"Crucio!"
The spell flew over Hermione's head, narrowly missing her singed hair. As she deftly dodged another of Bellatrix's curses, she was aware of Harry and Voldemort battling it out just next to her and Ginny.
"Avada Kedavra!" Bellatrix screamed, her wand pointed at Ginny. Luckily, the spell missed.
However, it did not miss the bull's eye on the Weasley matriarch's temper. Her normally sweet voice was harsh and brittle as it swore. "Not my daughter you bitch."
The devastating spell hit the center of Bellatrix's chest and she collapsed to the dirty floor of the Great Hall.
Hermione turned to watch Harry and Voldemort dance around each other, not registering the words they were exchanging. Across from here she could see Ron, his eyes following the pair as well.
In a matter of seconds, Harry had the Elder wand and Voldemort was on the floor. But the battle was not over. Because a terrible pain had ripped through Hermione's head. She collapsed to the floor, and could see through her tear-filled vision that Harry and Ron had fallen to their knees as well.
Then there was nothing but a blinding flash of white followed by acute and excruciating darkness.
When Hermione came to, she could see nothing but a rocky ceiling. Her body hurt, as if every inch of it was covered in bruises. Upon opening her mouth, nothing came out but a long groan that was echoed by two others.
"Harry…Ron," she croaked.
Something moved in her vision and Harry's untidy black hair came into view. "Hermione! Ouch. Ron!"
"Bloody hell," came the not-too-happy voice of Ron. He sat up as well, shortly followed by Hermione. Every move hurt for the trio, and their heads swiveled amongst themselves as each took in the damaged appearance of the other two.
"My, my, looks like we've gotten ourselves in a pickle."
"Dumbledore!"
And it was indeed Dumbledore that stood in front of them, with his ever-long beard, half-moon glasses and spangled robes. There were less wrinkles on his face, but that twinkle in his X-raying eyes was the same.
"Yes, yes, that is what they call me. Though I do sometimes wonder if I would have been better off as an 'Arnold' or possibly 'Bagshawar', they both reflect deeper personalities than Albus. Hmm, I wonder why my dear mother gave me that name. She was a bit odd, that old witch, bless her…"
Harry, Ron and Hermione's eyes were bugging out. They looked over their supposedly-dead headmaster, wondering how in Merlin's saggy left eyebrow he could be standing before them off on an understood-by-Dumbles-only rant.
He was nearing the end of his monologue. "…Ah well, Albus I've been named and Albus I shall stay. The more interesting question is, what are you three called?"
Harry gulped, rising to his feet before helping Hermione up. Ron stayed on the ground as he eyed Dumbledore as if he was a figment of his imagination.
"Professor," started Harry, voice unsure, "h-how is it possible that you're alive?"
"Well, God wills it and so I am. Am I not supposed to be alive, young Mr.-?"
"Potter," Harry spoke without thinking. Hermione's elbow in his side made him realize his mistake.
Dumbledore's silver eyebrows knit together in confusion. "There is only one Potter right now, and he is just about to begin his seventh year at Hogwarts. Are you related to him perchance?"
"What he means to say sir, is: What is the current date, may I ask?" Hermione intervened, the cogs in her brain working overtime.
"It is August 31st of 1977, of course."
And then the world turned black for Hermione Granger once more.