Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing.
CHAPTER ONE: Home
"Home is where the heart is."
~ Pliny the Elder
Her head was killing her.
Every single limb attached to her body hurt like a hoard of hippogriffs had decided to use her body as a dance floor alternative, and to top it, there was a nasty pounding in her head that refused to slow down. She groaned loudly, and steadily willed her stiff fingers to stretch, and in slow cautious movements proceeded to wiggle her toes, a necessary action. Her body demanded a slow upstart; it was that sore.
She slowly opened her eyes, her lids gradually opening, and was immediately blinded by the cruel brightness that was the sun. She blinked a few times in an attempt to adjust and reacquaint her dry eyes with the beams of sunlight, then, when she was sure her aching body would move accordingly, she gently lifted her hands to rub the sleep out of her eyes, in a futile attempt to make the brightness go away. In the process she tried to sit up, her hands trying to lift her body into a sitting position, and she instantly groaned in pain, when every fibre of her body protested against the action, but she ignored the pain and soldiered on until she managed to get. She had been through worse, and hell if she would let a tiny tumble, and an aching body, stop her from doing something so simple as sitting up.
Then her brain started to function.
Where the hell was she? And why on earth was she in a bed?
She looked frantically around the room she was currently stationed in, and found, much to her surprise, and horror, that she was sitting in the Hospital Wing. Neatly tucked into a comfortable bed, and well cared for it seemed, after a grope to her head she found bandages, so apparently someone had been kind enough to care for her wounds.
But if she was in Hogwarts right now, wasn't she supposed on enemy territory? Her mind was working at full speed, as she turned her head to look at the windows. From the somewhat obscured view the windows provided her, she gathered that the weather was a great deal warmer, sunny even, than when she had camped in the forest with the boys. Just how long had she been asleep? Had she been in a coma? Why had they let her live at all? She had slipped into her own little internal world, trying to guess just what happened after her fall, when she heard someone give a call for attention, by clearing their throat discreetly.
Her eyes snapped up to look at the old man sitting a few feet away from her bed. From the looks of it he had been there the whole time, but in her confused state she hadn't noticed.
She really needed to start paying attention to her surroundings. Constant vigilance, as Moody would have said.
Then realisation dawned on her.
"Professor Dumbledore!" Her eyes went the size of saucers, whatever she had expected to see upon awakening, it certainly wasn't him. The pessimist in her, had perhaps expected to wake up battered and beaten to a bloody pulp in a dungeon somewhere, assumed she would be subjected to torture of the worst kind, she had expected to be anywhere but within the, now seemingly, safe confines of the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts.
Had she died, was that it? She certainly didn't feel dead, but then again, she hadn't exactly been dead before, so how could she possibly know how it would feel? Although, if she actually was dead, then why did it feel like someone had run the bloody Hogwarts Express right through her?
She scurried out of the hospital bed faster than her body should have allowed her, and cried out when her left leg made contact with the floor. It took mere seconds, before she realised it was broken, and badly at that.
She supported herself on her right leg, and bravely tried to ignore the unbelievable pain in the left, frantically she looked around for her wand, her eyes wild and searching. To her relief she quickly located her indispensible weapon on the table, right beside the nearly blinding white hospital bed, and no more than seconds later, had she grabbed her wand and pointed it at the Dumbledore impostor. Whatever pain she had been experiencing upon wakening was shoved far away and on time-out for the time being. She would deal with her pain later, assuming there was a "later" to deal with.
"Indeed I am, but the question is, who are you?" He asked kindly. "Furthermore, I would like to know how you breached the wards of Hogwarts? Quite a feat to accomplish for a young woman such as yourself." Curious blue eyes observed her and her surprised state, perhaps even amused at her antics. It was not every day Albus Dumbledore found himself held at wandpoint by a young woman in a hospital gown, and covered in bandages from head to toe.
"Am I dead, or is this some sick trick to mess with my mind?" She snarled, not caring one bit how rude she sounded. Exhaustion, along with pain and confusion, put a damper on proper etiquette. She was beyond any shred of politeness and witty comments.
She awkwardly shifted a bit, where she stood rooted to the ground in a hostile stance, trying her best to ignore the pain shooting up through her leg, but she kept her wand steady at all costs, still unflinchingly pointed at him; she wasn't taking any chances, not if she wanted to live.
"I am curious as to what makes you assume either, miss?" Blue eyes twinkling infuriatingly, still very much amused, he looked over his glasses to give her his trademark pointed look. Formalities were only polite after all. Not that she seemed to care one iota about any such courteous feelings at the moment, but he would have none of it, his gaze unwavering.
"Hermione Granger, and if you truly are Albus Dumbledore, as you claim to be, then you would know. Either this is some really Dark Magic, or something else entirely." Her eyes narrowed considerably, things simply didn't add up and her mind was working overdrive. How could he not know her? If he was supposed to be, or at least pretending to be Albus Dumbledore, wouldn't it be quite obvious that he should know of her name? Know her. The Brightest Witch of her age, one third of the Golden Trio, Harry Potter's best friend?
The Death Eaters were either starting to adopt insanely incompetent behaviour, much like their lord. That, or they really wanted to mess with her mind. Drive her mad with confusion and unanswered questions. What a way to go for a know-it-all such as herself.
They really had the whole torture thing down to a T, didn't they?
"I must admit that I have never encountered a Miss Hermione Granger before. And I can only wonder why you would assume yourself dead, and me as well?" He frowned slightly at her accusation; whereto worried blue eyes stopped their twinkling.
"Because the Albus Dumbledore I knew, died last year when Death Eaters penetrated the gates of Hogwarts and raided the school." She told him, her voice hard and edgy, positively arctic too. Expression blank and eyes dark, she was done playing nice. This setup was getting tiring, even for someone normally patient like her.
His frown deepened, that certainly wasn't the answer he expected to hear. Death Eaters in Hogwarts? Preposterous! Even so, the dark look she had in her eyes told him different, the way her eyes seemed to mirror her thoughts and relive past memories.
"Miss Granger, what year is this?" Blue eyes solemn and brows furrowed. He had his suspicions, and they didn't bode well for the wounded young woman in front of him.
"1998." She faltered for a moment, before answering, then proceeded to look confounded at the unexpected question, but ultimately it set the cogs of her perplex mind in motion.
The possibilities of that one simple question.
It wasn't possible. It just wasn't.
At least it shouldn't be.
On that note, she supposed, immortality shouldn't be possible either, but Lord Snake face had proved her wrong there. Even if the method was rather unorthodox in her eyes.
"Ah, that would explain the situation at hand, Miss Granger, at least somewhat." His blue eyes brightened up a bit, and his right hand went to twirl the strands of his long beard. "You are currently in 1977, August 28th to be exact. That's a good twenty years from your own time, I believe." He paused and looked at the shell-shocked girl, she lowered her wand ever so slowly, still not fully trusting his words, she kept her wand tightly grasped in her hand, afraid to be caught off guard, her leg twitching a little from cramping muscles.
"But… how? How is that even possible? How do I know you aren't having me on? That this isn't some crazy Death Eater scheme to get me talking?" Her voice cracked, eyes running wild again, outright refusing to believe his words, but she could feel the doubt start to manifest, and traitorous tears prickle yet refusing to fall.
"I was hoping you could tell me, and I assure you there are no Death Eaters scheming anything, at least not regarding you." He mused, although it was apparent that he was not satisfied by her answer. Doubt and uncertainty still lingered regarding the girl in question. Truthful or not, her acting was very convincing and on par with her claims, but he knew nothing of the girl and these were dangerous times. But for now he would humour her.
She seemed confused by his disregard for Death Eaters, "I don't know what to say..." She let out a croak. "I… The last thing I remember is being chased by Greyback, and then... I wasn't paying attention to where I was running... And the next thing I know, I am falling down some hillside and everything goes black." She fiddled with the hem of the white hospital gown and her eyes travelled to the wrapping located on her arm. Once she had escaped Malfoy Manor with the boys, she had spelled the bandage to stay on, as the scar didn't seem to heal properly. It would randomly start to bleed, and she figured there was more to it than that of a simple scar. She really wouldn't put it past Bellatrix to have cursed it as well.
Also the wrapping proved to be a good distraction, she had been prone to start staring at the words edged into her skin. It had got to the point where even Ron had noticed her constant staring, and that was saying something, when someone so ignorant and oblivious as Ron would take notice of anything outside the realms of his limited range of emotions.
"Mysterious indeed." Dumbledore mused, he had noticed her line of sight, and his eyes narrowed ever so slightly, but enough for her to take notice of. The bandage had proved impossible to remove from the girl, and it had bothered Dumbledore, as well as Madam Pomfrey. It didn't do anything for the mysterious girl's credibility. If anything it made her even more suspicious. Especially the location of said bandage.
Hermione had indeed noticed Dumbledore's rather intense staring at her wounded arm, and she found the slight change, in his normally kind and, if not somewhat quirky demeanour, unsettling. It was a downright disturbing sight to behold. He had a hint of a frown, clearly disturbed by his line of sight, and it seemed like he didn't trust her further than he could throw her.
And why should he? He had absolutely no reason, whatsoever, to trust her, and if he truly was Professor Dumbledore from 1977, then she was just an unknown, strange girl, appearing out of nowhere, apparently, and on Hogwarts grounds, disregarding all wards on said property.
As far as she could recall, 1977 wasn't entirely plagued by Voldemort, yet. He was still on the rise, although she was aware of the major difference one year would make. A year later the marauders would join the Order of the Phoenix and fight for justice and peace in the Wizarding World. This could be said to be the calm before the storm, and it would prove to be one hell of a storm, which Dumbledore had no doubt expected.
No bloody wonder Dumbledore was sceptic of her, he would have been a fool otherwise.
Still, it didn't make his suspicion any less unnerving and unwelcome.
She had, after awakening and analysing the situation at hand, realized he wasn't the Dumbledore she knew, or thought she knew, and meeting him now left a hollow feeling in her.
He wasn't the man they had all thought him to be; he was, by far, more cunning and calculating than they had expected, although his final years had perhaps added a bit of madness to the equation. Who in their right mind would leave an impossible task, like ridding the world of Lord Voldemort for good, to three seventeen-year-olds? He had only left them with clues that were up to them to piece together. Fucking clues!
She felt a swell of old feelings resurface, feelings of hatred and anger for the Headmaster, and she knew if she started a rant, she wouldn't be done for a while. Instead, sensible as she was, she settled on rattling his cage, it would serve the old codger right, to feel, if only a little, surprised; it would make for a very nice change.
"I take it you want to know want is under my bandage." It was more of a statement than a question, and he only nodded in response. She spitefully muttered the counter spell for the sticking charm she had placed on the bandage, a creation of her own making and probably why no one had known how to undo it. Nifty little thing, she mused silently.
She gently started to peel the many layers of stained and grimy white off her arm, her bandage long since overdue for a change of fresh clean cloth, and she almost instantly winced, her whole body tensed and she allowed herself to let out a small hiss; the only indication of the pain she felt. Dried blood stuck to the stained white fabric, and it stung terribly, when she peeled off the last layers.
It still hadn't healed fully, and the angry red welts carved into her arm seemed to scream at her in a vindictive sneer. It was mocking her. Degrading her.
Mudblood.
She retained her passive attitude, halfway positioned in a defensive albeit proud posture, when she put her arm on display for the Headmaster. In all honesty, she almost appreciated the smugness she felt, when she saw his eyes widen in surprise, as realisation dawned on him.
So he had suspected her of being the carrier of a different mark on her arm, and she could practically see the instantaneous change in his eyes.
"Not what you expected, Professor?"
"Not quite, I admit." He didn't deny it, and certainly didn't look sorry for his inaccurate assumptions, not even an apologetic glance. Instead, he appeared to have resigned to his musings and wore his customary, pensive mien.
"I am sorry to disappoint." Her voice remained cold, but she was surprised when she saw him pull forth his wand. He effortlessly raised his wand, and in graceful, practiced wand movements, he conjured a new bandage for her, and immediately after levitated it to her so he needn't stand. Her eyes followed the unswerving path of the newly conjured clean cloth, and when it came to a halt in front of her, she promptly grabbed it without hesitation.
Searchingly her hands felt the quality of the fabric, confirming it was all right to use, before she spelled it on. The angry red welts had chosen to act up again, blood began to seep out, and she faintly wondered if it would ever halt its arbitrary periods of pain, and surges of blood rushing out of the letters forever engraved on her arm. If it would ever fade and turn into an unsightly scar, regardless of the slightly vain and narcissistic part of her mind that screamed that the skin on her arm that would no longer be unblemished, but marked until her dying day and beyond.
"I am terribly sorry, Miss Granger, but these are dangerous times, and one can never be too careful." She nodded silently, thankful for his spur of the moment apology; she hadn't counted on getting one.
She warily eyed his wand again, and thought back to the many conversations regarding the Elder Wand, how she had vehemently denied all possibilities of it actually existing. Now she wasn't so sure anymore. Not after the brief encounter they had had with Ollivander. She could see Dumbledore start twirling his long silvery beard around the tip of his wand, and a thought came to mind.
"Thank you, Professor." She paused, contemplating how to proceed correctly, she vaguely noticed him nod in acceptance. "That wouldn't by any chance be the fabled Elder Wand, would it? Professor?" He stilled instantly, his ancient body momentarily frozen in shock, wand stuck mid-twirl.
That certainly got a hold of his undivided attention.
Dumbledore 0, Hermione 1. Petty thought. She knew that all right, but couldn't help it.
She dearly hoped she hadn't shocked the older wizard too greatly; it wouldn't do to have him go into cardiac arrest, before the war had even started the first time around. Then she would be complete and utterly screwed, and so would the rest of the Wizarding world for that matter.
Well, more than they already were.
For several minutes he regarded her carefully, cautiously considering his next move, like he was playing an invigorating game of chess.
"What nonsense are you saying, dear girl?" So he still didn't trust her. She probably wouldn't have either, but that was beside the point.
"You can drop the act, Professor. I know of the Hallows. Among many other things." She said tiredly, fatigue choosing to catch up with her delicate state of body.
"You know of the Hallows? How is that possible?" She had never seen the Headmaster act so baffled and confused. It was almost comical. But then again, the Hallows weren't supposed to be common knowledge.
"I inherited your edition of The Tales of Beedle the Bard. You could say you left us clues to piece together, but nothing concrete, although everything did point in the direction of the Hallows being existent." Hopefully that didn't reveal too much, but enough to make her believe him.
"I see." Never had she seen the Headmaster so shocked, so out of it and completely stumped. If the situation hadn't been so grave, she probably would have laughed, chuckled even, at his expense.
"Do you by any chance have my bag somewhere? I'm sure it was still with me when I fell." Her voice displayed the hopefulness she felt, but it was latched with scepticism of her actually being that lucky, in the case of her missing bag.
"Oh, yes of course." He must have nonverbally summoned her beaded little bag, because it came zooming from Madam Pomfrey's office, and landed on the bedside table at her side. She eagerly grabbed it, glad to see her safety line intact, muttered a spell under her breath, and rummaged through its contents until she gave up her quest, when she couldn't find the book she was looking for.
Dumbledore was looking mighty amused by the disappearance of her arm, when he realised she had probably placed an extension charm on it.
She was not without ability, it seemed.
He would have examined the bag himself, had it not been for the fact that it too was stuck, like her bandage.
She had learned her lesson, when the bag was taken from her at Malfoy Manor. This way only she knew how to open it. And if there was one thing to be said about Hermione Granger, it was that she learned from her mistakes.
"Accio The Tales of Beedle the Bard." She muttered annoyed and winced, when she accidentally leaned on her broken leg. This wasn't going to be easy, having a leg like that.
Highly inconvenient, she grumbled in her mind.
"As you can see, Professor, this is your copy, although it should be twenty years older." She held up the book for him to see, but made no move to hand it over.
There was no mistaking it. It was his, although it appeared to be well used, a few marks here and there he hadn't seen before, but his nonetheless. It was a one of a kind and easily recognizable.
"It does indeed appear to be my edition. How peculiar." He seemed to consider it for a moment, made no initial move to grab for the book either, but instead scrutinized her exhausted frame.
"I think perhaps, Miss Granger, that we shall call it a day. You look dead on your feet, my dear girl. I suggest we postpone this conversation until Poppy clears you for leaving. You see Miss Granger, I might have snuck in here without Poppy's consent, and I hope to keep this secret between the two of us." His eyes twinkled with mischief. Perhaps, she realised, it wasn't everyday he got to defy the steadfast, and sometimes scary, nurse of Hogwarts.
"Sounds good to me." She mumbled, relief washing over her.
"I wonder how all this came to happen." She sighed deeply, tiredly, desperately wishing for answers to the plethora of questions her mind contained, though she had an inkling that she would never know; not in the near future at least.
"Time works in mysterious ways, Miss Granger. Perhaps it is simply an act of nature that we will never fully understand. And in your case, a second chance in life." The infuriating twinkling was back at full throttle, but at least she knew how to deal with that side of him. Playing mind games with Albus Dumbledore was a game she was sure to lose, she would be a fool to expect otherwise.
"Perhaps." Hermione said tiredly, while she carefully moved back to sit down on her bed. Being all riled up had taken its toll on her and combined with the aching state of her body, she was bound to get tired at some point. Her head still pounded terribly, and her leg demanded to lie down.
"Alright then. I guess I'll see you soon." She mumbled tiredly, eyes still focused on the Headmaster.
"Indeed you will." He smiled kindly at her. As an afterthought, he added, "I think some lemon drops will be in order." He didn't give her a chance to reply, but instead gave her a pointed look, and she probably couldn't have cared less at the moment, because her eyelids were stubbornly fighting off sleep.
She didn't hear him leave, but rather, slept the minute her head touched the fluffy white pillow.
When Hermione woke up again it was no longer August 28th, as the day had moved on, waiting for no one and leaving anyone behind who couldn't follow, it was now August 29th. It was early in the morning, by the looks of it, although she had no watch to confirm her hunch.
She could hardly believe it, perhaps refused to believe. She had somehow been transported to the year of 1977, and ultimately ended up at Hogwarts, of all places to magically appear. Hogwarts, her former school and home.
She was safe and well protected now, something she hadn't been in a very long time, and still she couldn't wrap her head around it.
To feel safe.
That was an odd thought.
But she wasn't really safe, was she? How could she possibly be safe, when Voldemort was still posing a threat to the Wizarding World, because he most definitely was, even in this time, he just hadn't reached the peak of his terror regime yet.
But still…
When had she last felt comfortable enough to get a good night's sleep? She had absolutely no idea, and if she was perfectly honest, then it was probably sometime before she started Hogwarts. But even so, she had slept through the entire night without waking, had no dreams or nightmares, it was just blank. Thankfully, complete and utterly blank. She was more than confused when she woke up again, thinking her encounter with Dumbledore and the notion of time travel had been nothing more than a cruel dream. How wrong she had turned out to be.
She just wasn't sure if that was good thing, yet.
Nevertheless, she was far away from home, out of her element and out of her time, a time where Harry and Ron didn't exist. Technically, she didn't exist either, not for another two years or so.
How messed up was that?
Truthfully speaking, she was in quite the predicament. She was breaking Merlin knows how many laws and regulations on time travel, but to her defence; she hadn't done it on purpose. She hadn't chosen to leave her own time and wind up in the year of 1977. She hadn't even thought it possible, not that far back, not even remotely close.
Not until now.
It also meant that this was her new home, not that she hadn't considered Hogwarts a home before, but this wasn't her Hogwarts.
She blinked, sleep still remnant in her dry eyes, and she tentatively shifted her body into a sitting position, careful not to hurt herself and dead afraid to make any sudden moves. Her leg hurt like hell, and she wondered why Madam Pomfrey hadn't just mended her broken leg, when she was so adept at it.
"What do you think you are doing, young lady?" A familiar voice thundered not far from her bed. It brought her internal musings abruptly to a halt.
"Sitting up." Her grip tightened on the white sheets.
"I can see that! You need to lie back down, if you know what's good for you. Your wounds are nothing I have ever seen a student obtain before, and believe me when I say, I have seen a lot of different cases over the years." That didn't sound good, not by any stretch. How bad were her wounds really?
"Is it that bad?" She could feel her heart sink.
"That bad? Do you have any idea of the severity of the injuries you sustained?" Her infamous anger flaring up remarkably.
"Very bad then." She swallowed hard, unsure how to react to the fuming nurse.
"Very bad indeed, young lady! Broken bones, shattered beyond simple healing charms, trauma to the head, multiple internal injuries, old nerve damage, minor scratches and lacerations, not to mention that bandage on your arm!"
Hermione winced, realising with a startling clarity, just why she had felt as horrible as she had when she first woke up. Tangling with time and Death Eaters weren't a good mix, it seemed. Perhaps she should consider finding new hobbies, as these seemed intent on killing her.
She was honestly starting to wonder if Harry had been the only one to attract trouble and dangerous situations. Now that was a scary thought. She could most certainly do without Harry's penchant for danger, but at least Harry hadn't seemed to receive all that many injuries, like she had.
It was no wonder she had slept like a log after Dumbledore left.
"When you put it like that…" She quietly scuttled back under the sheets, not daring to defy Madam Pomfrey, and temporarily in shock, when she realised she could have died, if they hadn't found her. And who had found her? Where exactly had they found her? It raised a whole lot of new questions.
"Miss Granger! Oh for heavens sake, don't look so startled, Albus informed me of your name, that old fool thought wrong, when he assumed I wouldn't notice his meddling." Perhaps Albus Dumbledore had badly underestimated his staff, especially the fierce nurse. But maybe it was for the best. It certainly saved her the trouble of explaining who she was to the older witch, and she wasn't sure she was up for it. "To think he would interrogate an injured girl!" Apparently Madam Pomfrey had taken it to heart.
"On another note, Miss Granger, Albus disclosed the nature of the wound on your arm, and I would greatly appreciate it, if you would let me take a look at it. There is often more than meets the eye, when dealing with wounds of this particular nature." Her voice had softened considerably, when she mentioned the wound, aware of the fact that it was a delicate matter.
"I don't see why not." She shrugged nonchalantly, but inside her emotions were on a rampage, angry tears were repressed before they could be spotted, and the murderous rage she felt for Bellatrix had to be suppressed.
Madam Pomfrey wasn't fooled one bit by her desperate need to hide her pain, but had the sense to forego any comments.
She bustled closer to her bed, grabbing a few vials from a small cabinet near the windows on her way, and hurried over to Hermione faster than she had thought the elder witch capable of moving.
"Now, first of all, this," She held up a small vial of fizzy blue liquid. "Is a Strengthening Solution, and you will need to drink one vial a day for the next week, and this," She held up another small vial, only this one was filled to the brim with an ugly greenish substance. "Is a Pain Relieving potion, of which you will be taking two vials a day, for the next two weeks. The longest I have yet to subscribe to a patient of this school." Madam Pomfrey sighed tiredly, and looked pityingly at the patient in question, not satisfied with her own verdict, knowing how addictive the potion could be, but ultimately had no choice in the matter.
"Furthermore you will have to drink a concoction of my own making, it contains various vitamins and nutrients, which your body desperately needs, to fully recover from this ordeal. I will not have any malnourished children under my wing!" She placed a medium sized bottle on her nightstand in a swift move. Hermione's gaze naturally went to the simple brown bottle, and noticed the lack of label on the bottle.
"Miss Granger, I don't know how you have previously lived, and it is certainly no business of mine, but your body tells a story of its own. I dearly hope you will take better care of it in the future." She shook her head sadly, knowledgeable as a nurse of how bad a state the young witch was found in.
The future. Such silly words, weren't they? She knew exactly what the future had in store for them, and it wasn't pretty. There would be no happy ending for anyone… unless.
Everything would happen again, unless she changed it all for the better.
She decided then and there; she had to change it, she needed to change it all, rules and laws forever be damned. If she ever found a way back to her own time, which she highly doubted she would, there would be nothing left for her. Harry and Ron, even Draco, were most likely dead or worse, her parents didn't know her and the possibility of reversing the memory charm was low, and the world, as she knew and remembered it, was changing for the worse. What was once her home was no more.
There was nothing left for her in 1998, except pain and suffering. And death.
"Now, Miss Granger, let's take a look at that arm, shall we?" With some difficulty Hermione managed to push herself up in a halfway sitting position again, rolled the sleeve from her hospital gown up, and spelled the bandage off for the second time in two days.
"Good grief!" Madam Pomfrey muttered under her breath, but Hermione heard her perfectly.
The nurse ran a few diagnostic spells, none of which Hermione was familiar with, her brows were knitted together in concentration, and seemed to take no notice of Hermione's squeamish behaviour.
She couldn't stand to look at the ugly letters carved into her own flesh, and turned her head to the side, so she wouldn't have to watch the despicable words appear in front of her again.
"This isn't a regular scar, and I'm afraid no amount of Dr Ubbly's Oblivious Unction or Bruise-Healing Paste will heal this." She shook her head sadly, almost defeated by her own lack of capability.
"As I expected, then." Hermione had yet to turn her head, and instead continued to stare blankly at one of the windows near her bed. She had expected the result.
"Miss Granger, this particular scar… There's a chance it might never fully disappear."
"But there's a chance it will?" Her eyebrows shot up in surprise, and her head turned so fast, it caused her neck to crack. She had been certain it would be there to haunt her, taunt her forever, and remind her of the insane witch who had cursed her.
Tortured her, she thought angrily.
"Yes, but to be honest it depends on you, Miss Granger. This kind of Curse Scars feeds on your emotions and mental state. As long as this will bother you, as long as you aren't well, and as long as you aren't happy, it wont disappear. It is a simple curse, but because of the simplicity it might never disappear completely." Madam Pomfrey explained and watched how the young woman in front of her took it all in.
"That was better than I had hoped for." The answer brought great relief, even if the scar wouldn't disappear overnight, there was still a chance it would fade away with time, and that knowledge alone made hope spring once again.
"Such scepticism in someone so young, what has become of the world?"
"Believe me, you haven't seen anything yet." Hermione mumbled to herself.
"What was that?" Madam Pomfrey's brown eyes narrowed.
"Nothing… Can I ask about my leg? I am aware it's broken, that much is clear, but can you fix it?
"Oh, good gracious! I nearly forgot, what with all the other potions. And to answer your question, yes, of course I can fix it! What kind of nurse would I be, if I couldn't mend a few bones?" She seemed almost offended by Hermione's question.
"Sorry, I just wondered why it was still broken, when all my other injuries seems to have been taken care of. That's all." It had only just occurred to her, that everything else had been healed, with the exception of her leg.
"Because, Miss Granger, your leg needs Skele-Gro, and I decided to wait for you to wake up. Your body couldn't take the strain of all the potions at once, and I deemed the internal wounds of highest priority."
"Oh. Thank you." She said quietly, and then looked up at the nurse. "For healing me I mean."
"You're welcome. Now, enough chit chat, the Skele-Gro will be administered to you tonight, before you go to sleep, so for the time being you will have to make due with crutches. Albus requested your presence upon your awakening, but when you have taken the vials I have already given you, you will wait for at least an hour before I let you out of here. Is that understood?" She gave her a stern look, which said there would be dire consequences, if she wasn't obeyed.
"Of course."
"I'll leave you to it then."
Ugh, that left her with no less than two vials of gross looking potions and a whole bottle full of vitamins and nutrients. This was just her lucky day, wasn't it?
She had yet to begin downing the yucky potions, when Madam Pomfrey returned briefly, carrying a tray of delicious mouth-watering breakfast. Her stomach decided then and there to make itself known and grumble in protest, eager to be acknowledged again after the long period in which it had been neglected and forgotten to be fed. Food hadn't even crossed her mind.
"Eat up, Miss Granger, you will need your strength."
She didn't need to be told twice.
"You are certain there is no way for me to return?"
Not that she wanted to go back mind, but he needn't know that. She had already decided to change it all for the better, even if it went against the law. She peered blankly up at the Headmaster, not fully trusting his intentions, combined with the nagging voice that told her he was an accomplished Legilimens.
"Time is a fickle thing, Miss Granger, nothing is set in stone. I took the liberty of consulting a dear friend of mine, and to his knowledge there are several recordings of stories just like yours, recordings of people who have suddenly found themselves in another time. He said to think of it as fate intervening and your chance to right a wrong." He paused to consider how it was best explained, his blue eyes pensive.
"Time travel is a peculiar phenomenon, which defies all reason and logic, therefore you should not count on returning, Miss Granger." He paused momentarily, debating whether he should say what was on his mind.
"Although how you managed to sustain such grave injuries, I can only make guesses at. Falling through time was a feat in itself, and may have been part of the cause for the severity of your wounds, internal as well as external. The tumble you took down hill, I'd wager, might be another."
"I expected as much." She nodded absentmindedly, eternally glad that she wouldn't have to be sneaky about it, and that she received some answers, even if they were vague and unverified. "Then there should be nothing wrong with relaying everything I know."
"I don't see why there should. Although I have a feeling I might not like what I am about to hear." He began to stroke his white beard, pondering on the details he had gathered so far.
"I don't think anyone would, Professor." She sighed deeply, edged a few inches further back in her seat, trying to make herself as comfortable as possible. This was one hell of a story she was about to tell.
"I'm not sure how or where to start." She wrung her hands nervously in her lap, her unease choosing to act up, and feeling anxious about how to proceed. Not sure what to say and where to start. For Merlin's sake! If they were going to survive the upcoming war, she needed to tell everything she knew, down to every little detail and speculation she ever had.
"Then shall we start at the beginning? I find that it is generally easier to begin there."
"Somehow I had a feeling you would say that." She sighed for the umpteenth time, and turned her gaze away from the older wizard. Her wandering gaze eventually came to rest upon the many portraits behind the Headmaster.
"Oh?" He raised an eyebrow in amusement at her. "Did you now?"
Before she could snort at his obvious amusement, Hermione very nearly jumped out of her seat, when a sudden flare of flames appeared on the back of Dumbledore's chair, and only refrained from doing so because of her leg.
"I see Fawkes is well." She found herself blatantly staring at Dumbledore's stunningly beautiful familiar, greedily taking in every little detail down to the last feather, awed by the beauty of the magnificent bird before her.
"You know Fawkes?" He asked curiously, his hand going up to give his familiar a greeting pat.
"I do, although I admit I have only seen him once or twice. Harry had the honour of greeting him, though." She said fondly, remembering Harry's bright green eyes shine with wonder, when he told her about Fawkes, a real phoenix.
"Harry?"
"Harry Potter, the son of Lily and James Potter. Everything begins and ends with Harry." She couldn't look away from Fawkes, his beauty was mesmerizing, and he gave her strength to carry on.
"Don't hold back, Miss Granger, I do believe that statement requires some elaboration." His blue eyes twinkled curiously, but she had a feeling he wouldn't look so merry, when she was done explaining.
"Just remember Professor, you asked for it."
"A horcrux?"
She nodded in solemn affirmation.
"Horcruxes, Professor. As in plural, and quite a few, actually." She explained wearily, tired from thinking of being back to square one. At least they had killed off three parts of his soul in her original timeline.
"That's not possible." He looked disbelieving at her, shocked to his very core.
He had not uttered a single word, while she told the tales of many great and dangerous adventures over the years with her boys, and the horrors that had followed in recent years, explained every incident, every little detail, and had now come to an end.
"But it is. Very much so. I believe he has made somewhere around five at this point in life."
"Five." He looked pensive, the shock still apparent in his face, but toned down for the sake of processing the offered information, already starting preparations for this unbelievable complication. His disbelief had faded, and his brilliant mind was already plotting, planning to overcome the obstacles to come.
"Yes, five." She was so tired, the idea of having to start all over made her want to give up, but for Harry's sake she couldn't. If she played her cards right, he could have a loving mother and a father to see him grow up, even if she might not be a part of it.
"Miss Granger, I have a proposition to make. You will help me in the search of Tom Riddle's horcruxes, aid me whenever possible, if necessary of course, and you will in turn have a place to stay here at Hogwarts and I will see to all your expenses." He knew she needed a place to stay, and she could provide useful Intel.
"I can take my seventh year?" She asked astonished. The idea alone made her pause her internal rant about morality and manipulation. If there was one thing she regretted, then it was certainly the fact that she never got to finish her last year at Hogwarts. Even if most dreaded N.E.W.T's, she welcomed them with open arms.
"Indeed. As long as you provide me with your knowledge and assistance, I shall provide for you and see to your needs. You will know who will prove to be loyal to our cause, who we will need to watch carefully, and who to avoid at all costs." He explained. Nothing was free in this world, but she knew that already. The last year had proved that time and again.
"It's a deal." She said a bit too quickly, but found herself unable to stop. "I don't require much, but I will need books and some clothes of this time."
"That sounds reasonable. I would like to suggest one thing, though."
"What?" Her fingers drummed lightly on her thighs, relishing in the rough denim material beneath her fingertips, and trying to distract herself from the bad feeling his words left in its wake.
"You will need a legal guardian."
"But I'm already of age." Her brows furrowed at the suggestion, and the drumming stopped, her focus solely on him.
"Indeed, but for you to stay here, I will need to have your legal papers forged, and to have a soon to be nineteen-year-old transfer to Hogwarts, with no family or friends, will undoubtedly raise countless questions. As a muggleborn you are of age when you reach eighteen, a year more than in the wizarding world, therefore we only need to remove a year from your current age, to avoid suspicion. Also, your assigned guardian will only be temporary, as your birthday is in September." The mirth was back in his eyes, already recovered from the shock she delivered, and he found himself looking forward to working with the young woman seated in front of him. She was interesting, clearly skilful from what he had observed, bright too, and there was an air of mystery surrounding her.
"Oh." That actually made sense to her. "Who did you have in mind?"
"Minerva McGonagall, your old head of house. She is trustworthy, I gathered." He offered.
"Will she agree to it?"
"I believe so. I don't see why she shouldn't." He chuckled lightly, thinking of the strict but kind-hearted Professor.
"She was, is, one of my favourite teachers here at Hogwarts." Hermione said absently, her fingers playing with the hem of her loose-fitted t-shirt, a tight, pale blue vest peeking out from the worn t-shirt.
"Just one last thing thing Miss Granger, before I leave you to get some much needed rest, it might be prudent to change your name whilst you reside here at Hogwarts."
"If you think I am willingly going to change my name, you have another thing coming." Her name was not something she was willing to give up. She had spent enough time on the run, because of who she was, because of her name and associates, because of her blood. Now that she was here, somewhat free, she wouldn't give up that part. Not ever. Although, she mused, her sudden flare of anger might partially stem from a case of severe exhaustion. She had been in his office for at least an hour now, and the road through everything she wanted to forget, had drained her mentally.
"I think you misunderstood me, I merely meant your last name. As we currently don't know much about your current circumstances, it would only serve to protect you later on, should you return to Hogwarts in the 90s as you originally did. A theory of time travel and its consequences discussed in certain circles, but not yet proved." He eyed her, seemingly amused.
"Oh." That thought hadn't even crossed her mind, but he made a valid point. Time was, after all, an unpredictable thing, and there were hundreds of laws and regulations to consider, even if she had broken a dozen of them already. Her presence alone was enough to land her in Azkaban.
"Any suggestions? Perhaps your mother's maiden name, or something familiar to you. A name you will respond to." He offered.
"Then Edwards. It was my mother's maiden name. Is it all right?" She looked hopeful, like a little child wanting to keep the stray they had brought home.
"Hermione Edwards it is then." He stood to leave.
"I will need to inform Minerva of your existence, and hopefully she will agree to what we discussed. Until then I will leave you to rest in the Hospital Wing. I think, if all goes well, you will meet her later today." He offered, before gently ushering her out of his office, careful not to rush her in her delicate state of staggering dangerously with crutches.
"I'll see you soon, Miss Edwards." He said, his knowing blue eyes twinkling like they always seemed to do.
"Not if I see you first, Professor." She smiled gently, fatigue showing on her face and in the posture of her body. He let out a small chuckle, and she wobbled cautiously down the stair, taking it step by step, sure not to loose her footing and cause even more damage to herself.
It had been a surprisingly productive meeting, even if she wasn't completely sure if she should trust Dumbledore wholly. Only time would tell, she supposed.
If anything, she just had to make sure he included her in everything that was going to happen in regards to Voldemort and his horcruxes, not to mention the upcoming war. She was not going to be left in the dark, and she did have a few things she hadn't revealed just yet, such as what the horcruxes were - she had only mentioned them as 'the horcrux' and the like – and that she knew of his past.
She needed to end this herself, although his help was very much appreciated and needed, but she had been doing dangerous things, like this, since she was eleven. You could say it was her duty to end this. For Harry and Ron. For herself. For everyone she loved and held dear. This was her job. And she was all alone.
By Merlin, she was going to miss her friends like hell, but logically, she would make new ones someday, make a new life and a new home.
But it will never be the same, her mind reminded her cruelly.
This was her physical home now, the place her body would inhabit and wander around every day until graduation, the Hogwarts of the 70s.
But - her real home would always be with Harry and Ron, wherever they were in this world and beyond, her heart would always be with them.
TBC…
AN: Hello again! This is, as you have no doubt realised, the real chapter one. One of many to come, I assure you.
I do hope you found it to your liking. Somehow I found myself needing to split this chapter in two parts, because of the length, so I will probably be uploading chapter two sometime soon. (Honestly, when I went past twenty pages, I almost keeled over…)
Normally, I hope to update regularly, but because of the length of the chapters (don't blame me, blame the evil plot bunnies!), there might go a week or two in between. Also, I have a fulltime job right now, so if I promise an update and don't, then it's just me working myself to death. Real life sucks people, but I guess you know that already?
On another note, thank you so much for the lovely reviews, favourites and alerts! It keeps every writer going, I think. Don't hesitate to ask anything, I shall gladly respond to anyone, even if there might go some time before I get around to it. (Work tends to get in the way, but it is a necessary evil.)
See you!
