A/N: Fewer updates to this chapter than the first. Again, thanks to the following folks for their assistance in helping this story along: brownlark42, ladyofsilverdawn, SassenachStarbuck, and MrsBennettFrazier
Sandra-Sempra made amazing cover art for this story. See it on my Tumblr crochetawayhpff.
Chapter 2: The Discovery
June 16, 1944
Hermione Granger came to slowly.
She was aware of a slight glow above her head, and when she opened her eyes, she could see diagnostic charms hovering above her bed. Blearily, she looked around, trying to make out where she was—it looked an awful lot like the Hogwarts Hospital Wing. But the last thing she remembered was the Killing Curse flying at her chest. Logically, she knew she should be dead. Maybe she was. This would be a very strange afterlife if that was the case. Blinking slowly, she tried to get the room around her to come into focus. She attempted to move her head but gasped when the pain hit. Pain meant that she was alive. How was she not dead?
Suddenly, her blurry vision was filled with a dark-haired boy. At first, she thought it was Harry. But that couldn't be right: Harry was dead. She'd watched him die at Voldemort's hand.
She blinked up at the boy, and he slowly came into focus. No, he wasn't Harry; although, he did look familiar. This boy's hair was much neater than Harry's had ever been. And his eyes weren't brilliant green but a deep blue. So blue they almost looked black. He had a long straight nose and perfect eyebrows, the kind that arched in the middle. His lips were full, and dimly Hermione wondered what it would be like to kiss them.
The boy smirked, and his handsomeness was revealed in full. He was gorgeous. Perhaps the most handsome boy Hermione had ever seen. But at the same moment he spoke, she remembered who he was.
"Tom Riddle, at your service," he nodded at her.
At that, she remembered exactly what had happened to her. Lord Voldemort had cast the killing curse at her. Was she in hell? And no sooner had that thought crossed her mind that her vision went black.
Hermione crawled along the stands where the teachers were sitting, doing her best to keep one eye on Harry, who was barely hanging onto his broom. She didn't know how he had been able to hang on as long as this. It seemed to take her ages to run from the Gryffindor stands to the professors' box. Professor Snape was still staring at Harry, muttering under his breath.
Hermione frowned. She would have to do something drastic. But what?
Then she remembered the bluebell flames, she could conjure those with nothing more than a whisper. Professor Flitwick had said she had a fire affinity after she'd asked him about it. The last thing she needed would be to get caught by the sour Potions master.
"Velox Ignis," she muttered under her breath and was happy to see the flames appear in her hands.
She liberally spread her hands all over the bottom of Professor Snape's robes, blowing on the flames, encouraging them to grow higher. When they did, she pulled her hands back and extinguished the flame in her hands.
Slowly, Hermione made her way back through the crowd, still trying to keep her eye on both Harry and Professor Snape. It didn't take Professor Snape long to realize his robes were on fire. He yelped and knocked into Professor Quirrell who was sitting in front of him as he tried to put out the flames.
As soon as Professor Snape broke eye contact, Harry was able to recover his broom. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief and made her way back to the Gryffindor stands.
Hermione gasped as she came out of the flashback. She had a very strong suspicion about what had just happened, but before she could analyze it, a mediwitch was in her face, running diagnostics and casting spells at her.
Hermione's head was too muddled to really understand what was going on, but she drank whatever potions the mediwitch gave her and concentrated on staying conscious. She didn't want to be vulnerable in front of the future Dark Lord.
The future Dark Lord?
That thought wasn't right. Lord Voldemort was no longer Tom Riddle. But then... who was that boy? Was it a prank? She reached a hand to the Time-Turner she always wore around her neck. But it didn't feel right, she tried to move her head to look at it, but the mediwitch tsked at her and told her not to move.
Hermione closed her eyes as she felt the Time-Turner. Most Time-Turners had an hourglass at the center, surrounded by three concentric rings that turned independently of each other. The hourglass seemed to be intact, but the rest of the Time-Turner felt as if it had melted together. Her thoughts raced.
Is that what happened?
The Avada Kedavra that Voldemort had sent her way had hit the Time-Turner?
Did that mean she was in the past?
She gasped at the realization, and when she opened her eyes, the doors to the Hospital Wing followed suit. Two older men and Tom Riddle were heading right for her.
The mediwitch was still working and Hermione could hear her speaking with one of the men. Hermione hoped against all hope that she hadn't actually been thrown back in time. That she was actually dead and this was just a strange afterlife. Purgatory maybe.
She watched as the three men approached her, and she recognized one of them. It was Professor Dumbledore. Her heart hurt to see him alive again and looking so young. This had to be the afterlife, it just had to be. His hair was as long as it had been in her time, but it wasn't white, it was a deep auburn streaked with grey.
"Hello, I'm Headmaster Dippet. Who might you be?" the older of the two gentlemen introduced himself. He had short salt and pepper hair and a neatly kept goatee. He was wearing gold-rimmed glasses connected to a chain that went around his neck, and he had kind, light-green eyes. Hermione liked him immediately; he exuded a warmth and kindness that not many people did.
"H-Hermione Granger," she croaked out. Her voice sounded rusty and disused. The mediwitch conjured a glass of water and handed it to her. She drank it greedily.
"Well, Miss Granger, what are you doing at Hogwarts?" the kindly headmaster asked.
"I - I'm not sure. I don't remember much."
"This is Professor Dumbledore, and this is Tom Riddle. He found you, my dear." Professor Dippet indicated the young boy.
"No, it can't be, not him," Hermione mumbled. She closed her eyes, she didn't want to look evil personified in the face. She just wanted to rest. Her hopes of being dead were dashed. It couldn't be the afterlife if Tom Riddle was here. As far as Hermione knew, Voldemort was alive. He'd been the one to kill her. And if Voldemort was alive, then Hermione wasn't dead; she had been thrown back in the past. She began pushing at the covers on the bed and trying to get away from them all. She couldn't be here. She shouldn't be here. This was all wrong. She had to get back to her own time. Even if that time was a world ruled by Voldemort.
"Out! Mr. Riddle, out of the Hospital Wing. I won't have you upsetting my patient!" the mediwitch shouted and pointed toward the door.
Headmaster Dippet patted Hermione's hand as Riddle left the ward, and Hermione relaxed back into the bed. Her attempts at getting out of bed had made her head pound and her stomach threatened to expel its contents. Even if she wanted to leave, it seemed she wasn't going to be able to anytime soon.
"Well, dear, now that you are calmer, perhaps we can have a frank discussion about how you came to be on Hogwarts grounds," Professor Dippet said. He waved his wand and conjured two squishy purple-plaid armchairs, and he and Professor Dumbledore each settled in one.
"I'm not entirely sure. But I think it has something to do with this," Hermione held up the melted Time-Turner.
"Oh dear," Professor Dumbledore murmured, speaking for the first time. "Is that a Time-Turner?" He peered closely at the twisted piece of jewelry Hermione held aloft.
Hermione nodded glumly. "I don't think it will work again."
"Time-Turners don't work going forward. At least not in 1944," Professor Dumbledore explained.
"They don't in 1998 either," Hermione said.
"Oh, my, that is a far jump. Do you think you can tell us about it?" Headmaster Dippet asked.
Hermione was tiring rather quickly and shook her head. Her eyes threatened to slip closed. She wasn't sure she could handle the emotions of the last twenty-four hours of her life. Both of her best friends were dead, killed in battle. And now, she was stuck fifty-four years in the past.
"Perhaps I could take a look then? I'm quite a skilled Legilimens," Professor Dippet asked. "I taught Professor Dumbledore everything he knows." Professor Dippet smirked at the younger man.
Hermione thought about it for a moment. She realized she trusted Professor Dumbledore, and a strange feeling told her she could trust Professor Dippet too. So she nodded.
The Headmaster stood from his chair and leaned over her bed, looking her straight in the eyes. "Legilimens," he muttered.
Hermione barely noticed his presence. She began thinking about everything that happened to her over the last few months: being on the run with Harry and Ron, hunting Horcruxes, her torture at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange, and finally, the failed final battle at Hogwarts itself.
Just as quickly as he entered, Professor Dippet left her mind. He patted her shoulder gently, and Hermione realized she had tears streaming down her cheeks.
"There, there, dear. Can you tell me who Lord Voldemort is?" Professor Dippet asked.
Hermione shook her head. She couldn't. She didn't want to mess up the timeline, didn't want to ruin the world.
"Terrible things happen to wizards who meddle with time," Hermione said. "I don't want to give you too much information."
"Ah, that is true," Professor Dumbledore nodded. He too stood from his chair and approached her bed.
"However, I think in this case it is probably different."
"How do you mean?" Hermione asked.
"Nobody has gone back in time by fifty-four years. The most anyone has ever traveled back in time was fifteen hours."
"I see," Hermione said.
Time-Turners were causal loops. Nothing anyone did in the past, would change the future because the future was already set. Anything a time traveler did in the past was going to happen anyway. It was set. It was kind of like fate in that way.
Did that mean that she wasn't in a causal loop? There were a few theories on time travel. After Hermione had been given the Time-Turner in her third year, she had looked them all up. Wizards had one, the causal loop because that's the only case they had with the Time-Turner. So Hermione had asked her parents for a few Muggle books on the fabric of spacetime, physics, and time travel theories. She knew about wormholes and black holes and the multiverse theory. She knew them all. But how to determine what happened here? She didn't know.
"Well, that does beg the other question, Miss Granger," Professor Dippet said gently, bringing Hermione out of her thoughts and back to the present.
"Which question is that?" Hermione asked.
"How did you survive the Killing Curse?" Professor Dippet asked.
"Oh," Hermione nodded. She had a few theories about that too. While on the run with Ron and Harry, she had packed every book she thought might be worth taking and then some. Several of those books had to do with life debts, which Hermione had been particularly fascinated by.
When she had first heard of life debts in the wizarding world, she thought it was something one had to invoke, or acknowledge, or maybe even manufacture. She'd heard Harry talk about the life debt Professor Snape owed James Potter, and that's what started her research. How did Professor Snape know he owed a life debt? Did he acknowledge it? What happened if you didn't acknowledge a life debt? Hermione had wanted to know it all.
"What do you know of life debts?" Hermione asked Professor Dippet.
"Quite a bit, actually. Is that why you are alive?"
"I think so. When I awoke, I had a flashback to when I saved my best friend's life in our first year. I think that was me using up that life debt."
"That would mean…" Professor Dumbledore trailed off.
"Yes, my best friend is dead. I watched him be killed. He was killed by Lord Voldemort," Hermione explained. "I can't say too much, but there was a war in the wizarding world. It was during a great battle, and well, my side was losing. Did lose? Will lose?" Hermione shook her head. It was confusing, especially if she didn't know if this was causal loop or multiverse or some other sort of time travel.
"I'm sorry to hear that, my dear," Professor Dippet said and patted her hand. "I am familiar with the concept. I myself am three hundred and seven years of age," the Headmaster winked at her, and Hermione was confused. Was he telling her what she thought he was? But then she shook her head. Maybe he was just very healthy to have lived for so long.
"Well, the poor girl can't go home," Professor Dumbledore said to Professor Dippet. "Were you in school?"
"I skipped my seventh year," Hermione admitted. At the time she hadn't been ashamed but standing here between these two great professors, she felt her cheeks heat with embarrassment.
"No matter," Professor Dippet said. "It sounds like you had quite enough going on. The school year is almost over, and Madam Davies assures me you will need bed rest for several more weeks. You can start your seventh year at the beginning of the term in September."
"Are you sure?" Hermione asked. She didn't want to put anyone out. And she had nothing but her bedraggled beaded bag. While it did hold a lot, she had practically no money to speak of.
"I won't cut your education short. It's very important, my dear," Professor Dippet assured her. "You just rest now. I'll take care of it all."
He waved Professor Dumbledore forward, and the two men left in quiet conversation.
Madam Davies, the mediwitch, Hermione learnt from her recent conversation, cast another diagnostic charm to hover over Hermione.
"I'll just be in my office, Miss Granger. You should sleep."
Hermione nodded. She was very tired. The potions made her groggy, and her head hurt quite a bit. But after the conversation and the realization she may be stuck in the past, she wasn't sure she could sleep.
She thought back about everything she knew about life debts. They weren't created by the acknowledgment or the acknowledgment of a life debt, magic decided if a life debt should be created, which was such a foreign concept to Hermione. Her parents weren't particularly religious, but the way the books had talked about magic was like it wasn't this wonderful, mindless force, but that it was sentient. Like it was a god. And that it could choose things and decide things. It had taken her a few rereads of certain passages for her to truly understand.
If someone owed a life debt and did not acknowledge that life debt, then died, the person who was owed the debt gained an extra soul, an Anamoran, as the book had called it. It explained everything about how Hermione was alive. She had saved Harry's life back in first year. It was all in the intent. Hermione had intended to save Harry, and so when she did, Harry owed her a life debt, a life debt that Harry had never acknowledged. Hermione hadn't either. She hadn't even known about life debts then. And then, Harry had died. Which gave Hermione Anamoran, or extra soul. It didn't feel any different, but it explained how she survived the killing curse. Instead of killing her, it killed the Anamoran.
It was fascinating, and Hermione really wanted to dig through her beaded bag to reread some of those texts. It had all been theory up until now, but now she had proof. At least, proof to her. She should have died. Voldemort should have killed her, but she hadn't. Because of the Anamoran.
There was a potion she could brew to see how much Anamoran she had. And Hermione had brewed it while on the run, which had been a feat in and of itself. Luckily, most of the potion consisted of easily found herbs. She finished it just before they were captured and taken to Malfoy Manor. And from there, things had happened so fast.
The potion was still in her beaded bag. The bag had to be a mess by now; she hadn't been cleaning it or storing anything in it properly. She glanced around, suddenly frantic. Where was her bag? Had it gotten lost somehow? Had someone here stolen it?
Sighing in relief, she found her bag and clothes on the bottom shelf of the small table beside her bed. Her clothes were folded and even looked clean. On top of the table, sat her wand. As much as she wanted to investigate things more, a wave of exhaustion came over her. She did fling her arm out, intent on grabbing her beaded bag, but she was asleep before her hand hit the top of the bedside table.
