Hermione Granger understood many things, among them that you Did. Not. Mess. With. Time. Travel. And if you couldn't avoid time traveling, you didn't change events. She was rather well-read, after all, and no one could prove what would happen if you went back and interfered with the space time continuum. Why had she taken such a big risk in her third year last time? Assuming this was time travel. She assumed it was, but one could never be sure.

So she didn't get anything different from Diagon Alley, though she could remember her first year textbooks word for word. She didn't contact Harry or Ron, though she so dreadfully wished to. She didn't order the Prophet. And she ignored the pregnant cat wandering about Magical Menagerie, giving everyone scathing looks akin to the ones Crookshanks always threw around.

On September First, she boarded the train quickly. At least she didn't see herself anywhere- perhaps this was some form of replacement time travel, unlike what she'd done with the time turner. But she couldn't study it, could she, without tipping anyone off? Well, she'd have to see.

She waited in the spot where Neville had run into her asking about his toad for a half hour, slowly growing more and more confused. She hadn't done anything to change whether or not he lost Trevor, had she? Maybe she'd stepped on an insect the toad would have eaten or something. Did toads eat dead bugs? Even if they didn't in general, she rather doubted Trevor was picky.

Hermione shrugged and continued on to Harry and Ron's compartment. At least she could keep that the same. She didn't think the timeline she remembered ended too badly. Too many people died, yes, but she'd seen television and books and she remembered the lecture McGonagall gave her alongside the time turner. What if she made it so Voldemort won? No, better not to change things.

Their compartment was all the way at the end of the train, but she didn't run into Neville on the way. Perhaps he'd already found Trevor by sheer luck?

She took a moment to compose herself before stepping into the compartment, asking, "Are all the seats in here taken- wait, where's Ron?" Harry, just as she remembered him with his scotch-taped glasses and messy black bangs hiding his scar glanced up at her, away from Fred and George Weasley, who sat across from him. She noted uneasily they didn't sport their typical smiles. And, of course, Ron was missing. Had she already done something wrong?

One of them waved at her half-heartedly. "Sit down, Hermione. At least we're not going to have to say this twice. We were just explaining to Harry that everyone had that dream back in July. And when we say everyone, we mean everyone." Hermione's hand flew to her mouth as she gasped. So everyone saw her future for the next seven years? But there were Ministry secrets in it! "Or, well, everyone dreamed through their next seven years, their future. Except the folks who died. Or, you know, would die. They got to the point where they died and then woke up."

"Which is bloody unnerving, speaking from experience," said the other twin, who must be Fred. "Nothing like finding out that in one version of the future, or the prophesied future or something, you die. And then you just think it's a screwed up dream for a while, because no one wants to talk about it, and it wouldn't be the first time George and I had the same dream..."

"The things I dreamed actually happened," Hermione said, though of course she'd already suspected time travel. This didn't seem to quite be it. "Well, Neville didn't lose his toad, which I suppose makes sense if he dreamed this too, since he'd keep better track of it this time around, and Ron was here instead of you two..." she trailed off, biting her lip as the hair prickled on the back of her neck. She didn't have the best intuition, but she could add two and two to get four.

George said, "People react when they know the future, Hermione. It's why prophecies are so cryptic, because people influence them. It's why Trelawney is a flapping bat. It's why Time-Turners are limited to Ministry officials." Harry opened his mouth, and Hermione stomped on his foot, shutting him up. She wasn't sure if the secret was still important, but somehow she felt it should stay secret.

Ignorant of the unspoken communication between the two, Fred continued bitterly, "Percy didn't realize the dream was real until he told us that Scabbers unnerved him. Probably due to the dream, too. Just because you don't believe it doesn't mean you can ignore a dream about your pet rat that sleeps in your room turning into a Death Eater. And wouldn't you know it, that's when we all figured out we'd had the same dream and it was probably real, and therefore we had a creepy murdering rat wizard on the breakfast table. And I was the idiot who left my wand lying around-" He stopped, tears shimmering in his eyes.

The other twin murmured, "You couldn't have known," glaring at Hermione and Harry as if they'd dare to say otherwise.

"Couldn't of known what?" Harry asked, wide-eyed. Hermione already knew, though she didn't want to believe it. The only reason Ron wouldn't meet them on the train, if he remembered them, was that...

"Why, that Ron would take an Avada Kedavra in the face? Mom got Pettigrew in a body-bind right after that, but too late for Ron..."

Harry asked, eyes wide, "Ron's dead?" Hermione stayed silent.

"We have to go," George said softly, dragging his brother out of the compartment.

The door didn't shut in time to cut off Fred saying, "It should have been me again, dammit!"

Harry and Hermione rode the rest of the way in silence, each mourning in their own way. Hermione did not weep, or at least, she did not let Harry see her do so, though he looked so in shock she doubted he would notice.

She didn't know how to feel, honestly. She remembered the dream. Ron said and did things that made her want to smack him, but he also smiled in such a way she caught her breath to think of it. She knew how she'd loved him, a foreign sensation before. Her heart had fluttered so as she anticipated meeting him on the train today. Would he have lived up to her seventh-year based expectations of him? She didn't know, but she wished he'd had a chance to. How very Gryffindor of an end for him; did that bring him any satisfaction, in the end?

Gryffindor... She was so numb. She needed distance.


Percy Weasley twisted his fingers together tightly, staring out the windows of the train blankly. Had he even been sleeping properly? The shadows under his eyes said otherwise. He really worried her. Penelope Clearwater leaned close and grabbed his hand. "Percy? Are you alright?"

He startled, jerking back from her touch, and said harshly, "I don't deserve to be here."

Penelope said, "Oh, Percy, that can't be right," thinking back to the Daily Prophet article she'd read on the death of the youngest Weasley son. She'd known he'd be distressed when she saw him, and came prepared with an extra handkerchief. Emotional preparedness was much harder.

"I'm an idiot," he said flatly, though she saw the tears sparkling in his eyes. "Both now and in the old world. An idiot, an ambitious prick, and a coward. Rules out certain Houses, doesn't it?"

She twisted the kerchief she'd meant to offer him in her hands. "You're a Gryffindor through and through. That's why you're a prefect."

"No, I'm not." He took his prefect badge out of his pocket and tossed it to the ground. His palm bled- he'd gripped the badge so tightly it cut into his hand. "I don't deserve this. I..." He paused, took a rattling breath that reminded Penelope uncomfortably of the dementors in the old world, in the world of memory and she had to remind herself only memory, and whispered, "It was my mistake. It should have been me."

"Percy...I...you...it wasn't your fault..." I'm a bloody Ravenclaw! I should be able to make a well-reasoned protest, not this babble! "Percy, we all thought the dream was just a dream!" Penelope thanked God that they'd found a spot to themselves, since she utterly failed at being helpful.

He stared at his prefect badge, at the few drops of his blood mingling with the dust and dirt on the floor of the Hogwarts Express. "I should have known. It was my bloody rat."

She stood, fixing the tilt of her badge on her robes, and stared at him for a long, uncomfortable moment. "Percy..." She wasn't helping. And he was... "Percy, I know you're distraught over Ronald's death, but surely you should rethink this-"

"Penelope," he said, his voice choked with grief, "Perhaps you should find a better boyfriend."

She stared at him. Was he-? "Perhaps I shall," she snapped, stalking out of the section. Later, she denied to her friends she'd been crying, even when she spotted her red-rimmed eyes in a reflection in the window. Penelope had her pride. Her damned useless pride.


Harry uneasily followed McGonagall and the other first years into the Great Hall, staying close to Hermione. He pushed aside his complicated feelings about Ron's death for now, staring instead at the Sorting Hat. So. They were still going through this even though, for once, everyone knew what house they'd end up in. He spared a quick glance towards the staff table, spotting Lupin. Apparently Dumbledore had learned some lessons from dream-world Quirrell and Lockhart.

He listened carefully as the hat opened up its mouth and sang.

Oh you may not think I'm pretty,

But don't judge on what you see,

I'll eat myself if you can find

A smarter hat than me.

Harry relaxed a little, since the song was so far the same, and the sorting hat had predicted a good year, so obviously everything was going to be okay. Or as okay as it could be, anyway.

It's my duty to sort you,

Into the house which makes you true,

But this Sorting is unusual

Because I remember each of you.

He stared at the hat, and the few quiet conversations among the hall shushed. Of course the hat would remember. This couldn't just be simple and easy. How did hats dream, anyway?

Some of you were of Gryffindor,

The daring and the brave,

But these heroes also included

The foolish and the naive.

Others made Hufflepuff a home,

A place where all were invited,

But this often resulted in folk who were

Ignorant and shortsighted.

Perhaps you dwelt in Ravenclaw,

A sanctuary of the mind,

Superior in your knowledge

To the point of being blind.

Slytherin residents are few today.

Cunning met its match.

Turns out judging everyone else

Comes with a little catch.

So put me on! Don't be afraid!

I have just one request to make,

Fix the mistakes of future years,

For those who don't bend break.

The hat fell silent, ignoring the loud murmurs that broke out through the hall. A long moment passed before McGonagall stepped forward, clearing her throat, her voice only slightly shaky. "When I call your name, please put on the hat to be Sorted. Abbot, Hannah!"

Hannah rushed forward, and was sorted easily into Hufflepuff, just like before. Harry glanced about at his fellow first years, wondering if they'd all be resorted into the same houses, too. Somehow he didn't think it'd be that easy. Neville had joined him and Hermione while he wasn't paying attention, he realized, as the other boy gave him a nervous smile.

And the song was right about the Slytherins- the only students he could remember going into the house he saw were Zabini, Davis, and Greengrass. Odd, that. He wondered where they all went, then thought irritably, good riddance. There were also far less older students sitting at the Slytherin table- maybe a grand total of twenty in all the years. Most of them were future Death Eaters anyway; a house of Draco Malfoys was no loss. As long as they didn't go to find Voldemort... He ignored that thought. Eleven and twelve year olds wouldn't just go looking for Voldemort, would they? Right?

He turned his attention back to the Sorting when "Granger, Hermione," was called. Just like the last time, she sat under it for nearly four minutes before the hat decided... but this time, the hat's choice was Ravenclaw. She hurried towards her clapping table. Did she chose it, or did the hat chose for her? He'd have to ask; he dearly hoped it didn't put him in Slytherin. "Longbottom, Neville," was sorted into Hufflepuff, but everyone else before him went into their same houses. Gryffindor would be awfully light this year, if the trend kept up.

The other students were quiet this time around when Harry's name was called, since they'd already known it was coming. Harry walked up to the hat with a feeling of walking to his own funeral, and plopped the Sorting Hat on his head.

"Hello again, Harry."

I don't want to go to Slytherin, he thought firmly. Especially now, that they're...

"Hated more than ever? That's very Slytherin of you, Harry; not wanting to be dragged down by an inferior house. But I promise to always take students' desires into account. Where do you want to be put?"

Harry started to think Gryffindor, please- but then he paused. Would Gryffindor house really be the same without his two closest friends in it? Three, if you counted Neville...

"Do you see the problem? Yes, I do believe you do. And Slytherin wouldn't be full of your enemies anymore..." The hat's voice was nearly seductive in its attempt to convince him. "I meant what I said last time, you know. Slytherin could make you great."

"But not necessarily good," Harry murmured aloud. I think I've decided.

"Very well. Such a pity, though; this year is going to be so unevenly distributed. Still, looks like you're a GRYFFINDOR!" Harry took off the hat, his heartbeat finally slowing down, and calmly approached the clapping Gryffindor table, though the Weasley contingent was far more subdued this time around.

The meal was amazing, compared to the ones at the Dursleys, and just as he remembered from the dream world, except nobody asked him questions about his scar this time around. It was definitely nice to get all the awe out of the way in the dream world first. It was both disconcerting and perfectly normal not to have Ron, Hermione, and Neville around, since he felt like he both knew them and he didn't, but he supposed he'd have to get used to it. Maybe he, Neville, and Hermione could form cross-house bonds of the type he'd never really had in the old world. There'd been Luna, but she'd always said even the other Ravenclaws treated her as an outcast; people didn't make close friends outside their house.

At the end of the meal, Dumbledore asked the prefects to escort them all to their common rooms. The Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs left first, quickly organized by their prefects. Harry saw a fifth-year Gryffindor girl exchange glances with a red eyed Percy, who shook his head. She sighed and said, "I'm the Gryffindor fifth year prefect; first years, follow me." He quit? He winced as they passed by the Slytherin table, the occupants of which were milling about in confusion, and realized they must be missing all their prefects when Snape swept his way down from the table to lead them to their dorm.

He walked to the tower in sort of a daze, not even hearing the password to the common room (the girl wasn't nearly as good a public speaker as Percy), and made sure to tuck into bed before Seamus and Dean could ask him any questions.


Professor Severus Snape dropped a few Knuts in the money pouch of the Prophet owl, and watched as it flew off through the open windows before he turned his attention to the news.

Lucius Malfoy, his pale hair in a wild disarray Severus knew he'd never allow if he had any choice in the matter, scowled at him from the picture. The headline read, "Arrested for Future Crimes? New Insights on the Slytherin Disappearance."

Severus kept his expression neutral, but only with great effort. So. Albus refused to say why so many of his Slytherins disappeared, and now he knew. He skimmed the following article, and paused at one particular paragraph.

Of particular concern and controversy is the arrest of the couple's son, 11-year-old Draco Malfoy, and many other children from twelve to seventeen years of age. These children, of which Mr. Malfoy is the youngest, became Death Eaters in the dream world, just as the arrested adults did, but at the moment, they are guilty of nothing, whereas many of the adults were suspected Death Eaters during the previous war.

Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, said, "We only took the worst of the worst, the ones who definitely took, or shall I say, will take, the Dark Mark when they're older. You could say we're actually saving them, since this should prevent them from straying. Yes, they're in Azkaban, but we are removing the dementors from the prison as quickly as possible. Wouldn't want what happened last time to occur again, now, would we?"

Many of the Slytherin students at Hogwarts who have not been arrested have fled the country and transferred to Durmstrang, a school long known for its acceptance of Dark wizards.

Albus Dumbledore wrote the Ministry of Magic on the behalf of Severus Snape, the Potions Professor at Hogwarts, who only took the Dark Mark to spy on the esteemed wizard's behalf. This is corroborated by Harry Potter's speech seven years in the future on Snape's heroism.

Severus threw the paper down onto the table and turned to Albus, at the center of the head table. "We need to talk."