A/N: Written for the Multi Chap Boot Camp. I've never actually finished a multi-chapter story before (at least, not finished anywhere outside of my head), so hopefully this will force me to get my ass into gear and actually write some stuff down. Also why am I doing so many challenges and boot camps these make my head hurt I am not this organized oh my mathematics and science above this is miserable. Kidding, of course. It's all fun. :)

Prompt 36: Accident

Hermione Granger's eyes fluttered open and she jumped up from her place on the floor, ready to return to the battle, only to find herself in a wholly different place than she last remembered. She had been in the Department of Mysteries, in the midst of a duel, and this... was not the Department of Mysteries, at least not the way she remembered it. It was the same large hall, but eerily silent. The tank Ron had been near had disappeared, as had the redhead himself. All that remained of the rack of Time-Turners she had been hiding behind was...

Scattered sand, shards of glass, and the metal frames of the devices. They'd fallen and broken. She was entirely certain that she'd traveled through time again, albeit this time accidentally.

Keeping calm, she reminded herself that she could've gone back as short a time as several hours and would simply have to wait it out, but that she wouldn't be able to figure it out unless she took deep breaths and remained cautiously analytical. I can't go forward in time; they don't work that way- she glanced around her feet- and none of these are in working condition at this point, regardless. She had no experience repairing Time-Turners, and since there didn't appear to be any within the Department walls of this time, she wasn't sure if the technology had actually been invented yet.

Just in case, she shrunk the entire pile of Time-Turner remains, summoned a bag for them, and shoved them in her right pocket, then set about searching for the exit.

—

"Where's Hermione?"

"Last I saw she was over by the rack of- oh, no!"

"The rack of what?"

"The rack of Time-Turners."

"Oh God, no."

—

"Seventeen more deaths in Little Hangleton!" cried a man hawking newspapers in the Ministry lobby. Hermione dug into her left pocket, vaguely remembering jamming a few Galleons in that morning, but thought better of buying it for the sole purpose of finding out the date. The news would be everywhere, she wasn't worried about that, and she could always momentarily sacrifice her dignity to ask someone the exact date.

"Excuse me, sir," she said shyly, stepping towards a man in a scarlet cloak staring absentmindedly at a nearby wall, "but do you happen to know today's date?"

Her question seemed to bring him out of his trance, and he looked at her nervously. "The twenty-seventh of August, miss." His eyes shifted about the room as though searching for someone. "Now go run off and play, or something."

I'm not a simple child, I'm sixteen years old, and I'm Hermione bloody Granger. But she let the comment slide and mentally chastised herself for using such language.

—

"I'm not talking to you," Lily huffed. She attempted to close the door right in Severus's face, but he jammed his foot in to stop it. "I'm serious, Sev- Severus," she corrected herself, not allowing herself to use the nickname. "It isn't up for discussion, and no apologizing is going to fix it," she continued ranting, attempting to kick his foot out of the way so she could slam the door properly.

"Your mother said you've been crying," Severus said quietly, smoothing back his hair (he couldn't help but notice how long it had gotten- it wasn't quite of a feminine length yet, but Merlin, I need it cut, he thought). "That doesn't seem to me like you're doing all right. I want to help."

"You aren't a part of the solution," she said coldly, "you're a part of the problem. And of course I'm crying," she added, snippy. "My best bloody friend- well, the boy I thought was my best friend- was a complete and utter arse to me several weeks ago. You used practically a racial slur!" While technically true, he felt his case was not being well argued here, although he was rendered incapable of bringing this up due to the fact that his head was still spinning thanks to her unusually harsh language. "Regardless, leave!"

And with that, she took advantage of his slightly dazed state to kick his foot out of her bedroom door frame, slam the door shut, and lock it with a click. Rather than using a simple Alohamora to get in and continue to try to talk to her, Severus thought it best to wander downstairs, out the door, and back home, with naught but a wave as he passed Mrs. Evans, who apparently had not the slightest idea how serious her daughter's feud with this boy was.

—

"My, my, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said, peering over those same half-moon glasses at the girl, "that is quite a tale you tell. I am trusting by nature, but do you have any proof of what you say?"

By this point, he'd filled her in on the full date- 27 August 1975- and she scraped my mind for any piece of knowledge Dumbledore would've gleaned by this point. "Erm, well, Tom Marvolo Riddle is... responsible. When rearranged his full name renders the phrase 'I am Lord Voldemort,' introducing the name under which he's been wreaking havoc for years now. You hired Rubeus Hagrid as a groundskeeper after he was expelled from Hogwarts because he allegedly was responsible for the opening of the Chamber of Secrets. Sirius Black-" she had been about to say that Sirius Black was the Potters' secret-keeper, but caught herself in time (barely); that hadn't happened yet, of course. "Er, Sirius Black has been living with the Potters this summer because his own family doesn't want him at Grimmauld Place, and he feels just as strongly against staying there."

Dumbledore moved to rest his elbows on his desk. "All of that is true, but you may simply be incredibly observant, or you may simply know the right people who have told you the right stories. While I'm certainly inclined to believe you," he hastened to add, "I must ask that you tell me something which only I would know."

"Sir," she nearly spat, frustrated beyond belief, "I know I told you that my friends and I are close to you in my time, but there aren't many things I can tell you that can't have been gathered elsewhere."

He leaned back now, dug through an open drawer, and popped a lemon drop into his mouth. "So rude of me- would you like one as well?" Although the gesture calmed Hermione down slightly, having provided a sense of normalcy in this ridiculous situation, she declined. "Your loss, I assure you."

She barely repressed an eye roll. So like him to behave this way. "I'll be fine, I'm sure."

"I suppose I will have to trust your version of events, Miss Granger." His eyes resumed their natural twinkling. "I understand you would like to continue your education at Hogwarts until such time as you are able to return to your own time?"

"That would be… preferable to wandering about, yes."

"The school year begins in four days, Miss Granger," Dumbledore provided. "It would be prudent for you to acquire appropriate clothing and supplies in the meantime. I recall you are a Muggleborn, so you wouldn't have a family vault at Gringotts- I don't assume you brought any substantial amount of currency with you to your battle at the Ministry? Of course not," he continued when she shook her head. "You'll be pleased to hear that Hogwarts provides a stipend for qualifying students. I will file the proper paperwork this evening, and tomorrow I will provide you with your funds."

Hermione's brows lifted. "Th- thank you, sir!"

Dumbledore gave a small smile. "There is no reason to thank me, Miss Granger. It is Hogwarts's duty to ensure each student will have access to a quality education, no matter his or her financial situation. As long as your grades hold up, you will continue to receive the stipend." He paused before continuing. "You said that in your time you were sorted into Gryffindor, yes?" She nodded. Well, barely. Hermione remembered vividly her Sorting: she had had to beg the Hat to place her in the house of the illustrious Albus Dumbledore. It had very nearly commanded she go to Ravenclaw. "To be certain, I will allow the Hat another chance with you."

She cringed internally, but of course agreed. What if it did place her in Ravenclaw this time, though? Hermione adored being a Gryffindor; people came to each other for help instead of stabbing each other in the back for top marks as she'd heard was a common occurrence in Ravenclaw.

Her worries were quickly assuaged, however. Dumbledore pulled the Hat from its shelf, and the moment it was placed on her head it gave its typical roar: "GRYFFINDOR!" There was no dialogue as during her first-year sorting; her first time had taken ages, and there had been much arguing with the Hat over her intellectualism versus my bravery. Had she really changed so much since then?

It was something to ponder as she made her way to the Gryffindor tower. Dumbledore had a House Elf prepare a bed in what would, in several days, be the sixth year Gryffindor girls' dormitory, and she wandered up, too lost in thought to manage to be righteous regarding the use of House Elf labor.

—

"Severus!" The boy flinched. He hated hearing his name come from that man. Only two more years of school, and then he could take my mother far away from the miserable- "Get down here!"

"Coming, Father." He rushed down the stairs. If he took too long, Mother would pay for it, not Severus, and he wasn't willing to do that to her. He hadn't been since childhood.

He greeted the boy with a grunt from his position on the couch (feet on the coffee table, beer bottle in hand, cigarette hanging from his lips). Only after removing the cigarette from his mouth to flick the excess ash into a nearby ashtray did he actually speak. "You got your shit together for school?"

Severus nodded promptly. "Yes, sir."

"Good. You're a clever boy, but sometimes I wonder if you gotta lick of common sense." I have plenty of common sense, you miserable- "Must've got that from your mum." Don't talk about Mother that way. There were always things Severus wanted to say but couldn't. It would only make her life even more hellish once he was away to Hogwarts.

—

Shopping had gone well; Dumbledore had given Hermione her allowance, and he sent a young Minerva McGonagall to accompany/supervise the girl in Hosgmeade. They'd have gone to Diagon Alley for the greater selection, but they had decided it was best for as few questions as possible to be asked about Hermione before her introduction to the students of Hogwarts. McGonagall had been told of Hermione's situation, of course, and had agreed to supervise her immediately.

Hermione was a little surprised, really. The McGonagall she knew, although of course absolutely trusting of Dumbledore's word, would've asked questions, would've demanded answers, rather than simply obeying his orders. The remaining youthfulness in her face, startling after having known a much older version of the woman, reminded Hermione that she was in a different time, a time before the Second War. Perhaps McGonagall simply didn't have a reason to be on her toes yet. Yet.

Voldemort, at this point, was thriving, but only locally. Much like the Italian Mafia in America, he was a successful terrorist with many alternative methods of making money, but his power was limited to the areas in which he had an organized presence. Although he was a terror where such a presence existed, a complete terror, he posed no serious threat to the majority of British wizards. (So far, Hermione couldn't help but intone, knowing what she knew about his exponential growth in membership over the next year or so.)