May 3, 1974
It was only after half a day spent in chain aparation to the outskirts of the Dagworth-Granger wards in southern Spain that Hermione allowed herself to relax infinitesimally in the midday sun. The feeling of the wardline confirmed in her magically what her eyes confirmed visually.
The hot sun beat against the layers of clothes that had been necessary for May weather in Britain, but were more than excessive in the Spanish heat. She unbuckled the belt that held her tunic close to her body and pulled the buttons open in relief. Turning her face towards the sky, she let the sun sink into her skin for the first time in years.
After a moment of selfish indulgence she looked around at the clear sky and the sandstone cliffs before her. She turned and the ocean stretched out in front of her, calm azure lapping at the white sand. It was more beautiful than she could have possibly imagined and she fell to her knees in awe.
She had never been to this location in person and aparation by coordinate was a tricky business. She was glad that her calculations held true and she was able to arrive on schedule. The familiar feeling wards indicated she had found the home of her distant cousin, and soon to become father.
After several weeks of knowing the elderly potioneer hiding with them in future, after a long day of brewing the necessities of survival together, they sat and traded family trees over cups of strong tea. It had begun as a joke, not honestly expecting to find anything in common, but they quickly found that they were relatives, albeit distantly, and Hermione's hypothesis about Muggleborns having a squib in their family tree was proven in her case. This knowledge of a vague and easily forged connection also cemented her position as the one with the responsibility to change the future.
Though she trusted that she had nothing to fear from the family wards, she was still cautious as she rose to her feet off the beach and let her magic reach out and touch the enchanted barrier separating her from the one thing that was uncertain in her plan. It all hinged on whether Hector the younger would be as willing to help as the elder version she knew.
As the magic of the wards examined her own, she held perfectly still. If what the old man in the future had told her was true, the family magic should accept her as one of its own and allow her entrance without an invitation from the paterfamilias. Her worries abound being blown to bits or refused entrance by hostile magic were unfounded and she let out a sigh of relief as the energy stopped examining her. It did the opposite and drew her forwards into the protection of the wards, recognizing her as a lost lamb of the family wanting into the fold. Now she only hoped the man she was to meet would be as welcoming as the family magic.
As she hiked the steps up the cliffs and approached the villa overlooking the Alboran she could see why the finicky ex-patriot settled here after his wife's death. The gentle waves, hot sun, and picturesque vineyard made this place the exact opposite of both Britain and Bulgaria, the two places this man had called home before.
The steps up to the front door were of tan sandstone and the front of the villa, pure white stucco. More of her fears and anxieties of this place being like the other pureblood manors she had the displeasure of being in melted away. Between the sun bleached stone and the warm sea breeze she knew this was a place of welcome and cleansing.
The door was opened before she could reach up and knock and there before her was only member of her family she had left.
His gaze upon her was more confused than anything else and she thought it was because of her ragged appearance, but it was more than that as he spoke in a suspicious tone, "You have the feel of a Granger, but to get here you would have to be a magical. Who are you?" He was open with his distrust of her person, but he obviously trusted what his magic told him about her heritage.
She was yet again relieved that this man wasn't all that different from the one she had left behind. Fewer lines surrounded his piercing dark eyes and his hair still held its colour, but he carried himself with the same pride and the same strength as he did 30 years in the future. With that thought, she put her life and her plan in the hands of the man before her, hoping he would continue to be the same. She reached into her bag and pulled out the ring he had given her in preparation for convincing himself of her identity. Figuring that melodrama would be the best way of at least getting him to listen she spoke clearly, "My name is Hermione Granger, I'm from the year 2004 and I need you to help me save the world."
