Chapter Three
Fifty Years
Hermione's POV
Seeing Dumbledore again brought forth a complex bundle of emotions for Hermione. She had been bewildered to be in the presence of her beloved mentor and headmaster once again. Over whelmed by the fact that he was alive, well, and breathing. It had been long over a year since his funeral. The last time she had saw his wrinkled, withered face was shortly before the lid of the coffin was sealed shut forever. That day had been cold and grey. An entire student body mourning a valiant man. The intensity of sorrow that had banded them together was unlike anything Hermione had ever felt. His death had cut them deep, and the pain had bleed out into the crowd as every tear stained face watched the casket lowered into its eternal resting place. So when Hermione had come in contact with a much younger, and very alive Albus Dumbledore, it was only an expected response for her to succumb to hysteria "Miss Granger." Hermione withdrew from the depths of her thoughts and turned her eyes to the headmaster. He was heading towards the door with a tiny, leather-bound book. Then Albus pause the moment his free hand met with the brass handle of his office door. Those twinkling blue eyes had lost their luster as he regarded her "I need to take care of some business, please stay here in the meantime, and when I return we shall discuss your situation." His tone was stern and commanding. It was very out of character for the Albus she had known, which brought Hermione to the conclusion that he must have been very different in his youth.
"Alright." Hermione agreed faintly. He nodded his head in pleased affirmation and left. With a weighted sigh Hermione glanced around the room. This office was significantly smaller than the one she was used to. Of course Albus was not headmaster yet, so it would only be logical that he was accommodated with a professor's office. The room was nothing more than a small, stone square stuffed to the brim with various oddities. The Dumbledore she knew had been quite the collector, and Hermione was glad that this aspect of the old Albus hadn't changed. Shifting her gaze from one mysterious thing to another Hermione came to a halt when she recognized a familiar face. To be more accurate, a red feathered face with a hooked beak, and glittering black eyes. Smiling warmly Hermione approached the phoenix carefully, respectfully and slowly stretched out a hand. Fawkes had been a good natured bird, but this was generations earlier, essentially a completely different animal. As her nimble fingers met with his sleek feathered wing, Hermione was overjoyed to see that he had accepted her touch. A low purring-like sound emitted from the phoenix. Hermione's smile widened as Fawkes nudge his beak against her hand, hinting for her to pet his head as well. Hermione happily complied with the request "I'm glad that you haven't changed Fawkes." she murmured wistfully.
Once Hermione determined that Fawkes had been petted efficiently she turned her attention to the rest of the room, her curiosity driving her to investigate. Quietly she wondered around the small room. On the front wall sat a compacted, cobble stone fireplace. The crackling embers entertained an old, antique couch and matching chairs and end tables. On the back wall, just opposite of the fireplace sat a curved, oak desk stationed in front of a large window. On either side of the window floor to ceiling book cases stood. Naturally drawn to literature Hermione crossed the room to those timing shelves. Exhaling deeply Hermione was eased by the smell of old pages and dust. This was her comfort zone. Running her fingers along the ancient leather spines Hermione was able to finally relax a tiny bit. As she skimmed through the titles, her hand absently running along the books, Hermione was quickly snapped out of her reminiscing as something furry brushed against her fingers. Wide-eyed the witch snatched her hand away from the shelf. Scanning the books she was honestly expecting to see a rat; however as a low growl radiated from the case, Hermione was too late to recognize Edwardus Lima's copy of The Monster's Book of Monsters. Like the evil, demonic force it was, the book went flying off the shelf in a fierce rage. Bang! It hit the wood floor rather hard. Shaking off the initial shock the book narrowed its beady black eyes at Hermione's black Maryjane's. For whatever reason her plain shoes seemed to either irritate or insult the book, and with a low warning growl the thing pounced.
Pieces of paper flying from its mouth, its teeth barred hatefully, and moving entirely too fast, the book flung itself at Hermione's feet. Pure panic seizing the witch Hermione jumped onto the nearest piece of furniture, which just so happened to be Dumbledore's desk. Likewise the book vanished underneath the curved oak. Legs securely tucked under her body Hermione built up the courage to find the moody little beast. Leaning over the edge of the desk, her golden brown hair pooling over her shoulder, Hermione peered into the shadows underneath the desk. The very second the monster caught wind of her timid stare it's unstable madness was reignited. Summoning her wand from the depths of her skirt pocket, Hermione was quick to stupefy the troublesome book. With a relieved sigh the witch climbed down from her high perch, and pick the book up—this time being sure to stroke it's spine a few times before returning it to the bookcase. Just as she had returned the text to its rightful place on the shelf, the office door swung wide open. In came Dumbledore with a rather thoughtful look on his face. He took three long strides to a high-backed chair sitting adjacent to the open fire, and then wordlessly motioned with his hand for Hermione to join him.
Tucking away her most unfavorable experience with his literary collection, Hermione crossed the room, and took up residence in the chair directly across from Dumbledore. For a few moments a strange silence sit aridly between the two of them. Truthfully neither were quite sure where to start. It wasn't a particularly normal occurrence to meet a time traveler. In fact even by magical standards this was an oddity. Finally Dumbledore cleared his throat, deciding to be the first to interrupt the silence "What year are you from?" He asked taking painfully careful measures in forming his words.
"1999." Hermione replied softly, her voice sounding raspy.
Sucking in a deep breath Dumbledore couldn't hid the blatant shock that flitted over his face. It was enough to tell Hermione that whatever year she was currently in was nowhere close to 1999. That worried her. Just how far had she traveled? "Miss Granger," Dumbledore leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and his hands laced together "this is 1945." 1945… Hermione's mouth formed the syllables, but she simple couldn't vocalize it. She had traveled fifty years into the past. Sinking down into her chair Hermione allowed the weight of the situation to settle over her.
Never in wizarding history had such extensive time travel been recorded. In fact many magical scholars believed that it couldn't even be done. The farthest back anyone had ever gone was a month in the past, and even then the traveler had suffered severe consequences. Bruising, deep gashes, and some internal bleeding had been the compensation for his quest in time. Hermione recalled a time traveling theory, introduced by an esteemed professional she once read. The author had stated that "Time travel was a temperamental thing". For it to work the traveler first had to rip open a worm hole in the space-time continuum, which would then allow that person to travel back as far as they desired too. However everything is much simpler in theory. While there was access to these worm holes, the limitations of time travel lie within the body. The rips in the fabric of time had never been well studied, and were just as mysterious as the black holes in outer space. Though not much is known about it, enough experiments had been conducted in the previous years to conclude that it damages the body. Therefore the author believe that extensive time travel would shred the traveler's body before they ever reached their destination. Hypothetically, Hermione should have been torn to pieces during her trip through the worm hole, yet here she was. Nothing was broken, bruised, or marred. She was in perfect condition.
"Fifty years…" Hermione mumbled in disbelieve. She simply couldn't wrap her mind around it. It shouldn't have been possible.
Albus seemed to be just as unsettled as she was. Hermione imagined that he was just as aware of the impossibilities as she was. Finally after the concept began to sink in Dumbledore broke the stiff silence with another question "How did you travel this far into the past?"
"This." Hermione explained as she lifted her hand to her chest, expecting to feel the solid metal time turner resting there. Except as her fingers brushed against her collar bone the devastating realization dawned on her: The time turner was gone. Doe brown eye doubling in size, she began to run her hands fervently around her neck and down her torso. The time turner had been there, Hermione never took it off. It had to be there. Yet as her rushed investigation came to an end, the young witch was horribly disheartened to find that her irrevocable proof had disappeared. Looking up with a sadden expression Hermione knew that she had to tell him the truth "I had a time turner, but I think I may have lost it whenever I came through the worm hole." She admitted earnestly.
Dumbledore seemed to accept this answer as he nodded his head understandingly "So it was a time turner then." Albus moved away from the edge of his chair, and leaned into the plush cushion of the chair apparently satisfied with the explanation. The headmaster pulled his wand free from his robes and flicked it around once, twice, and again. From a china cabinet across the room two white tea cups floated lazily to the coffee table stationed between the two of them, and landed softly on the flat surface. Albus waved his wand once more and produced a piping hot tea pot. Kindly the pot did its duty of pouring the both of them some tea, and then disappeared into thin air. Dumbledore brought his cup to his lips, and took a little sip. A contented smile crossed his face, and he sighed into the warm drink "It seems that you will be staying here for a while Miss Granger." He noted lightly. Hermione didn't say anything, but she sensed that he didn't mind her lack of conversation. Returning his cup to the table Albus' voice took on a more serious tone "I have constructed a cover story for you. After all time travel has been banned at this time, and we wouldn't want you in any trouble." He rested his elbow against the arm of the chair, and fitted his chin into his hand "I have made arrangements for you to enroll as Minerva McGonagall's cousin. She is a reliable student, who has agreed to help me in concealing your identity. Miss McGonagall is not aware of your situation however, so please refrain from mentioning our most delicate matter. Do you understand Miss Granger?"
Hermione nodded "Thank you Professor." She said gratefully.
He returned her gratitude with a fleeting smile "Now then, shall I escort you to your temporary quarters?"
The trip to Gryffindor common room was etched in tense, dreary silence. Dumbledore was going out of his way to help her with this most inconvenient circumstance, and Hermione would be eternally indebted to him. After all Albus was taking great risks in concealing her. The magical law forbade time travel, which meant that Hermione could be classified as a delinquent in this era. If they were be found out Hermione could be imprisoned, and Dumbledore would have his teaching licenses revoked. So he was going above and beyond to help her. At last Hermione's train of thought trailed off as they approached the portrait of the fat lady "Password." She drew arrogantly, looking at the two of them through half-lidded eyes.
"Pumpkin pastries." Albus replied. The fat lady did not say anything more, perhaps too tired to do so, but instead swung her frame forward, granting entrance to Gryffindor tower "Minerva is waiting for you in the head girl's room Miss Granger. Make sure to knock three times on her door." He instructed mimicking the procedure "Tomorrow we shall discuss other pressing matters, but for now have a good night." And with that Dumbledore was gone.
Carefully and quietly Hermione tip-toed through the common room, barely escaping the detection of two Gryffindor's during their midnight escapade, and up the spiral staircase to the head girl's room at the top of the tower. As she dawned the last step Hermione was suddenly appreciative of the fact that she hadn't been nominated Head Girl. The honor paled in comparison to the fifty plus stairs one had to climb every day. Just as she was told to do Hermione gave the solid oak door in front of her three swift knocks. On the other side she could hear a mattress squeaking under someone's weight, as if they were getting up, and some rustling around. Envisioned McGonagall scurrying around in the dark, nearly tripping over one or two things, as she fumbled around for her robe. Finally the door creaked open and two luminous green eyes peered out "Are you Hermione Granger?" She asked in hushed tones.
"Yes." Hermione replied equally as quiet. Minerva stepped back and opened the door wide, quickly ushering Hermione into her dorm.
Minerva instantaneously cut to the chase and moved to her chest to dig out a spare night gown "You look about my size." She muttered under her breath as she tugged a long, white, and lacy dress made from high grade silk out of the chest. Minerva relinquished the gown to Hermione and pointed her to a door on the other side of the room "There is a bathroom over there where you can get changed." She explained "Go ahead, and I will make up a place for you on the couch." Silently complying Hermione draped the gown over her arm and entered the bathroom. Overhead a chandelier of enchanted candles lit up the tiled room. Compared to a regular dorm bathroom Hermione had to admit that the Head Girl's was rather luxurious. On one side of the room stood a golden claw foot, porcelain bathtub, on the other side was a matching toilet, and in the middle was a large vanity sink. Approaching the sink Hermione pulled her sweater over her head, and wiggled out of her black skirt and stockings. Gingerly she folded her sweater, skirt, and stockings and neatly piled them on the vanity counter. Unclasping her bra Hermione added it to the pile, slipped the silk night gown over her head, and exited the bathroom. Outside Minerva had constructed a makeshift bed on the couch, and was already climbing into bed. Neither of them said anything, and instead resigned to their beds.
That night was one of the most sleepless, most restless nights Hermione had ever encountered.
A/N: I hope that you have enjoyed this chapter, more to come asasp. Thank you for reading, and please leave any comments below.
