When she came to, she was blinking away dancing spots in her vision. She took stock of the clean brown walls, the tidy desk and bookshelf-
This isn't the Hospital Wing .
She moved to sit up, but found herself stumbling instead.
When had she stood up?
"You must be so confused right now," a strange voice said. Hermione immediately snapped her wand up, glaring at the surprisingly young man in front of her. He had his hands up in the universal symbol of surrender, his face bemused. He had short wiry curls, his face symmetrical. He had brown eyes which complimented his dark brown skin nicely. "Not like that would harm me, but could we put the wand down please?" he asked with a small smile.
"Who are you? Where am I?" Hermione asked instead, glaring at the suited boy as she kept her wand trained at him. She had no clue where the hell she was, and it was terrifying . Who knew what nefarious deeds he had planned for her? He just sighed and sat at the desk, his feet crossed in front of him.
"First of all, let me introduce myself," he started. "You can call me Isaiah."
"That means nothing to me," Hermione dismissed, and she was proud to see that her wand only wavered a bit.
"I'm… I guess you could say I work for the Time Department!" he responded cheerfully.
"In the Department of Mysteries?" Hermione asked sceptically.
"Something like that," he responded vaguely. "Please, sit. If it makes you feel better, you can keep your wand pointed at me."
Hermione remained standing.
"Okay… Well, I'm here to answer any questions you have!" he responded, far too merry for Hermione's liking.
"How did I end up here? Where is here? Were you responsible for me waking up in 1943?" Hermione fired off quickly, her brows creasing as more questions came to mind.
Isaiah raised a hand in surrender. "We transported you," he ticked off on his finger. "Here is neither here nor there, and yes."
"What?" Hermione asked, absolutely bewildered. "What do you mean, transport ? And how is a place neither here nor there?"
"I understand that you have some knowledge on the properties of time?" Isaiah asked instead, his voice probing. At Hermione's nod, he smiled back. "Well, forget all about that. Throw it out of the window, it's absolutely useless."
"What do you mean !?" Hermione cried out, her voice reaching shrill tones.
"I mean that your understanding of time is completely incorrect," he explained patiently, and Hermione got the feeling that he was talking to a five year old. She bristled.
"How else would it work?" she asked sharply. "Time is the continued progress of events in a linear fashion, from the past, through the present, and into the future-"
"Wrong, wrong and wrong, " he interrupted her. "Time is… a wibbly-wobbly ball of stuff . It's a lot more resilient than we led you to believe, because honestly, you guys are already a mess without the threat of time travel-"
"What are you talking about?" Hermione demanded, growing more alarmed by the second.
"Listen, I can't go into the details, but time is… infinitely more complicated than you can understand," he began.
"Why don't you try me?" she replied coolly.
"Time is… infinite," Isaiah began, his voice melodious. His eyes seemed to light up with passion as he began his spiel. "All possible events in the history of what was and the possibility of what could be are all happening simultaneously. Was, is, will be, they're all arbitrary. Time is… flexible. You can 'change' events, and time will bounce back - mostly . Some events are fixed , and should never be altered - but that's not of your concern."
"But…" Hermione stuttered, her eyes wide, "But… Eloise Mintumble!" she cried out. "She travelled back and-!"
"Ah, yes," he interrupted, a small grimace on his face. "That... well that was a mistake on our part… One of us really messed up… The paperwork that came out of that shitstorm was immense, to say the least."
Hermione stayed silent for a few minutes, before…
"How on Earth did you mess that up? The Tuesday after she came back lasted two and a half days!" she cried out, her lip trembling. " Twenty-five people were unborn !"
"Like I said, the paperwork alone-" Isaiah replied.
"And what do you mean, fixed event? Like what?" she demanded, ignoring his rebuttal.
"Ah, how to explain…" he replied, tapping a finger on his chin. "It's like… if someone decided to off Hitler before he rose to power, then someone else would inevitably take his place, and the war will still happen. Sure, the details would change, some technology will never be found, whereas some new ones would crop up… Some other people will die, some will stay alive… But World War II will always happen. The outcome might change, but there are certain fixed events that will always happen."
Hermione's mouth fell open, and she deflated a bit.
"And these… these new people dying," Hermione asked, voice soft. "It won't affect time?"
"Not in the long run, no. Some small alterations would be made to the timeline, of course, but it's rarely enough to change the course of history. Not unless they're a catalyst for something larger, like your friend Mr Potter!" he replied cheerfully. "He's got a long future ahead of him, and Fate needs him alive for some events later on. Gods, she was pissed when he went and got himself killed , she had to pull a lot of strings for that-"
" Killed!? " Hermione burst out, interrupting his monologue. "Killed? What do you mean, killed ? Does Harry die? Oh my God, I need to get back to him-!" Hermione looked around the room, and realised for the first time that there was no door.
"Relax, Hermione," Isaiah said in a soothing voice. "It doesn't happen for another few years after you had left, so you can't affect it. Besides, now that Fate got involved, it's a fixed event. He has to die. And come back," he added.
Hermione stared with unblinking eyes, ignoring the tears tracking down her face.
"But… But I won't be there," Hermione whispered, her voice low.
"Oh, you will! If everything goes well, you should be right there alongside-" Isaiah suddenly cut off, his warm smile sliding off his face. Hermione watched curiously, even as she wiped her tears away, as he seemed to frown into space. "Ah," he continued after a few seconds. "It seems I've said too much. We need to wrap this up."
"Wait!" Hermione hiccupped out. "I still don't understand!"
Isaiah sighed deeply, before finally sliding off the desk to stand in front of Hermione. He grasped her shoulders, and Hermione looked into his plain brown eyes.
"I'm sorry to say it like this, but here goes: we moved you back to 1943 to right a wrong. Tom Riddle was never meant to fall so deeply into the Dark Arts - that was another mistake on our part." He ignored Hermione's scoff, and bulldozed on. "You don't have to do much to change the timeline, just your presence should be enough. Oh, and don't worry about the fixed event stuff - seeing as we plucked you from your time stream, Fortune bestowed some gifts - also check the notes we've left you! Don't worry, only you can read them," he explained. He took a deep breath, and seemed to check things off of a mental checklist. "I think that might be the majority of what you need to - oh! This goes without saying, but keep this little encounter to yourself, yes?" he probed. Once he received her nod, he nodded back, satisfied. "One of Fortune's gifts might help with that actually, but it's all in the notes. What else, what else…" He trailed off, his eyes wandering off. Hermione then noted just how old his eyes were, and she wondered whether he was as young as he seemed. "And don't overthink it too much. You're only sixteen, there's only so much we can ask you to do. Just settle into the forties, and Time and Fate will take care of the rest. Now, you really must get going," he explained, throwing a look to the odd looking…hourglass? Clock? Whatever it was, it seemed to be spinning excitedly, which made Isaiah groan, before turning back to look at her with a tight smile. "Yikes. Well, enjoy the ride back, and have a safe life! Goodbye!"
Before Hermione could so much as blink, she found herself… thrust into her body. The sudden shift in environment was disorienting, and she had trouble keeping the earlier potions down. Once the dizziness subsided, she reached out for the sheaf of parchment Madam Fletcher had left on her table. She thumbed through them quickly, disappointed with the lack of information in them.
Five pages? That's it? she scoffed. And they're not even filled out !
She looked at the headings of each page, her eyebrows rising with each page.
Important fixed events, she read on the first. Some advice on your life in the 40s, was on the second page, which seemed to cover some backstory and other details to help her blend in better. At least they seemed to have used details from my life in the 90s … she considered. On the third page, it said, Protections. On the fourth page, it said, Timey-wimey , and Disclaimer , was written on the fifth and final page. It held two simple paragraphs beneath the block title.
The information provided by us via these papers (the "Missive") is for general informational purposes only. All information on the Missive is provided in good faith, however we make no representation or warranty of any kind, express or implied, regarding the accuracy, adequacy, validity, reliability, availability or completeness of any information on the Missive.
Under no circumstance shall we have any liability to you for any loss or damage of any kind incurred as a result of the use of the Missive, or reliance on any information provided on the Missive. Your use of the Missive and your reliance on any information on the Missive is solely at your own risk.
This has to be a joke , was Hermione's first thought.
She shook her head in disbelief, scoffing. She went back to the first page instead, eyeing the bullet points warily.
Important Fixed Events
• Elizabeth Welch volunteers as a nurse at Queen Elizabeth Hospital for Children on August 3rd, 1943.
• Winky Roland Crocket has detention with Horace Eugene Flaccus Slughorn on October 14th, 1943.
• Georgy Konstantinovich Zhukov orders all Soviet citizens to aid the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics' Operation Bagration in May, 1944.
There were a few others after that, but Hermione was too bewildered by the first two. What significance did they have? Why were they fixed? And she was pretty sure the first was a Muggle…?
She moved onto the second parchment.
Born to two Muggle dentists on September 19th, 1926… Educated privately via a family friend… Straight O's in OWLs, except an EE in DADA… (Same as my actual OWL results, Hermione thought )... Recently orphaned…
Hermione stared at that.
Huh.
I guess I am an orphan, she thought, her mind spinning. Would she ever see her parents again?
But Isaiah had said that she would be there for Harry, so clearly she either lived until the 1990s, or she would be sent back! She would see her parents again!
(Hermione resolutely ignored the possibility that her parents, simple Muggle dentists that they were, could be expendable- )
Wait, Moaning Myrtle- Myrtle Warren was supposed to be killed by Voldemort! And he was supposed to make the diary! Any day now, in fact! Hermione quickly recalled all that she could about the diary, all that Harry had told her after she woke up from the Basilisk incident, all that Ginny had whispered across from their shared room at the Burrow…
Oh, Lord, it was supposed to happen in two days!
But it's not a fixed event...
Hermione stared at the first parchment again, deep in thought.
"I do wonder what that parchment did to offend you so," a slightly amused voice said from the right, causing Hermione to jump. She immediately raised her wand, pointing it directly at a cross-eyed, auburn man…
"Professor Dumbledore!" Hermione cried out, immediately lowering her wand again. The younger looking man uncrossed his blue eyes from where they had been staring at her wand, looking at her face instead. Hermione didn't miss the hand fingering the shaft of a wand poking out of his midnight-blue pocket, or his sharp eyes focussing on hers.
"Have we met, Miss…?" he replied politely, a lot cooler than what she was used to. Hermione winced.
"No, no, I just, er, I mean, who wouldn't recognise you, Professor?" she stuttered out. Yes, incredible lying, well done Granger, she groaned internally, and Lord, she could feel her cheeks flushing.
"Hm," was all Dumbledore replied, his face set in concentration. Hermione kept eye contact with him, because it showed respect, and it showed confidence -
Why was she getting a headache?
"Oh, and my name is Hermione, Professor," she added. "Hermione Graves." Her moniker was close enough to her original surname, so the change wasn't too difficult to adapt to.
"Pleased to see you're awake, Miss Graves," Professor Dumbledore replied. He conjured himself a comfortable armchair, before settling into it. "First, I would like to welcome you to Hogwarts. The faculty were quite concerned for your health when you first arrived," he said with a polite smile.
"How exactly did I arrive, Professor? My memory seems to be a bit fuzzy," she explained, her tone soft.
"You were passed out," he replied, apologetic. "You were discovered by a Prefect at the Gates, apparently unconscious from the Portkey. The wound on your chest seemed to have been aggravated too, so he administered some first aid and brought you to the Infirmary."
Hermione swallowed to try and get rid of the rock lodged in her throat.
"I should probably find and thank that Prefect," Hermione joked. Jesus, I could have died!
"Quite," Professor Dumbledore nodded. "Madam Fletcher mentioned a letter from your previous tutor…?"
"Oh! Oh, yes, I have it right here!" Hermione floundered for a few moments, shuffling the papers until she reached the one marked with To: Whom it may concern at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She handed it over, biting her lip. "Mr Smith wrote this letter for you." She watched for a few minutes as her old Headmaster read the letter with quick eyes, the tension in his mouth relaxing a bit.
"I see. Well, it appears that you have nowhere to go right now, is that correct?" he asked, his tone far more sympathetic now than earlier.
"No, I don't," Hermione whispered, looking down. Her hands were twisting the thin sheets. She felt like she was watching a stranger's hands. "I'm an only child, as are- were my parents. Sir," she tacked on at the end.
"You can stay here for a few weeks, until June 28th, when the train leaves," he replied eventually. Hermione's head shot up, face disbelieving. "You will have to stay in the Hospital Wing, unfortunately, as setting up a guest's rooms will take too long; there are quite a few bureaucratic hoops to jump through for that, unfortunately," he explained.
You mean setting one up for a Muggleborn nobody like me would be next to impossible, Hermione thought with a twitch of her nose.
"In the meantime," he continued, "I'll look into where you could stay over the holidays. As you're still underage for the duration of the summer holidays, it is my prerogative to find you accommodation."
"I… thank you, sir!" Hermione exclaimed, tears filling her eyes. "Thank you for your help!"
"It is my pleasure, Miss Graves," he replied with a small nod. "And I do apologise for my initial coldness; these are dark times, you see." His face darkened here, his eyes looking off into the distance.
"I understand, sir," Hermione replied, her eyes similarly unfocusing. "I've had my fair share of close calls with the darker nature of man, unfortunately." She absent-mindedly rubbed the scar on her chest, not noticing the movement being followed by Dumbledore's ever perceptive gaze.
"I'll let you rest now, Miss Graves. I will try to visit as regularly as I can," he reassured her with a soft smile. "I'm rather curious to speak to you about your rather remarkable OWL scores!"
Hermione flushed at the praise, smiling shyly as the Professor meandered out of the Hospital Wing.
It was only after he had left did she remember that Dumbledore was an accomplished Legilimens.
Shit.
AN (from Ao3):
Helloooo!
I didn't know whether to 'spoil the surprise' of who sent her back, but honestly, I didn't really care ahahah. The focus of this story is Hermione and Tom's characters, not the 'mystery' of who sent her back - I didn't have the patience to drag that story on. There's another mystery later in the story, and I'd rather allocate chapters/words for that plotline.
The disclaimer is from a website online that I can't for the life of me find. If anyone really wants to know, I'll look for it!