Fifth Column
Prelude: A Sea Change
The tired scrape of quill to parchment and the rustle of pages being turned ceased. Hermione sighed, and ran a hand through her thick hair. Not only was it eleven o'clock in the evening, but she had a big Potions test tomorrow. Sleep was the only thing on Hermione's mind, and she desperately wanted to crawl into her warm bed and snuggle her pillow close. Besides, she'd just read the same paragraph three times.
Struggling to stand up with her sore muscles, she slowly stretched. She'd realized early on in Hogwarts, that if you slumped long enough over a book, the pinching pain of strained muscle would slowly fade, and you could relatively read in comfort for hours at a time.
She gathered her books, five of them to be exact, and all hundreds of pages long with thick covers. Hermione put her parchments and quills and other school related supplies into her book bag and slung it across her shoulders and heaved the heavy stack of tombs into her arms.
It's a wonder I don't have bulging shoulder muscles. Who ever said book worms are weak?Hermione chuckled to herself and she left the library, absently pausing to juggling her books on one hand and wave the enchantment to lock the doors. Hermione felt as if there were a basilisk inside her head, slowly squeezing her brain matter together. She knew she should get some sleep, considering she put in more hours than any wizard she knew. Of course, that was complimentary of the time-turner.
But now, as a Seventh Year and Head Girl, Hermione found it hard even with the time-turner to keep up with all of her classes. They were all advance placement, the Professor's seemingly oblivious of her other classes and the amount of homework given in each. They'd give her assignments that Ron and Harry together would take three weeks to do, and expect them back in a week.
It was hard, now, considering Voldemort was still alive, breathing, and definitely gaining power. The Headmaster even deigned it proper that Care of Magical Creatures be brought inside the castle, despite Hagrid's knack for bringing dangerous creatures to class. Now they had to attend both Potions and Care of Magical Creatures in the dungeons.
In fact, it seemed that her Professors were so paranoid, they'd decided placing Aurors every where inside the castle, outside of every known passage and House entrance.
As if those dunderheads could stop Voldemort or his Death Eaters if they wanted to.Many of them, she suspected, were sleeping on the job.
Shaking her head to clear to fuzzy feeling of sleep deprivation from her head, she craned her neck around the books to better view the stairs she knew were there, just around that corner.
Just as she turned to corner, she ran into such a slacker. Literally. Gasping, and feeling the solid flesh her feet ran into, and knowing there was no space after them, except a flight of stairs, she felt panic rise in her throat in a lump of congealed vomit.
Hermione tried vainly to grasp the sleeping Aurors shoulders, but the books in her hands provided her with no options. She belatedly realized she should have dropped the books.
Than, it seemed time slowed as a horrifying revelation dawned on Hermione. Her time-turner. It was her last thought as she slammed face first into the sharp edges of the stairs, blinding pain swept her into it's embrace.
Murmurs slowly entered Hermione's throbbing head. Slow, distorted words. Bits of a whispered conversation.
Where did....her head...Glass?...is that possible...She doesn't look....do you know her?...Hogwarts robes...Head Girl?
Groaning, Hermione lifted a weak hand to her forehead, where she found the friction of cloth. Instantly, Hermione's eyes flew open, and she found a group of three people surrounding her bed, all of them looking at her in curiosity.
Glancing past them, she found herself in the infirmary, though it's walls seemed even starker than before. Startled, Hermione found that the usual clean, disinfected smell of the infirmary sheets smelled more like lavender and soap.
One of the men cleared their throat, and Hermione brought her wandering eyes back to them. Two of them looked deceptively familiar, the obvious medi-witch had light blonde hair, and bright blue eyes, she appeared fairly young. But familiar. Very, very familiar, even the expression of mild concern gracing her face was familiar.
Than, there was the other man. A deep shade of auburn hair adorned the mans head, and an equally shaded beard feel to his collar bone. Adorned on his nose was a pair of half-moon spectacles, but it what was behind them that jolted Hermione into realization. Sparkling, bright blue eyes.
Dumbledore...
Hermione managed to rasp out, surprised at her raw throat. The woman, who Hermione realized as she tsk-ed' was Madam Pomfrey, hurried to her side.
Now dear, there is no need to explain yourself at the moment. You must've taken a nasty fall somewhere, because you've split your forehead and, for the love of Circe, managed to lodge glass in your throat. Pomfrey tucked the sheets around Hermione tighter. Now, drink this. It'll help.
After swallowing the thick potion, Hermione found it hard to keep her eyes open, and soon she fell into a deep sleep, the blurred images of two men and a woman faded.
Hermione groggily opened her eyes, the thick curtain of sleep refusing to let more than a crack of light through.
Then, the familiar voices came again. Though this time, they seemed to be conversing about the next best thing to do about her.
I don't know where she came from, Armando, but I think it wise to keep her here. At least, until she's capable to telling us where she came from, and why she has Hogwarts robes.Of course, Poppy. I fully agree, and I am most curious about this girl's story.
Hermione managed to make a small noise in the back of her throat, which didn't feel like sand paper anymore, catching the attention of the two people.
Oh dear me, miss, how are you feeling? Pomfrey questioned, her quick footsteps quickly reaching Hermione's bedside.
Hermione mumbled, her head seemed to be spinning on it's own, a hundred miles an hour. Poppy tsk-ed' and than shoved a foul smelling potion under her nose.
This'll help, dear, don't mind the taste. Hermione nearly threw up her empty stomach as soon as the honey-like consistency of the potion hit her tongue.
Don't mind the taste, she says. Hermione thought bitterly.
There, there, dear. Poppy comforted, patting her back gently. Hermione managed a weak glare, but let her head fall back onto the pillows. Slowly her head stopped spinning, and Hermione could open her eyes without difficulty.
When she did, she saw a thin old man, who she deduced was Armando, from the previous conversation.
he spoke, his voice was a soft tenor, inviting and smooth. Hermione smiled.
Hermione Granger, she replied, propping herself up on her elbows. Where am I?
Though she knew the question, it wouldn't hurt to ask.
The Infirmary at Hogwarts, dear. Poppy responded instantly. Armando stepped forth.
It must be Armando Dippet, the old Headmaster before Dumbledore. I can't of gone that far into the I?Speaking of which, why do you have Hogwarts robes, bearing the mark of Head Girl, when we have our Head Girl already chosen. He seemed mildly confused, though more curiosity seeped forth. Hermione took a breath, she could only hope he believed her.
I'm from the future, sir. This didn't faze the man at all, in fact, he nodded as if it made perfect sense.
I see, and you must have been the Head Girl for your time. It wasn't a question, but Hermione nodded anyway. And a Gryffindor. Hmm, this is most intriguing, do go on. What happened?Well, I tripped over someone and fell down a flight of stairs, apparently my time-turner turned a bit too far. Hermione sighed, looking at the stark white of her sheets.
Armando asked, slightly confused. Hermione looked up, both Poppy and Dippet were looking at her with raised eyebrows. What exactly is that?You don't - Hermione stopped suddenly.
Of course, you idiot, the time-turner hasn't been invented yet.Um...it's something we have in the future, to go back into time. People don't normally go back years, it's used mainly for turning back the hours. Hermione mumbled, if they didn't have time-turners, how as she going to get home?
A sudden feeling of complete loss swept over Hermione, and the tears welled up in her eyes. Poppy patted her back comfortingly, though giving her an imploring look.
So, how far into the future are you from? Dippet questioned, tilting his head.
she replied, sniffing and wiping at her eyes. What year is this? Dippet replied, and Hermione whipped her head up so fast she nearly clipped Poppy's chin.
she breathed, and instantly, she paled. Tom Riddle. Voldemort. She would have to live with...with that monster. Her expression turned dark. Not only did she want to maul and destroy that bastard, but she wanted to humiliate him. Horribly.
You can't do that, it disrupts time. Time is intricate, a web. You can't go messing around with it and create a paradox. Yes I can, But what if killing Voldemort leads to Harry not even being born? Or Ron? Or
What are we going to do? Hermione asked, looking up in resignation.
Hermione looked around the Gryffindor common room, it was blessedly empty. The chairs were still the same, the portraits still the same. Even the carpet was the same. The entire set up of the room hadn't changed one bit in her time. Shuddering, she walked around the couch facing the fireplace, intent on sitting down, only to find another girl already curled up, reading a book.
Hermione uttered, taking a step back. The girl looked up in surprise, before smiling at her.
Hello, I'm glad you're okay. she said, straightening her legs to let Hermione sit down. She patted the empty space next to her.
Hermione obliged.
I'm Thalia Bellona, I found you. Thalia said, as if that deserved some sort of an award. Who are you?Her - Hermione stopped, she couldn't be doing things like that. Dippet and Dumbledore and herself had conversed for the rest of the day, completing her fake life, fake name, and fake transfer school. Arline Speck.It's very nice to meet you, Arline. Thalia thrust out her hand.
Thalia was a rather pretty girl, though she had small features which made her seem childlike. Her light brown hair made her impossibly black, or very dark brown, eyes stand out, making them seem even larger. She his a high forehead and her eyes were side wide, she was slim, and had thin lips.
You too, Thalia. Hermione responded quietly, taking the offered hand. Thalia smiled broadly.
Oh, you can call me Leah, everyone else does. Well, my friends do, anyway. Thalia smiled again and turned back to her books. Do you like books?
If only Harry and Ron could hear her... The thought was sobering, even as a small smile lilted upon her face.
I couldn't live without them, she answered truthfully. Thalia seemed delighted.
That's wonderful, most of my friends are either boys, and they don't like to read much other than Quidditch related, or girls who are to involved in their makeup and pretty dresses. And boys. Thalia laughed, and Hermione couldn't help but laugh with her. I like muggle poetry, myself, how about you?Anything I can get my hands on really, though I rarely...indulge myself by reading poetry or novels. Thalia looked at her with such pity that Hermione wasn't sure that her nose hadn't fallen off.
That's depressing, I don't know what I'd do without my Edgar Allen Poe and Walt Whitman. Thalia sighed, as if reminiscing in old times, but than her smile reappeared. You can borrow this, if you like, I've already read it ten times.
She offered the book to Hermione, who was reluctant to take it, but did so anyway. She might as well, Thalia seemed like a nice enough person.
I'm off to bed, so you tomorrow, Arline. And Thalia was gone, up the stairs into the dormitory. It was just then that Hermione realized Thalia hadn't once questioned Hermione about her fall, or why she appeared out of nowhere. In fact, upon that light, Hermione wondered whether or not Thalia had been waiting for her.