A/N: Welcome to the longest chapter yet...

Chapter 4:

Handling Foreknowledge

2nd July, 1957

Ministry of Magic

The Time Department was different to what she had ever expected. Unspeakables weren't the most social of workers outside their own station, thus despite knowing where the different departments were in the maze on Level 9, Hermione had never actually been into any office other than her own.

Until now.

Her office space was usually buzzing with activity, from deliveries of artefacts and reports, to hearing the sound of minor explosions from the adjoining laboratories where they housed their experiments and tests. The Time Department, however, was quiet. Eerily so. After the tragic experiment of Eloise Mintumble at the turn of the 20th century, most of the department had been disbanded and, judging by the fact she had only seen one secretary and one Agent, she guessed that was still the case.

It was with a jolt that she realised her own station didn't exist at this point in time. She briefly wondered what her office space was currently being used for, however she was broken out of her thoughts by the secretary clearing his throat. "Ms. Gray, Madam Artlock will see you now. The office is at the end of the hall. " He gestured to the door at the very end of the dark corridor.

Here goes nothing, she thought. "Thank you," Hermione smiled, sounding a lot stronger than she felt. With encouraging smiles from Minerva and Albus, she took a deep breath, before walking down the corridor. As she approached the door, it swung open of it's own accord, letting her into a rather spacious office. Madam Artlock, as Hermione had been informed, had been working for the department for the past twenty years, and had apparently handled a case like this once before, which was reassuring, to say the least. It was comforting to know she wasn't an anomaly.

"Ah, good morning," the petite woman behind the desk said, standing up and extending her hand to Hermione, smiling warmly. "You must be Jean Gray. I'm Yelena Artlock – welcome to 1957."

Hermione didn't quite know what to say to that. It's not like she was in this year by choice. "Lovely to meet you," she said politely.

"Take a seat, please," she said, gesturing to the chairs before her desk, and Hermione did just that. "So, Miss Gray – first things first, what's your real name? No need for false identities in this room when it's just me."

For the first time since she arrived, Hermione let the comfort of her real identity fall from her lips. "Hermione Jean Granger." She paused, checking the spelling was correct as Yelena wrote it down.

"Ah," Yelena said, looking at the three words she had written. "Gray. Gray-nger. Nice touch," she smiled. "I must say," she continued on briskly, "I was quite surprised to receive an owl from Professor Dumbledore. The last Ripple – that is to say, someone who is 'out of their own time' – we had appear had done it on purpose, however you seem accidental. Is that right, Miss Granger?"

"As far as I'm aware," Hermione answered. "Extended time travel is illegal in my era, and given I myself am an employee of the Department of Mysteries – not in the Time Department, mind you – I uphold these laws to the nth degree."

Yelena's blonde eyebrows raised at this bit of information. "Aude sapere..." she tested, the faintest hint of a smirk on her full lips.

Hermione grinned. "But – cave quid dicis, quando, et cui," she finished the unofficial Department motto with a satisfied smile. It was times like these she realised Unspeakables were a strange bunch of people; they really did live in their own little world with their own traditions and rules. Completing the two-part quote was a form of greeting, as well as a test should you run into someone who claims to be an Unspeakable in the outside world. Not that we get out all that often, she thought to herself.

"Well then, Agent Granger," Yelena said, using Hermione's proper title, "It's not all good news. I know you're probably anxious to get home, but unfortunately, we have no way of sending you to – 2001, Dumbledore said?" She raised her eyebrows briefly, almost in disbelief, before explaining, "After Agent Mintumble... Well, we now know jumps longer than 18 months are far too dangerous for the body, hence it's now forbidden – in 1957, mind you," she stressed. "Your Time Department, however, has had over 40 years to prepare for this, so they'll hopefully have created something to come and collect you. Until then, we can set you up here..."

All throughout Yelena's spiel, Hermione felt herself growing more and more nauseous as her reality sunk in. They had no way to send her home. Even if they did, it was forbidden. Yelena was going over the process to get Hermione recognised as a citizen but she barely heard a word of it. One sentence kept on repeating in her mind; 'Your Time Department has had over 40 years to prepare for this'... If that was the case, wouldn't they have stopped it? Prevented whatever accident caused this? All they would have needed to do was tell her not to go into work on the 30th of June, 2001 and none of this would have happened.

She bit down on the inside of her cheeks to distract herself from the bitterness growing within her. Focus, Hermione, she told herself.

"I have some questions for you," Yelena said, reaching into her top draw for some forms and a dicta-quill. "Your answers can be as long or as brief as you would like. First, I will be asking about the world you have come from and your criminal history, just to ascertain you're not here willingly or with ill intent." She took off her glasses and looked at Hermione seriously. "Anything you say will not leave this room. You need not be afraid of telling me of the future – handing such foreknowledge is my job. After all of that, we can progress to general and medical information – for that, you can have one of the Professors in here with you, if you'd like. I'd suggest young McGonagall; Albus Dumbledore is too easily compromised, what with his Wizengamot position-"

Yet again, her head was swimming. "Yes, I understand. Minerva will be fine," she said quickly, very concerned with the first part of the questioning. Given that, not only had a war been part of her recent history, she had been at the front and centre of it and would have a lot to gain by changing history. While she knew in her heart this time travel was nothing but an accident, some of those facts would surely count against her. She'd landed right before Lord Voldemort started to make his presence known; the perfect time for an assassination attempt, if she'd been so inclined. However, she knew better than to meddle with the past. Once was enough in her third year. Never again.

"Excellent," Yelena said, oblivious to Hermione's new-found discomfort. "You will receive a copy of the finished questionnaire to take home with you, with names and years omitted. The only people with access to the original will be the Time Department; even Minister Tuft doesn't have the authority to view it. Any questions, Hermione?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, but a warning – the first round of questions may not show me in a favourable light," she admitted, trying not to let her anxiety seep into her voice. "War," she said darkly, to Yelena's curious look. She was suddenly grateful Minerva would be there soon. Even if it wasn't the Minerva she knew, her presence would hopefully be enough to keep her calm. She hoped – no, knew that, no matter the year, Minerva McGonagall was fiercely protective of her cubs. Even if Hermione wouldn't be one for another 34 years.

"Ah. Another one, eh?" Yelena said, pursing her lips. "We humans – muggles and wizardfolk alike – never seem to bloody learn." She shook her head, before changing her demeanour entirely and fixing Hermione with a knowing smile. "Well, luckily, you're an Unspeakable. We look after our own, you know that. Now, shall we begin?"

Feeling only marginally reassured, Hermione resisted the temptation to sigh. "Fire away, Yelena."

The questions were brutal. Yelena's apologies did nothing to ease the fact that memories she'd long ago locked away in the back of her mind were forced to be relived. She never thought about the War anymore, it had taken a year of therapy to become even remotely stable and she did all she could to avoid the topic. Yet now, if she had any hope of being made a citizen of Britain, she had no choice but to elaborate.

"What was the political climate in your past decade?" Yelena asked, followed by, "Have you ever been involved in Government resistant groups? Were these groups violent? Are they still active?" Hermione knew the questions were merely protocol, but that didn't make them any easier to answer. On paper, she realised, she did sound mildly dangerous. While they were applauded for their war efforts after the fact, nothing the Order did was strictly legal at the time they were doing it.

It went on, question after question, and she had to explain that while no, she hadn'tused Unforgivable curses, she had killed someone – multiple someone's, as it was a war. Furthermore, yes, the instigator for said war was alive in 1957, she did not come here with the intent to kill him before he had – has? – a chance to plunge Wizarding society into darkness and kill thousands of people. Yes, she was aware that, if she remained in 1957, she would not be able to prevent any of it. Yelena was firm in telling her that her department would know if someone was alive who shouldn't be.

As Hermione's answers slowly got darker and darker as she elaborated on how she had been charged with crimes, and had been a fugitive of the law under Voldemort's reign, Yelena finally said they were at the end of the criminal history section. Hermione was relieved – she'd been on the verge of asking for yet another break to gather her thoughts. "I'll bring Professor McGonagall in and we can get started on general and medical history," Yelena said kindly. "Would you like some tea or coffee?"

Hermione nodded. "Thank you, yes. Tea, please," she managed to say, running her hand through her curly hair repeatedly, as she always did when she was stressed.

"I'll be back soon," Yelena assured her as she left, closing the door quietly behind her.

Alone with her mind, Hermione tried to distract herself from her War memories and thought back to some of the many conversations she'd had with old Minerva, her mentor always repeating that, no matter what, she would always help her young protégée, regardless of the situation. In fact, she was always rather insistent that Hermione remember that. While she waited for Yelena to return, she hoped the sentiment was still valid, despite it yet to be offered in this time.

Despite it being Summer, it was rather chilly in the Department of Mysteries. Minerva was grateful she had on her teaching garb. As stiff and as uncomfortable as it was, it was certainly keeping the cold out of her bones. Every minute or so, her green eyes would dart nervously to the door at the end of the corridor. Jean had been in there an awfully long time – how difficult was it to send someone home? Surely they'd just need her to sign a few consent forms, let her say a quick 'goodbye' and send her on her way back to...well, wherever it was she came from before she dropped out of the sky.

But as the minutes dragged on, she found herself recalling what Jean had told her earlier – that it wasn't possible. That she was stuck in this foreign time until the future came for her. Hopefully Old Minerva will make Jean's Ministry do something, Minerva thought, still quite bewildered at the fact that Jean already knew her. It had made her head spin for the past two days, and she was still no closer to deciding how she felt on the situation. Aloof and reserved as she may be, Minerva couldn't fathom what Jean was currently going through and, as such, her walls were shaken. The girl needed a friend, and if Old Minerva – the vain side of her shuddered at that particular thought – had dinner with a former student fairly regularly, then clearly, she must be trustworthy. Shouldn't she?

"Albus," she murmured to the man sitting on her left, "What if they can't send Jean home? She seems to think it's impossible from this Time, and..." she trailed off, not quite knowing how to complete that sentence. She felt completely out of her depth; Hogwarts didn't exactly have a Teachers Manual for dealing with Time Travellers who show up during the summer holidays. Merlin, she wanted a smoke...

Albus, kind-hearted soul he was, tucked his novel away and briefly clasped their hands together. "Do not fear, Minerva," he said gently. "I'm sure they'll be arranging something for her. Standard protocol is Ministry Housing, and finding an entry-level job as quickly as possible."

Minerva felt her stomach clench. "Albus...you can't honestly be so accepting of that, can you? She's intelligent, anyone can see that. And Gods, the things I've heard about the Ministry housing...you can't-" she began, outraged, but stopped speaking when she saw him giving her that annoyingly knowing smile of his. "You're already planning something for her if she has to stay," she stated, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm thinking of calling in a favour with your friend Rosmerta's parents," he said quietly. "I hear they are looking for a new barmaid, with the option of living on-site."

Raising her eyebrows, Minerva nodded. "That they are, Ros told me last week. You don't miss a trick, do you?" she grinned, relieved. "Thank you, old man. Hopefully, however, she'll be sent home in a few hours and I'll have worried for nought."

"Indeed. And I'm sure she'll have a fascinating story to tell Old Minerva," he chuckled, stroking his beard absent-mindedly.

She scoffed, intent on giving a sharp retort, but fell silent and let her features quickly rearrange themselves into a neutral mask as she saw a woman she assumed to be the mysterious Madam Yelena Artlock approaching them from the corridor. After exchanging a worried look with Albus, the two Professors stood up to greet her.

"Professor Dumbledore," she said, extending her hand, "Professor McGonagall, thank you for coming. Minerva, might I ask you to come with me to the interview room? It appears I severely underestimated Jean's history, and I believe she could do with some emotional support for the remainder of the questioning."

"Of course," Minerva found herself saying instantly, eyes growing wide with worry as she processed what Yelena had said. "Is Jean well?" she asked as they two women hurried down the corridor.

Yelena sighed. "I fear she had to relive some rather horrid memories. The future has some dark times ahead, it seems. Please," she said opening the door, "Go in and I'll join you both in a few minutes."

Taking a deep breath, and summoning all of her Gryffindor courage, Minerva walked in to see Jean hunched over the desk, head in her hands, and an air of defeat surrounding the poor woman. "Jean?" she asked timidly, taking the vacant seat next to her.

Looking up at her voice, Jean gave a tense smile, that appeared to be far more like a grimace. She looked as though she'd been crying again. She was pensive for a few moments, and Minerva let her be, deciding that if Jean wanted to talk, she would do so. Eventually, she said, "Sorry for...well, suitably putting a dampener on your holidays. I'm not usually this pathetic, I swear." She tried to laugh, smiling despite the worry etched across her features.

Minerva never classified herself as a hugging type of person where complete strangers were concerned, however she was learning. And once more, it seemed that a hug would probably to Jean Gray the world of good. For the second time that day, she pulled the woman into her arms and held her. Given how Jean instantly relaxed, she guessed that Old Minerva probably did this, too. "Don't apologise," she soothed, trying to think of a way to cheer the girl up. "I've witnessed the latest Hogwarts Legend, thanks to you, Jean Gray," Minerva whispered, a smile ghosting her lips. "I'm sure the story of 'The Body In The Lake' will be known throughout the school by midday, September 2nd. Probably spread by Robbie and Malcom McGonagall, knowing my little brothers," she added, rolling her eyes at the thought.

Jean gave a watery chuckle and sat back, wiping away her tears. "You know, that story exists when I start at Hogwarts. I'd never have guessed it was about me," she said, looking rather flummoxed at the realisation. "Merlin, this … this really isn't a dream..."

"Nope," Minerva said, lips twitching at the corners. "You're in 1957, darling." After a pregnant pause, her curiosity got the better of her. "So... Can they send you home?" she asked, very hopeful this ordeal would be over for Jean soon.

Jean shook her head, averting her eyes. "1957 doesn't have the technology," she said, voice breaking. "I have to wait for the future to come and get me. But..."

"But?"

With a defeated sigh, Jean said, "Look, we're still recovering from a dark and bloody war. For all I know, the Time Department might have been compromised, or destroyed entirely. So who knows how long I'll be stuck here." She closed her eyes, breath shuddering as she tried to breathe in and out slowly and calmly.

Minerva reached out and placed her arm around Jean's shoulders, leaning into her. "Oh, Jeanie," she murmured, "I'm so sorry. But look-" she leaned back and turned the other woman's face towards her, looking into her hazel eyes. "You said yourself that you and I are friends, yes? Well, do you honestly think that I would let them just leave you here? Old Minnie will probably be breathing down their necks as we speak, and threatening to turn them into fucking parrots or something if they don't hurry up."

To Minerva's great relief, Jean cracked a smile. "Knowing you..." Jean said fondly, "Yes, that I could imagine. I'd expect nothing less."

Just as she finished speaking, Yelena re-entered the room, carrying a tray with tea for three. "Here you are, ladies. Please help yourselves," she said, gesturing to the tea. "Jean, it's just general and medical information now. Since Minerva is present, you can't mention any names or exact years. Instead, I'll have you write them down on a piece of parchment for me," she explained, handing over the necessary writing implements.

Minerva busied herself with making tea for herself and Jean, trying hard to ignore the conversation going on around her. She'd seen Jean's medical scans, and the fact the woman was so shaken up at having to talk about parts of the future made Minerva rather disinclined to know what was to come. The thought that there was another Grindelwald in-the-making out there made her rather nauseous. As Jean answered questions calmly, and wrote things down occasionally, Minerva caught bits and pieces of real information on the woman she had rescued. She was 21, muggle-born, and a Gryffindor. She had several Masteries, including one in Transfiguration – a fact that pleased Minerva greatly – as well as an Order of Merlin for Services of War.

As Jean went on to list a few more accolades, and then her medical problems, a few scant details of this War she had fought in emerged, and Minerva couldn't help but wonder – just who was the woman she was sitting next to? And what the hell has she lived through?

The rest of the interview was a blur for Hermione. She knew Albus joined them at some point, to give a joint statement with Minerva, and Hermione found herself agreeing to let him take care of her living situation, as both he and his Transfiguration Professor weren't pleased with the idea of Ministry Housing. Truthfully, she was too exhausted to care either way. Her pain relief was wearing off, she'd had to recount too many horrible memories, and despite it all, she was still no closer to going home. She knew she shouldn't be surprised, but a small part of her had hoped that there was something hidden away in these old vaults that could be of use to her.

"Jean, I will see to it that we have your citizenship request processed by tonight," Yelena was saying as she lead them to the door. "And I will be in touch within the week with all the necessary identity information, and a false back-story for you. Also-" she withdrew her wand and summoned a small purple drawstring bag from one of the storage shelves, "-Some galleons to see you through until we have a Gringotts vault for you. It will contain a more substantial sum, I promise."

Hermione took the money gratefully, murmuring a small 'thank you' as she closed the door behind them. She felt Minerva link arms with her, and relaxed slightly at having someone trying to keep her grounded. Human contact was a magic all of it's own.

By the time she had made it back to Hogwarts, Hermione was in pain, confused, and exhausted. She was stuck here, in 1957, with no name, no proper identity, no access to anything of her former life. Her favourite books didn't exist, all the reading materials on offer were incredibly outdated and, to top it all off, she had no job. Not being able to go to Level 9 was truly heartbreaking; she spent more time at the office than she did at her own home. Having free time was not something she particularly enjoyed. Every now and then, she'd meet her friends for dinner and drinks, occasionally stop by The Burrow for Saturday brunch, tolerated dates with Ron when he insisted on them, and of course, she saw Minerva to talk transfiguration when both of their schedules allowed it. But now, she was stuck in Hogwarts until the Ministry decided what to do with her, and Merlin knows how long that would take.

Even just having a sparring partner would set her mind at ease – anything to keep her busy and active.

Instead, she found herself limping down the halls to Minerva's rooms after having had a large amount of pain relief potions in the infirmary that seemed to be doing no relieving whatsoever. Upon their return to Hogwarts, she had written down a list of ingredients she needed Albus to acquire for her so that she could brew her own drafts, and the delivery couldn't come soon enough. Cruciatus-induced pain was different to normal pain, and thus, had to be medicated differently. Simple potions, like Pain Stopper, were rather useless for lasting injuries like hers.

Not that that sort of research existed yet. It would be another four decades before that came about.

Sighing, she reached Minerva's door and knocked, hoping to take her up on the offer of a drink she presented earlier. She felt bad for the young Professor – essentially being forced to be the friend of a girl she didn't know because said girl clearly did a major fuck-up at work. And, as Hermione was well aware, Minerva McGonagall didn't actively seek friendship with a good many people. Although, so far, young Minerva had surprised her. The bantering between her and Albus was amusing, and she did seem a little bit more approachable than the intimidating Professor McGonagall was in her own time. Hermione didn't quite know what to make of her yet.

"Here to drink away your sorrows?" Minerva asked as she opened the door, lips twitching upwards. Gone were the teaching robes she had on earlier - she was back in her muggle clothes, long black hair completely out, with a cigarette in hand, and looking far more relaxed than Hermione had ever seen her.

"That depends," Hermione said slowly, raising an eyebrow consiprationally. "Does your secret not-so-secret stash of Aristotle's Firewhiskey exist in the hidden bookshelf yet?"

Minerva scoffed, then grinned. "Oh, it certainly does, Jean Gray," she laughed, stepping aside to let Hermione in.

30th June, 2001

Ministry of Magic

Nerves were eating at Minerva. Kingsley had yet to speak, although he had grown paler since he registered her presence by the fire. She dearly hoped the events of the day hadn't been too hard on him. To be fair, though, it wasn't every day someone under your watch – someone you're friends with – gets sent back in time 44 years. She had been prepared for accusations, and raised voices – Merlin, she was half expecting Kingsley to never want to speak to her again after finding out she knew this would happen. Instead, he was silent, which was not something she had planned for.

She waited.

Eventually, he said, "Take a seat, Minerva. I think we need some scotch for this meeting."

"Indeed, we do," she agreed quietly, sitting down in the arm chair by the fire. She toyed with the Time Department envelope again while he poured their drinks, wondering how best to approach this now. Tell the full truth? Part of the truth? The basic facts? For so long, she had kept Jean's secret to herself, and of the five people that did know the truth – or had figured it out for themselves – four had been killed during the War.

Kingsley sat in the chair adjacent to her own, and handed her a generous amount of scotch. "To a fucked up situation," he toasted, and Minerva couldn't tell if it was sarcasm, or if he was serious.

Most likely a bit of both. "You're telling me," she said, raising her glass, before taking a gulp. She sighed as the liquid settled in her stomach, and leaned back, feeling slightly more at ease.

"So," Kingsley said, after another silence, "You knew Jean. More-so than just 'Hogwarts work colleagues', I take it."

Minerva narrowed her eyes, trying to understand what angle he was taking with this. She couldn't be sure what he was feeling; his face remained impassive. "Yes," she said slowly. "I found her, washed up on the shore of the Lake, half dead. Scared the life out of me," she admitted, repressing a shudder at the memory. That image still haunted her nightmares. "Barely let her out of my sight again after that."

Kingsley raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Jesus," he breathed, shaking his head. He sighed, before taking another sip of scotch. "How badly was she hurt?"

"She nearly drowned. Broken wrist, fractured skull," Minerva recalled, trying hard to keep the emotion from her voice. "Covered in burns and cuts. She was fine after a week, though – Albus, Trudie and I took good care of her, I assure you." She decided to risk a smile and, to her great relief, it was returned. "To us, it appeared as though she survived some sort of explosion prior to ending up in the water."

As soon as she'd said 'explosion', Kingsley's eyebrows shot upwards once more. "Well, that's what happened on this end of things," he sighed, palming at his eyes wearily. "The entire lab is just black. Everything is destroyed, and the other agents are still in ICU. Merlin knows what they were bloody experimenting on."

Minerva sniffed. "That's Unspeakables for you," she muttered, with a shake of her head. "Jeanie could never remember what happened," she continued. "There's a 14 hour gap in her memory. We tried everything – using a Pensieve, memory potions, legilimency..." she trailed off, the ghost of memories flashing before her eyes.

"But there was nothing?" he asked.

"Nothing," Minerva all but winced. "A fact that drove her mad. A Hermione Granger who can't remember something is bad enough, as you've probably seen – but Jean was even worse, believe me." She gave a delicate laugh as she had another drink of scotch, leaning back into the comfortable chair.

"Oho!" Kingsley laughed, grinning at the woman next to him. "That, I do not doubt. I remember what Professor Gray was like. Not as bad as you, but still – you did not want to get her worked up."

Minerva raised her eyebrows in disbelief. "It's a shame you're only realising that now, Mr. Shacklebolt," she sniffed, with a roll of her eyes. "How many detentions did she give you and your group of friends? How many points did you cost my House?" To her utter delight, Kingsley looked suitably abashed at her tone of voice, before they both started laughing. She was perfectly aware she had just told off the Minister for Magic in his own office. The tension in the room lifted immediately, much to Minerva's relief. She respected Kingsley, and she was proud to call him a friend. The fact he was taking this so well was reassuring, to say the least.

"Gods, she's really in the 50's, isn't she?" he mused aloud, sinking back into his chair. "Professor Gray's Hermione. Merlin's beard." He stared into the flames of the fire, lost in thought for a long while, before turning to look at Minerva through inquisitively narrowed eyes. "She'll be so different when she comes back... That's why you're here, isn't it? Ronald and Harry wont even know her – none of us really will, will we? Only you, and the friends you both had back then. You know what she'll need when she gets back."

Nodding, Minerva brought her glass of scotch back to her lips. "Precisely," she said seriously. "When – or, God forbid, if – she returns, she wont be the Hermione Granger she was at 9am this morning. She'll be 31, and after being Jean Gray for ten years, this world will be but a very distant memory for her. She grows into a beautiful, but very complicated woman," she admitted, frowning as she recalled how different Jean became during the 60's. "By the end of it all, with the war fast approaching, her depression was an uphill battle. That's not just going to disappear by her coming back here. She's going to need to rest, recover, re-adjust to modern life. This..." she took in a shuddering breath, unsure how to proceed. Eventually, she murmured, "This isn't going to be easy."

Kingsley appeared to be slightly stunned, but reached over to give her small hand an affectionate squeeze, which she returned, while giving a sad smile. "We'll get her back, Minerva. I promise you."

She appreciated his assurances, and they lapsed into a comfortable silence, both lost in their thoughts. Minerva's eyes were unfocused as she gazed at the drink she held in her hands. She was still very, very curious as to why Jean was stuck in Time for ten years. She was desperate to get her hands on the old records the Time Department had on the case.

Breaking the silence, Kingsley asked quietly, "There was no stopping this, was there? Even if she had known...if we'd tried to stop it...Time would find another way to get her back there, wouldn't it?" He was frowning as he looked at her, an expression she remembered from his school days when he came across an unsavoury fact.

Minerva nodded grimly, before downing the rest of her drink. "Yes, it would have. I... I have spent years studying it with a revered Time Mistress – Perri, who knew Jean quite well – trying to understand it all... To see if we could prevent it..." she sighed, shaking her head in defeat. "But it's a loop. It's all already happened."

"So she's not changing the past?" he asked.

"No," Minerva replied. "She's fulfilling it."

A/N: Latin translation for the Unspeakable motto-

Aude Sapere: Dare to know.

Cave quid dicis, quando, et cui: Beware what you say, when, and to whom.

Kinda sums up the DoM in my mind...

Thank you for reading! Please review - they make my day.

Love,

Lily xo