Tilly was more help than Hermione had bargained for. She showed up to her hospital bed with more than seventy books, all stacked haphazardly on the floor.
"- And Tilly's has organised it sames as the Library, Missus!" she was saying, her excited voice echoing around the room. Luckily, Hermione had had the forethought of closing her curtains, especially considering the odd looks she had gotten for having a bawling house-elf by her bedside. Also luckily, the curtains had sound-proofing Runes etched into the stone by her bed, and into the actual frames of the curtains, probably to offer some privacy for the patient.
"I… thank you, Tilly," Hermione said, her eyes welling up with grateful tears. "Thank you so much for your help!"
Tilly squeaked and fell over the stack she was standing on, taking another stack down with her.
"Are you alright?" Hermione cried out, alarmed. She immediately rushed over to the elf, intending to pick her up. Tilly just squealed again, and picked herself up before she could.
"Is there anything else Tilly's could help Missus with?" she asked instead, and Hermione watched with fascination as a dark purple splotch of colour spread across her cheeks-
Oh my God, is she blushing? Is this what Elves look like when they blush?
"Maybe a suitcase…?" Hermione asked weakly. She hadn't even finished her sentence when Tilly had already popped away.
She spent the late afternoon and early evening packing the books into the large suitcase Tilly had acquired for her. She ended up only keeping fifty of the seventy books, and asked Tilly to take the rest back. She quickly skimmed a few of the books on security before dinner, and firmly set protective Runes and spells on both the satchel and the suitcases.
I can't believe I had to send her back to get another suitcase, Hermione thought sullenly, glaring at the fruits of slave labour on the floor by her bed.
At least you made her happy, Ron shrugged.
And he was, unfortunately, right.
Over the next two days, Tilly was waiting on her hand and foot, much to Hermione's disgust.
I can't do this anymore! she burst out mentally, staring as the house-elf placed her dinner on her bed.
Then talk to her, Harry suggested.
"Tilly," Hermione started, apprehensive. Her conversations with elves didn't usually end well. "Do you enjoy… serving?"
"Yes! It keeps us busy!" Tilly hummed in response, setting new flowers into the new crystal vase that appeared on Hermione's suddenly larger night stand.
"Right…" she replied. "So… have house-elves always served wizards?"
"As long as any house-elf can remember!"
"Okay…" Hermione trailed off deep in thought.
"Is Missus needing anything else?" Tilly's voice broke her concentration.
"Huh? Oh, no, no! You've done more than enough," Hermione said quickly. "Erm, Tilly. Please don't take this the wrong way, but I feel… kind of uncomfortable with how doting you are. It's nothing to do with your service!" she said immediately as she saw Tilly's face fall. "You've been brilliant! It's just… the way I've been brought up… I would feel more comfortable if… I don't know… I could do something for you in return?"
Tilly seemed to freeze in horror.
"I couldn't… I couldn't allows that," she whispered. "That wouldn't be proper."
Hermione's face fell.
"Would it… would it make Missus happy if… Tilly allows Missus to do's something?" Tilly asked nervously, almost stuttering.
"It would make me extremely happy!" Hermione exclaimed.
"Tilly needs some time, Missus," she said nervously.
"Yes, yes, of course," she replied, smiling politely at the elf. With a squeak, Tilly popped away, leaving an embarrassed and uncomfortable Hermione behind.
Hermione was startled from her post-dinner tea by a crowd of people bustling into the Hospital Wing. She watched curiously as a diminutive wizard in beige robes led the procession, followed by Professor Dumbledore, and two other professors. A strangely stiff body was being levitated on a stretcher between them.
She suddenly felt sick.
She watched with bated breath as the four professors lay her down on a bed, next to three other occupied beds. Hermione had never paid attention to that corner of the Hospital Wing, but now that she did, she noticed how stiff all of the occupants were.
Bile rose up in her throat.
With trembling hands, she placed her teacup on her night stand. She then sat absolutely still, straining her ears to hear the hurried whispers.
"-Bathroom-"
"-Ravenclaw-"
"-Petrified-"
Hermione sighed in relief, letting her head fall back.
She wasn't dead.
She's not dead.
Hermione bit her lip, staring across the Hospital Wing. What the hell had changed? She had two conversations with the boy, why was Myrtle suddenly just petrified? Isaiah's voice suddenly floated into her mind.
You don't have to do much to change the timeline, just your presence should be enough…
Had she really changed that much? It just seemed… so impossible.
Then a line from an essay she read long ago came to her.
More or less of almost anything can change nearly everything.
Huh.
The essay was on the exponential growth bias, how the human mind had difficulty comprehending change that quick, or dramatic. Maybe she had made that much of a difference. Maybe it wasn't even that big of a change, like a small stone thrown in a pond, or a hummingbird flapping its wings. Would Myrtle have died if she had just been quiet? And not had the conversation on Arithmancy with him? Or if she hadn't asked to borrow a book? What if he hadn't been the one to find her-?
That's a rabbit hole, Hermione, Harry's voice warned her.
Hermione took a steadying breath before looking back to where the professors were all huddled up. She racked her brains for her second year Herbology essay on Mandrakes, and she was almost certain that the Mandrake Restorative Draught wasn't refined until 1952.
She can't let them use an incomplete recipe! Not if she knew a better one!
But you can't take credit for someone else's work, Harry's soothing voice said.
But what about the Muggleborns? The recipe they will use now will have some awful side effects! Hermione argued back. Anterograde amnesia, agnosia… And I'm pretty sure some victims spontaneously change back for a few seconds every so often!
Be logical about this, Ron's voice explained. How will you give them the recipe? They wouldn't trust an anonymous source. Nor would they trust a sixteen year old stranger.
Hermione snorted in disbelief, but she had to silently agree. She had to do the right thing, even if that meant less than optimal treatment for a few Muggleborn students.
AN (from Ao3):
I always found it a bit silly that Hermione would jump straight into using future spells/recipes, or even fighting in the war against Grindelwald. What exactly could she do from Hogwarts, especially if she wasn't with the Chosen One, or the Order of the Phoenix, neither of which would exist against Grindelwald? Idk, I guess I also can't be fucked to write in the War as a main event - it'll mostly play in the background tbh.
Again, no Tomione, which is why I'll immediately upload the next chapter - which is a juicy one!