresses, as he approaches.

Suddenly Professor Dumbledore bellows, "Mr. Riddle stop immediately!"

Tom stops. Really, professor? Do you truly think of me as a child to shelter?

"Mr. Riddle you will immediately report back to your room."

Tom slowly glides closer, eyes darting between Professor Dumbledore and the body on the ground. "Sir, do you need my assistance? I can help…"

"Mr. Riddle…"

Tom notices that the professor is not attempting to examine the body or assess it in any way. "Sir, do you need me to…"

"Mr. Riddle, you will…"

Tom cannot be torn from this, this… whatever it is. Nothing goes on in the castle without him knowing. "Sir, shall I fetch the Headmaster?"

"MR. RIDDLE!"

Professor Dumbledore stands up from his crouched position and lifts his wand to his student.

Guberno Domum Lectulo

Tom stills and stares at the professor. You lift your wand to me?! What the hell kind of spell was that, anyway? Barmy berk... Tom tries to walk forward again and he cannot. He then finds his body whipped around and he begins to march back down the hallway. Circe's Tit! Did the bumbling, twinkly Professor The-Sun-Shines-Out-Of-My-Arse Albus Bloody Dumbledore just put a cousin of the Imperius curse on me?!

An extremely irate Tom Riddle is marched back to his Head Boy's room. He barely has time to bark out the password as the portrait flies open and he is guided further. Suddenly he finds himself at his bed, coverlet thrown back and before he can say 'Morgana's Magnificent Mouth' he is splayed on the bed and tucked in securely. Whipping out an ancient parenting spell, Dumbledore? Oh, what is really going on?

...Back in Professor Dumbledore's Office…

Hermione looks up from her hands. "Professor, I am afraid that I need to ask you for your help. You assistance will be of the utmost importance for what I need to do, and…"

"Miss, ummm…" Professor Dumbledore pauses to allow Hermione to chime in with her name, but she simply shakes her head. Professor Dumbledore furrows his brow slightly. "Hm. I would be glad to talk to you about whatever endeavors you wish to take on, however, do you not feel it is pertinent to assess your health, what has happened to you, and how you found yourself in these halls in the state that you were?"

"Sir, I am aware of my condition, I am in perfect health, and I know what has happened and why. Mostly."

Professor Dumbledore pauses for her to elaborate. Hermione does not.

"Am I to assume that you do not wish to divulge this information to me?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Is this due to the private nature of the issues, or is it do to a matter that perhaps has wider implications."

Hermione's breath hitched slightly. "Both, Sir."

"Miss, you ask me for my assistance, without me knowing who you are or what your agenda might be. In this age I cannot afford to instill my trust in all that may apply for it. The political climate is such that…"

"Sir, what is the date and year?"

Professor Dumbledore rapidly blinks and begins to reassess the circumstances.

"It is August 31, 1944, Miss."

Hermione stands up suddenly and begins to pace the room. She starts to gnaw at her thumb, obviously deep in thought. She then sits down once again on the settee and a small smile begins to creep across her face.

"Sir, this is wonderful! I mean, not really wonderful, obviously, this is awful, but the situations is not as bad as it was! I mean, perhaps, since I have the time, I can…"

"Miss."

Hermine jumps up suddenly. "Oh, I have about had it with all the Miss stuff, Professor! Your name is Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore and I am from the future and I trust you with my life."

"You are a student?"

"Yes, Sir. I am unsure about how much I should say. I know, it is important to remember the mechanics of time travel and all… Sir! Can I show you some memories?"

"Miss, I am unsure if that is wise if what you indeed say is true since…"

"Sir, I can compile and annotate."

"You can what?!"

"Yes sir! I have, well, I have had the time to work on this technique more recently and I have become quite adept at it. As I understand it, at this current time the concept is in its infancy. I have been told that I am a naturally gifted Legilimens and Occlumens. Besides, if a bit more gets though than it should I am quite handy with Memories Charms, so no worries!" Hermione smirks.

Professor Dumbledore eyes the girl a bit, searching her face. "I cannot say that I find the notion comforting, Miss."

"Sir, please. Just take a peek"

Hermione widens her eyes a bit and waits. Dumbledore gently enters her mind, easily slipping in.

Professor Dumbledore finds himself in a great library, filled with shadows. There is little light emanating from some torches but he can see the room is filled with books. He attempts to step closer to the shelves and finds that he can neither make out the book titles on the spine nor remove the books from the shelves. Across the room he hears a 'thump' sound and notices a large tome on well-lit table. As he gets closer a high-back chair appears. He sits and opens the tome and is greeted with an onslaught of memories of a young lady, obvious the young woman in his office, and an older version on himself. As the memories continue the interactions become more seemingly stressful. He sees himself trying to heal a severe curse wound on her. He cannot make out the words of their interaction at times, but he sees them in a room of adults and young people, crowded around a magical drawing board, arguing. He sees himself attempting Legilimens on the young lady and watching her face twist in concentration. He sees her eating dinner across from himself in a decrepit-looking kitchen, surrounded by others with fuzzy forms and muted words, a solemn face on the both of them as they push around their food.

Professor Dumbledore pulls out of her mind.

"I would love to meet the individual that taught you such an efficient technique." Professor Dumbledore smiles slightly.

Hermione does too.

"Alright, young lady, how can I help you?"

Suddenly there is pop followed by a clammering sound coming from a closet in Professor Dumbledore's office.

"Buggering hell!" A raucous voice blusters from the closet. Dumbledore quickly crosses the room to the closet door and opens it.

"Aw, Dumbledore! Did you wear your dragon jamjams just for me?" A husky voice chuckled.

You have got to be kidding me! Hermione shoots up and bounds for the closet

Professor Dumbledore turned to Hermione, shutting the door slightly, "There seems to a flaxen-hair nude young man in my closet, Miss."

Hermione pushes through and gazes in the closet, just in time to see the profile of one Draco Frigging Malfoy securing one of Professor Dumbledore's robes around himself. Draco turns and locks eyes with Hermione, "What?! You! And you are-"

"Not a word!"

"Gra-"

"NOT A WORD, FERRET!"

Knowing Draco was trained from a young age in the art of Legilimency Hermione grips Draco's shoulders and slips in his mind. She encourages him into her mind to review her interactions with Professor Dumbledore since she woke up in his office.

She slips back out of his mind, "Not a word, don't say your name, or mine, just, just… just let me talk."

"...1944?! But, but, but..." Hermione roughly grabs Draco's wrist and pulls him over to take a seat. Draco fluffs his borrowed sky blue robes before settling in. In the light he can now see Professor Dumbledore is many years younger than he should be, or was, or rather would be. Professor Dumbledore takes his seat at his desk once again.

Dumbledore watched the pair across from him and sighs, placing his face in his hands, for a moment. Both Hermione and Draco frown at seeing their normally chipper Headmaster so somber.

"Sir?" They ask in unison.

Professor Dumbledore raises his head. "I know why you two are here and oh, what a headache..."

"You do?!" Hermione exclaims.

"Yes, roughly. Do you know why you are here?"

Hermione answers, "I have an idea, but I am not not sure because…"

"Well, that is damn more than I know!" Draco interrupts. "First time in an actual bed in a bloody fortnight and I get swiped in my sleep, striped down starkers, and then I get some some bloody painful and stupidly complicated spell put on me…" Hermione glared at him and he glared back, "What? I thought I could talk as long as I don't say our names!"

Dumbledore sighs again. He felt indecisive.

"Is... is he the one that sent you here, Miss?"

Hermione knew from Professor Dumbledore's face that the he in reference was not the slightly panicky man at her side. Oh yes, Him. Him.

"Yes, sir."

"He is here, you know."

Hermione looks down again. "Yes, Sir."

Draco interjects, "What are you lot on about?!"

"Do you know why he would be sent as well?" Dumbledore gestures to Draco.

"No. And I haven't seen him in months." Hermione looks down at her lap.

Draco pulls his hands through his pale hair. "Hey, ummm…" Draco stalls at her name. "Um, Princess, look at me." Draco touches Hermione on her arm. Hermione continues to stare at her hands. "Please, look at me, Princess." Hermione detects something approaching sincerity in Draco's voice and meets his silver eyes. Wait, what?

"I need you to know that…" Draco darts his eyes to Dumbledore and lowers his voice, "...that I have been working for the Order of the You-Know-What for two years now."

"What!?"

"Yes, with this one here, directly." Draco nods to Professor Dumbledore. "Well, not this one obviously, but… you know what I mean. I can show you whatever you need to see, but, please know that… oh my Gods, Princess, please know that we have been looking for you."

Hermione looked down at her hands again. She can feel her eyes prickling with tears. Not now, please. I haven't cried in weeks, now is not the time to start.

She takes a big breath. She looks to Draco and then to Professor Dumbledore.

Professor Dumbledore looks to Draco. "How long has it been since you have seen the miss here?"

"Nearly a year, sir."

"Tell me… do you notice anything dramatically different about her?"

Draco takes a furtive glance at Hermione, and then turns his head to view her completely and takes a very labored breath.

"I am not sure how that is relevant at this juncture, Sir."

"Right, right." Dumbledore coughs slightly.

"How early was your arrival, Miss?"

"About a year I believe, Sir"

"Well then, I think we have some work ahead of us then... or perhaps not. Am I to believe that you wish to get back to the time that you were before?"

"Sir?"

"Well, you are here. Do you want to be there?"

"We do not belong here!" Hermione had trouble keeping her voice steady.

"Are you sure about that?"

Draco and Hermione looked gobsmacked.

"I need you to know that you can stay here, if you would like. It might even be the best option, actually and..."

"Sir, but with…"

Professor Dumbledore puts up his hand, effectively stopping her comment.

"We have much to talk about and it is late as it is. I am not sure any of us are ready to, as they say, get everything out on the table, right at this moment… is that correct?"

"Yes, Sir." Draco and Hermione answer in unison.

"It is important that you two remain here at Hogwarts. What year were you in?"

Hermione stares blankly at the professor and begins to fidget.

"We should be in our seventh year, Professor." Draco says calmly.

"Yes, well, term will start in a few days. That will give me some time to get your transfer paperwork in order. How's your French?" Dumbledore waits a moment, looking between the two confused young people. "No matter! How does transferring from Beauxbaton suit you two?" The pair nod slowly. Dumbledore gets out some parchment and a quill and begins to take notes.

"Alright then… lets fill out some of this student transfer paperwork…" He pauses as he begins to check some boxes.

"What would you like for me to put down as blood status?"

"Doesn't matter to me." Draco answered. Hermione gasped.

"Doesn't matter? Doesn't matter, Mr. Purest-of-the-Pure?! Oh, how could I have been so blind!" Hermione squares her shoulders. "You are just a polyjuiced Draco, aren't you?!" Hermione's hair began to spark with her magic. She grabs Draco by his blue robes and pulls him closer to her face, and lowers her voice. "I may not have my wand, but I swear if you have hurt Draco I will make you bleed in the most painful of ways, you little, fucking…"

"Miss!" Professor Dumbledore stops Hermione and looks to Draco. "May I see your hand?" Draco extends his pale hand to the professor. Professor Dumbledore quickly takes a small sample of blood from his finger and begins to root about in his top desk drawer. He pulls out a small brown box. He touches the wand to the top of the box and then looks inside.

"Ah… Malfoy and Black, some Selwyn, and… Travers?" Professor Dumbledore looks to the pair. Hermione settles a bit in her seat.

"Yes, sir, that is my illustrious pedigree." Draco's face had a guarded expression. Hermione looks to her hands.

"I think it is best if we enroll you both as Purebloods. The only wizarding academies that are accepting Muggleborns or those of mixed heritage is Hogwarts. We can record your parents as-"

Hermione interjects, "Sir, both our parents are dead and I for one would rather not, on top of everything else, pretend that they are otherwise." Hermione and Draco look at each other and then back to the professor.

"I understand. Names? I think once we can firmly establish the type of spell used to get you two here we can better understand the dynamics of the possible alterations to the timeline, however, I think we would be safe keeping the first names for the sake of simplicity…"

Draco nods his head over to his seatmate, "Hermione."

She smirks back, "Draco."

"And last names?"

Draco spoke up, "I have some great, great, great uncle of my third cousin or some such nonsense that was a Fabian and he disappeared in his thirties to live with the new dragon breed he discovered. No one knows what happened to him after that and he was the last of his house and line… I think I would like to bring that special sort of crazy to the 40s."

"Draco Fabian, aye." Professor Dumbledore jotted down the information.

"Hermione?" Hermine stares blankly at Professor Dumbledore.

Draco answers, "Lurra."

Professor Dumbledore chokes slightly on nothing much at all.

"What was that, Mr. Fabian?"

"Lurra. It is perfect. The purest of the pure that take time to study the bloodlines of Europe will remember running across the name, I cannot remember the details, but really, I think it is one of those families that have been lost to time."

Hermione nods slowly, seeing no reason to object.

"Yes, yes, I think you would be right, Mr. Fabian." Professor Dumbledore eyes him closely and continues to fill out the form.

"Hermione Lurra, aye." Professor Dumbledore begins to straighten out the parchment in front of him.

"As it is getting late, I would like to offer guest rooms until you can get settled. To keep you from having to wander the halls in those striking and handsome robes, I believe that I will just open up the guest quarters though here." At this Professor Dumbledore waves towards a wall in the office and two slender wooden doors appear.

"Please call on Zilly the house elf if you need anything at all. She loves meeting new people." Professor Dumbledore smiled broadly at the two young people. "I will collect you in the morning before breakfast. I will be sure to bring you two something to wear to get us through until we are able to get to Diagon Alley for your upcoming school supplies and clothing, and as far as funds go-"

"Sir," Draco interrupted, "I think I can cover the funds. We will just need to take a quick side trip."

Hermione stared quietly at Draco. Plopped in this world naked as the day you were born, but you have a line on some financial backing? Oh, ho! We shall see.

"Very good, very good. I bid you a good night Miss Hermione Lurra and Mr. Draco Fabian. I am off to bed, and I will be seeing you two in the morning." Professor Dumbledore quietly rises from his desk and shuffles to the door, leaving the time-lost pair alone and in silence.