After the glow dispersed and she was sure she could open her eyes and not be blinded, Hermione looked around. Still clutching her wand and trunk, she blinked disbelievingly, quite sure that the spells had killed her with what she saw.
She was in the exact same spot as before the spells hit her, but instead of being met by the sight of a dozen wands trained upon her heart, she was thoroughly panicked to see students boarding the completely intact, Hogwarts Express.
Why weren't people running, dying, screaming?
She glanced from left to right, up to down, warily – not understanding at all what happened. How could she have gone from such a deadly scene to one of such calm serenity? It was as if the whole world went topsy-turvey.
Running through a list of possible insanity spells or charms that put the victim into a deep, dream-filled state, her know it all mind only came up with blank nothingness. Her entire being seemed to be opaque and empty.
How on earth. . .?
A little boy gave a loud wail, causing Hermione's head to snap up and whip around to the cause, wand drawn and ready. Apparently he had dropped his pack of Burtie Bott's Every Flavor Beans and the young witch that was his mother refused to get him any more.
With a tense sigh, she turned and, quite thankfully, saw a Daily Prophet lying abandoned on the cobblestone ground. She trudged over to it, picked it up, and scanned the headline.
Instead of seeing news of recent Death Eater attacks or horrible stories by that smarmy Rita Skeeter, what Hermione read was much, much worse. What was in the headline was so horrendous, in fact, that Hermione dropped the paper and gave a shuttering gasp as she staggered backwards a few steps, dropping her wand and trunk.
"Today's date: September 1, 1978."
The date was 1978? It couldn't be!. . . Could it?
Hermione blinked several times, slammed her lids shut, rubbed them good, then wrenched them open again, but the date stayed the same.
That meant, if it was true, that the collision of the two spells had manifestly sent her careening back in time. But not just any time, it was the Marauders time; Harry's dad, Sirius, Lupin, Pettigrew. . .
Hatred immediately coursed through her veins like a raging fire at the mere though of Peter Pettigrew. She wanted to wring his fat neck, she wanted to Avada him into the dust, she wanted to. . .
No, he's not bad yet. She sternly told herself.
With that, Hermione approached the train with slight caution, her trunk jutting around behind her, then stepped over the threshold and looked around. Quite honestly, she knew it was wrong to be seen when one has traveled back in time, but she needed to see Dumbledore as soon as possible; this meant that she couldn't avoid the simple notion that boarding the train was a must.
So, confidently jutting out her chin, she walked towards the compartment that she, Harry and Ron usually occupied, put away her trunk, and squeezed closest to the window.
Smiling slightly at the familiar feel of going home, she looked out the window, waiting for the train to move. A few voices sounded outside the compartment, causing her to shift uncomfortably at the thought of being seen. But before she cause the door to be "accidentally jammed", it flew open and four boys shuffled in.
Hermione stared – James Potter, Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew began to unload their items, obviously not noticing her.
"Err.. hi?" Hermione said hesitantly. "Sorry, I'll just..." she trailed off, making way to get up.
"No, that's alright! Can we sit with you?" Remus asked politely, shooting her an apologetic look.
"Sure." Hermione said shyly, moving even closer to the window so that the entire right half of her body was firmly shoved up against it.
The three boys sat down across from her, all looking extremely awkward.
She was uncomfortably aware of the fact that they were staring at her arm, cursing herself for wearing a tee-shirt. She continued staring out the window, self-consciously rubbing her arm, hoping they'd take notice and avert their eyes to a less. . . personal matter.
Of course, this they did not, and she shifted in her seat. She wasn't ashamed of what she was, she wasn't ashamed of what she'd done to earn the scar; she was really quite proud, in fact, and the scar wouldn't unable herself to wear tee-shirts.
So, with revised vigor, she straightened her back proudly and allowed the scar to hang in plane view. Ashamed she was not, annoyed she was.
"It's quite rude to stare." Hermione said, pissed off, not moving her eyes from the window.
"W-w-hat happened to your arm?" James asked, horrifyingly shocked.
This time, she did look at him.
"Death eaters." she deadpanned.
"Hello, I'm Remus Lupin." Remus said, holding out his hand for Hermione to shake. It was quite obvious he was trying to rear the subject around from her tattered skin to a topic that was a little less. . . tense.
Thinking quick, she decided to use an alias. "Hey, Hermione Thomas."
She took his hand and shook it, quickly letting it go and sitting back in her seat.
"This is James Potter." Remus said, pointing to the messy, raven haired boy with hazel eyes. Other than emerald-green irises and a lightning bolt scar, Harry and James looked frighteningly identical. "And this is Peter Pettigrew." he said, pointing to a plump boy with blue, watery eyes; so unlike the one Hermione had seen in the Shrieking Shack.
Hermione said hello to each boy, shaking their hands gingerly and quickly releasing them. (She had to repress a shudder when she shook Peter's.)
He hasn't done anything wrong yet. . . she kept chanting.
"Are you a transfer?" James inquired.
"Yes, I transferred from a little school in England."
"Why'd you transfer?" He asked.
"My parents were killed." Hermione said, her throat becoming thick with a lump.
"I'm sorry to hear that." Remus said sorrowfully.
All three boys nodded, and Hermione took this as her cue to resume staring out the window.
That was hard. she thought sadly, her heart clenching as she heard the boys laugh. In four years or so, none of these boys would have a single thing to laugh about.
She shook her head mentally; No more thinking like this. I'll going to go straight to Professor Dumbledore once the train stops and there I'll tell him my predicament. Hopefully he'll know what to do. . .
But, even if Dumbledore couldn't help her, she resolved to try her best in this new era. Perhaps getting to know Harry's parents wouldn't be so bad. Maybe, just maybe, she'd have a fun time here, and maybe, just maybe, she'd be able to forget everything that would happen to both herself and these others in the near future.