Disclaimer: The entire Harry Potter universe belongs to JK Rowling

"If I have seen further it is by standing on ye shoulders of Giants"

- Isaac Newton in a letter to Robert Hooke


She is falling, falling far and falling fast. They slip by her, the tendrils and hooks, the whirls and loops...of time. She tries to get a grip on something, on anything...it all escapes through the gaps between her fingers. Something is behind her...coming after her.

She lands with a jolt on her feet. She is running on nothing but air and she cannot run fast enough. It chases her...it follows her. With claws, it grabs at her hair, it scratches her skin, it reaches for her throat...

She screams.

When Hermione opened her eyes, she gasped. In the darkness, she could see the outline of a face in front of her own.

"Something is not right." said a male voice, sounding as if he was observing her "You, are not right."

Two firm hands grasped her arms and pulled her to her feet. "Lumos," Hermione whispered, not at all liking the feeling of vulnerability the darkness gave her.

In the wandlight Hermione could see that he had long, lanky hair and a wild look about him. His jaw was square and his large nose seemed to fit his face well. He wore no clothes. In normal circumstances, she would look away for modesty's sake.

These, however, were not normal circumstances.

As her gaze traveled down his exposed flesh, she realized he was beautiful. Or at least his skin was. His face and chest were etched with scenes of melting snow, of blooming flowers, of little animals basking in the sun, of new life. It was a mural of spring being born from winter. Traveling down further, she saw that his upper body ended in an expanse of brown chocolate fur and legs that ended in...hooves. Hermione comprehended that he was not simply a man. He was a centaur.

He looked her up and down as she did him, but with more curiosity than outright surprise. "Your aura, it shimmers, it gleams. It swims into chaos and infinity."

Thoughtfully, the centaur rubbed his chin. He smiled lightly "I see. You are a traveler. You come a long way from home, and not alone." Not alone? Of course she had come alone. The centaur's next words made her forget that comment, however.

"And you come with a mission."

Hermione blinked. "I-well…yes you're right."

"What sort of mission, though? A mission to change the past? To rewrite that which has been set in stone?" he went on as if she had not spoken. "Are you so brave, to play with fire?"

A vague look of anger crossed his features for a brief moment and then disappeared. "No matter. What is done now has already been done, will be done. Everything has already been set in motion."

He offered her a hand "Come traveler. I can see it is my duty to bring you to your next destination."

Hermione took the hand, feeling amazed as she used it for assistance in getting onto the centaur's back. It was a great honor to be allowed a ride such as this. She was grateful as well, for it did not feel as though she had much energy to apparate anywhere.

Dazed and confused, mission momentarily forgotten, it took Hermione a few minutes to ask a rather important question. Destination had been about as easy to specify in the potion as time.

"Please tell me, where are we?"

"What you may know as the forbidden forest."

She breathed a sigh of relief. That part, the potion had gotten right, at least. Okay, now she just had to get to the castle and find Dumbledore.
Except…

"And the year?"

"Some may say 1942, but that is a foolish statement. The world is much older than that."

After he said "1942", Hermione had stopped listening. She froze, trying to recall exactly how many dragon scales she had put into the potion. Too many, apparently. A weak cry of astonishment escaped her lips. Merlin, over five decades! She nearly bit her tongue trying to stop herself from screaming. Draco had wanted her to brew the potion because she was supposed to be adept! What was this? What had gone wrong? Voldemort wouldn't even have any horcruxes yet! He'd be….

Hermione did the math. Tom Riddle would be fifteen, in his fifth or fourth year in Hogwarts. Hogwarts. That was where she was heading right now.

"And the month? The day?" She heard herself ask, a slight tremor in her voice.

"The 21st of August. Traveler, I see this is not where you intended to go, is it?"

"Where? Yes. When? Not at all." Hermione said. At least, the young Tom Riddle would not be there. The centaur went at a steady pace, which gave her time to form a story, of sorts.

Cowards can be very good liars when they have to be.

************LeftForDead************

Gradually, the trees thinned. Hermione found herself on the familiar outskirts of the forbidden forest. In the corner of her eye was Hagrid's hut. It would not be his hut now. Hagrid would be a student, for at least another year.
The Centaur kneeled to let her down.

"Thank you." She said "I know what an honor you have bestowed upon me."

He inclined his head.

"May I ask you a question?" Hermione took his silence for permission. "Do you see the future?" She had never put much stock in predictions until then (professor Trelawney's). She had even been largely skeptical over Harry's prophecy. Was it really the prophecy that drove him and decided his fate, or Harry's (and Dumbledore's) own belief in it? The centaur's words to her had been to eerie for her to ignore them, however.

He cocked his head to the side "I can see many futures."

"Do you see one in which I succeed in my mission?"

"I can see many futures." The centaur repeated "Inevitably evil will rise, and inevitably it will fall. You may succeed, or you may not. That changes nothing. Such is the way it goes." He turned away and began a gallop to the forest.

"Thank you." she said quietly to the space he had been.


Hermione neared the castle as the sun was rising. She had to stop a few times to catch her breath, not having entirely gotten over her injuries from the final battle in the last two months. It was not as if Draco could take her to a hospital wing, or that there was any wing to take her to anyway. She had a slight limp and her vision began to swim. She hoped that perhaps she could find a private practice in this decade, someplace that wouldn't spread about rumors of the girl with war wounds.

While she was sitting down on the grass, shivering even in the August heat, she bothered to wonder for the first time if anyone actually occupied the castle in the summer. At that moment, a figure came out of the castle. It began to approach her. Hermione smiled in recognition, and then found herself frowning. She had not seen Dumbledore die, but she had been to his funeral…she had heard his phoenix's cry.

This Dumbledore would not recognize her. So she banished the nostalgia and memory of his funeral from her mind as she concentrated on her story. As much as she wished to confide in her old professor, telling Dumbledore the truth did not make sense anymore.

In this decade, as oppose to the later ones she had been planning for, he knew no Hermione Granger, there were no Horcruxes, and no Harry Potter. It would all be too much to explain. There would be too much she could not prove.

Anyway, she knew perfectly well he was busy trying to stop a different Dark Lord from taking over the world. It was best not to involve him in this mess.

As Dumbledore approached Hermione, she noticed that his face did not have as many wrinkles, though there were plenty of worry lines. They became apparent as he looked down at her.

"This is quite an unexpected surprise. Are you hurt dear girl?" the words were soft, but Hermione noted the hard edge of suspicion behind them.
Hermione nodded. Gently, as Dumbledore was not in the habit of hurting any children, even ones he was not sure of, he helped her to her feet.

"Come then, we'll go to the hospital wing and you can explain to me how you managed to get through all of those wards."

************LeftForDead************

After assuring Dumbledore that her injuries were not serious enough to require a visit to the hospital wing and that she would indeed see a doctor soon, Hermione had to answer his question.

Having been thought up on the spot upon the back of a centaur, she hoped that her answer would be sufficiently innocent enough.

"I did not apparate. I walked, sir."

Wizards are so lazy, none would choose the long way to Hogwarts. Enough Wizards traveling though the Scottish countryside would be noticed by someone. Not one. One was harmless. As it was, the wards judged intent of the traveler as well as distance from the castle. It was rather believable. Except…

"Through the forbidden forest?" Obviously, he had seen her exit. Well, that helped her in other ways.

"I had help sir. I read in Hogwarts: A History a while ago that there are some magical creatures who help those with pure intentions navigate the forest." She knew of instances too, such as when Harry got lost his first year during detention with Hagrid and had that run-in with Voldemort. There was also the time in second year, when he and Ron were almost eaten by Aragog's family. That flying car could be considered a magical creature, especially once it had entered into the forest's fold.

Dolores Umbridge's fate in fifth year was an example of someone without pure intentions.

"Why not write for an apparation pass? Or come by floo?"

"Too risky sir, and it would have taken too long." She allowed a tremble to enter into her voice.

"It is Professor Dumbledore, please. Do explain your situation in more detail. I do not mean to pry, but the times call for a certain amount of caution….and suspicion." Dumbledore said, as they entered the castle. The last she had seen of the Great Hall, of its doorway, it had all been rubble. Everything was pristine, as perfect as her first night here when she was eleven. It was not sadness she felt now, but astonishment. and she could not afford to feel that now. She tried her best not to look at her surroundings and forced her gaze to stay on Dumbledore.

She paused for effect, and to collect herself. In her experience, hiding something from Dumbledore was not easy. Then again, he was younger here. It might not be so hard. "I was born in England. My dad is an entrepreneur, so we moved around a lot. The last few years, we have been in Italy. As you may know, Hitler and Grindewald both have been….busy there."

Hermione screwed up her face as much as possible, trying to look sad and troubled. It was harder than she would have thought. Her war was already over, all she could feel about it at the moment was loss and bitter resentment.

"My parents got on the wrong side of Grindelwald's followers there. I cannot say that they were particularly popular with the fascist government there either. They wanted to keep me safe, so they sent me on a boat to Scotland while they ran off to France. We couldn't risk floo or apparation. There are easy ways to track that. But walking? Muggle travel? Grindelwald's followers would never even think of that. I hoped Hogwarts would have a place for me, so I've been journeying through the countryside for a few weeks."

In her little bag, Hermione had the camping equipment in her enchanted bag to prove her story, if he questioned it. Instead, the younger Dumbledore offered Hermione a pat on her shoulder. "Yes. These are dark times we live in."

Hermione knew that that pat had a trace of guilt. Dumbledore now felt partially responsible for the break up of her family. It was something Hermione could use to her advantage to avoid suspicion with Dumbledore. She knew she should have felt bad over manipulating the man, but this was necessary. Anyway, it would save him from much more future guilt.

"Hogwarts has a place for all magical children in need. Worry not, you are welcome in these halls. I am sure that the headmaster will be happy to meet you now."

Belatedly, Hermione realized they had reached the two gargoyles.

"Gold crown." Dumbledore said to them. Up the familiar spiral staircase Hermione went.

************LeftForDead************

Dippet listened solemnly as Hermione explained her situation.

"Tell me, what magical education have you had up until this point, Ms. Evans?" It may have made sense to keep her last name, but Hermione could not be Hermione Granger here. Hermione Granger's parents were dentists. Her best friends were Harry Potter and Ron Weasley. She excelled in school. She wanted to work in the ministry when she graduated. Hermione Granger had seen war, death…..Hermione Granger had maimed and killed.

No, she could not afford to be a Granger any longer. She hoped Harry wouldn't mind a coward adopting his mother's maiden name. It was all she could think of on the spot.

"I always had a tutor in each country, and the tutor had textbooks." Hermione shrugged "I really do not know where I would place in a normal institution."

"And about how old are you?" he inquired.

"Um-"

"About fifteen?" Clearly, she had taken too long with her response as Dippet filled in for her. Actually Hermione was seventeen, but the last few months of malnutrition had made her look younger.

"Yes sir."

"Right, that would place you in 5th year. We just need to test you in some practical applications. I am sure you will do fine."

Hermione could have bitten off her tongue as she held back an alteration to her previous answer. Riddle would be in that year. How odd would it be to say: No, I'm really 16?

She decided, after a moment had passed that it would be too strange.

************LeftForDead************

Dumbledore tested her in Transfiguration. The test was not difficult, not after all of the transfiguration she had had to do with on the run. Not to mention, the extra two years of transfiguration she had over the average entering fifth year. She turned a cup into an owl, then a pen into a story book and finally a cat into a rock. It was all very temporary and simple. She did not mess up, not once. Dumbledore looked at her, most impressed and pleased. Hermione had the feeling that she had been supposed to mess up and that this test was actually too complicated for an entering fifth year.

Professor Slughorn asked her to brew a Dreamless Sleep potion, and then a Girding potion. For all that she had missed the mark on the Time Potion, those two were impeccable. She could practically see Slughorn's wheels churning in his head and he seemed about to demand her presence at the Slug Club right then and there. Thankfully, he controlled himself.

Professor Merrythought blasted hex after hex at Hermione. Each one she blocked with a different protective charm. She shot back a knee reversal hex, and several others. She did not win. She could have won, but Hermione decided that winning against a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor would have been too suspicious.

The staff had not bothered to test her in charms or history (though that was understandable. Hermione found History to be a largely ignored subject. Afterall, they allowed a ghost to teach it), or in any non-core subjects. She frowned. Perhaps she had done too well. Attracting attention was not what she had been aiming for She had simply wanted to do well. Hermione decided that might have to change her habits.

"Wonderful, wonderful." Dippet muttered, going over her scores. He walked around to his desk to a shelf behind her. "Now, time to be sorted. Do you know about this process?"

Hermione nodded "Yes. Professor Dumbledore explained it to me." He had, but of course that was not really why she knew it.

"Good luck." The headmaster placed the hat over her head. It did not quite go over Hermione's eyes, as it had when she was eleven. Otherwise it was the same old (or rather, younger) hat as she soon heard the familiar voice in her head.

I see that I have done this already...or that will do it.

Yes, you will. I was a Gryffiindor as you can tell. This time willy you just place me anywhere but Slytherin?

Why? Oh I can see that when you were young, it would not have been the place for you. Now? You have ambition girl, great ambition. To save the world.

Not Slytherin. That goes against…the plan.

What plan? All I can see is stories, half truths and whole lies. There are no plans.

Slytherin is not the place for me. I thought you took choice into account. Hermione pointed out, remembering Harry's story.

Oh very well, stubborn girl. Take my advice then. You are surely aware that I have seen into the deepest part of the mind of each magical that child I have sorted since sorting began at this school.

So it would seem.

And that I recall each one.

I suppose.

As you proceed on your journey, consider that I have never sorted any who were pure evil. Oh some were dark. Some were mean. Some were cruel. Yet none could be called pure evil, not by me.

Even five years is a lot of time for someone to change, hat.

Five years is merely a blink of an eye.

For you.

The hat did not reply. Instead, it shouted "Ravenclaw!"

************LeftForDead************

Hermione stepped out of the fireplace and dusted off her muggle jeans, ripped and crumpled as they were. She limped out the door of the leaky Cauldron. All of those tests had zapped her already depleted energy. She shivered slightly as she had outside the castle.

She thought vaguely of her lie to Dippet, having said she was going to stay at the Leaky Cauldron for the time being. A room for ten days would probably cost about 7 galleons. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner would be served. In her money bag, there was an embarrassingly large amount of gold and silver, even after paying the Hogwarts tuition. Most of it had been Harry's. Now, Hermione thought sadly, it had become hers.

It would be all too easy to get a room upstairs of a good enough size. There would be a wardrobe which would be useless until she had some proper 1940's style clothing to wear (As it was, the wizards she encountered had though little of her jeans and t-shirt, but they had not been tipped off. What did they know of muggles?). There would be a nice soft bed, maybe even a little desk and chair.

Hermione didn't want that. How could she sleep well in such a structure when she had been living in a tent for nine months, and then a dungeon for two? And why did she deserve a nice bed, room, and meals anyway? She could do well enough in the tent.

With a last little bit of strength, Hermione apparated to somewhere along the English countryside, specifics were not exactly important. She opened her little bag, pointed her wand inside and said "Accio, tent."

After waving her wand to set it up, she entered it. Almost, it smelled like home. She went toward her usual cot, trying to ignore the empty ones. On the way there, she passed the kitchen, where she certainly did not ever make tea and laugh over some stupid boy with Ginny. And there were the chairs, where the twins never forced down their breakfasts in their hurry to reach the game. She saw the fireplace, where she had absolutely no memories of warming her feet by the fire with Harry and Ron.

Hermione felt a chill again as she sat on her cot. She cocked her head to the side. Were those whispers she heard? Forcefully, Hermione shook her head and did her best to forget those thoughts. She made sure the flaps were closed, dropped her bag, and gratefully fell sideways onto the cot, completely and utterly exhausted.

You come a long way from home….and not alone

She remembered the vague words right before sleep came.


They're so happy, so happy! She can feel her heart bursting. She turns to Ron, stands up on her toes and kisses him for the second time that night. It is exhilarating. Everyone is kissing someone. Everyone is shouting, crying. It is all so overwhelming. They cannot believe it.

And then the screaming starts. Behind Harry, a figure climbs to his feet. The followers come back as their master cackles his triumph.
Harry isn't fast enough….he falls.
Hermione screams until her throat is raw.

She runs. Something is following...is catching up...is grabbing...

When the sun broke through the window of the tent, Hermione immediately awoke. Caught up in the remnants of her dream, the warmth on her face confused her. She had had months of waking up in cold before-dawn mornings. She was more used to the stars than the sun. Then there was those two dark months in the dungeon….waking up was not really an issue then, as she never slept.

Her confusion led to fear and she reached for her wand, hidden underneath her bed. As her memories rushed back to her, she let out a sigh of relief. She was safe. Then she felt wracked with guilt. She did not deserve to be safe, to feel the sun on her skin. She had fled, she had seen those red eyes and run for the hills.

Molly Weasly, childless, husbandless, had fought on in spit of it all. Hermione could not run fast enough.

Coward. That is all she was and cowards did not deserve to live.

Hermione curled up into a ball on her bed and clenched her jaw. What was the point of it all? She was trying to rewrite history. The centaur had been right. Hermione was playing with fire and should would be burned.

************LeftForDead************

It was a long while before Hermione could force herself to get up and leave the tent.

She ate breakfast at a little café in Diagon Alley and read over her list of necessary school supplies. She supposed she would have to get fitted for her school robes first as she would need to pick them up later. She would also need muggle clothing of this time and era. Then there were books to be bought, parchment, quills, and a trunk.

This was going to be a busy week.

There was no Madam Malkin's in this decade, but there was a kindly old magical tailor not unlike Olivander. His shop was a few stories down from where Malkin's had been. Mr. Taylor's Tailor Shop, the sign above it read. He smiled at her in a vague way as she entered and gestured for her to stand on a stool.

"Hogwarts robes?" he asked. Hermione nodded.

"Arms out." he instructed as enchanted tape began to measure her quickly and efficiently. Hermione looked around, eerily reminded of the shop that had yet come into existence. It had been destroyed, she supposed, along with every other muggleborn friendly shop in Diagon Alley. There were the mirrors, the stools and the floating needles. She had to remind herself that one tailor shop in the Wizarding world must look just like another, no matter the time period.

About twenty minutes later, school robes carefully stowed away in her bag, Hermione was in Gringotts. She exchanged her wizard money for some current muggle currency. Then she was headed back to the leaky cauldron and on to muggle London.

************LeftForDead***********

In a little department store, Hermione found herself exasperated. Skirts and blouses, skirts and blouses! There were no jeans to speak of, and no t-shirts either. And the shoes! Could they make less comfortable shoes?

Hermione let out a huff in frustration as she considered abandoning this store altogether. Unfortunately, her jeans, t-shirt, and trainers had already drawn quite a bit of unwanted attention. They would not work at Hogwarts, nor in the muggle world she was planning to spend some time in over the next week or so (yes, a small plan was forming in her head. Really, it was the beginning of one. She had not thought beyond doing something constructive over the next 10 days).
No, for now the rest of her modern clothing had better stay safely tucked away in her enchanted bag, and off of her body.

The saleslady had heard her huff and was making a beeline for Hermione.

"What can I help you with, miss?" she glanced briefly at Hermione's clothing and her lips just slightly turned downwards.

"Trousers."

The saleslady narrowed her eyes at the request. "This is a ladies department store. And ladies do not wear trousers." Her words implied that perhaps Hermione was slightly less than a proper lady, and very unseemly. Hermione clenched her jaw, not used to admitting defeat, but she did not have that much of a choice. Transfigured clothes were too risky. The spell may wear out while she was not looking, in front of a muggle.

She supposed that she could conceal herself with a charm, but the thought of egg running down her back did not particularly appeal to her. The clothes would be useful in Hogwarts anyway for the slug club parties she would inevitably be invited to. The shoes would probably also have to be worn with the uniform.

"I guess I'll just have to wear skirts and blouses then." she waved vaguely at the racks in front of her "I'm a size six, and I like plain."

The saleslady nodded sharply as if she had just been given an order from a commanding officer. The next three hours were spent picking out a new wardrobe. The woman, Janice, insisted that she at least look at some of the clothes, and even try some on, though Hermione had little desire to do either. She had long ago lost any pleasure in clothes shopping.

The total amount came to not nearly as much as it would have been in her time, but Hermione was still grateful to have exchanged her money for some muggle money at Gringotts. She felt badly about confunding the woman over a matter of ration cards, but these were necessary enough to require the spell.

As Hermione left the store, she was already wearing one of her new outfits, horrible shoes and all. She ducked into an alley and used a spell to stuff her armfuls of clothes into her little bag. Then with careful concentration, Hermione apparated to her next destination.

The hat had been right of course, Hermione had no real plan. She was not quite over being thrust into the 1940s, when she had been expecting at most, the 1970s. Come to think of it, she had been expecting oblivion while Draco Malfoy of all people went off to save the world. Maybe then she wouldn't exist at all. In a way, she had been looking foward to the sweet ignorance of whatever happened to the people not involved in the actual act of time traveling themselves.

So Hermione was slowly getting over her shock and doing the only thing that she could think of doing. She did not actually know where the orphanage that the young Dark Lord resided was. So, she aimed for the center of London and started asking for directions. It was not that difficult despite Harry never bothering to name the place.

With so many children being shipped off to the countryside, there were not that many orphanages to search through, and only one matched Harry's description. As Hermione observed the institutions leading up to it, she could not help but tour this very alien London.

Perhaps it was because Hermione had been on the outskirts of muggle London before, but while at the department store, she had not noticed the difference between her own London and this one as much. She had been perfectly aware of the history of World War II, but it was an another thing entirely to witness it with her own eyes. First she noticed the bombed out buildings, which were jarring enough. To think, at any time an air raid siren could go off and Hermione would have to find bomb shelter.

She was used to danger of course, as used as anyone can ever be. London however, was a place she had considered relatively safe as the Wizarding World was plunged into darkness. Things made sense in muggle London while insanity overtook Hermione's second home with wizards.

Secondly, Hermione noted the lack of metal railings bordering parks and school yards, even some steps. She passed by a cemetery from which she could see some of the gravestones with large, squares around them where no grass was growing. Ah, they were needed for guns and ammunition, Hermione realized. The country was reusing the metal.

Then there were the allied soldiers (she noted, not many Americans, not yet. Had Pearl Harbor happened yet? She couldn't remember) and British soldiers on leave, all milling about. Some looked scared. Were those the ones about to be shipped off to the front? Some looked relieved. Were they the ones only just returning from death's door? Even some men in plain clothes, Hermione recognized as soldiers. The way they held themselves erect, that haunted look in their eyes, and that not so small amount of pride for having even a chance to defend their country.

Briefly, Hermione wondered if they recognized her as a soldier as well. But no, she hunched her shoulders. She walked slowly to hide her limp, there was no long, prideful stride. She looked down when people looked at her, when soldiers looked at her. Hermione did not believe herself to be like them, she could not even meet their eyes.

Surely, they would instead recognize her for the coward she was.

Seeing all of this destruction, a country clearly at war, and clearly afraid, seeing civilians looking up at the sky with slight trepidation whenever they heard a strange noise, Hermione could not believe that anyone dark lord or not, orphan or not, evil or not, would want to throw the entire world into another horrible war.

Yet, her knowledge went against her disbelief. Hitler had done it. Grindelwald was doing it. And Riddle would begin his own war by the late 70s, merely thirty or so years from now.

Eventually, she did reach that one right orphanage. From a nearby newsboy, she bought a paper and cast a variation of a two way mirror charm on it. Hermione sat down on a wooden bench from which she could see the place out of the corner of her eye. It bordered a railing free park. She put the paper in front of her face. This way, she could see the orphanage, but all anyone else could see would be her newspaper.

She watched the orphanage like a hawk, but her eyes did journey to the sidebars of the paper, the only parts she could read. One announced a parade for the American soldiers to be held in September. So Pearl Harbor had happened then.

Hermione glanced back at the orphanage. Truthfully, she had little idea of what Riddle looked like. However, no one other than a few workers from the red cross had gone in or out of that building. None of them looked like an evil little fifteen year old boy with a face like an angel and no heart to speak of. The hours passed on, and her legs began to fall asleep. The left leg that gave her her limp was to aching. As the sun set on her, Hermione had to admit defeat and head to an empty little alley to apparate back to her campsite. It was carefully concealed with charms and protections from prying eyes, both magical and muggle.

Back in her tent, Hermione sat heavily on her bed. A shiver went up her spine. She realized, now that she was not distracted by buying clothes or spying on a little Dark Lord, that it had again been unusually cold for a summer day. And the whispers….all the way out here in the middle of nowhere.

Was she going insane?

Hermione tried to banish the thoughts as she wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and stiffly pulled her leg up on the bed. She would really have to see someone about that in the next few days. Dumbledore might take her to the hospital wing when she returned to Hogwarts otherwise. It was hard for her to remember exactly what hex had been shot at her for that one. A degenerative one maybe? Her leg did seem to be getting worse.

She had managed to heal her open wounds, so at least there was no scar tissue to raise eyebrows. It was just the one leg and with all the walking she had done today she occasionally noticed her vision swimming again. Though, she was sure that was do more to her over exertion than anything else. It had not lasted for long, at least. If she smart about choosing it, a private practice would hopefully be prudent enough or busy enough not to question her too closely.

Hermione forgot about the whispers, the shivers, and the pain as she allowed herself to fall into a not so dreamless sleep.


Author's Note: Sorry, forgot to apologize in the last chapter about that bit of Latin at the end. I put down only what Google Translate gave me, which may or may not have been right. It meant something like: Go back to change. There could be many possible spells in that book. Go back to watch; Go forward to learn; Go across to hide; etc.

Also, I know that centaurs generally are not very fond of humans, but Firenze could not have been the first black sheep. Let's just imagine that the centaur is fascinated by her strange appearance in the forest, and sees that it is her fate to help her in her journey. The centaurs do have an ability for Divination. Additionally Hermione is very respectful towards him, and perhaps he recognizes that.

Finally, I apologize for any and all historical inaccuracies about London during World War II. I tried my best.