Disclaimer: Not mine.
Two
31st August 1944
Hermione had visited Godric's Hollow several times with Harry and therefore she knew where Dumbledore's house stood. She was rather reluctant to approach the man – it would be certainly strange to meet him – but she didn't feel comfortable with Shacklebolt's cover story any longer.
It had seemed ok – before Dumbledore had pointed out the obvious. She would be better accepted as a part of an old family. Hermione was supposed to secure a place of a young healer in training stationed at Hogwarts, but wizards in the forties were clinging to the blood status nonsense and with no pureblood family to back her up, a girl like her couldn't have afforded to pay for a healer training, she wouldn't have been accepted. It was going be hard enough to gain access to the school, let alone getting a job without any connections in a time when WWII raged all around Europe.
Just the walk through the village was enough to remind her that this was not her time and that she was utterly alone in this fight. An hour in this time and she longed for something to ground her, something at least a little familiar. The thought quickened her steps and she hurried in the direction of the Headmaster's home.
She remembered that Dumbledore's dwelling was a small, well-kept house with an herb garden and a little stone wall surrounding the property. The door and shutters were vividly blue and the roof was cheerfully red.
The house she found in its place was unkept, the stone wall crumbling, the dull brown color flaking away. In the yard, only shrubs and tall weed grew.
Dumbledore's sorrowful words about being a troubled man came unbidden to her mind and she tried to suppress any doubts. She trusted the Headmaster with her life and his younger self was the only person she trusted enough to help her. She just hoped that the professor was still at home and not in school. She could not afford to draw any attention to herself.
Hermione took a deep breath and opened the gate. The iron creaked loudly and before she knew what was happening, she was suspended in the air and an angry looking wizard stood in the doorway.
Hermione's mouth opened in shock. It was Dumbledore, of course, but even in her wildest dreams she wouldn't have imagined that the man looked like this at one point in his life. Dumbledore was tall, she knew that, but his younger self appeared to be muscular and strong. He had short hair and no beard, only reddish stubble on his cheeks, his nose was shockingly straight and his eyes were not twinkling; they were burning with blue fire as he had his wand pointed at her.
The most unsettling thing about this Dumbledore was his power, though. Hermione had always felt the calm, serene aura of Dumbledore's magic around him – it had had soothing, reassuring effect on everyone who knew the old man. This magic wildly swirling around them was buzzing with anger, it was hot and it was uncomfortable.
His eyes widened in disbelief as he gazed at her utterly shocked and then he dropped his hand and gently lowered her to the ground. He inched cautiously forward, as if embarrassed.
"Sorry, Miss. How can help you?" His voice, at least, was the same. He tried to smile when he added softly, "I wasn't expecting… that is… I… I hope you are not injured."
Momentarily speechless – he didn't wear his half-moon spectacles –, Hermione slowly reached into her pocket and offered him the envelope from his older self. He didn't take it; instead he smiled grimly and motioned for her to open it.
"If you would please." Something in the tone of his voice and in the glint in his eyes was extremely irritating. It was very obvious that this man wasn't the Dumbledore she knew and it made it both harder and easier to interact with him; easier because Hermione had been always in awe of the Headmaster's wisdom and power, and harder because she usually hexed people who irritated her.
"Well, I certainly haven't cursed it!" She huffed but opened it. "See?"
"Yes, well, my apologies again." He appeared to be utterly unapologetic, though. In that moment, he reminded Hermione of the Weasley twins. "What is inside, Miss…?"
"Granger, and how am I to know? It's for you and I don't go around reading someone else's post."
Dumbledore chuckled – that was a familiar and welcome sound – and Hermione felt her irritation subside slightly when he took the letter and bowed a little in a gentlemanly gesture.
"Of course. May I invite you inside, or were you just substituting for an owl?"
The annoyance was back full force and she glowered at that man and his twinkling blue eyes and his merriment, which only made him smile more as he ushered her inside.
"In you go then, my dear owlet."
He led her through the darkened hall to the backdoor and out to the garden. There was a massive oak bench and roughly made wooden table covered in papers and notes. A tea pot and a single cup were resting on a small tray on the very edge of the table and Dumbledore swiftly and wandlessly conjured another cup, filling it for her.
"Please, take a seat. I would hate to have you think badly of my manners, Miss Owlet."
"Naturally, Mr. Dumbledore. Although, the tricky levitation spell on your gate might be a bit misleading."
"A bit," agreed the man mildly and sat down, opening the letter. His eyes then turned to her, so blue and piercing. "Oh my, the very first line forbids me to ask you any questions! One comes to mind immediately, though. It's clearly my handwriting, but I didn't write the letter…"
"Please, just read it, sir." Hermione pleaded softly and watched his reaction; Dumbledore's face closed off, his eyes narrowed and he glanced at her a few times, but he continued to read. A faint pinkish hue appeared on his cheeks and then he shook his head and let out an irritated laugh.
"Well, my older self has a wicked sense of humor, and is also a little sadistic, Miss Granger." Dumbledore looked at her with an odd expression. "You are my niece, my dear, and you are going to join the seventh years in their final year of studies. Apparently, you are to be sorted into Slytherin and as your loving uncle, I am to provide you with guidance and protection. How does it sound?"
"Terribly!" Hermione put her cup down, agitated. "That can't be right!"
"It is ridiculous, what was I thinking when I wrote this letter?" Dumbledore muttered and shook his head again, reaching for his beard – which was not there. He fisted his hand and cleared his throat, watching her for a moment. There was something unfathomable in his eyes.
"I won't ask what brings you here, or how you managed to arrive. I have only one question, please indulge me. When were you born, Miss Granger?" His voice was soft and his face gentle. It was the same gentleness the older Dumbledore had often projected when he had been speaking to her, and it felt like finding home in this strange world.
"In 1979."
"Oh my!" He cringed, stood up quickly and paced back and forth for a few minutes, frowning. Hermione marveled at how open the man was, how easy it was to read him. Then he sat back down and took a deep breath. His face was sad and his eyes lost their light. This sadness hit her like a lightening because the emotion was very familiar. It had always been present in the Headmaster's eyes, just lurking behind those twinkles, but no one usually took notice; certainly not Hermione.
Seeing this restless, raw version of the Headmaster was a sobering experience for her. For the first time ever it occurred to Hermione that the Dumbledore she knew wasn't a happy man, and hadn't been happy for a long time.
"This time must be very confusing for you. I'm afraid that I am beginning to see the wisdom of my older self when he sent you to me. However, would you be comfortable with the supposed connection to me?"
Hermione blinked twice at his question and forgot to ask him what could possibly be good about her pretending to be seventeen again. Dumbledore patiently waited for the answer.
"Yes, why shouldn't I be?"
"Well, the Dumbledore name isn't worth much these days, Miss Granger." He nodded grimly to himself. "I hope you have a thick skin. Actually, I am surprised that you even went for help to me. I'll help you gladly, of course, it's just… well. You must trust me in the future, I suppose."
Hermione was more than shocked at his admission and it took her a minute before she found her voice to utter, "With my life, sir."
For a moment, Dumbledore watched her. He just sat there and watched her and then he nodded. "I should call you Hermione, then, and you should call me Albus. We would need to de-age you a little, and then go shopping for school supplies. Any idea what courses would you like to retake?"
"Is it truly wise, Albus?" Hermione carefully tested his name and it sounded so very wrong. She tried again, "Uncle Albus?"
Dumbledore cringed again and shuddered while she winced. No one would believe them.
"Please, don't. We are a traditional family, I see. Sir will do, Miss Dumbledore." He said half amused, addressing her smoothly and without any stumble with his name.
"Yes, sir, I feel more comfortable calling you that, too." Hermione smiled a little and took a small sip. Dumbledore chuckled and nodded, reaching for his beard for the second time – only to realize that he didn't have any.
"I have a question, sir." Hermione said after she observed his movement.
"And what is that?"
"What happened to your beard?"
Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore blushed like a schoolboy and ran his fingers over his jaw. "There was… an accident in my laboratory… And it is not an adequate source of amusement for you, Miss Granger!"
"Certainly not, sir!"
Dumbledore scowled and then he huffed and then he smiled. "Well, it was very colorful explosion, quite spectacular, let me assure you. I saw pink dots for three hours afterwards. Drink your tea and think about what you will need, dear Miss Owlet. I am going to talk with the Headmaster."
When he disappeared inside of his shabby house, Hermione let out one last giggle and settled down to shamelessly read through his notes. Lesson plans, the poor man.
She would like to think that this Dumbledore was more approachable and she had a feeling that she would get on well with him, they might even end up as friends. Hermione smiled and corrected a date in his plan for September. She would like that.
Are still with me? What do you think about Dumbledore? Isn't it too much?
