Hermione couldn't stop crying. She lay in the brush of the Forbidden Forest and sobbed until she simply didn't have the strength for another tear. And then she cried without them.
All gone. All dead. Every single person she knew in the wizarding world. Her parents, her cat, her friends, her lovers, all gone. All dead. And she'd killed the last of them.
If she'd had anything in her stomach she'd have thrown it up.
The taint of death magic was thick around her and Hermione could do little to shake off the artificial cold it generated. Slowly, she began to drag herself to her feet. She wasn't far from the path to Hogsmead. If her calculations had been correct the spell should have landed her in the same spot she'd left from, only so very much earlier.
She couldn't risk being seen. Not in her tattered muggle clothing and not as much of an emotional wreak as she currently was. If someone had been on the path they'd have felt the death magic when it deposited her here, and likely mistaken it for the dark arts. She'd have to hide and quickly.
It was a good thing she'd perfected running and hiding.
Hermione took off through the forest, heading for the thickest growth. The forest had become a second home to her over the years. The dark creatures that lived there provided a meager amount of protection from the Death Eaters. She ran until the stink of the death magic was behind her and then she transformed. Her wings beat the air and she managed to get high enough to escape the tangled vines of the trees. She fought her way clear of the canopy and circled around.
There had been someone on the path. A lone wizard had his wand drawn and was casting detection spells along the edge of the forest. If she'd stayed in place even a minute longer he'd have found her.
Hermione glided a bit lower and nearly fell from the air in shock. It was Dumbledore. A much younger Dumbledore.
The spell had worked.
Hermione sighed in relief and the breath left her in a long caw. Dumbledore looked up quickly, but seeing only a raven returned to his search none the wiser.
It had worked. The spell she and Severus had crafted had worked. They'd planed to go back together, but he'd...he'd taken the curse meant for her. He'd died for her so she could do this...and Harry...
Harry's soul had powered the way. The killing curse had a tiny little known side effect. A small rift in time, a sliver of a hole. Severus had speculated that if a powerful enough wizard was killed with the curse the tear might be large enough to slip through. The spell they'd designed was to anchor the victim's thoughts, control their last moments, so that when they passed their soul would anchor the rift to the proper moment in time and power the transfer.
It was all theory. Severus hadn't wanted to test it. You couldn't, not without killing a powerful wizard. They only had one to spare and Harry wasn't about to volunteer for a mere test.
But he had volunteered for the real thing. They'd planed on sending Hermione and Severus through, to the past. Together they'd change it, change everything. But they didn't get the chance.
Hermione beat her wings and flew away from Hogwarts as fast as she could.
Severus had died for her so she could go on with the mission and Harry had given his life to fuel her success. She would not fail them.
It didn't take long to find a muggle house with wash hung out to dry. Hermione felt the slightest twinge of guilt as she snatched the well warn dress and stockings. It was obvious that the family had little to spare, but she couldn't very well walk into Diagon Alley dressed as she was. And they'd thank her if they knew what she was about to do.
The dress was a little large, and a tad short on her for the time period, but it would do. Hermione sent a spell at the pile of her old clothing and turned it to ash. She couldn't afford to be traced. Her shoes weren't quite right for the times but they'd have to do until she could find another more suitable pair.
For now, it was time to get down to business. She needed to know the exact date in order to plan. She had to find a cover story. And a job. If she'd landed in the time she'd planned, that would be difficult. Women barely had the vote. There was no way they'd allow her access to the child without some means of support, not to mention she'd need a husband or they'd never even read her application. Hermione had always been good at history, but this was going to be a trail by fire.
Hermione took a chance and apparated to the outskirts of London. Or what had been the outskirts in her time. It took her two more tries to land inside the city limits and by then the magical exhaustion was taking its toll. Hermione was starving and shaking with fatigue. But there was no time to rest. No time to morn. There was no time at all.