Hermione blinked slowly, trying to clear away the cobwebs in her mind. Her vision was blurry, and all she could see was fuzzy lights and streaks of dull white and beige. She felt sluggish, slow. Her muscles felt like lead, and her joints ached like an old matron's, forewarning a storm.

Arms, check , she thought. Legs, torso, head, teeth-

Her vision cleared suddenly, and Hermione found herself staring at the ceiling of the Hospital Wing.

Well, there's a familiar sight, was her first thought.

I should be at my parents house, was her second.

She shot up from her bed into a sitting position, her heart pounding. She grasped around her body, her mouth grimacing in distaste as she grabbed the paper thin hospital gown. Just as she was starting to really panic, she noticed her wand on the bedside table. She immediately grabbed it, clutching the familiar vine wood to her chest. She felt her heartbeat settle, and she quickly took stock of the environment.

It seemed to be early in the morning: late enough for the early summer sunlight to lighten the room, but early enough that the handful of other patients were still asleep. They were too far away for Hermione to recognise them, so she focussed on the room itself.

I don't remember Madam Pomfrey being so disorganised, she thought with a frown as she took note of the half-labelled potions strewn around the room haphazardly.

What was she doing here? She had already spent weeks in the Hospital Wing after the whole Department of Mysteries fiasco, and she had been resting at her parent's house in Crawley. Where were Harry and Ron anyway? She would have thought that they would come to visit her if she suddenly took a bad turn.

Now that the adrenaline had faded, Hermione felt a wave of dizziness and fatigue rush through her. Blackness creeped into her vision as she settled back into the bed.

When she next woke up, it was mid afternoon.

"Welcome back, dear," a voice interrupted her slow awakening, and Hermione startled. She turned to her right and saw a bustling Matron in an old-fashioned style of robes, who seemed to be settling a few potions down on the table next to Hermione. "You've been out for quite some time, so take it slow."

Hermione just stared at the unfamiliar witch, and tightened her hold on her wand.

You're not Madam Pomfrey.

"H-" she croaked out, before coughing to get the dry, scratchy feeling in her throat to go away. A glass of water appeared in front of her eyes, and Hermione gulped it down gratefully. After a few moments, she tried again. "How long have I been out for, Madam...?" she asked, looking up at the woman. The unfamiliar witch had harsh features, her brows thick and dark, her mouth in a scowl. But she had kindness written into every laughter line and fold of her skin, her eyes bright.

"About two days," she replied, taking out the measuring ladles used for potions. "And it's Madam Fletcher. Open up. We still need to treat that nasty curse on your chest."

Hermione winced and absent-mindedly brought a hand to her torso. The wound didn't hurt, not really. It had mostly healed, leaving behind a thin, twisted scar from her left shoulder to her right hip. Unfortunately, she still felt it ache from time to time. Shaking those thoughts from her mind, Hermione looked up to see the Matron waiting patiently. She eyed the practically medieval looking wooden measuring cups, her mind whirring. Several thoughts flashed through her mind.

Is she an apprentice? No, not an assistant, she's a proper Healer- Replacement? No, no word of Madam Pomfrey's death or retirement- Conservative clothes, scratchy linen, old-fashioned measuring cups, different layout of the Hospital Wing, Queen's English, vintage hairstyle-

"Excuse me, ma'am," Hermione asked instead, because basic manners didn't cost anything, "But what's the date? The full date, if you don't mind."

"The date?" Madam Fletcher asked with a small frown, before it cleared up. "It's June 11th, 1943."

Hermione blinked at her blankly for a few seconds, her usually overactive brain suspiciously quiet as she registered what the Matron said.

I'm in so much trouble, was her last thought as she fell back onto the bed in a dead faint.

I'm getting rather tired of waking up from passing out, she thought with a frown.

Then she remembered.

She sat up quickly, thankful that her wand was still tightly clutched in her fist.

"Are you alright?" Madam Fletcher asked her, her concerned face appearing in front of Hermione's blurry vision.

"I.. yes, yes, I am," Hermione heard herself reply distantly.

Oh, God, what am I going to do!?

Hermione felt her breathing quicken, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she wondered the enormous consequences of her… predicament.

"You need to rest," the Matron said firmly. "Your body is clearly still recovering from your arrival; I'm putting you on bedrest for two days."

Hermione frowned, but nodded absentmindedly.

I can't be seen, I shouldn't be seen!

A bit late for that, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Harry's said in her mind. You're Hermione Granger. Think your way out of this.

Okay… I'm in the forties, I'm alone, I have no idea how I got here, or how to go back- Does time move differently here versus the nineties? What if I go back and twenty years have passed since I've left-

Hermione, Harry's voice interrupted her rambling.

Right. I need to find Dumbledore. Only he would be sympathetic to the craziness that is my life- But I can't be seen by him! What if he recognises me in 1991 as that odd girl from 1943-? How do they have the necessary potions? Some of the stuff I need for the wound hasn't been invented yet-

Hermione looked at the potion bottles to her right, noticing that they seemed to be a mix of the Hospital Wing bottles, and a different style that Hermione didn't recognise.

"Did... Are some of those potions… mine?" Hermione asked the still hovering Matron. Luckily, it had only been a few seconds since her first question, so at least she didn't seem suspicious of Hermione's silence.

"Yes, they are," she replied. "The note from your previous tutor mentioned that they were tailor made for you, and had the correct dosages."

Hermione's mind spun with the implications.

They're not tailor made for me! she wanted to scream. They're from the future!

Besides, what note? How did the potions come back with her? Were they just on the floor? How did she come back, for that matter?

"Can I give them to you now?" Madam Fletcher prompted after Hermione didn't reply, her brow arched.

"Yes, yes, of course," Hermione replied. She grimaced, but let the Matron pour the disgusting concoctions down her throat.

"I have a few questions," Hermione started as Madam Fletcher bustled the potions onto a floating trolley.

"I'm sure you do, you caused quite a ruckus!" the Matron replied. "Not to worry, Professor Dumbledore will be here soon. I sent him a memo when you woke up, just as he requested."

Hermione blinked.

Great, she thought. I'll just rip a hole in the space-time continuum, not to worry.

"Did anything else arrive with me?" Hermione asked, somewhat desperately. Any clue on how she ended up fifty-three years in the past would be beyond useful.

"The clothes you were wearing, the note from your previous tutor, a transcript of your classes and grades… and the potions!" Madam Fletcher listed off, her eyes staring into the distance as she remembered.

This was no accident , Hermione thought, her mind whirring. She ignored as the Matron left her alone to her unnerving thoughts.

Transcript, potions, notes- Who? Why? Why her? Why this time specifically?

I can't even ask Professor Dumbledore, she thought bitterly. I need to get out of Hogwarts, shack up somewhere I won't be recognised in fifty years' time, find a way to make money- Lord, she definitely could not ask him for advice, she can't be seen, she can't change anything-

Hermione was brought out of her reverie by a flash of… something. For some reason, she couldn't name the exact colour…

She looked at the piece of paper on her lap, resting inconspicuously on the duvet.

Three simple words, in simple block lettering.

Yes, you can.

Hermione fainted a second time that day.

AN:

I genuinely forgot to upload this here lmao.

So, hello! If you follow me on tumblr/Ao3, then you'll know that I've got quite a bit of this story written (around 110k). I've already uploaded on to Ao3 (up to Chapter 7), so I'll just dump those same chapters here up until that point. After today, I'll update both websites at the same time!

If the reception for this is positive, I'll keep updating the chapters, and depending on what you guys wanna see/read, I can adjust the story as I go!

I'll try to update it twice, or three times a week (possibly Tuesdays and Fridays), but again, it depends on the reception!