A/n This is my first story I've written uploaded. Please, no flames, just honesty on what y'all think. Thanks :D I don't own any characters, except Preston Brinehart. SS/HG
Hermione Granger groaned as the high pitched beeping of her alarm spell slowly penetrated her foggy mind, dragging her out of a deep sleep. Groggily, she rolled over and flung an arm out, blindly searching for her wand on the bedside table.
"Shut up, you stupid thing." She grumbled as her fingers wrapped around the smooth wood of her wand. Lazily, she waved her wand, ending the obnoxious sound, then murmured "Tempus" while cracking one, then the other open. As they adjusted to the light flooding the room through the window, she glanced at the floating numbers. '10:30' She nodded, then rolled over. Then it hit her. "10:30?!?" Hermione say up like a shot then flew out of bed.
"Shit! I'm going to be late for Transfiguration!" The 16 year old cursed to herself, burrowing through her trunk for a clean pair of jeans, robes, and shirt. She noted with a spike of fury all her dorm mates were already gone. "Stupid harpies... They might have woken me up." She muttered, stripping down before throwing on her clothes. Slinging her stuffed schoolbag over her shoulder, she headed towards the door but caught sight of herself in the mirror. Her curly brown hair surrounded her head in a wild, afro-like halo. She huffed in irritation and pulled it back into a hasty pony tail before running out the door and down the stairs. She nearly bowled over a second year as she lept out of the portrait hole and sprinted down the corridor.
Hermione was halfway to class before the bell rang. She skidded to a stop above a staircase as an irrational wave of sudden despair washed over her and her eyes watered up. She acknowledged being late to class for the first time in her school career didn't warrant such a reaction. In reality, it was the whole past year, and little everyday stressers just seemed to add to the overall situation. Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she decided not to go to class. 'I'll mess up if I'm upset like this' She thought as she backtracked down the hall a bit before entering a half hidden alcove. Needing time to think in the comforting silence of the castle, she crawled up onto the large window ledge and hugged her knees to her chest, gazing mournfully out the glass. The lake reflected sparkling sunshine, suggesting a happier time than what she was feeling.
The final battle of the war had finally occurred last May. Voldemort had charged the castle the last day of term, expecting it to be full of students as well as unarmed and unprepared. Unknown to him, Hogwarts was chock full of aurors and Order members. It had turned out that Snape, though he had killed Dumbledore, was loyal and had been feeding information to the Light, giving them an advantage. So what Voldemort had thought was a surprise attack ended up in his being ambushed. Despite Snape's best efforts, Voldemort had withheld the vital information of the exact size of his army. In the end it was a close fight. Though Death Eaters and a variety of dark creatures outnumbered the Order members, students, aurorers, and friendly forest denizens, the light had the advantage of surprise and managed to prevail. Victory came at a great price, and many had died.
Hermione sniffled, her tears finally dripping down her freckled cheeks as she started mentally listing those that died. Dumbledore, many in her year at Hogwarts, Snape, Lupin, Firenze, Ginny, Ron, Fred, and Arthur Weasley were among the hundreds whom perished. Harry, who'd managed to duel and slay the Dark Lord, was slipped with a stray cutting curse, resulting in the amputation of his left arm. He had stuck around a bit after the end, but slowly spiraled into depression and withdrew into himself. The Golden boy developed a drinking habit to cope with the pain, and when Hermione and the remaing Weasley's attempted to talk to him about it he snapped at them before disapperating. No one had seen or heard from him since.
Her sad brown eyes tracked the various students as they ran here and there across the castle's lawn. The memory of how after the battle sobbing families had gathered around their dead surfaced and she jerked away from the window. Everyone had suffered great losses. Hermione had lost most of her close friends, leaving only Molly, George, Bill, and Charlie as her support group and family. They'd grown very close in the months following the war.
One of Hermione's worst lossess was the death of her parents. Despite her best efforts, Voldemort ruthlessly tracked them down, finally slaying them in Australia where they were hidden. He'd hoped it would break the brains of the trio that kept defeating him. Hermione let out a derisive snort. In reality, it made the fight that much more personal and evoked an even greater determination to bring the despot down. It had stirred up a great rage inside of her, but unlike her fellow Gryffindors, she didn't react in a blind act of uncontrollable and emotional revenge. She'd remained cool on the outside, while the fury bubbled and stewed deep inside as she carefully and meticulously plotted. On the battle field, she'd released it all. Death Eaters fell left and right from deadly and creative curses that flew from her wand. Though ashamed of her lack of control, Hermione refused to be laden down with guilt. It was war, and evil people must be eliminated she told herself.
Sighing, she stood up. It was time to go to class. Staying hidden in the alcove, she dug in her pocket and pulled out a small silver object on a chain. A time turner. Unknown to the others, she'd come across it during the battle at the Department of Mysteries a year ago. She hadn't used it, and just recently found it again at the bottom of her trunk.
Hermione pondered it, holding it up to the light. It was different than the one she'd been given in her third year. Not only as it silver, strange runes were carved into it. Try as she might, she couldn't decipher what they meant, even armed with her formidable knowledge of ancient runes and symbols.
"Do I take the chance?" She murmered to herself, running a finger across the engravings. The time space continum was a dangerous and foolish thing to mess with. "Why not?" Taking a deep breath, she spun the tiny hourglass and closed her eyes. The familiar strange feeling of time travel came and went, and she opened her eyes.
The sun was lower on the horizon and her "Tempus" showed it was 10:00 AM. Hermione grinned. Perfect. Confident all had gone well, she slipped the time turner around her neck and tucked it into her robes before exiting the hidden alcove.
"Where did you come from, young lady?" A deep voice demanded. Startled, she spund around. A portrait of a handsome middle aged man in Victorian clothing was glaring at her. Hermione's mind raced, certain he hadn't been ther earlier, or later if you prefer, in the morning. In fact, she would have sworn there hadn't been a portrait frame at all beside her alcove.
"Quite clearly from that area over there" She snapped at him, irritable from being surprised and flustered. "I've been there all morning studying." She lied, pointing to her bag slung over her shoulder. The painting's striking green eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Where were you then, this fine morning?" She challenged, anger flaring up at the accusatory look. She struggled to keep it in check. Ever since the war, she'd had issues with her formidable temper. The man's painting curled a digusted lip into a sneer. Affronted at being spoken to like that, he carefully smoothed his light brown hair back and puffed up a bit.
"I happened to be right here. ALL MORNING" He sniffed, giving the curly headed girl a disdainful look. She locked her brown eyes with his flashing green ones. A beat of tense silence passed, then the man frowned. "You're not a student here."
Hermione blinked, surprised at the unexpected comment. "Er... What?"
"You. Are. Not. A. Student. Here." The ornery painting drawled slowly. "Who are you?" He tilted his head, studying her.
"But I am." She replied, baffled. "I'm a sixth year Gryffindor. Who are you?" A feeling of unease began to grow.
"Preston Brinehart. And I don't believe you. I've never seen you before. Once again I shall ask. Who are you?" The regal looking portrait demanded. Hermione looked at him, trying to figure out how to answer. Stalling, she glanced at her watch.
"Damn!" She cursed vehmently. It was 10:25.
Brinehart looked deeply offending. "That is most unneccesary!" He rumbled angrily, his shocked disapproval evident in his tone. Hermione was already jogging down the hall. "Wait a moment! Young lady!" He called after her, growling in frusteration as she dissapeared around the corner. Exasperated, he sank into the arm chair and grabbed the glass of brandy painted next to him. "I've got to inform the headmaster..." He sighed, standing up and trudging out of his frame.
A/N what did y'all think? I have more already written. I know the whole idea is kinda cliché, but please be kind and REVIEW. Thank you.
