Author's Note: If you made it to chapter two, YOU ROCK! It all gets better from here. Pinky promise.
-.-.-
Thursday. July 10, 1975.
Hermione stood in a bedroom, presumably her own, in this life. It was tidy, just as her old one had been. Baby-pink walls enclosed her, and although her furnishings were only the necessary ones, they were beautifully ornate. The bedframe was of white iron, while the nightstand, armoire and desk were white-painted wood with white iron legs and feet. It was classy and tasteful, but reminded Hermione of a snobby hotel room.
She walked up to the writing desk by a window and picked up a newspaper she hoped was recent.
TRAGEDY STRIKES LOCAL FAMILY
A young student, Hermione LaBaugh, 15, has been orphaned after a plane crash in Nantes, France kills her parents and 6 others. Antonio and Marie LaBaugh, originally from Cuckfield, West Sussex, England, were aboard a Beech 99 aircraft on July 2. The plane's itinerary states it was heading for Brest.
A thorough investigation by local police department states, "Engine #2 failed, causing the aircraft to crash just after take-off before engulfing in flames."
The department's spokesperson offered this quote: "While we are happy to reveal the pilot was not intoxicated in any way, this disaster has affected us all. There is no evidence of foul play in or around the crash site. Our hearts go out to the victims and their families."
Hermione LaBaugh was the daughter of the pilot and stewardess. She is a student of an exclusive private school, and, as there was no next-of-kin listed in her parent's Last Will and Testament, she will be placed in an orphanage until she reaches legal age.
There was a still photograph of her parents, dressed cleanly in their uniforms. The paper was dated July 4th, 1975. According to the calendar on the wall she hadn't noticed before, today's date was Thursday, July 10th. I've gone back almost twenty-two years, she thought to herself.
Hermione continued to rifle through the desk, looking for more clues as to what to do next. Her nervous fingers sent a neat stack of papers to the floor. As she picked it up, she noticed an envelope with familiar handwriting across the front.
Dear Miss Hermione LaBaugh,
Upon speaking with the Minister of Magic, it has come to my attention that many Wizarding families have offered to take you in; this would eliminate an orphanage as your future home, if you so wish. After much skepticism and interviews, I have narrowed it down to five families.
I hope to give you guidance in this decision. I have temporarily connected your fireplace to the Floo Network, and will arrive at quarter-past four in the afternoon, on the 10th day of July to discuss your options.
Please accept my sincerest apologies for your loss, and remember: It does well to find light in the darkest of times, in fear of being encased in sorrow forevermore.
Dutifully Yours,
Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore
Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
The familiar school seal was impressed onto red wax, and Hermione couldn't help but smile.
"Oh, Professor, you are always looking out for students, no matter what else on your plate." She said to no one.
As if the words just hit her, Hermione looked for a clock. It was just after three o'clock; she had time to look around and think of what to do next. She took another look around her room, noticing a white trunk in the corner next to the door. It creaked loudly as she raised the top, and peered inside hopefully.
The items inside were as neatly stacked and organized and the room it sat in. Not unlike my old self, she thought. Hermione rummaged through the contents, finding only textbooks, parchment and a few quills. Not a single picture, note, or keepsake found homage in her trunk. A sad lurch in her chest brought realization: Hermione didn't have any friends at her school.
School… her school… What school did she go to? The article had mentioned a private school, and curiosity ached inside her. She took the few steps towards the armoire and found light blue, silk dress robes neatly hanging there.
Beauxbatons… Hermione's nose wrinkled in abhorrence. At least now she understood why she didn't have any friends. From what she remembered in her fourth year, Beauxbatons students were rather stuck up and, although very keen on politeness, found other ways to make someone feel lonely. She remembered the students being cold towards her fellow Hogwartians, save for the few who danced with Seamus and Parvati.
Hermione sat cripplingly on the foot of her bed, and sighed with nostalgia. She missed her friends: Harry and Ron the most. She missed her parents – her real parents. She missed so much from her old life; silent tears began to stream from her eyes.
Sorrow overcame her, and Hermione lay down, snuggling with the feather-down pillow as she cried heavier. She may never see them again. Even if she does, she could never be friends with them, more of an aunt, really.
A roar from downstairs brought her back to her senses. Hermione noisily blew her nose into a nearby handkerchief and wiped her eyes at an attempt to remove all evidence of her emotional breakdown. Hurrying to meet Professor Dumbledore, she took the stairs two at a time.
"Good afternoon, Miss LaBaugh. Pleasure to meet you, although I do wish it were under better circumstances." Said a warm, familiar voice. Hermione smiled, happy to see the Headmaster alive.
"Hello, sir. Thank you for coming."
"May we sit? I am getting rather old, you see."
"Oh, yes, of course, sir."
Dumbledore sat in a black and white gingham wingback chair, and Hermione settled herself onto the couch across from him.
"Beautiful home you have here, Miss LaBaugh. I do not wish to be impolite, but we do have rather important business to attend to." Hermione nodded with thin lips, and he continued. "As you'll remember from my owl, I have spoken to the Minister of Magic about your, ah, situation. As you are muggle-born, and no family members to speak of, an abundance of Wizarding families stepped up to take you in. This is, of course, your choice."
Hermione wasn't sure how to respond. "That's very kind of them, sir. I think-" she paused for a moment, and compared her alternate choice. "I think that would fit me very well." She gave him a weak smile. He returned the gesture, and a twinkle in his eyes brought comfort to Hermione.
"Excellent. Well, there were about twenty families to write to the Minister of Magic, but I have taken it upon myself to whittle it down to five." Dumbledore reached into his pocket, procured a file from it, and opened it. "These families include: the Langs, who have grown children now; the Quinces, have no children; the Longbottoms, they have a son a year ahead of you at Hogwarts; the Potters, a son in your year; and the Sorrell family, four children, three of which attend Hogwarts."
Dumbledore placed the file on the coffee table and rotated it to face Hermione. Pictures and parchments stared back at her, but she did not reach for them.
Hermione's thoughts were clouded with awe. Longbottom? Neville's grandmother! Potter? Harry's family! After a few deep breaths, she calmed her mind and spoke evenly."Sir, did any of the families from my previous school… er… Did any of them offer-" Dumbledore's expression turned solemn, and cleared his throat quietly.
"Well… No, Miss LaBaugh, they were," he seemed to choose his words carefully, "They were very touched by what happened to your family, but-"
"You don't have to be nice about it, Professor. I know I didn't have any friends there." It was the first time Hermione had ever interrupted the Headmaster, and was almost shocked at herself for doing so. No matter, she thought, the truth is better than a sugar-coated lie.
Dumbledore said nothing, but glanced at the file between them. "All of the families before you are very nice, and have comfortable means of taking care of you. They are all prepared to take you in at a moment's notice."
Her eyes glistened with tears she refused to shed. Swallowing hard, Hermione spoke. "I've heard of a few of them," she said with a nod, "but know none of them personally. I would truly appreciate your guidance, Professor Dumbledore."
While his face was still sad, he offered a small smile to comfort her. "I would recommend the Sorrells, the Longbottoms, or the Potters. Family is a very important thing in my book, and I daresay you could use some love and attention at this very trying time."
Moments passed in silence as the gears in Hermione's head turned. Her plans to change time must be calculated with utmost consideration. More questions of this new life reeled her: Why was there no one as her parents' next-of-kin? What would happen to the house? Did she have to go to, (or in other's eyes, go back to) Beauxbatons?
"The Potter family. I- I choose the Potters." Hermione said shakily.
"We can arrange for you to move as soon as you are ready, physically and emotionally. Also, seeing as you will be moving back to England, it would be against the schools' agreement that you continue to attend Beauxbatons."
Hermione's eyebrows furrowed in confusion, "I'm sorry?"
"Hogwarts is for young witches and wizards who reside in Great Britain and Ireland." Dumbledore paused, looked thoughtful, and began to speak as if to himself, "Well, we've never had a transfer student, so perhaps we can make an exception? This is a rather gray area, have to check the by-laws and such…"
Hermione seemed to understand, "Not to worry, Professor. I have no problem transferring."
Dumbledore clapped his hands together and stood. "Excellent, excellent! Well, whenever you are ready, Miss LaBaugh, please feel free to owl me any time."
"How long?" she asked.
The Headmaster's eyebrows rose, but in alarm or confusion, she did not know. "Miss LaBaugh?"
"H-How long do you think it would take me to move there? I'd rather not stay here anymore. It… um… It's hard." she lied. "It's lonely and I could do with something to keep my mind off of everything."
Harry's voice reminded her that Dumbledore knew Legilimency, and she attempted to close her mind. Blank, nothingness, absolute oblivion. She doubted it worked; it would take months if not years of practice Occlumency, but it was worth a shot.
Dumbledore snapped his fingers and a House-Elf appeared with a distinct pop. "Zippy, please help Miss LaBaugh pack anything she wishes to take with her."
"Yes, sir, anything for Master Dumbledore, sir!" Zippy replied in a squeaky voice. He bowed low to the old wizard and stood giddy in front of Hermione.
Dumbledore smiled warmly, "Hermione, perhaps you can show Zippy the way to your room."
She bit her lip to keep from speaking, took the House-Elf upstairs and they packed quickly. The items fit easily into a set of wheeled luggage found in a hall closet: muggle clothes, travelling cloaks, school items, and anything that may have looked important in this new life. Just as the last possessions were stored away, Hermione stepped into the bathroom for any toiletries. She smelled the shampoo and bar of soap in the shower, but it was too flowery and she decided to leave it. With a final turn to grab her toothbrush, Hermione saw herself in the mirror for the first time.
Her usual golden brown, frizz-ball hair was slightly less wild; it was still crazier than most girls', but it was an improvement. There was more gold in it than she was used to (but deduced the southern France sun was the culprit) and it reached just passed her shoulders in the same usual curls. Her usual dirt-brown eyes were closer to a cinnamon with gold flecks, and her nose was slightly shorter. Light freckles dotted her cheeks – the same freckles from the childhood she remembered in her old life – but her cheekbones were slightly more prominent. All in all, she could recognize herself in the mirror, but the Hermione that hadn't been born yet could not be discerned easily to others who would know her in the coming years.
I must have a different gene pool. Similar, maybe, or possibly a relative… Zippy snapped his fingers and the luggage was downstairs. Hermione became aware of her surroundings again, grabbed the clutch with her 1997 items, and followed the stairs to the lower floor.
"Thank you, Zippy," she said with a large smile. "I really appreciate your help."
The House-Elf smiled wide and bowed to her, "Zippy is glad to be of service to the Headmaster and the students of Hogwarts. Zippy looks forward to seeing Miss Hermione LaBaugh at Hogwarts, yes he does!"
"That is all, Zippy, thank you." Dumbledore said softly. With final bow to Dumbledore, Zippy Disapparated with a pop.
Dumbledore shrunk the luggage and white school trunk and put them in his pocket. "Have you ever used Floo Powder, Hermione?" She thought for a moment, which seemed too long for Dumbledore. "Perhaps Side-Along Apparition would be better." He offered his arm to her, and she took his elbow. "Hold very tight, dear, and try to keep your mind blank."
With the Apparition test still fresh in her mind, Hermione felt the familiar sensation overcome her. She felt as though she were being sucked into a rubber tube, slipping faster…faster…
-.-.-
"Charlus, oh, Charlus they're here!" a feminine voice called from the next room over.
"Coming, Dorea!" replied a hearty male one. Hermione released Dumbledore's elbow just as an older-looking witch came rushing in.
"Oh, you must be Hermione! I am so glad you have decided to come live with us, dear! So glad! Charlus! Are you coming?" she shouted.
Dumbledore placed the luggage and trunk on the floor and returned them to their original sizes.
"Right here, darling. Albus! Thank you so much for escorting her. Hermione, oh what a beautiful girl! Welcome, welcome. Please, don't be shy."
This was too much, far too much for her to take in right away. Mr. and Mrs. Potter were older than she expected them to be, each with heads of gray hair and warm, yet wrinkled faces. She tried to smile, but felt so strangely out of place.
"I'm Dorea Potter, and this is my husband, Charlus. We have a son too," she said, looking around, "but Merlin knows where he is right now. Probably practicing Quidditch in the backyard…" her voice drifted.
"Hello," Hermione said plainly. She wanted to be polite, but it was such a strange feeling, seeing Harry's grandparents, alive and healthy…
There was a stomping noise coming in through another door, and a boy came in covered in dirt and sweat. His hair was a mess of jet-black, crooked glasses sat on his nose hiding hazel eyes. Harry! No... No, of course not! James. Hermione's head was screaming. Her expression must have reflected her thoughts because Mr. Potter laughed.
"Don't be frightened, dear. That's just our son."
Mr. Potter walked towards James and clapped a hand on his shoulder, "Hermione, this is James, he's in your year. James, this is Hermione. This is the young lady we've been talking about. She'll be living with us from now on. Why don't you help take her things up while the adults talk?"
James smiled, grabbed the trunk and larger suitcase and headed up the grand staircase. Hermione took hold of the smaller piece and followed.
Twenty-two steps led them to a large hallway with doors on every side. The walls were a soft blue, decorated with beautiful landscape paintings. Wooden floors were muffled by a long, narrow rug running the length of the hall.
"This one's my room," James piped, pointing to the first door on the right. The door was white, but barely visible because of the 'Go Gryffindor!' and lion banners that adorned it. "Second door's a linen closet, third's a spare for guests. Your room is right across from mine. Past yours are more guest rooms and a loo. We both have our own loo and balcony. My parents are pretty loaded, so I'm spoiled," he added with a smirk. "Well, I guess they're our parents now…"
James opened the door to Hermione's new room. The shock of it made her gasp loudly.
The sunlight streamed through the balcony's French doors, shining golden streams on the floor and walls. While there was only a bed against the left wall, the room was as spacious as her entire dorm room in Gryffindor Tower. And she didn't have to share it.
The room itself was at least forty feet long and thirty feet wide. When she walked in, a door immediately to the left was a full bathroom, complete with a white sink, toilet, and claw foot tub. There were built-in bookshelves on the right wall across from the bed, and although they were bare, Hermione couldn't wait to fill them. There was a small alcove in the middle of the bookshelves, a perfect spot for reading, if she ever found time in her new life. This bedroom was a clean slate, and she had a feeling Mr. and Mrs. Potter were going to press her to decorate as she wanted.
James set the trunk at the foot of her bed, and wheeled the suitcase into a door across from the bathroom, which she was right to assume was a closet.
"Mum said she'll take you to Diagon Alley – that's in London – to pick out furniture and clothes and all that girly non-sense." His demeanor was serious but his lop-sided grin gave his true feelings away. Hermione turned to face him, and he suddenly looked very uncomfortable.
He ruffled the hair on his head, (very unlike Harry, she thought) and leaned against the back wall. "Look, I'm sorry about your parents. I can't imagine losing mine, and you must be really upset… but I hope you like it here. Mum and Dad are really great, so is Hogwarts. You'll love it. I'll have to introduce you to my friends next month when we go to get our books and stuff for school."
Hermione smiled, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from crying. "Thank you, James. I really appreciate your help."
He looked torn between hugging her and running away. Instead he nodded, glanced away from her nervously, and left the room, carrying his broomstick in one hand.
Deciding to leave the door open, Hermione went back down to become more acquainted with Mr. and Mrs. Potter.
A roar of green flames told her she missed saying good-bye to the Headmaster. She felt slightly sad to not get the chance, but another voice brought her back to the living room.
"Oh, it's nearly six-thirty already! Hermione, dear, are you hungry? Dinner's in a few minutes; why don't you wash up and tell James? We can learn all about each other while we eat."
Mrs. Potter rushed towards a double-swinging door that turned out to be a kitchen. Hermione did as she was told – washed up, sought James, and arrived in the dining room just as the food was being placed on the table.
-.-.-
Dinner was a blur for Hermione. Questions whizzed out to her like rapid-fire, and she answered to the best of her ability.
No, she had no living relatives. Yes, Beauxbatons was lovely. "Of course!" (she squeaked excitedly) she looked forward to attending Hogwarts very much in September.
Constantly being told to refer to Mr. and Mrs. Potter by their first names, the environment was relaxed, but exciting.
"Now, Professor Dumbledore has decided you will be Sorted into a House in a few weeks. He'll send an owl when he gets a chance." Hermione nodded, listening intently to everything they said, but also not really catching it all. The meal had lasted longer than normal, considering all the questions and talking, so it wasn't until past eight o'clock when they finished.
"Just leave your plate, dear. Mopsy will clean it up."
Another House-Elf? Oh, I hope they treat her right… As soon as the words crossed her mind, the House-Elf appeared next to her and curtsied gracefully. Where Kreacher had a disgusting loin cloth, Mopsy had a pillowcase. It was not ragged or dirty, but rather looked very clean and freshly ironed. There were no swearwords to escape her mouth, but instead a toothy smile so large, it wrinkled the skin around her tennis-ball eyes.
"Thank you, Mopsy." Hermione said, offering a warm smile.
"Mopsy is happy to help Hermione LaBaugh and her Masters, very happy!" All evidence of the three-course dinner disappeared.
"I'll take my tea in the sitting room please, Mopsy." Dorea said simply, rising from her chair.
"Yes Mistress, of course. Mopsy will bring her Mistress tea."
Everyone left the dining room for what Mrs. Potter called the sitting room (it felt more like an extra living room to Hermione!) and sat around a fireplace not unlike the one Hermione had arrived in.
"Mum, can I skip tea tonight? I was just going to write to Sirius and-" Hermione couldn't listen even if she wanted to. The thump-thump of her heartbeat had become so loud; she thought her heart itself must have jumped up into her head.
Sirius, alive. James and Sirius: the best friends, the two dead Marauders, alive. Real, scarlet blood ran through their veins. Oxygen in their lungs…
"Yes, dear, of course. You'll catch him up to date then?" Mrs. Potter replied.
James was half-way up the stairs by the word 'catch', and shouted "Yes, Mum!" down the stairs.
Hermione sat uncomfortably across from Mr. and Mrs. Potter, feeling as if she were being scrutinized under their gaze. Mopsy set a tray of tea and cups on the table between them, and curtsied before disappearing again.
Dorea and Charlus smiled warmly at Hermione, and handed her a teacup. "I realize your room is rather bare, Hermione, but I thought you might want to decorate it to your preferences. Dumbledore told us what he knew of you: a bright young witch, aren't you? Top marks in all your classes, model student, zero detentions… You could give James some lessons." Charlus said, laughing.
Dorea swatted her husband playfully on the arm, "Don't be too harsh, Charlus." She turned to Hermione, "James is very smart…he just likes a bit of fun. Sometimes it gets in the way of his studies; perfectly acceptable behavior for a boy his age. Never been expelled, has he?" she directed her question to Mr. Potter, but a smile played at her lips.
Hermione smiled, enjoying the light banter between the older couple. She had never imagined Harry's grandparents before, and even if she did, would she have imagined these particular people, with their gray hair and quirky personalities? She doubted it.
"If you're up to it, dear, we can go to Diagon Alley tomorrow to start on your room. Or you can just relax for a while, I understand you are going through a very difficult time." Dorea said, leaning across the table to pat Hermione's hand gently.
Without a memory of her so-called parents, Hermione felt very little grief for their loss. It was a terrible accident, yes, but she did not feel a tug on her heartstrings when she read the names in the article. She did not cry because parents she never knew had died.
"Actually, Mrs. Potter- ("Dorea, please!") -I would love to go shopping with you tomorrow. Keep my mind off things, and I would love to see Diagon Alley." She offered a warm smile, and received one in return.
"Well, that settles it, then." Charlus spoke up. "Unfortunately, I have work tomorrow, so I will not be able to escort you beautiful ladies around. (Hermione blushed) Dorea, just tell the shopkeepers to take it out of our vault; it will save you at least an hour. I am going to retire for the night. Good evening, Hermione. I hope you find yourself at home."
"Thank you, Mr. Po- Charlus."
-.-.-
