As It Was

by Taelr

I'll think of something clever and captivating to put here later.

2. Would That I

True that I saw her hair like the branch of a tree

Willow dancing on air before covering me

Under cotton and calicoes

Over canopy dappled long ago

True that love in withdrawal was the weeping of me

That the sound of the saw must be known by the tree

Must be felt for to fight the cold

I fretted fire but that was long ago

. . .

With the roar of he fire my heart rose to its feet

Like the ashes of ash I saw rise in the heat

Settle soft and as pure as snow

I fell in love with the fire long ago

With each love I cut loose I was never the same

Washing still living roots be consumed by the flame

I was fixed on your hand of gold

Laying waste to my loving long ago

Would That I ~ Hozier (2019)

Hermione stood in her room in Gryffindor tower, staring out the window. The sun had not yet risen or even graced the horizon with the unsettling gray light which preceded it, but she knew only hours stood between her and the goings on of the day. She reflected on the years she and her friends had spent here at Hogwarts so far. While it wasn't difficult to acknowledge that they'd been through some particularly complicated times, this year seemed the most pressing yet. And the most foreboding.

She couldn't get it out of her head that Dumbledore and Fudge's bizarre acceptance of Harry's name being selected by the Goblet of Fire was beyond irresponsible and shocking – it was completely out of character. Of course she had no grounds for thinking she knew anything about the Minister of Magic himself, but even with her limited experience with the headmaster, this seemed an action he would not normally take. To place Harry in such danger and without further questioning of everyone – or anyone at all – was incomprehensible. And yet they'd done it.

Her hand found the small, intricately designed item hanging from her neck and brushed over it lightly but did not toy with it – it was not an advisable action, toying with time turners. A thousand times she must have considered going back in time to stop all of this or at least force some other kind of response by those in authority. But she'd kept the time turner after her third year only by swearing a solemn oath to Dumbledore that she would use it only for academic purposes unless she received his blessing after unusual circumstances presented themselves.

She had, of course, considered Harry's appearance among the names within the Goblet of Fire to be one such circumstance, and had gone straight to Dumbledore. Even now, his rebuke hovered in her thoughts.

"Miss Granger, I assure you this situation is already in the hands of the appropriate people, and will be resolved."

She had argued with Dumbledore himself, something she'd never dared to do in the past. But this time it was different; this was Harry, her best friend, and his very life was at stake. It was also the first time she'd challenged him. "With all due respect, sir, how much control do you actually have?" She'd demanded it of him when his other answers all proved to be subtly circumventing her questions or simply talking her in circles around herself. "You always seem to believe that Hogwarts is the safest place for anything, but every single year that I've spent here something has gone wildly wrong and resulted in something terrible. Nothing questionable in the past which has weaseled by your defenses has ever turned out fine, and now this happens and you don't bat an eye?" It was an oversimplification, of course; Dumbledore had very much batted an eye when Harry's name was put forth by the Goblet. Still, she felt as though a stronger reaction – or at least more action to determine the culprit or remove Harry from the tournament – was in order.

At that, the headmaster had leveled her with a very serious stare, though it lacked malice. "You know the dangers facing those who meddle with time, Miss Granger," he said evenly. "Have you put any thought into how you might stop Harry's name from entering the Goblet and, subsequently, stop Harry from entering the tournament? And in five hours, no less?"

Hermione's cheeks flushed, but she was furious rather than embarrassed. "Of course I've thought about it!" She remembered herself and tacked a late, "Sir," on the end of the sentence. "But I'd hoped to obtain your permission to go back in the first place, and with that, your advice."

He studied her for a few long moments and then adjusted his half-moon spectacles on his long nose. During this interlude Hermione tried to keep her face blank but considered whether she could just go back without his blessing and be done with it. She knew the repercussions of going back on a magical oath, of course. But the one sworn with the headmaster was hardly the unbreakable vow. As if reading her mind, Dumbledore's brows quirked upwards and his eyes twinkled. "You are a very well-read student, perhaps the best presently in this school," he said with pride. "I'm certain you know better than most – perhaps better than myself – what awaits the witch or wizard who meddles with both time and a magical promise in the same instant?"

Hermione nodded, frowning. This entire exchange had done nothing but tire her and exhaust a portion of the trust and confidence she had in the man before her. "I'm sorry to have bothered you, professor," she said finally, turning for the door. "With your permission I'll keep the time turner – for academic use only – and I will return it to you for safekeeping at the end of term, as usual."

Dumbledore hummed his agreement and did not stop her from leaving, which she took as dismissal. When she was halfway out the door, however, his merry voice called after her cheerfully – "Remember your promise, Miss Granger. It is not I who will be watching for deviance from our agreement, but the magic of the oath itself."

The warning had been foreboding enough to stop Hermione from using the time turner for anything except her classes for the time being. She did something that fall which she'd never done before, though, and intentionally tanked one of her own homework assignments. A single essay, she told herself, would hardly destroy her reputation at the school or harm her academic future. She did it even before the first task was given to the champions, with the quiet hope that if something went terribly wrong she could go back – only to fix the essay, of course – and perhaps use it as a way to safeguard her return to a time before anything unideal had happened. There was the issue of the protective enchantments placed upon the time turner by the Ministry itself. Five hours into the past was as far as any of the time turners issued by the Ministry would allow one to go. Nevertheless, Hermione felt a certain necessity in safeguarding her reasoning for coming back, even if she didn't presently have a way of coming back at all.

And the weeks inched along, months came and went, and the first and second task were complete. Hermione had only ever used the time turner to go back an hour for her classes besides the single time that Dumbledore had given her permission to go back multiple hours and change the fates of both Buckbeak and Sirius. She had read that the further you went, the more risk there was of losing your place in time and winding up somewhere quite different than your intended destination in years. There was also the fact that the time turner would only take her in one direction. If she were to use it to go back and remedy her poor essay, she would be unable to immediately return to the present. This would leave more than one Hermione in Hogwarts during the beginning of the school year and she would have to wait it out in hiding until the original Hermione traveled back.

It was all a gross predicament, and one that grew with complication for every day that she waited. But she was afraid of the repercussions if she did go back on her word with Dumbledore, even if she did so under the guise of going only to remedy the homework assignment. Surely the magic which watched her would sense any ulterior motives. But the tasks, dragons and then nearly drowning, weighed on her heavily. She was sleepless most nights now, guilt-ridden because she had not tried harder to stop all of this from happening to Harry. He'd come out all right in the two tasks so far, but there was an anxiety that had set over the whole school and its guests regarding the third. An ominous mentality seemed to have swept up the entire grounds and the very castle in its grasp, leaving things more hushed and withdrawn than usual.

Hermione was slowly sinking further into her own mind, and between the stress over the upcoming and still widely unknown task ahead and the insomnia, she was slipping. Her performance at school was becoming notably less impressive and her mood with everyone was also worsening. Even Viktor, who had seemed so endearing with his watchful attention at first, now got on her nerves constantly. She knew it was probably ridiculous, but the longer it went on, the more Ron's voice was in the back of her mind, murmuring about Viktor spying and using Hermione for information. This only prompted her to be particularly snarky with Ron whenever he plucked up the courage to be smart or question her, and about the only one who escaped her wrath these days was Harry. To make it harder, she always regretted lashing out after it happened, and couldn't even be at peace with her own behavior. It was all very exhausting.

So she began experimenting. She'd go back a few hours in a single night in order to catch up on homework or try to catch up on a portion of the sleep which had eluded her before. Genuinely academic pursuits only, of course. But the longer it went on, the bolder she became. At first it was an hour here, two there. She knew the rules as well as anyone – time turners were enchanted to take the wearer back no further than five hours into the past, as that was the maximum amount of time deemed relatively safe from travel-induced mistakes such as unbirths and the death of the traveler themselves.

But five hours felt no different than four.

Hermione knew she'd been through a stringent process where the Ministry of Magic had gone through all of her credentials as well as her academic history in order to determine whether or not it was safe to lend her the time turner for the purpose of her education. Multiple professors at Hogwarts would have spoken on her behalf. Though she hadn't actually been aware of much of the process, the Ministry would have done their homework and also been sure that the time turner they issued to a student was properly enchanted and in working order. She knew the enchantments around the time turner were simply to stop one from going back more than five hours but didn't know how they achieved this. There were not necessarily consequences for going back further, it should simply be impossible to achieve in the first place.

So then why not try?

She was sure to do it in an effort to catch up on assignments, the first time she dared turn the knob more than five times. She had counted the hours of this experiment closely, placing her homework in the abandoned girl's bathroom in the morning and leaving herself a functioning pocket watch so that she could confirm the time she was traveling back to. Shortly longer than six hours later, after attending classes and keeping far away from the bathroom, she returned just long enough to use the time turner to go back. She checked the pocket watch when she arrived, certain she would find that she had only come back by five hours, but the time that waited for her on its face was an hour earlier than she'd dared to hope for. She kept out of sight, following the most basic rules of time travel, and waited for some kind of consequence to descend upon her. But none came.

And she kept pushing. Why the time turner she had in her possession was not working as it should to stop her from going back so far was a question ever-present on her mind, but she tried not to dwell on it. Its dysfunction served her purposes well enough. She could only hope the limit of five hours was the only bit wrong with it. Now it was eight hours for a proper night's sleep, even ten if she thought she could get away with retiring to bed "early" to complete assignments.

The more she went back, the more confident she felt. Sleeping wasn't purely academic, but it was close enough and there had been no repercussions for using the time turner for it. It was now spring, had been months since her flubbed essay in the first week of class. If she went back it would be the biggest jump she'd ever taken, and there would be the matter of hiding herself to avoid discovery until this very day, when her old self – currently her present self – had gone back. It was all very hard to think about in strict, straight lines. Time was more of a wobbly, curving thing with rules which doubled back on themselves and pockets where there shouldn't be any, particularly when one was attempting to move through it in an unnatural manner. And there was such a difference between hours and months.

Being that no one had died and Harry seemed about as prepared for the final task as the other champions – ignoring that he was underage and lacking the same level of education they possessed – she was hard pressed to justify going back now. But Professor Moody had become increasingly peculiar and problematic, and she was now convinced that if she could spend her months of hiding spying on him, she may wind up with very interesting information. The longer she spent in his Defense Against the Dark Arts class, the less she trusted the wizard. Harry had mentioned something from Moaning Myrtle regarding Polyjuice potion, and Snape had accused the three of them of stealing his personal potion ingredients. Ingredients which, he'd been very sure to point out, were used together only exclusively in Polyjuice.

Hermione was now sure that her biological clock kept right on ticking regardless of what time she was in, which meant the hours spent in the past were hours her body continued to age. If she went back to start of term then these would be five months of her body's life that she lost. It took no time to come to terms with this, hell bent as she was on finding a way to protect Harry.

She had the hiding bit worked out, at least. The Room of Requirement was somewhere in Hogwarts, and she suspected that the school itself would deem her going back to be a worthy effort. She could only hope the room would present itself to her when she needed it.

No one else knew of her plans, but Harry came the closest to finding them out. He had extreme reservations when she asked to borrow his invisibility cloak and was unable to tell him why. In the end, though, trust and friendship won out and her promises to explain everything after she gave it back were enough. He'd slipped it to her in the common room, close to midnight and only when he was sure no one was around to see.

That was how she found herself in her robes – being caught out in the halls at this time of morning would be bad enough, not to mention what would happen if she was out and about in muggle clothing – with her wand tucked away and the time turner absently clutched in one hand against her chest, making her way through the more desolate corridors the school had to offer. She assumed the Room of Requirement would present itself in a place where there were no paintings or portraits nearby to witness anything. As she walked, she considered the path before her again. The invisibility cloak hung lightly on her shoulders. It was hardly stifling, but she still felt the need to pull the hood off her head so that she could breathe and think properly.

She'd considered using magic to turn the knob the proper number of times, even developed a simple charm that would do so for her. But in the end her desire for precision had won out, and she'd determined that even if she blistered her thumb and forefinger in the process, turning the knob by hand to ensure the proper number of hours was worth it. She'd done the math so many times that the equation still floated behind her eyes, and she was positive about the great number of hours she'd be traversing. She would go back a very specific number of them, erring on the side of further back in time rather than missing her intended target. Better to arrive a bit earlier than planned than too late. And all in order to fix the essay. She repeated the words silently to herself over and over, trying hard to frustrate herself with the grade she'd received and use that frustration as her foremost reason for traveling back. Even with her miraculous avoidance of the five hour limit, her oath to Dumbledore was still in full effect.

She found a corridor with walls bare enough to suit her fancy and sat down against it. There were only two portraits here and one frame was empty, while the other showed a snoozing wizard. It was relatively dark, with torches burning low. Easy enough to hide herself in the shadow beside a column. She hesitated, able to see the time turner in this light but only just. She wished she had Harry or even Ron with her and paused, smiling to herself as she imagined what they would have to say about the whole situation. She knew her decision to set the time turner by hand would be outrageous to them both.

"By hand, 'Mione? Really?"

"If you went through the trouble of making up a whole charm to do it for you, why not use it?"

She sighed, thoughtful. Why not? It might be safer that way – no chance of losing count and screwing everything up. She drew out her wand and held the time turner where she could see it, though its chain was still looped around her neck. She pulled the hood of the invisibility cloak back up over her head. "Calculare hora," she whispered, and watched as the knob began to turn. It moved too quickly for her to count the number of times before it stopped and then the small hourglass at the center of the time turner began to spin rapidly. It tumbled over itself again and again while Hermione stared. In her peripheral vision she caught blurs of movement and light, but it was as if any sound besides the ticking of the item in her hand had been snuffed out entirely. It felt like years were passing her by, but she knew that this was going to take far longer than any of the shorter journeys through time she'd had before.

She managed a nervous smirk; if she was caught at this, there could be terrible, terrible legal consequences. She could always plead that it had been an accident, of course, as it wasn't her fault the five hour enchantment was not effective, but there was veritaserum to draw the truth out of her. Even if she hadn't toyed with the enchantment, she'd very intentionally broken the laws regarding time travel. Of all the times she could have started breaking rules, this was how she decided to take the jump. Of course. She carefully tucked away her wand and continued to watch the time turner, now holding it beneath the cloak so that none of her was visible. When she got to where she was going, it would be early enough that no one should be out and about, but just to be safe . . .

The time turner clicked as it stopped. She looked up and started in surprise, forgetting that she was invisible and shrinking back against the wall behind her. Three students – Gryffindors by their red and gold ties – walked by leisurely, clutching books to their chests or bags over their shoulders. The torches in the hall were flaring with life and made it quite easy to see the trio, even in a corridor lacking windows, as this one was.

They were all male, definitely older than second or third year but not in their sixth or seventh yet. Two of them – both taller than the third – walked ahead of the smaller, rounder boy in the back. One of the leading two looked quite familiar, though Hermione couldn't put her finger on why. "I'm serious," he said quietly. His face was scarred, as if something with large claws had gotten at him sometime in the past.

"Oh, Merline's sake," the shorter one in the back feigned distress, "And this whole time I thought he was Sirius." He nodded to the boy who had not yet spoken and chuckled to himself.

The indicated boy turned to snicker in the shorter one's direction and Hermione got a good look at his face. He also looked somewhat familiar . . . "I am Sirius!" he crowed happily, and the two slowed their walking so that they could guffaw at each other and pound on each other's backs. The more somber of the trio shook his head at them, but a fond smile curled his lips.

Beneath Harry's cloak, Hermione's hand flew to her mouth. It couldn't be.

"I'm serious."

"No, I'm Sirius!"

"Oh really? Are we all serious now?"

The three of them passed her and continued to make their way down the corridor, oblivious to her presence.

"Oi!"

She started again and whipped her head to the side at the source of the noise. A boy who looked very much like Harry was standing there, grinning at the three in the hall. He was distant enough that Hermione couldn't get a good look at him, but something heavy and nauseating formed in her gut as she squinted his way, forming itself along with the certainty that if he was closer she'd find that he did look like Harry, only with different eyes and minus the lightning scar.

Merlin, no. Oh, no. No no no. She'd been so careful, so calculated. There was no way-

"James." The scarred boy's somber face lit up with a smile, and those of his two friends quickly followed. "I don't suppose you'd be kind enough to tell us next time you've got detention. These two have been moaning about how you ditched them for quidditch practice or some other adventure for the past hour. I'm ready to rid myself of all three of you for it."

More uproarious laughter followed and the four of them disappeared around a corner.

Hermione was now biting the hand against her mouth, terror welling in her chest. This was some kind of trick, it must be. She couldn't have gone back this far. She gripped the wall beside her and stood up slowly, mindful of the invisibility cloak and careful to keep against the wall so that no one surprised her by rushing into the corridor and walking right into her. She kept telling herself that she must be mistaken, but as she made her way toward McGonagall's office she passed numerous other students, and it quickly became apparent that none of them were familiar to her. She couldn't expect to know everyone at Hogwarts, of course, but the students in Gryffindor were familiar enough and none of those which she passed wearing the traditional red and gold sparked any recognition in her mind. She passed a grandfather clock in the hall and understood that it was early afternoon, whichever day it was.

When she reached the office belonging to the head of Gryffindor house she hesitated, afraid. She didn't even know what year it was. If she'd gone as far back as she suspected, the witch inside wouldn't even know her name. Perhaps it would be better to seek out Dumbledore . . .

The door in front of her began to open unexpectedly and Hermione stepped backwards in surprise. Her foot must have caught the hem of Harry's cloak, because it was pulled off of her and fell down her back to rest behind her on the floor. She scrambled to turn around and fold the now-plain piece of fabric up, barely transfiguring it into a handkerchief and jamming it into a pocket in her robes before the door swung all of the way open and she heard a surprised noise.

"I'm sorry, dear, if I surprised you . . ." The voice was familiar to Hermione, just as Scottish as ever, but sounded younger, somehow.

Hermione stood slowly, turning to look at her professor.The McGonagall standing before her was younger, with raven black hair and hardly a wrinkle in her face. She gazed at Hermione kindly, but there was a sharp something in her eyes that the younger witch did not miss.

McGonagall took a few seconds to scrutinize what Hermione was wearing, and her brow creased in confusion. Hermione glanced down at herself and realized why, suddenly remembering that she was wearing her own robes, complete with Gryffindor attire peeking out. If this professor McGonagall was the head of Gryffindor house, she would know every single Gryffindor student as certainly as she did in the time Hermione had come from. And if the students Hermione had encountered so far were anything to base her suspicions on, this time was not her own and this McGonagall would most certainly not know her.

The teacher narrowed her eyes and then stepped back with her hand on the open door. "I don't suppose you could come in for a moment, Miss . . .?"

Hermione almost choked on her own surname. "G-Granger. Hermione Granger." She didn't know if she'd just wrecked time and affected everything in the future by uttering those words, but there wasn't time to think on it. She mutely followed McGonagall inside of the office and sat down once the door was closed, wringing her hands. Perhaps she should have gone to Dumbledore first. Perhaps she should have done more exploring on her own. Perhaps-

McGonagall cleared her throat and Hermione looked up, realizing the professor had taken a seat behind her desk and even gone so far as to offer her tea. At least that much was familiar.

"Thank you, professor." She accepted it automatically, adding a sugar cube and then staring numbly down at it. There was a period of silence. Finally Hermione looked up. The patient witch seated across from her was watching her very closely, still studying. Hermione licked her lips and took a sip of tea, suddenly aware of how dry her mouth was.

"Miss . . . Granger."

"Yes, professor."

McGonagall was now smoothing the papers on her desk, setting the sugar cubes aside, and then fixing Hermione with a piercing stare. "I've been here a few years now. You appear to be in your fourth or fifth year yourself, and you also appear to be a member of my own house." She cleared her throat again. "I've no recollection of you being here as a first year or anything else, for that matter, and while we do occasionally have transfer students, the headmaster generally makes quite an effort to discuss such matters with the heads of house before accepting a new student, let alone bringing them into the school."

Hermione's mind was spinning. Lies didn't seem like the best idea, and this was McGonagall, the very witch who had offered Hermione the opportunity to apply for a time turner in the first place. "I'm not . . . I'm not supposed to be here." Out of nowhere, her eyes welled up with tears. "I'm sorry. What year is it?"

McGonagall became suddenly very guarded. "The year?" she repeated, though her stern gaze had softened some at Hermione's tears. She reached across the desk and handed Hermione a newspaper. The Daily Prophet was printed in exactly the fashion she was used to, but the date at the top made her breath catch in her throat.

"1975," she breathed, tears dissipating out of sheer shock.

"Miss Granger, why on earth would you need to know the year?" McGonagall's tone conveyed that she suspected, but still she waited for Hermione's response.

Hermione nearly vomited. "1995," she murmured, staring around her with wide eyes. She glanced over the paper again, taking in its contents. "I've just come from 1995."

McGonagall seemed unimpressed. "Well, if that's true then I suppose you've a bit of explaining to do. Might I ask how you came to be here?"

Hermione didn't know if she was about to forfeit one of her most useful – and now only – possessions, but she reached down the front of her robes to pull the time turner out. She carefully unwound it from her own neck and hair before setting it on the desk between them. "It was a mistake," she whispered hoarsely. She wasn't on the verge of tears anymore, her shock too complete for anything but a hollow, sinking feeling in her chest. "It was supposed to be hours. Not years." Hours, that was a bit of an understatement, but it was also the truth. Months, not years. Weeks, not years. Days, not years. Hours, not years. The knob on the time turner went by hours. Nothing more, nothing less. Perhaps it was because she'd broken her promise to Dumbledore, or because the five hour enchantment wasn't the only thing wrong with the time turner. Perhaps her charm, however calculated, had not done as she intended. Perhaps she'd somehow seriously miscalculated the number of turns required to the knob to get her where she wanted to go.

Did it even matter how or why any longer? Even if McGonagall confiscated the time turner, it wasn't like the thing could take Hermione forward in time.

The professor examined the time turner and then peered at Hermione with the same unnerving look over her spectacles that Dumbledore so often employed.

"Please, Professor," Hermione said urgently. "I need to see Professor Dumbledore. He's the most powerful wizard there is. If anyone knows how to fix this, it's him." The severe look lingered on McGonagall's face. "I can prove I'm from the future. I'm not even born yet in 1975, but I know things. I can tell you –"

"Miss Granger, stop!"

Hermione bit her tongue, she slammed her mouth shut so fast.

McGonagall set the time turner back on the desk and briefly removed her glasses so that she might rub the bridge of her nose. "If you are from the future . . . and I have no evidence at this time to suggest otherwise . . . then telling me – or anyone – details of what the future holds could be disastrous. You have broken countless laws and regulations just in being here, mistake or no." She replaced her spectacles on her nose and leveled Hermione with a slightly softer, more understanding look. "I cannot begin to imagine what you're thinking at this moment, but I need you to remain level-headed enough to follow some very basic guidelines. And you are correct; we must go straight to the headmaster."

They made their way to Dumbledore's office in silence. Hermione knew the way, walking quicker than McGonagall but trying to remain beside her for the duration of the journey. She knew the professor took note of the fact that she was aware of exactly where they were headed. As if the headmaster himself foresaw their arrival, the gargoyle moved aside and they entered without so much as pausing to utter a password.

When they reached the office, Dumbledore was leaning back against his desk facing them. He nodded to McGonagall and then studied Hermione with the same intensity that the female professor had. Over the next hour she tried to explain more of what had happened without getting herself into too much trouble. "You say that you do not yet even exist in this world?" Dumbledore asked eventually, eyes twinkling.

"I'm to be born September of 1979," she replied quietly. Unable to contain what had only just occurred to her, she asked, "Sir, are you going to alert the Ministry of Magic?"

The headmaster waved a hand in dismissal at her question, shaking his head. "Not yet," he said at length. Neither he nor Hermione missed the way McGonagall stiffened beside her. Nodding at the female professor, he continued, "I believe the answer is obvious. We have until September of 1979 to find a solution."

McGonagall could not contain herself any longer. "A solution, Albus?" she asked.

Again, he nodded. "There is much else going on, of course, but I see no reason that I cannot devote some of my time to reversing Miss Granger's predicament. Perhaps with enough time I can find a way to return her to where she belongs."

Hermione could hardly breathe.

"And in the interim?" McGonagall sounded thoroughly perplexed.

Again, the headmaster's eyes twinkled. He smiled at them both for the first time since they had arrived in his office. "Well, I do believe Miss Granger was nearing the end of her fourth year. I'm certain we could arrange for the O.W.L.s she takes with us this year to correlate accordingly." He gazed at Hermione thoughtfully. "Unless you've got a transfigured suitcase on your person, I suppose you'll be needing some supplies, both academic and personal." His eyes shifted to McGonagall. "I trust you know what to do."

Still looking quite out of sorts, the older witch nodded. "Of course." She looked to Hermione. "You said your family won't be stumbling upon you if you stay here?"

Hermione shook her head. "They're muggles. No magic in anyone else in the family. Just me." She did not miss the significance of the look which passed between her elders.

"That's good, then. I'll see to it that you get any required books and supplies for this semester. As for clothing and robes . . ." She glanced Dumbledore's way.

"I believe a late visit to Diagon Alley may be in order," he hummed, turning away and busying himself with something at his desk. "Welcome back to Hogwarts, Miss Granger."

They left his office. He'd kept the time turner with him, gently asserting that he assumed Hermione wouldn't be needing it for a time. She was glad enough to have the wretched thing out of her hands, unwilling to go any further back in time and muck things up more than they'd already been. McGonagall did speak on their way back to her office, briefly catching Hermione up on the goings on. "I have classes to teach, Miss Granger, but by this evening I'll have a dormitory in Gryffindor Tower arranged. You'll have to busy yourself until then. I shall come find you when arrangements have been made. Perhaps a visit to Hogsmeade or Diagon Alley this weekend." She paused outside of the office, frowning. "You know the rules, Miss Granger. You may use your real name and some specifics of your childhood, as long as they are not too detailed or timestamped. But you mustn't tell a soul how you came to be here or where you're really from." She gazed sternly at Hermione, who nodded.

"Of course, Professor. I – I think I'll go to the library."

There were so many questions left unanswered. Would she remain at Hogwarts over the summer? Would Dumbledore actually find a way to send her back? And further, because they refused to allow her to speak of anything from her own time, both professors who did know the truth were unaware of the critical role the four boys Hermione had seen earlier would play in the future of the school, the war, and everything else. She harbored a quiet terror that she would ruin everything if she interacted with them at all.

She made her way to the library without incident, though she caught herself glancing at students passing her by and looking for any she recognized. Looking for Harry, or Ron, or Neville. Hell, even Draco Malfoy for that matter. Malfoy would at least have some snark to offer and even that would make her feel less alone. But the only faces she did recognize scared her, and she avoided them fastidiously. Sirius Black and Remus Lupin, young and boisterous and missing all of the hollow, haunted knowledge from her time. James Potter, so like Harry in appearance but so much louder and more sure of himself. Peter Pettigrew, who made Hermione's stomach turn when he glanced her way.

She escorted herself to a quiet corner of the library, as far removed from any other students as she could get, and collapsed in a windowsill seat beneath an intricate stained glass figure. The tears overtook her then, coming faster than anticipated. One moment she was overwhelmed but more angry and afraid than anything, and the next she was devastated. She may never see Harry or Ron again, may never see her parents again, may never even make it back to the proper time in order to protect her best friend. At least the Triwizard Tournament was far in the future and she didn't have to worry about Harry going it alone while she was stuck here. As of right now, Harry didn't even exist.

It felt so much like her first year, when she'd been mocked for her dedication to homework, her need for perfectionism, always sticking her hand in the air and often correcting other students when her opinion was not welcome. When Ron's comment had sent her over the edge and she'd gone to the girl's bathroom to cry it out. But now the bathroom was far away, too far to get to without making a scene, and she'd already holed up in her private corner of the library. So she curled in on herself, pulled her knees up to her chest, and buried her face in her hands. Sometimes there was nothing to do but have a good cry and let it out. She half-mumbled, half-sobbed a muffling charm but still tried to keep relatively quiet, aware that there was only so much the charm could do.

She stayed like that for some time, until there were no tears left to cry and her nose was sore from her wiping at it, and stuffy from running, and her eyes felt puffy to the touch. She pulled the transfigured handkerchief from her pocket and used it to blow her nose, muttering, "Sorry, Harry," as she did. She waved her wand and cleaned it right away, but still felt badly for using his invisibility cloak as a tissue.

There was a cough from beside her, someone clearing their throat in a way that very much demanded to be noticed.

Knees still drawn up to her chest, Hermione lifted her head and glanced to her left. The boy standing beside her was dressed in all black, wand in hand, with several large and heavy-looking books floating beside him. He stared down his nose at her, looking somehow both severe and somewhat concerned. "Are you all right?" The question seemed to ask why she was there more than whether she was feeling okay. He was very tall, very pale beneath his black hair and robes, and very much Severus Snape.

Hermione sniffed and tried not to gape at him, sitting up and stretching her legs out as if to stand. "I'm fine." She was guarded, knowing nothing about the young version of the potions professor whom she had grown to despise and distrust.

When she moved his eyes dipped down towards her chest for a fraction of a moment, and Hermione felt herself growing very red and very angry all at once. Before she could puff up further or speak, he grunted in a dismissive way. "This is my spot," he asserted, the earlier concern completely gone from his voice.

She was taken aback. "I was here first," she said immediately, his misguided gaze temporarily forgotten in light of him trying to kick her out of the refuge she'd made for herself. She moved further back into the seat, leaning her back against the window frame. Drawing her knees back up to rest her feet on the seat, she was not as folded up as earlier but somewhat stretched out, trying to get comfortable. She was not moving, least of all for some pompous, unempathetic Slytherin who waltzed in with no regard for anyone else and demanded that she vacate his territory.

He leveled her with a glare, still looking down at her; he was quite a bit taller than she, particularly since she was seated and he was not. "Not for the entire school year up until today, you weren't," he pointed out, venomous.

Quite accustomed to Malfoy and a number of other less than friendly schoolmates from her own time, Hermione met him stare for stare. His gaze was withering but left her feeling angry and emboldened, not afraid. "I'm not leaving until I'm quite ready to."

Snape rolled his eyes. She'd seen the action from his older self plenty of times, but found that this younger version was much more emotive than the professor she was acquainted with. "Fine," he snarled, beginning to turn.

"Fine." Hermione had only seconds to inwardly celebrate her victory, as he simply moved to the opposite side of the window seat – it was large enough to accommodate perhaps three or four students if they sat close together – and sat down, waving his wand so that his books stacked themselves neatly between the two of them. Hermione was caught off guard. "What are you doing?" she demanded.

He leaned back against the window and crossed his legs, selecting one of the tomes from his stack and opening it without so much as looking at her. "Compromising," he said after he'd situated himself comfortably and found the page he was looking for.

She was bewildered. "Compromising," she repeated, staring at him. Compromise? From Professor Snape? Not a professor yet, she reminded herself, trying to gauge how old he was.

"What else would you call it?" he asked, clearly annoyed. When she didn't answer he did finally turn to look at her, snarling, "Staring. Is. Rude."

Hermione just pursed her lips, holding his infuriated gaze for a few seconds before looking out the window. When her crying had ended earlier she was left feeling empty, and now she was glad for it. If she'd had any emotional capacity left she might start crying again or rip the snide bastard across the seat from her a new one. Probably best that neither happened, particularly on her first day at Hogwarts in this new time. She took a breath and opened her mouth to speak but he was already back to reading, ignoring her existence. So she bit back the words and studied him for a few seconds longer – glowered at him, more like – before her eyes slipped down to the books he had with him and she began considering which classes they must be for.

For Severus, it was another droll day. Professors expecting his best academically due to his marks, his worst behaviorally due to his house. All of them pretending that the Dark Lord's rise to power wasn't casting a black shadow over the whole of the school, even the Slytherins. The regular house competition had become stretched and particularly vile lately, especially between Gryffindors and Slytherins. He tried to keep himself out of it for the most part, but some Gryffindor students made that more difficult than others. His friendship with Lily had her friends at his throat, and his own as well. Well, if "friends" were what he could call his fellow Slytherins.

Classes persisted, regular impromptu duels and scuffles in the halls occurred, and some buzz in the air about a new transfer student. When his classes were finally over for the day, Severus made for the library, content to get some of his homework out of the way before dinner. He paid no attention to the gossip, caring little for new students. And this late in the year? What an outrageous, utterly foolish time to transfer in. He didn't care whether the supposed new student – of whom he'd seen neither hide nor hair – was Slytherin or not. Normally Lily would join him in the library or out near the lake if the weather was fair, but things had been strained between them lately. She was in some sort of crisis between her friendship with Severus and her identity in Gryffindor, two things which were more at odds with each other with every passing day.

And so he stalked past the table he and Lily often shared, today preferring the space he had always turned to for private study. And there was someone in it. It was a silly comparison, but he briefly considered himself suddenly understanding of how shocked and angry the family of bears must have been who came home to find Goldilocks in their space, eating their food, making herself comfortable in their home, uninvited. The someone was obviously crying, obviously very upset, all balled up and folded in on herself with her arms around her knees and her head down. That lessened his anger a smidge.

He cleared his throat, glad he'd chosen today to levitate his books alongside him so that he wasn't standing there under their great weight and waiting for the intruder to move. All he could see were black robes and bushy, disastrously curly amber hair. Severus was no great fan of his own locks, but found himself silently thanking genetics that he hadn't been stuck with that mess on his head.

She lifted her head to regard him at last, and it struck him how helpless her puffy, splotchy face looked. It also disgusted him, but he swallowed that down, wondering if this was the new student or some Slytherin female he'd failed to notice all this time. He held little regard for his housemates, but did hold them somewhat higher than students from other houses.

And then she was nothing but a smart-mouthed, stubborn pain in the ass. When she moved and he caught sight of her red and gold tie it all made sense, and after that any sense of concern or care for her wellbeing was out the window. And she wasn't leaving. He'd glared, snarled, and performed his usual basic bundle of tricks to scare other students off, but she just glared and threw it right back. Damn you.

And so he sat, perching himself on the wrong side of the window seat because she was quite literally in his spot. She would leave eventually if he gave her a cold enough shoulder and spoke with enough venom. They always did.

Eventually Madam Pince arrived and while initially annoyed, Severus was pleasantly surprised when it turned out she was here to remove his bothersome seating companion. "Oh, there you are. Miss Granger, is it?" Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the young witch nod mutely. "Professor McGonagall would like you to meet her in Gryffindor Tower at once." The witch glanced between the two students, pressed into opposite corners of the window seat as if allergic to one another but unwilling to move entirely, and shook her head. She nodded once to Severus, who had lifted his head to acknowledge her, and then turned and bustled away to scold some giggling first-years for being too loud.

The girl – Granger – stood and made to leave, but he spoke as she got up. "Granger," he drawled, pointedly not looking up from his book. He wasn't asking for her attention and had nothing else to say. Parting like this was all the sweeter knowing that he knew her name and she didn't know his.

"Snape," she said curtly.

His head snapped up, but she was already walking away. How did she know his name? She glanced back over her shoulder at him just before disappearing from sight, and he thought she looked rather smug.

He snorted quietly to himself. Gryffindors. He'd have to try and be here earlier next time, in case she made a habit out of stealing his studying space.