Hermione refused to scream. The curse hit her viciously, tearing into her flesh as she struggled against invisible chains. Hermione's cracked lips parted in a plea as her torturer released her spell. The young woman sagged against the dungeon.
There were obvious tear marks trailing down her cheeks but she was too tired to wipe them away. The blade sank into her skin like butter and the cursed knife she so hated carved words into her body.
Worthless.
It wasn't anything different that what she already knew. Blood trickled down her back as Bellatrix drew it into her spine.
Repulsive.
A wry smile tugged at her mouth, but it quickly disappeared. She wondered who else shared those views on blood purity.
Mudblood.
The word would haunt her for the rest of her days. The slur was the whole reason she was in this mess. Hermione questioned for the thousandth time how Voldemort had been deemed 'Bringer of Justice' by the Ministry.
Despicable.
And the list went on.
Dimwitted, Dirty, Gryffindor.
Her lower lip trembled as she strained for her wand. A mere five feet away, splayed across the floor from where it had fallen.
Gryffindor. Was that a bad thing? Hermione couldn't bring herself to care. She vaguely heard somebody snarling in the background and felt little pinpricks along her arms. It was as if she had become immune to the pain.
"Where is he?" Bellatrix hissed, yanking her head back. "Where is Potter?" Hermione's bushy hair seemed to protest, blood and dirt falling from her matted locks.
Hermione steeled herself.
Another bout of the Cruciatus slammed into her, and she finally sobbed into the ground. Her arms dropped uselessly to her sides and she let out a piercing shriek, her voice cracking every second. She clamped her twitching arms over her mouth and Bellatrix frowned.
"Scream, little mudblood," she huffed as she throttled her neck. Bellatrix almost sounded sane. "You will be begging for death by the time I'm finished with you." She drew her lips back in a sneer, exposing her putrid teeth.
Hermione couldn't help but shudder. Her wand… Another inch… Her hands closed on empty air and she silently willed it to come to her.
"Oh silly little girl," Bellatrix cooed. "You think you can use wandless magic here? My lord has had some lowly followers suppress your core. It wasn't hard. You are only a mudblood after all." Bellatrix kicked her in the ribs and Hermione cried out, her throbbing chest screaming in protest.
Her cruelty knew no bounds. Her wand sat there, on a small pedestal, mere centimeters away from her outstretched fingers.
Hermione willed the wand towards her. Perhaps it was a mirage, perhaps she was finally hallucinating, but she saw it moving. Blood from her head leaked into her eyes and she thought she'd finally lost it. Her vision clouded, her fingers twitched uselessly and…
The wand flew into her hand.
Bellatrix's head whipped around, her piercing violet eyes catching sight of the weapon immediately.
"Impossible," she gasped reverently. "My lord… he said this would work..."
"Silencio," Hermione hissed quickly. Bellatrix's eyes conveyed her rage, and she reached for her wand.
"Reducto," Hermione growled, breaking her left chain. "Bombarda!" Hermione dragged herself to her feet and stumbled, struggling to support herself.
"You little bitch," Bellatrix snarled, once she had gotten her voice back. "You don't have my quarter any longer." She aimed her wand.
"Avada Kervada!" Bellatrix screamed. Hermione threw herself out of the way of the curse. Rubble rained down on her, leaving yet another bloody scar on her neck.
"Crucio!" Hermione snarled back. Regardless of what the Death Eaters thought, she was more than competent with a wand. It had taken the entire Inner Circle to capture her, and she had managed to sever Malfoy's right hand from his body.
"Reducto!" She retaliated, and Hermione barely had the strength to cover her head with her hands before the heavy boulders rained down on her. She felt her shoulder crack and knew that at least two bones were broken.
She struggled to point her wand at her collar. "Episkey," she muttered, though she knew the spell wasn't strong enough.
"Ferula," she tried hopefully. All it did was intensify the pain in her throbbing chest. "Merlin's saggy left - "
"Avada Kervada!" Bellatrix roared, and Hermione ducked behind the rocks that had just fallen. She felt them explode in her face and spat out bits of flint.
Thinking quickly, she drew a rune in midair: the rune for time. She was about to manipulate it to slow her opponent down, when the woman leapt to her feet.
"Avada Kervada!" Bellatrix screamed for the final time.
The dark emerald spell passed through the floating rune and changed: a deadly blue mistle that embedded itself into Hermione's lungs.
Blood filled her air passageways as she struggled to breathe, the vile red liquid gurgling in the back of her throat. Bellatrix looked at her in slight regret and bemusement.
"Well, that's never happened before," she said, dragging the words out slowly. "What rune was that? Kill? Maim? Does the poor baby even know those words?" Even if Hermione had tried to answer, she couldn't.
Hermione couldn't breathe, she couldn't breathe… breathe… white light started to form at the corners of her vision. Stay awake, she chanted repetitively in her head.
The light threatened to block out her view of the woman, the mass murderer. Neville's parents. Harry's godfather. Molly Weasley. Ron Weasley. Luna bloody Lovegood. Everyone. Kill her, kill her.
"It's a pity." Bellatrix said abruptly. "This little rebellious streak has gone too far. Don't worry your pretty little head, mudblood. We'll crack you. The Dark Lord is in no hurry." Hermione grit her teeth. After months of torture, they still thought she was naive.
She longed for death, embraced Thanatos like an old friend. Her fingers twitched around her wand. Bellatrix was already ducking, dodging, but Hermione just laughed, the raspy voice sounding unfamiliar to even her.
"Avada Kervada," she whispered, pointed at her chest. The light in her eyes died. Her pulse softened, before it faded altogether. Bellatrix rose silently from where she had lay, looking at the body of a mudblood.
"It is done," she murmured to herself. "Please, my lord, forgive me. She attacked me, I had no intention of killing her." With this small prayer, she left the prison cell, the cavern that stank of urine and decaying body parts.
"Forgive me my lord," she said again, just before she left the room. For a few minutes, there was silence. Bellatrix didn't see a blue glow emanating from Hermione's chest and she didn't hear the moan of pain that was torn from her lips. She didn't see the body mysteriously vanish into thin air.
The world was spinning. There were different flashes. A boy laughing. A girl singing. A man dying. She shuddered. She couldn't breathe. There was nothing, nothing but oblivion. The strange ripples that she saw soon smoothed out into one landscape, and Hermione smiled as she recognised Hogwarts.
It was beautiful.
Hermione knew, at that very moment, that she was home. She was certain she would see her friends and parents again. How she missed Ronald, her Ronald, and poor Mr. Weasley. And how could she have forgotten Fred? Or George for that matter? She would see them soon.
Oh, how very wrong she was.
She expected a soft landing, but what she got was quite the opposite. Hermione slammed into a skull. A living, breathing skull attached to a living, breathing, boy. She couldn't quite see anything but his dark hair, and she was quite sure he could see nothing but the ground she had pressed his face into.
"Love," he mumbled through the dirt, "I know birds fall for me, but you're not supposed to fall on m-"
She screamed, jumping away from him in terror. Hadn't she escaped? She didn't recognise him, but she wasn't about to take any chances. Her hands fumbled desperately for a wand that wasn't there and she realized the Death Eaters must have taken it before they had brought her here.
He finally looked up, seemingly frozen as he took in her broken appearance. She had blood caked across her entire body, dirt and dust trailing over her sooty face and held her shoulder in a small makeshift splint. Her skin was scissored with scars and she quickly turned away from him as to preserve her modesty.
"Stop staring," she growled, rage roaring in her veins. At least it drew his attention up to her face. His complexion had paled, and Hermione whipped around to look behind her. What a Death Eater would be doing in a perfect incarnation of Hogwarts… she had no clue.
But there was something about his startling grey eyes.
"Bloody hell mate," the boy muttered, addressing someone other than her, "This bird... I dunno, she fell from the sky." The trio behind her looked at Hermione in almost abstract horror, but she only had eyes for one.
A surge of relief took hold as the jawline, eyebrows and hair came back to her.
"Harry!" She sobbed, running into his arms. Harry seemed confused, but he patted her back anyway, murmuring soothing words.
She let herself be consoled for a minute before stepping back and slapping him as hard as she could.
"How could you have let Ginny get captured? She died right in front of me, refusing to tell Malfoy where you were." She rambled. Harry rubbed his cheek, looking dazed. "If only Ron could see us now," she added quietly to herself. But there was something off about him. He didn't seem right. It was as if there was something… missing.
Hermione's blood froze. Tears filled her eyes and she sobbed, physically flinching away from him as she held out her hands, conjuring a forcefield. His eyes. Where were his beautiful, emerald eyes? And his scar. How could she have been so blind?
This wasn't even Harry. The Death Eaters didn't even know how he looked. Harry, her Harry. If they were going to create an illusion where everyone she loved was alive, it was a poor plan.
Tears swam in her eyes as she mentally reviewed the textbook.
Section 341; Wandless Magic by Wenda Wilkins:
Wandless magic is a powerful skill that not many possess. A few prime examples of such incredible talent is Albus Dumbledore himself. Another: Gellert Grindelwald. However, it should be noted that wandless magic is for basic usage only, and Grindelwald stopped practicing after three years because he discovered it could not be harnessed to kill.
She had killed herself. She had! Yet here she was, very much alive. She took her pulse just to be sure. Her heart pounded like a bird attempting to free itself from a cage.
"Mate," the original boy said quietly, walking up to her. "We have to take you to the Headmaster. He'll know what to do."
Hermione didn't react. "Headmaster?" She spat. "In this demented universe? Who is it then? I'll bet it's Tom. Tell me it isn't Tom."
One of the other boys scratched the back of his head nervously. His bookbag looked like he was weighing him down and a bright prefect badge glinted on his chest.
"Er, I don't think we have a Tom on staff," he offered. There were bags under his eyes and his clothes looked worn, as if they had been used far too many times. "The Headmaster is Albus Dumbledore."
Hermione wanted to burst into another bout of hysterical tears, but managed to hold her head high. "Go ahead," she said, almost laughing. "Take me to 'Albus Dumbledore'."
The final boy, slightly plump, motioned to the castle. "Let's go then," he said rather impatiently. "We don't have all day."
Harry, no, not Harry, she corrected herself, whacked the boy's arm.
"Pete, you don't talk to someone like that," he hissed, anger lacing his tone. "I'll bet she was out in the battle, the one with You-Know-Who!"
Still maintaining the shield around herself, she walked forward, ignoring the boy's protests. To their immense surprise, she took one of the hidden passageways from the Marauder's Map up to the office and stopped at the large statue guarding the Headmaster's room.
"Password," it croaked.
The boys looked at one another and shrugged.
"Uh, blood pops?" The boy who was not Harry suggested.
"Sugar Quills," one of them guessed.
"Sugar Mice," said the one with the ragged looking appearance. "Honestly. It's like trying to train monkeys."
"You know you love us Remy," the boy she had fallen on cooed. Hermione shuddered at his voice. It sounded far too much like Bellatrix for her liking. And those grey eyes. With just a sliver of purple in them and they would be identical to that of her captor.
The door ground loudly against the frame, and Hermione hopped on the stairwell as it started moving upward. She sagged against the doorframe, and stumbled rapidly as it opened.
"Oh!" She gasped as she tripped, sprawling across the floor. The headmaster looked up in surprise. Well, at least they got Professor Dumbledore right, she thought tiredly as she ignored the hands helping her up.
The elderly man was an exact replica of what Hermione had known, from the beard to the bright twinkle in his left eye.
Hermione didn't even blink. She entered the man's mind, determined to tear it to shreds and expose his true appearance. She raked knives down the man's defence, but though he winced slightly, his barriers did not even come close to faltering.
Hermione raised her eyebrows.
The man's voice resonated with power and he directed the Elder wand at her. It was yet another mistake the Death Eaters had made when designing him. In fact, it looked as if he was years before his time. Years… before… his… time…
The thought finally struck her and for the first time she considered the possibility of time travel. She forced it out of her mind after a second. Voldemort had a game, and the fact that she was falling for it was unacceptable.
Still, she couldn't shake the small sliver of hope that had surfaced in her mind.
"Who is this?" The headmaster asked coldly. His voice resonated with power, and Hermione was struck with a sudden shame. "You intrude my office and then attack me with legilimency? How have you fooled these students into helping you?"
"It is none of your concern," she snarled, almost savagely. "If you are who you claim to be, give me a sign. Tell me..." She desperately searched her mind. "Tell me if you fell in love with Gellert Grindelwald."
His wand clattered out of his grip and he stared, open mouthed at her. The rest of the boys had similar expressions, mostly horror at the audacity of her question. They stood in silence for about two minutes, the boys' lips twitching at Dumbledore's dumbstruck expression.
"Out," Dumbledore roared suddenly. His entire form trembled with rage. "Out, everyone out!" The smiles died on their faces. The one who was not Harry shot a look of concern at her before walking quickly away from the office.
The door finally slammed shut.
"What do you want?" Dumbledore growled. "I will not give you money to keep that secret. Who are you working for? Tom? Another Dark Lord?"
Hermione shook her head. "It is you that is working for him. For all I know, you could be Riddle himself. I am going to ask you questions, and if you don't answer every single one of them correctly, I will kill myself, again, before helping you."
Dumbledore had a completive look on his face. "Very well," he said, looking far more composed and even slightly befuddled. He looked far more similar to the professor she had known than the powerful sorcerer he had been a few seconds ago.
"Who killed Ariana Dumbledore?" The question seemed to hit him hard. His knuckles were so white Hermione could almost see through them.
"I don't know," he said horsely.
Hermione nodded, not the least bit fazed. The Death Eater had probably read "The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore".
"Correct," she said clearly. "Who was the founding leader of the Order of the Phoenix?" Dumbledore's eyes flashed dangerously and he regarded her with the wariness of an enemy.
"I founded the Order of the Phoenix," he said quietly. "It began with 14 members."
Hermione paused. The number of original members? That was information she had only learned about from memories that Severus Snape had left for her.
"List five of the fourteen members," she said slowly, not daring to hold her breath.
"Charlus Potter, Dorea Potter, Arabella Figg, Alastor Moody and Andromeda Black." Hermione wet her lips with her tongue. She didn't think anymore questions were necessary.
"Please," she asked imploringly. "Swear on your life that you are Albus Dumbledore, not an impersonator."
The professor raised his right hand, his eyes almost softening as he looked at her pleading face. He seemed to think on it for a second before looking determined.
"I, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore swear on my life and magic that I am, in fact, telling the truth about my identity." Hermione couldn't help it. She burst into tears again, and flung herself at the man.
Though taken aback, her Professor embraced her gently, murmuring gentle words.
"I-I..." Hermione stammered inherently. "I don't know what to say." More tears rolled down her cheeks. "I don't know if this is real. It seems so real."
She felt her heart clench. If she allowed herself to believe what her mind was telling her, she was giving into weakness. The Death Eaters would tear it away from her in an instant.
Dumbledore fixed his eyes on her. "I'm afraid I do not recognise you though you are wearing…" He pointed at the tiny animated tattoo on the back of her wrist. Hermione smiled slightly. He was just as observant, if not more than she had thought.
The little Gryffindor lion roared in silence as it reared back on it's hind legs.
"Professor," she said shakily. "I think - my theory… I was born on..." She trailed off, not quite sure of what she was saying. She could be completely wrong. Perhaps this was simply an alternate future.
"What year is it Sir?" She demanded quietly.
Dumbledore looked at her, slightly shocked. "1977, my dear. Are you feeling quite alright?"
Hermione felt a lump in her throat as he confirmed her suspicions. "Professor, I was born in 1979. So if I do the math correctly, I'm negative two years old."
Dumbledore looked grim, but not surprised. "What is your name?" He asked curtly, and Hermione suddenly missed his normally cheerful personality.
"Hermione Jean Granger, Sir," she said quietly. "I am dreadfully sorry for attacking you like that. In my time you had been dead for many years."
His bushy white eyebrows raised. "I must have lived an exponentially long time then," he commented offhandedly.
"Yes Sir," she responded sadly.
"Would you be willing to swear an oath?" Dumbledore asked, slight warning creeping into his voice. Hermione blinked back her tears, cursing herself for being surprised. This Dumbledore didn't know her. This Dumbledore didn't know how much she'd sacrificed for the war effort.
"Of course, Professor," she said, just as tightly. She took a controlled breath and lit the tip of her finger. "I, Hermione Jean Granger swear that I have not lied in the past fifteen minutes to Albus Dumbledore."
The orb above her finger flickered green.
Dumbledore relaxed slightly. "There was a prophecy, child. Though," he kept his eyes steadily on her face, "you have suffered far more than any student I've ever seen. I… I am sorry."
Hermione kept her head up. "Your pity is not necessary," she said, her fists clenching. Without a home, she felt cold and empty. "Would it too much trouble to ask for a place to stay?"
Dumbledore eyed her warily. "This is war," he reminded her. "I have spare rooms. However, you must first swear that you are not, and do not plan to, work with Tom Riddle."
Hermione's eyes narrowed into chips of ice. "Professor, that is a rather sore subject. I am one out of two survivors of my friends and family. I would advise you not push me."
His blue eyes crackled with intensity.
"I need the oath, Miss Granger. It is hard to trust you without it." Hermione evaluated him with her own even stare. He made no move to attack, even when she had basically told him she would not swear.
"I," She growled out, "Hermione Jean Granger, swear that I have never been in league with Tom Riddle, also known as Voldemort, and I have no intention of ever serving him."
Dumbledore relaxed. A box in the corner of the room floated gently down to rest on his lap. He smiled wryly, handing her an old dusty book at the very bottom of the stack.
"My sister's favorite novel," he said, seeming to have trouble holding his smile. "You remind me of her greatly."
Hermione felt strangely touched. "Thank you sir," she said quietly. The instant her fingers touched the base of the book, it seemed to glow with a golden light. Small bits of silver and bronze melded into her skin, and the wand seemed to emanate brighter.
Dumbledore's hands shook. "It never did that for Ariana," he said longingly. "It is a study of raw magical power."
Hermione felt a stab of pity as she recalled the young woman's fate. "I'm sorry Professor," she said sadly. "I didn't know her personally. Aberforth has a portrait of her in his bar, I'm sure she'd love some company."
Dumbledore shook his head immediately. "Aberforth will have nothing to do with me," he said firmly, seeming to shake himself out of the daydream.
Hermione looked at him knowingly. "Your brother misses you more than you think. Go talk to him, Professor. You don't want to carry this guilt to the grave."
Dumbledore seemed to think about it carefully. "I will try," he said quietly. "However, I do not have high hopes."
Hermione smiled. "Give me a chance, Professor. Gryffindors have to be good at something, after all. Recklessness isn't our only strength."
Dumbledore nodded absentmindedly. "I don't quite know what to do about your situation, Miss Granger. It is clear by your… unique situation that we will have to arrange something until you can be sent back home."
Hermione didn't know what to think.
"No!" She burst out suddenly. "You can't. That future is terrible. Everybody is dead. Everybody is dead."
Dumbledore looked greatly ashen, as he held his head in his gnarled hands. "You cannot tell me more," he said, looking more exhausted by the second.
Hermione couldn't help the guilt that welled up in her as she realized what she had said. Am I really going to leave Harry to his death? She wondered. Hermione hardened her resolve. Harry would never be sent to the Dursley's. He would have a childhood.
That thought alone was enough to force the words out of her mouth. "Professor, you can't. I can help you win the war. I know everything! Nagini! Horcruxes! Everything!"
Dumbledore stilled. "Horcruxes."
Hermione nodded, feeling a giddy relief that she finally got some emotion out of her old professor. "Yes sir," she said immediately. "There were - "
"Stop!" Dumbledore roared. His pupils were dilated with rage and he was shaking. "You must not Miss Granger. Nothing can be told. Subtly manipulate the timeline. Only tell me what is absolutely necessary. When we hunt for the horcrux, you must not tell me even an hour before. I fear what would happen if the information fell into the wrong hands."
"Horcruxes." Hermione corrected softly. "Horcruxes, Professor. I'm sorry, but you needed to know that."
Dumbledore expressed his fury through his eyes. "Miss Granger, if you were any less important to winning this war I would not hesitate in wiping your mind clean."
Hermione felt a dark feeling expand in her chest. "One more threat, Professor," she said, her voice suddenly cold. "You may be powerful, but I am a fighter. If another of my friends is killed by your "Greater Good" theory…" Hermione couldn't even breathe through the emotion she was feeling.
"As grateful as I am to see you alive, I have not forgotten how many deaths you have caused. Don't underestimate me. Just because I am on your side does not mean I have no issues with you," she said, struggling to control herself.
Dumbledore looked suitably ashamed. "Miss Granger, I think that we are both not thinking straight right now. I will have the house elves escort you to a teacher's chamber for the evening. Would that be alright with you?"
Hermione nodded her head. "A female teacher is expected, of course," she added.
"Indeed, I believe my deputy should be suitable," he replied tiredly. "The first years are arriving tomorrow. We normally give the older years a few extra days to settle in before they get here. Something about receiving a warm welcome, I believe."
Hermione's eyes widened. "You expect me to fit in with a bunch of seventh years?" She demanded. "I am nineteen, professor. Even I can't pull that off. I've been on the run for three years. There's just no way in hell."
"Miss Granger, my monitor at the door gave me the exact readings of your age. It says that you are seventeen. You will fit in brilliantly with the rest of the seventh years." Hermione's mouth fell open.
"It says what?" She gasped, looking incredulous.
Dumbledore suddenly smiled wryly. "Perhaps fate is playing a cruel trick on you, Miss Granger. I will quote you on this, when you say, 'I'm negative two years old.' This could have some connection with your current age. It is completely possible that your other self and you merged somehow. After all, nineteen subtracted by two is equal to seventeen."
Hermione silently agreed. It certainly explained the confusion she had faced at the beginning of her descent onto the Hogwarts grounds.
"I agree Sir. That seems to be the most logical explanation," she said. He nodded in approval.
"Bright and early tomorrow, Miss Granger. The first years are sorted at precisely seven o'clock. Please meet me in the Great Hall, I will have to introduce you beforehand." He reached under his desk, bringing forth a uniform, complete with a blank tie that was free of any house colors.
"I have an entire closet down there," he said in response to her curious look. "While you are the first time traveler, there have been many forgotten uniforms over the years." Hermione smiled slightly at that.
Her eyes flickered to the small chiming clock at the corner of Dumbledore's desk. It was already one in the morning. Hermione silently sighed to herself. She had lived without sleep before and she could do it again, but that didn't mean she had to like it.
She just couldn't believe that she and Dumbledore had been talking for such a long time. It seemed that two seconds ago she had been screaming, ready to rip his head off.
"One more request," she said, just as she was about to leave.
He nodded absentmindedly. "Yes, Miss Granger?"
"I… my parents had originally wanted to name me Hermia. I do not wish to reveal my identity in case your theory is incorrect and Hermione Granger is born in this world. Please, call me Hermia Johnson."
Dumbledore's brow furrowed. "I hadn't thought of that," he admitted. "Hermia is too obvious a name. It will not be hard to piece the puzzle together if you keep it that way."
Hermione nodded, though it felt like she was giving up something precious. "Third choice: Rosalie," she said quietly. "My father loved the letter 'R' while my mother loved 'H'." Hermione smiled, remembering her parents. "It was quite an interesting quirk they both had."
"Well, Rosalie Johnson, it is a pleasure to meet you," Dumbledore said, smiling as well. Hermione grasped his offered hand and shook it.
"Thank you Professor. Shall we go to Minerva now?" She asked curiously.
His eyebrows raised, perhaps for the uptenth time that evening. "You've met Minerva? I must say, you do know people here."
Hermione nodded. "It'll be upsetting that she won't remember me, but I hope she will remember Rosalie Johnson instead."
Dumbledore smiled. "Wise words for somebody so young," he said mildly. "Ah, I believe this is our stop." He pressed the little lion shaped keyhole.
"Minerva? Are you there?" There was no response. After a few minutes however, the door swung open.
"Albus!" Minerva hissed, sounding very much like the tabby cat she took the form of. "I assume you had a very good reason to wake me up at this ungodly hour."
"Yes, Minerva, I'm very sorry to disturb you. There's going to be a new transfer student at Hogwarts this year. She's called Rosalie Johnson. Would you mind if she borrowed your couch for the night?" Dumbledore asked, a hint of laughter creeping into his voice.
"Of course not! But guests, Albus? You could have given me some forewarning!" Minerva looked royally pissed. "At this time too! Well, let the poor girl in if she…" She woman trailed off as Hermione stepped in the light.
"Oh Merlin," she mumbled. "Is that your blood, Miss Johnson?" Hermione forced herself to nod.
"Yes Professor," she said hastily. "Would it be too much trouble to allow me to take a shower?" Her face was flaming, she hoped to remove the layers of dirt and grime. She couldn't imagine the horrible impression she was leaving on her transfiguration teacher.
"Of course!" The teacher said, still looking shocked. "Er, go on then. It's down the hall, first door on your left…" She looked uncertain. "Would you like some disinfectant?"
Hermione nodded, having experience with such injuries. "Yes please, Professor. Can I have a blood replenishing potion and a numbing one as well?"
It was Dumbledore who answered this time. "Of course," he said firmly. "I will be back in a few minutes with the potions. Madam Pomfrey will be most upset with me for waking her, but I'm sure she will be pacified when she learns it is for a student." He strode away, his unusually bright purple robes swinging atrociously behind him.
Hermione shuddered. "Those robes have to go."
Professor McGonagall turned to look at her with amusement in her eyes. "I tell him that every time, but I suppose he's got to have some hobby."
'Rosalie' exchanged a warm smile with the woman that had been Hermione Granger's mentor.
"I guess," she agreed. "But he should develop a lemon drop obsession soon." Professor McGonagall looked at her curiously.
"Whatever do you mean, Miss Johnson?" She asked confusedly.
Hermione smiled to herself. "Nothing of importance," she said dismissively. "He just looks like the type of person who likes lemon drops." She turned around and went quickly to the bathroom, trying to hide the smile that had sprung up on her face.