DISCLAIMER: I own nothing.

A/N: I'm back! Thanks for ALL THREE REVIEWS (seriously, guys. I mean, come on,) and assorted alerts. I think there was one Favourite, actually, so thank you to whoever that was :)

Next chapter there should be some Marauders (*sigh* I do love 'em) but for now it was getting to a seriously long length so I thought I'd better end it ...

Enjoy!


It was the middle of the night. That was the first thing Hermione registered when she opened her eyes. She was gazing unfocusedly up at a wide expanse of black, and the first coherent thought in her head was two words.

Harry. Ron.

They didn't mean anything to her. Who were Harry and Ron? Why was she worried about them? Where were -

She sat bolt upright.

'Harry! Ron!' She cried, well aware that there was extremely little chance of them hearing her. Nevertheless she waited, breathing harshly, her eyes roving desperately around her. She didn't register the expanse of extremely familiar grounds, or the trees swaying slightly in the breeze, or the large, fat tree that was swaying quite a bit more than was usual, waving its club-like branches through the air as though daring something to come at it. She didn't see the stout, primitive hut in the distance, with the reflection of fire crackling merrily in its windows, and nor did she see the magnificent castle towering over it. Well, she did see it all, frantically scanning the area over and over again; she just didn't take in anything but the very distinct lack of Harry and Ron.

When no answer came, tears blurred her vision and she felt her chest constrict. It was when the feeling became more and more physically painful that she looked at her shirt. She was unpleasantly surprised to see it drenched in blood, but it certainly was. Tentatively, she peeled back the bottom of it and barely bit back a startled cry when she saw her stomach. There was a long, deep gash that she supposed was from the Reductor she'd been hit with running across it, oozing blood and looking quite unattractively inflamed.

Hermione frowned at the grotesque sight. Then she turned her attention to the rest of her body. There were several stinging welts across her arms and face from where she had run into twigs, there was a small wound on her head that was bleeding profusely and her lip was swollen to the size of a Bertie Botts Every Flavoured Bean. She was fairly sure her right ankle was dislocated, she'd lost her left pinkie finger's fingernail and she was shaking slightly.

Part of Hermione was alarmed at this less-than-positive inventory, but the more rational part of her (the same one that still hadn't taken any notice of her surroundings, even though that really was the first thing she should have done) was a little perplexed that she wasn't in a particularly large amount of pain. Sure, her chest was still uncomfortably constricted, but that could reasonably be attributed to the temporary loss of her friends. Maybe it was the adrenaline, she decided. But wasn't the adrenaline pretty much run out now?

Although she supposed, now she thought about it, that she was feeling a little lightheaded ...

Hermione didn't even realise she had fainted until her head hit the ground. But by then, of course, she was unconscious.


The next time Hermione opened her eyes it was to an odd rocking sensation. The wide expanse of black had disappeared, only to be replaced with a clean, white ceiling and the faint smell of disinfectant. That, of course, was preposterous because Wizarding hospitals - for that was what this appeared to be - didn't use disinfectant, but rather an assortment of much more odorous concoctions. Hermione took a few seconds to muse distantly that even so; she, as a muggle born, had always just associated the disinfectant smell because, well - they were hospitals, and she was raised as a muggle. So even though anyone else may not have smelled disinfectant, Hermione did.

She realised she was mind-rambling and put a stop to it at once.

The rocking soon faded away and left her with the vague impression that she had just woken up from a very long sleep in something like the Night Bus, and she was still recovering from the adrenaline rush.

That left her with the question: why had she had an adrenaline rush?

And then she remembered.

It had been rather a surprise, Hermione reflected, when they'd been caught a second time. And completely accidental, too, unlike the first - when it had been Harry triggering the taboo. They'd just happened upon a couple of Ministry officials out on a family camping trip when moving to their next destination - and the Ministry workers were just as dismayed to find themselves facing the infamous trio as the infamous trio was to be facing the Ministry workers. The Snatchers had been there in under a minute. By then there hadn't been any time to run away and the only thing they'd been able to do was run. Hermione remembered the feeling of utter panic when she set eyes on the sinister group. She didn't recall separating from Harry and Ron but the last she remembered the three of them were running side by side, before Harry ducked behind a tree and fell back and Ron's fiery red hair broke off to the left and Hermione was left on her own. And then of course she had jumped off a cliff and died.

She was so engrossed in her reminiscing that it was rather a shock to Hermione's system when she realised that her being in a hospital only meant one thing: she had been found. And the disinfectant smell, obviously supplied by her imagination and therefore emphasising the lack of disinfectant smell, meant that she was in a Wizarding hospital. Which meant that she had been found by wizards. And as she was not only a muggle born, and therefore running from the law and technically a fugitive anyway, she was also widely known to be accompanying, aiding and assisting Undesirable Number One and therefore if she was in a WIZARDING hospital it meant she was also in custody and she was going to Azkaban and her wand was going to be broken in half and there was no way around it.

That was around the time she had to mind-slap herself to prevent a hyperventilation right then and there.

Hermione decided now was about the time to move her neck and check out this supposed hospital, but she was a little afraid of what she'd see. Prison bars? A cell door? Armed guards? Death Eaters? Dementors? Umbridge?

Somehow the thought of having that infuriating toad of a woman be the first person to greet her was even more terrifying than the thought of Dementors and Hermione had to mind-slap herself again to gain control of the situation.

She slowly turned her head to the side, wincing as it popped at the movement. What she saw startled her so much that she sat straight upright, triggering an incredibly intense pain in just about every part of her body and completely distracting her from the situation at hand.

But then she focused again and blinked, bemused. She saw something she would not have expected in ... ever. TheHogwartsHospital Wing.

'Uh ...' The sound escaped her lips before she could help it and before Hermione knew it a kind-faced, motherly woman in a ridiculously large nurse hat bustled out of her office at the side, confirming years of myths that that woman had the hearing of a bat.

Madam Pomfrey made a beeline to Hermione and it wasn't until the girl had looked more closely that she realised there was something very wrong. Because there were lots of things war could do to a person, and losing all your wrinkles and gaining smoother, younger skin was not one of them.

This was a younger Pomfrey.

Hermione sat there, her mouth hanging open slightly and her mind working at full capacity to determine what exactly was going on here - because one thing Hermione didn't like not knowing was what was going on. Of course, she mostly didn't like not knowing something at all so not knowing what was going on was even worse.

Hermione realised she was mind-rambling again and mind-slapped herself. Again.

Meanwhile, Younger Pomfrey was pulling vials and bottles out of thin air and plumping the pillows and pushing Hermione gently but firmly back so that she was lying against her now-sufficiently-plumped pillows, and generally multitasking like there was no tomorrow. She didn't say anything, and Hermione decided to test the waters.

'Um ...' she began, but was cut off when a large spoon filled with a transparent, disgusting liquid was stuck in her mouth and a cool hand placed itself on her forehead.

'No talking now, dear. Your throat is inflamed and you need to rest.' Younger Pomfrey stated firmly. 'Your injuries are quite extensive, but we'll have you healed in a day or two, don't worry. Bed rest is what you need. You're severely dehydrated, physically exhausted and far too underweight. Some of your injuries are even more serious but we'll address them when you're feeling better. There are quite a few cuts that I'm afraid aren't going to be able to heal with magic and you'll have a few scars but not to worry now; you're lucky to be alive. Thank goodness those boys found you or I'm not sure you would have made it through the night.'

The spoon was removed and Hermione was free to talk again, although she had a bitter taste in her mouth. 'Excuse me,' she began politely, because her mother had always taught her that manners were important no matter the situation and old habits died hard, 'but I'm not quite sure what's going on. Who found me? And where did they find me? And what -'

'Uh, uh, uh! No talking!' Exclaimed Younger Pomfrey. Hermione obediently shut her mouth because really, she knew from experience, you never got in the way of Madam Pomfrey - Younger or no.

'You're at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, dear. My name is Madam Pomfrey. You were found on the edge of the grounds, just inside the wards, by a pair of boys that, goodness knows, shouldn't have been wandering around at all hours of the morning ... but it's lucky they were. They brought you to me.'

Hermione frowned when Younger Pomfrey introduced herself because she certainly hadn't been gone long enough to be forgotten by the mediwitch - but then an idea formed in her mind and she didn't like it one little bit. Third Year came back to her and she felt the blood drain from her face.

'Madam Pomfrey?' She squeaked.

Younger Pomfrey looked at her sternly at the sound of her voice, but motioned for her to continue nonetheless.

'What -' she took a deep breath, 'What date is it, please?'

'It's the 20th of December, dear. Are you quite alright?' There it was, that hand at her forehead again, but Hermione barely noticed. She didn't know the date of the day they were chased by Snatchers, but it had been winter, so that fit. Only ...

'And the year? Madam - Madam Pomfrey?'

The mediwitch began waving her wand over Hermione's head in twirl-y movements, before looking Hermione in the eyes. 'It's 1977, dear. Do you feel dizzy at all?'

The noise that came from Hermione next, she often reflected afterwards, sounded an awful lot like a strangled chicken. Younger Pomfrey was quite alarmed.

'What's wrong, child? What's the matter?'

Hermione, however, wasn't listening. She was focusing rather intensely on her breathing and staring intently at her clenched fists on the bed covers to avoid hyperventilating.

...Further. To avoid hyperventilating further.

A sharp clap jolted Hermione out of her reverie and she hesitantly looked up at Younger Pomfrey who was staring at her shrewdly, as though solving a puzzle. Eventually she asked, 'What is your name?'

'I - I can't -'

'I'm checking for concussion, child, not interrogating for evidence, so unless you want to put yourself in more unnecessary danger then I suggest you answer my questions.' Younger Pomfrey interrupted sharply. 'Name?'

'Her - Hermione.' Hermione stuttered.

'Do you remember how old you are?'

'Seventeen,'

Younger Pomfrey nodded briskly and held up a hand with three fingers raised. 'How many fingers am I holding up?'

'Three,'

'Right; I don't think there's any immediate danger. Now drink this. The Headmaster Albus Dumbledore would like to see you later, but first you need rest.'

Hermione was presented with a potion she knew to be Dreamless Sleep and, loathe as she was to take it, did as she was asked. As soon as the potion had passed her lips her mind caught up with Younger Pomfrey's words and her eyes widened.

'Dumbled-' But before she could exclaim further the potion took its hold and she fell back into the darkness.


Albus Dumbledore was having quite an unusual day. Not that he would be complaining - he revelled in unusual days (although really, what day wasn't unusual when you were the Headmaster of a centuries-old school for witches and wizards?) and the spontaneity they brought with them. But all the same, some recent events had been quite alarming.

Firstly, the Chudley Cannons had come dangerously close to winning a Quidditch Game that weekend; something that had shocked even the twinkle out of Dumbledore's eye. As a firm supporter of the Holland Harpies, it came as a blow to discover that they had nearly been beaten by a team as useless as the Cannons.

Secondly, it had been reported that Professors Kettleburn and Evergreen had been chanced upon, by a student, engaging in ... intimate relations ... behind the green house. Professor Evergreen had, of course, been profusely apologetic - Dumbledore doubted anything of the sort would have been tolerated at her old school: a nunnery in the East. But Kettleburn had seemed very pleased with himself. Of course the whole staff knew that he had been attempting to "woo", as he put it, the attractive Herbology professor ever since she had arrived and even with his assortment of missing limbs and grotesque scars it seemed he had gotten his woman. Wonders would never cease.

Of course, there was that business about a mysterious girl turning up inside the school wards; beaten and bloodied to within an inch of her life, but Dumbledore had every faith that the whole affair was just the strange magic of Hogwarts at play again. The girl was obviously young enough to be a student, and in dire need of help, and, as he always said, at Hogwarts help did come to all those who asked for it. Truth be told, he wasn't that worried about it (although he would be interested to have a chat with the girl when she was deemed fit for visitors by their incredibly talented, but also extremely patient-protective mediwitch).

But that mess with the Chudley Cannons, that really was an emergency ...

Dumbledore spent all morning sitting at his desk, writing lots of letters strictly on a "need-to-know" basis that could potentially create quite a bit of trouble for a number of Order of the Phoenix members if the information the letters contained was learned by the wrong people. He had a conversation with Kingsley Shacklebolt, a very promising young Auror trainee and spoke with Minerva about whether or not they should consider insisting keeping children at Hogwarts in any future holidays, what with the worrying activities going on outside the haven the school provided. It was currently, of course, Christmas holidays, and they eventually agreed to let it all play out and see what the self-proclaimed "Lord Voldemort" did next.

Dumbledore didn't pretend not to be concerned about Tom.

So, after quite a productive and busy morning, Dumbledore ambled into happily into the Hospital Wing and kindly ordered Madam Pomfrey to allow him to see the patient. And that's where his day took a turn for the unexpected ...


After Hermione had woken up, she had taken very good use of the exercise of B-R-E-A-T-H-I-N-G. Apparently it helped quite a lot with stress. Who knew, eh?

She thought a lot while she was waiting for Dumbledore to arrive, and by the time he did Hermione thought she had a theory of how she had somehow ended up here, at Hogwarts, in the past.

Then he was standing in front of her and the theory flew from her head.

'Oh my God!' She breathed involuntarily, not even realizing she was staring.

'The pleasure is all mine.' Dumbledore said amiably, his damn eye twinkling. He sat down comfortably on a chair next to her bed. 'Although I must say you've given us all quite a shock. Miss ...?'

'Granger, sir. Hermione Granger.' Hermione responded immediately. 'But there's something you need to know -'

'Oh, I dare say. You did, after all, manage to break into my school while apparently injured and barely of age. Not an easy task, that, and you, my dear, managed it in one night. So, where have you come from? If you don't mind my asking, of course.'

'Well, sir, you see ...'

'Yes, Miss Granger?' He prompted, giving her that impression of being able to see right through her.

'This is a delicate situation.' She managed to say. Hermione knew that she couldn't lie to Dumbledore, but every fibre of her body was protesting at breaking such important rules - rules of such magnitude that they could change the face of the world as she knew it. Don't tamper with time. Not unless you're saving your best friend's convicted murderer godfather from the Dementor's Kiss on Hippogriff, of course. Everybody knew that exception.

Dumbledore kept looking at her expectantly. Hermione swallowed.

'Professor, I understand this is going to sound crazy, but ... I'm from the future.'

There was a pause.

Hermione felt compelled to bite her lip, but refrained because it had only just been reduced to normal size. All the same, the anxiety was killing her. What if he didn't believe her? What if he thought she was crazy? What if -

'That is just as I was expecting.' Dumbledore said finally, smiling genially and appearing as though everything was hunky-dory. Which for him, of course, it probably was.

'It - it is?'

'Of course! I wasn't sure, at first ... but you see my dear, very strong magic was involved with your arrival last night. Hogwarts has a mind of its own, often, and I believe something led it to come to the conclusion you were needed here. After all you, being English as I can tell from talking to you, should logically be attending my school. And yet nobody in a two hundred mile radius has heard of you! You can imagine my astonishment,' his voice turned slightly more serious, 'when I came to my conclusion. But it does fit, doesn't it?'

Hermione looked at him, astonished. 'I wasn't sure you'd believe me.'

He just smiled, and produced a lemon drop from inside his robes. He popped in into his mouth, still smiling at her.

'But professor, surely you must know what this means!' Hermione continued, feeling the panic coming back to her. 'You, in this time, are on the brink of war. You're in war. Can't you see? So many of you are dead, so many of you have turned to Voldemort ... I can't be here! I could change the future and erase my friends, or erase me, or completely destroy -'

'Now, now, Miss Granger, I wouldn't be so hasty.' Dumbledore interrupted gently. 'Have you much experience with Time Turners?'

Hermione nodded thickly. 'I used one in my third year to get to my classes.'

Dumbledore nodded. 'Well, surely you understand. You would have changed the course of the future just by using your Time Turner. And yet, look - it didn't have any noticeable consequences at all. Now I know,' he added quickly, when Hermione opened her mouth to challenge this, 'that you will have been taught that tampering with the future has catastrophic consequences. 'However, it does not do nearly so much as we may think. After all, if you change the future, won't it have already been changed when you were born; leading the future you know of to be a direct result of the changes you made?'

'But what if I do change something, Professor? That theory can't be conclusive. What if it's wrong and I do change something and I ruin everything?' Hermione protested weakly, wringing her hands.

Dumbledore, to his credit, didn't seem to be too frazzled by the distraught teenager. 'I highly doubt you will.' He said soothingly, placing his fingertips together contemplatively under his chin. Hermione took a moment to wonder how this was possible with no desktop to rest his elbows on. She put it out of her mind. 'I think you'll find the world works in mysterious ways, Miss Granger. Fate does, often, have a habit of getting its way in the end.'


'See, that's why I like Dumbledore so much.' Taite smiled, this time biting into an orange; that same fond smile on her face.

Faye clicked her tongue impatiently, but she didn't seem to be able to help the smile creep onto her face. 'You just like him because Godric mentioned him that time.'

Taite turned bright red, the orange disappearing in a puff of smoke. 'Faye! I don't know what you mean! Why would Godric's opinion matter so much to me?'

She did not look like she wanted to hear the answer.

Luckily she was spared having to when Marjorie appeared out of seemingly nowhere, this time accompanied by a thin, bent over man with large bags under his eyes and a long, crooked nose. He looked at them all blandly. 'Marjorie mentioned something about a leak.'

'Oh yes, thank you, Truman.' Taite said; smiling and looking a little relieved at the interruption. 'It's just over there.' She pointed into the sky, although it was really just white like the rest of their surroundings, where a little patch of sunlight could be seen shining through what looked like a hole, about the size of a tennis ball.

Truman shuffled over to the hole, reached up laboriously and pulled down, and the hole in the air was stretched down to where he was standing. He then set to work with a needle and thread.

The three women watched on blankly, as though they'd seen this enough times already and didn't really care but didn't have anything else to do. Marjorie cleared her throat.

'So, how is that Granger girl going?'

'Oh, she's going marvellous, Marjorie!' Gushed Taite.

Faye rolled her eyes. 'She's figured it out, if that's what you mean. Dumbledore too. He seems to think that it's thanks to Hogwarts and its magic that she was sent there.' She smirked. 'I wonder if he'll ever cotton on and realise that it's just us whenever he tries to blame his stupid old castle.'

'TheHogwartsCastlehas extremely powerful magic ingrained deep within its structure,' argued Taite, 'but you're right. The limit of its powers is that marvellous Room of Requirement, and things like that. The ceiling of the Great Hall is quite impressive, too.'

Marjorie snorted.

Truman pulled the thread tight and cut it off, before "letting go" of whatever it was he was now holding and shuffling back to the women. He looked at them. They looked back. It was a bit of an awkward moment.

'Well, thank you Truman!' Taite eventually said; the cheerfulness seeming a little forced at his bland stare. 'That'll be all.'

He nodded stiffly and before they knew it he was gone.

Marjorie sniffed. 'I don't like him very much.'

'Oh, Marjorie.' Taite sighed wearily. 'You don't like anyone very much.'


For every review I get, I will update faster. That is not bribery, it is simply information for you to know ... :P

Has anyone made the connection between 'Faye' and 'Taite' yet? As in 'Faye-Taite'? As in 'Fate'? I know, it doesn't really work spiffingly well, but I had to give them names, guys, jeeze! Marjorie just kind of happened. I don't know where she came from, but she's a bit like Snape, isn't she? Teehee ...

Thanks for reading,

Riley Erin :)