*Song Recommendation: Something In The Air (Thunderclap Newman)*
Acceptance and Refusal
"Welcome back to the land of the living, my dear."
There was no disorientation, there was no denial of where or when she was, it was like she had merely closed her eyes and reopened them a moment later.
"I doubt you will be feeling very rested, as I'm sure you've experienced with the dreamless sleep. I would apologize if not for the wonders the potion has done for your healing." It was true, Hermione physically felt no worse off than any of her self inflicted banishments to the bowels of the ministry that was the Department of Mysteries. Mentally, well, the more she ignored the glaring maladies of both her psyche and over debilitated mind, the better.
"Now, I will be remiss in sending you on your way without proper rest, but I regret to inform you that I must request just that. Unfortunately with the way our world stands at the moment, I cannot allow an unknown witch to stay within the walls of a school, albeit a vacated one. You understand, I'm sure?"
"Yes Madame Pomfrey," Hermione nodded in absolute compliance, "Of course you can't. Your care was already much more than I had a right to, I offer my gratitude." She felt no resentment or misplaced hurt toward the poor woman. She was correct in getting Hermione out of her domain as swiftly and smoothly as she may. She understood perfectly that she lay no claim to any level of trust.
"Never mind that now, dearie. It is my duty to attend to the sick, whoever they may be, an offer of hearth and home however…" Her remark drifted into silence beyond the shifted rumple of starched bed sheets as she assisted the mysterious newcomer out of her cot. Once erected, Hermione pushed the luck of her accommodation a nudge, or perhaps a bound, further.
"I will be on my way, then- but before I remove myself it is imperative I acquire a meeting with Professor Dumbledore, madame. We have some, shall we say,sensitive matters to discuss."
Doubt and hesitation, perhaps even a shred of fear, were made apparent on Madame Pomfrey's face. It was understandable, really. Who was this unknown werewolf who used personal names, offered thanks from behind a mask of absolute indifference, and demanded appointments with the leaders of an underground resistance? It was the matron's right to be overtly distrustful of Hermione, the stranger.
"I'll take you." Came an unexpected grunt. "This one here is awful company, anyways." Sirius snarked from his seat next to Remus' cot, gesturing toward the prostrate and still catatonic Remus beside him. Hermione envied him his naive rest. Sirius was smiling their way in a flawless display of well practiced charm. It took her own disassociated mind to pick up the subtle dissolution of authenticity as he captured eye contact with her.
"It'll be fun," he continued, never breaking their connection, "we can… get to know each other."
X_x
It seemed Sirius had miraculously heard her when she had said she was unable to disclose any details in regards to her illusory omnipotence. Though, nor did he forget his own stipulation over the insistence of the word "yet." He followed her rigidly, silently, staying ever so slightly behind as to force her to show herself to the Headmaster's office. It was an obvious test of her information, though Hermione was not particularly opposed to exposing her deep knowledge of the castle's blueprints. All would come to a head soon enough, and the less she blatantly deceived Sirius now, the more likely he'd be to joining her complicity. There was no pomp, no circumstance, and no dialogue. They came upon their destination, which was noticeably lacking its trusted stone guardian. Sirius urged her onward with an embellished gesture toward the door, the same door with which Hermione nearly dove through with the determined closure of it behind her, effectively separating her from her watchdog.
"Good day, Headmaster."
X_x
Within the previous 24 hours alone, Hermione had seen a once again living Remus, once again die. She had awoken to a vitally alive and youthful Sirius, and held the memory of seeing one Peter Pettigrew with all ten fingers. Yet this, that single step over the threshold into the office of Albus Dumbledore, was the only part of her journey in which she felt unbalanced by the extent of her time travel. He looked just the same. There was no noticeable difference at all between the Headmaster before her and the headmaster who had sat, would sit, at the head of the Great Hall spouting off nonsensical words like nitwit, blubber, oddment, and tweak. Very little was different between the man in front of her and the would-be mentor during his final days, perhaps only a less waning pallor that came from not hosting a magical curse on his being. The aging of youth is rapid, the emphasis on the the aged is unnoticeable, she acknowledged sadly to herself.The absence of change in a time not her own graced her with a sense of culture shock formed in an alarming mimicry of jetlag.
"A good day, indeed. I'd go so far as saying a fine day, even, though I rather believe the opportunity for such an improvement weighs heavily on what you have come to discuss. Somber strangers for somber tidings, or have I miscalculated?"
Hermione, chin jutted forward and eyebrow cocked with a peacock's pride, took every liberty in striding forward and finding a place to be seated in opposition to his.
"It is a fine day, Headmaster Dumbledore."
There was no mistaking the glint in his eyes, the fascination with this mysterious stranger's brash assertiveness and the puzzle her presence and word play presented him with. War efforts or grim tidings be damned, Albus Dumbledore was enjoying their interlude.
"I see. And how, may I ask, have you come to fulfill such a revision?"
"Simple." Hermione stated, fully aware of the grips of intrigue with which she was ensnaring him. "I have a very compelling story to tell."
"I am all ears. Please," he encouraged, "the floor is yours."
"Very well, then." Hermione dragged in a slow breath, like a bard drawing a dramatic pause before the telling of an epic.
"There once was a muggleborn girl named Hermione Granger, she entered a magical world at eleven years old and befriended a boy whose parents had been targeted and killed by a wicked 'dark lord.' She then proceeded to aid in an ongoing opposition against this evil-doer until his ultimate demise in the future year of 1994. After this event, her research led her to an ill-advised, though in many ways successful, attempt at a dangerous magical advancement. This resulted in her unanticipated arrival in a distant time, presumably predating her own birth."
It was satisfying, really, to see the permanent pleasantries of the Headmaster seemingly congeal as a barely traceable hint of panic and understanding soured that persistent twinkling in his eyes.
"Yes, Albus," she stressed in an outward attempt to gain control and standing, "I know what you have planned and I know how to fix it."
He was scrambling, shuffling papers and sifting through books. Hermione was vaguely curious as to whether this was the behavior Harry had been somewhat more privy to witnessing, or if even this distress was concealed from him. Finally he grasped onto a stack of parchments which were more than familiar to her own self.
"It's not possible." He muttered to himself, eyes flitting across the pages and diagrams before looking up at her from under furrowed brows. "How?" He demanded sharply.
"Very old magic, sir. Ritual circles, material elements…"
"But that doesn't account for-"
"Soul magic." She confessed with a sigh, too fatigued to keep up her charade." Listen, Albus, Professor Dumbledore, you are one of the great minds, and I do not doubt the deepest core of your moral intentions, but- your plan is not going to work."
Overwhelmed from his frantic search he sat heavily backward, absently nodding his head in acceptance. What she had admitted to made sense, it was a theory he had pondered himself only to dismiss such thoughts as catastrophic. No one would lie about using such magic, to do so would be to condemn oneself. "Albus please, my dear, as I understand we will be getting to know each other quite well from this moment onward- or at least, I will be getting to know you."
"Yes, sir." She accepted, grateful to be acknowledged as an colleague opposed to a necessary evil, a deranged lunatic, or worse, a student. "Would you like me to more fully explain the situation of the war in my time?"
"No, I think not Ms… Granger. At least not immediately. I think, first, we must attain a place for you in this time."
"With all due respect, Albus, I have no intention of taking up a false identity."
Troubled by her resistance he attempted to appeal to her, clearly, logical mind.
"I understand the discomfort of being someone other than yourself, but you must see how necessary it is for you to do so. You have risked more than I believe you understand at the moment, my dear, and it would be unwise for you to further endanger yourself by continuing on as this older copy of a younger self later to come. And I cannot account for welcoming an unknown stranger into the war effort's inner circle, as surely we cannot allow anyone outside this room to realize your previous whereabouts."
"I understand and appreciate your feelings on the matter, sir." Hermione placated as she tried to ignore the itching sensation in the air around you, a phenomenon similar in a warded area being oh so subtly manipulated.
"Good, then. I believe I have a viable option for you then, a family member, really. For a surname we will refer to you as-"
His words halted at the ominous creak of the office door's inward swing. There was no question as to who was the root cause of the interruption.
"Won't you join us, Mr. Black?" Albus asked coolly, his demeanor having reverted to that of benevolent Headmaster.
Sirius' head poked around the corner with a genuinely abashed expression. He took a few sheepish steps into the room before clearing his throat in a rather conspicuous signal.
"Ah, and Mr. Potter too, it seems." As an equally chagrined James Potter entered the room. "No longer students and yet still wrecking havoc on the castle, I see?"
"Sorry, Headmaster." Came an unapologetic chorus from the overgrown boys, clearly unashamed of attempting to eavesdrop, only of being caught. Hermione couldn't help the quiet snort that escaped her as she drew an uncanny parallel to Ron, Harry, and their sloppy plots to listen in on whatever was going on that they were being so rudely left out of. The sound was enough, however, to reclaim the curious attention of Sirius and James.
"Yes, well. Seeing as the damage has been done already, may I introduce the great-grand daughter of my second-"
There was an awful screech as Hermione forced her chair out from under her as she stood. Walking toward them, she acknowledged Sirius' presence with a nod before boldly offering an outstretched hand to James.
"My name is Hermione Granger. I'm here to help your son."