There were voices, images, rushes of feelings and motions that flowed through her as Hermione dreamed. She saw the battle in absolute clarity. The beach by Shell house, gentle waves crashing upon the sand and the warm feeling of sun as rays of its light cascaded on her face. Laughter as she danced with Ron and Harry. Hermione felt determination as she cast spells from her own wand, now snapped. There was an exam, the words swimming in her vision, as her hand held a quill with a splotch of ink about to drip from the very tip. There were knives, and Bellatrix's cruel laughter, the hiss of a snake.
There was the very rotten feeling of darkness curling up her spine, something addictive and beckoning to the part of Hermione that towed the line between her sense of right and wrong justice when she was particularly vindictive.
A particular memory sprung up of herself luring Dolores Umbridge into the forbidden forest where she knew that Umbridge would trigger the centaurs into dealing a punishment Hermione felt Umbridge deserved, and you didn't even have to get your hands dirty- that darkest part of her supplied with glee. As you planned, Umbridge did that to herself. She deserved it for the pain she caused you and your friends, and more-so for the disruption she caused in your education. And who could forget Miss Edgecombe, the traitor? Pathetic as she cried. Permanently marred across her face for giving up your secrets... that was a busy year for you.
Hermione was marred too, she recognized, even as she tried her best not to reveal her secrets under the torture she faced from Bellatrix. Mudblood would always be carved into her arm. Looking back, she acknowledged the logical conundrum between her beliefs versus reality. It was a catch twenty-two situation. Edgecombe revealed secrets detrimental to their cause and learning, albeit while it was a stressful situation it was definitely not for a life or death cause (though- Hermione's mind continued to supply- learning defense while knowing a war was coming could be argued to be a life or death cause) and was permanently disfigured for it. Then to look at Hermione's disfigurement: her horrible scar being carved on her arm was almost a mercy, for it could be hidden under clothes, but she received it for keeping her secrets. What was better, to keep the secrets then or to reveal them since no matter which decision would result in pain? You withstood torture and legilimancy, and still managed to keep your secrets. They were beneath you. They should respect you. You will make them pay.
Hermione had first thought the voices were a pigment of her imagination, loud and jarring. Arguing. She realized she was beginning to come to. Her body was thankfully numb.
"-can't just be allowed in the school like this without precautions! Where did the girl even come from? How did even she get on the grounds?!" It was a voice Hermione recognized, one with a Scottish trill. "The girl is seeping dark magic, you'd have to be a fool not to feel it."
McGonagall.
"She attacked me professor!" A distinctly male voice that Hermione couldn't pinpoint.
Another voice pitched in- Madam Pomfrey, Hermione's mind supplied as she began to come to- seemingly disagreeing with the prior as it snapped, "What could she do in this state? The poor girl was clearly tortured! Or have you forgotten what the effects of the cruciatus look like?" Having made her point, Pomfrey ended with, "Now, I will have no more of this while she's in my infirmary!"
Hermione blinked her eyes open sluggishly, attempting to focus on the three figures in front of her. There was McGonagall, as she'd thought, and Pomfrey too. The strange boy was laying in a bed adjacent to her, glaring, even as Pomfrey closed the curtain surrounding Hermione's bed to provide a better privacy. It separated her from the two women who hadn't realized she'd awoken.
Still, Hermione felt as if she was being watched. There was someone here, still, who hadn't spoken.
Blinking away the bleariness, she was able to focus on soft blue eyes and a long silvery beard.
Dumbledore.
Of course it was Dumbledore.
She swallowed hard and closed her eyes tightly as she attempted to accept her situation.
This was much further back in time than she had anticipated. How much further back? Is it far enough to make a difference?
No, Hermione rejected immediately. Bad things happen to witches and wizards who meddle with time. She should have never picked up that time turner.
Dumbledore seemed to be waiting patiently for her, well aware that she was wide awake.
She tried to speak then, looking at Dumbledore carefully with her occlumency walls in place, but nothing came from her except for a croaking sound.
Dumbledore hummed softly, "One of our greatest choices is perseverance through difficult times, or to allow ourselves to be lost in it." He summoned a glass of water and raised it to her lips, helping her drink slowly for a moment. "I must admit I have a number of questions for you, traveler, but they can wait."
"Y-you," Hermione rasped out, voice hoarse. "You know?" Even speaking those simple words took an impossible amount of energy from her.
He tilted his head to the side, observing her. Hermione felt a gentle probing at her mind and was glad for her shields. How much could he know?
Manipulative fool. He couldn't resist.
Dumbledore waved his wand and Hermione felt charms being placed around her. Privacy charms, she intuited.
"Only what I could infer from your injuries," he stated carefully. "And from your surface thoughts while you dreamt."
Hermione started, her mind racing. This was not good. Dumbledore was quick to reassure her, "I didn't go further than I needed to in order to know that you were not an enemy to us or the students here."
He stood up then, setting the glass of water on the table beside her. "You must forgive me, Miss Granger." He knew her name. He must know enough about what led her to be here. "But would you deny that you would not have done what I did if you were in my place?"
He began to walk away, pausing right before the curtain. "We'll talk soon about your position in this time, Hermione. Know that I will support you in whatever you decide." He opened the curtain surrounding her, and then negated the silence charms around her bed. He waved Madam Pomfrey over to inspect her now that she was awake.
The boy that had been across from her- the one she had attacked the night before- was gone.
Madam Pomfrey could only do so much to heal Hermione, it turns out, even with her extensive healing capabilities being as they are. She'd had to call in a number of specialists in all manners of healing to assist with resetting bones, mending fractures and regrowth. What, in particular, had the matron so concerned was the dark magic seeping clearly from Hermione.
Time passed by passively through this experience. There was some awareness that tests were being done, potions being fed to her, and a consistent level of pain. Directions were given to Hermione that she followed listlessly when she was able to, and she was given assistance by Madam Pomfrey and the specialists she'd called in when not. One day seemed to blend to the next as if from a distance. Hermione knew she existed here, with the people moving busily around her and the white curtain around her bed opening and closing habitually. She watched her hands moved, felt her mouth open and close as she attempted to speak, had almost felt it as she swung her legs over the side of her bed when she moved to stand for the first time since having gotten her injuries- and then buckle beneath her as they were unable to keep her weight.
Every now and again their nonsensical muttering would stumble through the haze. "Impossible," she would hear. "There's a magical signature here distinctly not her own, almost as if it's alive-"
"Like a parasite, living off of her. Is it feeding on her magic, or empowering it?"
"I've never seen anything like it!"
"Dark, dark is what is it."
"Who are you girl? Where did you come from? Where is your family, who can we contact for you?"
"She can't be moved, she's much to vulnerable in this state. Look at the condition she's in."
Days and nights passed in a way that seemed immeasurable, foggy, to Hermione's clever brain. Logically she could recall everything that was happening to her- that had happened to her leading up to this- and yet some part of her argued that this wasn't her life or her pain. This frail, damaged person who survived a war couldn't be her, it couldn't have happened to her. These weren't her scars because it wasn't her body. This wasn't her healing because she wasn't injured, wasn't damaged. She wasn't cursed.
Denial was her only argument. Pushing the facts away until she could escape into what she deemed her real reality, a fantasy of her own creation, became her new normalcy. She didn't need to be present for these numerous healers and their strange questions, or Madam Pomfey's protective hovering around her. And so, this hospital wing in which the strange girl was healing wasn't her- and yet...
How could Hermione argue any different when her healing happened in a time that was indisputably not her own?
Choices. Dumbledore said that he would give her choices.
Are you really going to let your life be controlled by manipulative men who want nothing more than what constitutes to their ideal greater good? You should know better by now that the difference between good and evil is not always clear, and the only definitive reasoning for one winning out over the other is power. History is written by those with the most power, and typically categorizes those victors of war as good regardless of their tactics that led them to victory. Virtue and honor mean nothing without power.
It's time to make your own decisions. It's time for you to take control of your life. It's time to take the power that is rightfully yours, muggleborn or not.
It's time to wake up.
When Pomfrey skeptically deemed Hermione well enough to be able to move on her own, she was escorted to Dumbledore's office where Hermione was supposedly going to be given her choice based off of whatever secrets Dumbledore thought he knew. Hopefully, he was projecting an air of false knowledge when he stated that he knew enough. Hopefully, Hermione could keep her secrets.
The password was whispered to the gargoyle that guarded the headmaster's office, and Hermione was led up the winding staircase to stand before the headmaster's door. Pomfrey knocked on it gently, and motioned for Hermione to stay where she was, as Pomfrey moved into Dumbledore's office. Pomfrey left the door just slightly ajar. Hermione stood blankly before there, unmoving, and listened to the ensuing argument. She could overhear Pomfrey and Dumbledore arguing over her. Specifically, over Hermione's current mental and emotional health as well as physical. Pomfrey was attempting to convince Dumbledore that she should be present for the proceedings, to watch over and act in Hermione's best interest on Hermione's behalf, as Hermione could hardly care for herself in her current state.
Pomfrey couldn't be blamed for her protectiveness. Hermione hasn't spoken once since the brief few words exchanged with Dumbledore when she first awoke weeks ago, and if it wasn't for Madam Pomfrey making sure to provide the utmost care then Hermione was certain her own existence would have simply faded away.
Dumbledore was unyielding in his resolve to have a one on one conversation with her, however, and before long chipped away at Madam Pomfrey's determination to stand by Hermione. He convinced Pomfrey, finally, that he would not push Hermione more than what she was able to do.
Liar. You're another pawn to him, Hermione, unless you refuse to play his games.
Finally, Hermione was called in as Pomfrey was leaving. The healer passed a worried look to the slight girl as they passed each other. The door shut resoundingly behind them, and suddenly Hermione stood before Dumbledore on opposite sides of his desk.
He eyed her carefully, the lack of a gleam in his eyes was the only indication that this would be a serious conversation. Even the portraits on the walls seemed to be waiting with anticipation. Hermione distantly realized there was a seat before her, and that the damaged body she was occupying would not be strong enough to hold her standing for long periods of time. She roughly sat in the seat, sinking deep into the cushions.
Sit up straight, tall, proud. Do not show him your weaknesses.
As if pulled by puppet strings, her body did as commanded. She felt her occlumency walls being constructed in her mind, shielding her from any possible invasion of legilimancy from the headmaster.
They both waited for the other to speak first, tensely. Before it became an awkward silence, Dumbledore spoke up, "I feel it's best to provide honesty to you, Hermione, with your current circumstances. I could feel the magicks reverberating from you when you first arrived. Wild magicks."
He opened a crystal jar on his desk, one filled with candies, and popped on in his mouth to suck on. He offered the jar to Hermione and hummed when she shook her head no.
"They were tangled up in one another, and difficult to recognize." At her penetrating gaze, the first time Hermione had really started to feel present for what was happening to her in recent time, he continued to explain, "Not impossible though. I must admit there was some measure of trust placed in a colleague of mine who previously was employed with the Ministry, having worked in the Department of Mysteries. I'm uncertain if you know her. Professor McGonagall?"
Hermione neither nodded nor shook her head, no indication to let him know if he was right. His face softened as if he could ascertain anyway the answer he was seeking.
Smug bastard.
"She was able to confirm what I suspected. You, young lady, come from a very distant time from our own." Her eyes narrowed at him. The more people who knew, the more damage that could be caused. "I am inclined to believe given the state you arrived in, as well as from my initial inspection of you when you arrived in the hospital wing, that your time fares not much better than our own."
Her lips curled contemptuously, and Hermione was seething. Still she said nothing.
Dumbledore frowned. "I will not ask of you to say anything of it," he continued. "For fear of change. However, if change is what you believe the future needs then know my door will always be open to you. This is the choice you face."
There was a flash in the corner of the room that caught Hermione's eyes, and her head whipped to it as her body tensed for an attack. Her heart racing, it took a moment to realize that the flash was simply the coloring of Fawkes as he preened himself, the light catching in a particular way across his feathers. She attempted to calm herself, unwilling to lend Dumbledore anymore information about her future than she wished to provide.
"In the meantime, there is another decision that awaits you."
Hermione turned back to face him again.
If he didn't finish speaking to her soon, Hermione may be inclined to lunge across the table and show him how muggle she could be. Her fists tightened in her robes, the ones provided to her by the nurse.
"You cannot return to your future," Dumbledore stated matter of factually. "Were you told of the experiment with Eloise Mintumble?"
Of course we were told of her. Returning to the future would age us, wouldn't it? And whose to say we didn't exist in this time all along?
Dumbledore couldn't have sensed her thoughts, Hermione hadn't felt him trying to probe at her shields and she knew despite the fury that sat their plainly in her expression that there wasn't anything in her face that would give away her thoughts, but he prattled on as if he knew. "We must build you a life here. A story, or family. Connections will be important to you. I know people you would be safe with."
Conniving, scheming, putrid fool.
The part of Hermione still denying that this was happening didn't fight as Dumbledore took control of her alibi. Explaining that she wouldn't be recognizable as a pureblood, and that it would be difficult to explain the scar on her arm- the one that defined her as a mudblood- unless she identified as muggleborn or halfblood. He would let her decide that, though he did state that it would be safer for her to live as a halfblood than as a muggleborn.
No, to be a halfblood with that disgusting word marking you as other would betray you as a blood traitor. Better to be who you are, mudblood, than anything else. It would give you a clean slate, even at a disadvantage, because being a blood traitor is unforgivable. You do not betray your kind.
Hermione could barely remember the fake history about herself that she was given. When she was born a witch, her family made the decision to send her overseas to a less prestigious school to learn her magic rather than someplace closer to home in order to help her gain more worldly experience. Upon returning home one summer, a dark group of wizards- Voldemort's type, she gathered distantly- broke into their residence and killed her parents before torturing Hermione. (Dumbledore was reluctant to suggest they keep the torture in the story, but with Hermione's silence there wasn't else much that they could use to explain the shakiness in her limbs, the way she jumped at sudden movements, the scars that crossed her body.)
It was made clear that these dark wizards became aware of Hermione's existence through her boarding school overseas. When Hermione escaped, she realized she could not return there and instead turned to Hogwarts where she was originally offered a position for her schooling all those years ago.
All those years in the future, you mean.
She wasn't in her right mind, still in the fight or flight response, when she hid in the bathroom and later attacked the other student. Dumbledore, having communicated with the fake headmaster in this story, then came to realize what happened to Hermione and helped her to get in contact with the only other members of her family remaining.
"The current school year is near over," Dumbledore explained. "There would be no feasible way to assimilate you as a student now, regardless of certain professors and students aware of your stay in the hospital wing. With the students soon to return home for the summer, I feel it best you leave with them before coming back for the next term. You need more time to heal as well. This decision is best."
And, to allow her to decide if she would be a muggleborn or a halfblood, he placed her with a halfblood family. Hermione could claim to be a relative from either the muggle side of the family, or from the wizarding side, with neither cousins knowing of their relationship to each other prior to as a result of the family's halfblood status.
She realized then, although no one thought to tell her, that she had been transported much further back than she'd thought. The family she was being placed with?
The Lupins.
Harry's parents are alive, and the second wizarding war in the future was traded for the first wizarding war of the past.
You will never escape those fighting for power.
Your only choice is to fight to claim power of your own.