Authors Note: Well I apologize for the wait, here's the next chapter. I'm yet again inundated with university work. Which is why the next update after this might be a bit slow too. It's not too long now when your questions will be answered, I love reading your speculations on what's happening, some of them are super close, I think one even may have been spot on, but I haven't read the reviews since they were posted. Thank you for them!
Regarding my other story "The Normandy Academy", it's a much bigger story, the chapters are much larger, and the new chapter is a collaborative effort between myself and another fan; hence the long as hell wait on that, be patient though as we work on finalizing the characters and how they all interact.
If there was something Albus Dumbledore prided himself on it was his ability to both understand a situation and then find a reasonable solution to aforementioned situation. This however, the problem that now sat sniffling in front of his desk was something else entirely. At this point in time he knew three things about the girl; one, her name was Hermione Jean Granger, two, she was a Gryffindor at Hogwarts, and three, she did not attend the Hogwarts he was currently standing in. It was that last point that had him, the most powerful wizard of his time, scratching at his beard.
Hermione herself had ended up in the care of the Headmaster when a rather concerned Madame Rosmerta had turned up at the Hogwarts gates holding the girls arm and pleading with the staff to figure out what was going on. For the first twenty minutes all they could seem to get out of the distressed girl was her name and that she wasn't sure where she was or what was going on. And it wasn't until Minerva McGonagall had walked through the door and relieved Rosmerta of her post, that Hermione had finally started to calm down. She was around friendly faces and it made all the difference.
"Tell me again Miss Granger, what happened the night before you woke this morning," Albus spoke softly so not to frighten the shaken girl any more than she already was.
Hermione sat in a chair they had summoned up, cradling a block of chocolate that the Headmaster had gotten her, "I told you before, I was in a fight with someone, we shot spells at each other and that's it. That's all I remember," she sniffled past her words and looked around the office.
Albus eyed his partner who simply shrugged in return, neither of them had the slightest clue. The information they were getting from the girl hardly gave them enough to work with. That was until Minerva piped up, "Is it possible you may have travelled a significant amount of time Miss Granger? Was there an item nearby that could have reacted so with your spells?"
Hermione shook her head, "I thought that myself too but I saw a glimpse of the Daily Prophet in Hogsmeade, it's the same year as when I fell asleep, earlier in the year but the same one nonetheless," she fiddled with the chocolate bar before her, "So yes and no, yes I've travelled time but not significantly enough for people to j-just forget me..." the tears welled back up in her eyes.
Quick as she could possibly do so Professor McGonagall pulled a chair up beside the girl and comfortingly took her hands, her reassuring words however were never to be said as the old wizard hummed loudly from beside them before looking down at Hermione through his half moon spectacles and smiling, "It seems to me then Miss Granger, that you've not so much as travelled time as you have travelled space," he strode around the room and plucked a book from a shelf, walking back and handing it to her, "This is a collection of photos, Muggles call them 'Yearbooks', if you would kindly go through it and point out any people you might recognize."
Hermione fumbled with the heavy folder before propping it open on her knees and starting from the most recent first years she worked her way backwards. It was then as she reached 1991 that she just stopped and stared into the photo. For a moment she was half expecting to see a younger version of herself, but instead she found herself gazing into the eyes of none other than Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley, the former lacking the very distinguishable scar that made him who he was.
Running her fingers over the print she indicated the boys and then several others that she knew and cared for, "These two I know, Harry's my best friend," she said with a smile before realizing her predicament and with a tightened stomach mumbled, "was my best friend anyway."
Minerva let out a disapproving groan at the two names, "Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley are some of the worst trouble makers, directly underneath the Weasley Twins," realizing she was talking to a girl who was perhaps probably still a student she simply smiled and turned away to look at nothing in particular.
Professor Dumbledore shook his head before taking the book back and putting it to rest yet again, "As I was saying," he spoke softly, turning back to Hermione, "It seems to me that you've travelled space rather than time. You know people in this world that do not know you. What I'm most interested in," he sat down as gracefully as he could manage, "is how you managed to move yourself across worlds without damaging yourself or the world you arrived in."
Hermione sat stock still, her eyes burning holes in the floor beneath her. A different world? Of course she knew about them. She'd read enough Muggle fiction to know what an alternate reality looked and sounded like. But to actually cut through space and time and end up in a location so far and different from her own, well that seemed impossible, even for her. And when she looked up at the two Professors she could see in their eyes the unspoken words; they thought it impossible too.
It was then and there however as she sat contemplating her current position that she realized something and she near shot out of her chair at it, "I knew there was something off about the students mingling at Hogsmeade," she said her hands slapping together as she stared at the painting on the far wall depicting the four founders of Hogwarts huddling together, she stalked towards it and jabbed a finger into at the frame, "These four people where I'm from, they weren't friendly with each other. Salazar Slytherin felt he was above the other three, and that Purebloods were to be the ruling people, he would have never been caught dead in a painting like this. I don't even think I've seen a painting of him with the other three ever. Slytherin's would not be mingling with Gryffindor's if I was anywhere close to home."
Albus Dumbledore in all his mighty wisdom just made a non-committal noise before twirling his finger in a backtracking motion, "Miss Granger did you just insinuate in your world that Purebloods consider themselves the greater people?" he asked with a tone of absolute wonderment.
Hermione saw the need for knowledge glinting in his eye, the same look reflected in Professor McGonagall's. She cleared her throat before nodding and then fumbling with her the hem of her sweater she explained it the best way she could, "Where I'm from, Purebloods think themselves as betters. They are rich, they are powerful and most Pureblood families absolutely detest those of Muggle origins, and equally hate those of their own blood that marry into Muggle-born families."
If she wasn't watching the two teachers like hawks she wouldn't have noticed the excited glance they both seemed to the give each other before smiling back at her and both gesturing for her to sit back down. They called the House Elves for tea and biscuits before Albus, biscuit in hand, leaned forward and said, "Oh Miss Granger we have much to discuss."
Meanwhile in Devon, England...
She awoke with such a fierce start that the small fox-like creature that had been hunting close by had scattered, tripping over its feet in an attempt to escape. The wild haired woman with heavy uneasy breaths stared around her and then screamed in a blood curdling rage when she realized where she was. She'd hidden in these very same reeds the night before and once again the house was not visible, hidden behind a layer of enchantments.
It was then her attention turned to the fact that she'd been left where she had fallen after the assault, had the dumb oafs thought me dead? DID THEY EVEN CHECK? She seethed with livid rage as she stormed around the area looking for her wand. Pretty little Mudblood thinks it's funny to send poor little Bella into the reeds and then leave her for dead, she scoffed when she realized that her passing out in the reeds meant the dumb little Gryffindor had won their duel, or had at least obtained help at the last second, Oh I'll show her alright, just wait till she finds the surprise I'm going to leave her and the vile blood traitors.
She cackled as loud and as scary as she could muster, making sure those beyond the enchantments would hear it and perhaps come looking for her. It was when she found her wand however and fiddled with it in her fingers that she noticed something felt off with the magic that sparked around her. The enchantments up were strong but had no owner, almost as if they were put up intentionally just for her to feel them. Cautiously she poked her wand where the closest protective spell was, feeling a slight tug before her hand passed through unscathed.
"Interesting..." she commented before she smiled a wicked smirk and stepped her entire body through, her eyes blazing with a sick evil when she caught sight of the house, if one could even call it that.
Her former plan was suddenly thrown out the window as she skipped towards the open door and paraded herself inside, more than ready to cast a curse at anybody unsuspecting of her arrival. She was disappointed however to find not a single shred of evidence that people even lived in the shack and instead settled on blowing up random objects; taking quite the amount of pride in melting down the old clock-like-structure.
When a significant amount of damage had been caused, Bellatrix Lestrange called up the image of the Malfoy Manor and with one final glance at her handiwork she disappeared into the storm she had no idea even existed.
Hermione Granger had been walled up in the Headmasters office till the sun had finally decided to descend towards the horizon outside. In those hours she had been told, and told a great many number of things herself, about where she currently was, and where she had come from. The information she was now carrying made her head swim and her stomach knot. She was a smart girl, she knew straight away that Professor Dumbledore would not have been lying to her, and she'd resigned herself into her new temporary life her, temporary being the main point.
She was sixteen, she wasn't a baby, she could handle this. Plus she could see the advantages to the world already, especially after being informed of how everything seemed to run. And she'd been offered a place back in Hogwarts after the weekend was up. They'd be donning her as a travelling kid, a relative of McGonagall's and now a proud student of Gryffindor.
Now though she was being mercilessly dragged around for last minute school shopping in Diagon Alley with an Auror who she immediately disliked because of how...'bubbly' she was. The girl liked to talk, a lot, and Hermione was just content on nodding while browsing. She'd zoned our out after a while and continued to look around, grabbing several informative books on the history of this world that she'd read later, before she came across a most peculiar title that for a moment she wasn't even sure she wanted to grab before her hand had made the decision for her and she was flipping it open.
The Purebloods and their Shame, by Rita Skeeter.
She loathed the woman in her own world and when she read the first passage describing Purebloods as the most "mongrel, despicable set of people she'd laid eyes upon", Hermione realized she hated her in this world too.
And there was the first piece of information that had been given to her in the Headmasters office. In this place, Purebloods were the lowest of low, frowned upon because of the inbreeding that was thought to occur to keep the bloodlines even remotely pure. And on the opposite side, Muggle-born witches and wizards were, dare she think it, revered. She was told it was because they possessed magic when they had no direct link to it. It made them unique in a warped kind of way.
Glancing back down at the book, completely drowning out the Auror in the row behind her, she flipped to the chapter titled, "Blonde's and Blacks and the Strange oh my!". Her jaw hung open the moment she opened the first page, "The Black Family History" was printed in big bold letters and as she read down the family tree she noticed something that caused her heart to skip a beat and for her to suddenly feel ill.
Listed halfway down the tree was what people from her time referred to as the "Black Sisters" only this tree depicted the thing that she dreaded most, Bellatrix Lestrange, was not listed as ever existing. She flipped through the rest of the Black's history, Andromeda had still run away with Ted Tonks, Narcissa had still married Malfoy; not a single mention of the crazed woman at all.
Hermione dropped the book with a thud and leant against the case, her mind racing a mile a minute; What if my spell killed her? What if I'm the reason she's not alive. No don't be a fool, it was down now, it would still show her birth. Maybe she doesn't exist. Maybe she's like you. A family name but nothing to connect it with. No that monster is NOTHING like you. She's despicable, she's the reason you're here to begin with.
In a small fit of rage she scooped the book off the floor and called for the Auror to come and pay, essentially dragging her out of the shop the moment the transaction was done. The girl had trouble keeping up with the fuming student, "Slow down Miss Granger, we're in no hurry."
Hermione huffed and turned on the spot, glancing down one of the side alleys to Knockturn Alley, a far less dim looking place than she remembered it being, "Sorry," she said, honest sincerity evident in her voice, she wasn't even sure why she was angry, "was there much else we needed? It's been a long day."
The girl smiled and quickly fumbled in her pockets for the list, "Not that I can see Miss Granger no. Professor Dumbledore has acquired you a room at the Leaky Cauldron until they can get a bed set up for you in Gryffindor's Common Room," the woman handed her a key and then a transfigured suitcase the size of her palm, "He also ensured me you'd know how to work that suitcase. If you don't call for a house elf, they're more than friendly."
She happily took the key and after several minutes of farewells inside the entrance to the pub, Hermione Granger was left alone - again. She climbed the stairs to her room, passing a man who looked so similar to Lucius Malfoy she had to do a triple take before she just decided it can't have been him, and walked into her room, flopping her belongings onto the bed.
The room was nice, the Headmaster sure knew how to pull strings when they needed tugging. She had a clear, quiet view of the shopping street beneath her from her window and found even when she popped it open the noise was just a dull kind of sound, as if the alley was leagues away.
Night fell quicker than she expected it to. She had been so locked up in reading the Rita Skeeter book that she hadn't even noticed the house elf come into the light the candles, the only thing knocking her from her trance was the smell of dinner now sitting on her study table. Putting the book down with a hungry grin she rose from her seat by the window, more than intent on eating, bathing and then hopping into the lavish bed.
That was until she felt something cold sweep over her and when she turned to look back what it was, standing in the entrance to Knockturn Alley was a woman she recognized far too well and not at all both at the same time. Bellatrix Lestrange stood huddled close to a wall and glaring daggers at passerby's. Hermione glanced down at the book on the seat before turning her gaze back to the woman. She didn't exist in this world. And that could only mean a single thing. She'd followed her here.
It was that realization, and the fact she was standing in a position that if the woman simply looked up she would see the girl peering out the window, that made her huddle her way back inside and tuck herself beneath the large blanket, barely paying mind the meal she had wanted only moments ago. Bellatrix Lestrange had followed her here, and by now she would have realized her Dark Lord didn't exist, that he never existed, that her family was in ruins and she had nowhere to go. And if Hermione wasn't mistaken, which she highly doubted she was, Bellatrix would be out for blood.
