Hello! So I started something vaguely similar a few weeks ago, but someone made a very good point about OCs, and honestly, I like this better. I have a few chapters written, but am not entirely sure on the updating schedule. It will be at least weekly though. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I own six copies of Sorcerer's Stone, but not Harry himself


Chapter 1

The Great Hall was filled with ghosts, but not the ordinary kind. No, these were the worst kind of ghosts. They walked, talked, breathed. Nevertheless, they were ghosts. They were Hermione's ghosts.

The flash of a camera drew her eyes to the mess of unsorted first years. Colin Creevey was capturing everything he saw. She found it suddenly hard to breathe; he was so small. Colin had been underage when he'd died, just a few weeks shy of seventeen. But at least he hadn't looked young. Now he just looked tiny, so tiny she could almost forget they were the same person. But only almost.

Albus Dumbledore sat decked in purple robes, glistening eyes beneath his half-moon glasses. She'd spoken to him often enough the past few weeks that, usually, she could forget the image of his crumpled body. But as he chatted with his murderer—was it still murder if you asked for it? —As he chatted idley with his murderer, Hermione couldn't forget his empty eyes, or the secrets his twinkling gaze hid.

And then there was the murderer himself— Severus Snape, the man she'd never quite forgiven, and never quite hated either. He was being right foul at the moment, sneering at the Gryffindor table and the obvious space next to a certain bushy haired girl.

But that girl, that girl was the worst ghost of all, because Hermione knew her. She knew her every thought, her every word, and yet, Hermione had never felt further from someone in her life. That girl, that child, was Hermione Granger, but she wasn't Hermione. She wasn't eating, too busy worrying about her friends, but she didn't actually know what it was to be scared. She was too young, too naïve. Too… Hermione, in her infinite vocabulary, still couldn't find the right word. Or perhaps she was simply terrified of naming whatever it was she'd lost over the years.

Professor Snape rose from his seat, no doubt going to investigate where Harry and Ron were. Hermione knew exactly how that would end, and hesitated. A part of her was desperate to go with him, to snatch up the opportunity to see her husband and best friend for the first time in a month. But she knew it was a terrible idea. The two children attempting rather disastrously to sneak into the feast late were not her husband and friend. They were children, just children, and while Hermione couldn't help but love them desperately, she knew it was best to accept from the start that she'd never see her husband and friend again. It would be odd for the new Defense Against the Arts professor to go chase down two students she hadn't met yet. Especially with the memory of Voldemort invading the school through her predecessor so fresh in everyone's minds.

Never mind that Dumbledore was already suspicious of the witch who'd appeared out of nowhere hours before he'd given the position to Lockheart. If she wanted to accomplish anything—and Hermione always wanted to accomplish a great deal—she needed to have patience. She could meet Harry and Ron the same time she met all her other students. Then her work could begin.


Harry and Draco had been fighting, Hermione knew it the moment they got to class. Perhaps she just knew her best friend too well, or maybe it had something to do with the Slytherin muttering about 'filthy half-bloods, blood traitors, and Mudbloods'.

"Fifteen points from Slytherin, Mr. Malfoy. And a detention with me tonight." she snapped, though it wasn't as satisfying as she might have expected. Maybe it was because Draco was so young. Even after the war, Hermione had never forgiven the bully. He'd stood back while Bellatrix tortured her. How could anyone listen to her screams and do nothing, scared or not? Maybe he'd deserved to go free, but he hadn't deserved forgiveness. Especially when he'd never asked for it.

But this wasn't that cruel and self-serving man she'd known in 2005. This was a child who'd been taught awful things his whole life. It almost made Hermione feel bad for him, though, admittedly, saving Draco Malfoy from his own prejudices wasn't high on her list of things to change. Especially when he gaped at her.

"You can't do that!"

Now, perhaps, she felt the slightest bit of satisfaction. "Yes, Mr. Malfoy, I can. I will not tolerate slurs in my classroom, is that understood? And that goes for all of you as well."

She resisted the temptation to look only at the Slytherins. It only really applied to them, but Jean Watson had never attended Hogwarts. She wasn't supposed to be biased towards any one house or another. And even if Hermione knew that would be difficult, she thought it was probably for the best. She'd never expected to become a teacher. (Much like she'd never expected to fall twelve years back in time). Still, now that she was a teacher, her pedagogical philosophy could be summed up simply—If Umbridge or Snape did it, she wouldn't. And Snape's blatant bias towards his own house was a known fact.

And besides, the Gryffindor's didn't seem upset by her accusing gaze. They actually seemed impressed. Young Hermione was beaming, and Harry and Ron exchanged a not-at-all-subtle look of awe. Neville looked a bit peachy, but Hermione hoped she'd be able to earn his trust soon enough. After all, helping Neville Longbottom realize his potential years earlier was high on her list of priorities. He deserved it more than anyone.

Hermione smiled to herself, then took a deep breathe. The whole situation was so strange, wrong in so many ways it almost felt right. And now there was nothing left to do but what she'd come there for.

"Well, that was not how I'd intended to start our year, but I hope you'll all agree it was necessary... Now to start. You are here to learn how to defend yourselves from the Dark Arts, and do you know why?"

Young Hermione's hand shot into the air, and her older self cringed internally. Merlin's Beard, she'd been a bit atrocious. The rhetorical nature of such a question should have been obvious.

Hermione—Professor Watson—would have pretended not to notice and just carried on, but then few of the other students snickered. Suddenly, an old wound she'd thought was long healed had reopened and shamed burned in her breast. No, not shame. Her younger self hadn't actually done anything wrong. It was embarrassment, the kind of horror that came from knowing you'd once-again misread the situation in your eagerness to be good. And Professor Watson didn't have it in her to let the lesson be learned in this way. She just didn't.

"Yes, Miss Granger, is it not?"

If Hermione found it odd that her new professor already knew her name, she didn't give any sign. Instead, she answered brightly, "We need to be able to defend ourselves because the world is dangerous."

Professor Watson smiled. Lucky they really were the same person, because Hermione had just read her mind.

"Exactly, Miss Granger," she replied, though she resisted the temptation to offer points. "You need to be able to defend yourselves because the world is dangerous. And, ideally, you'll never be in a situation where you need to use what I've taught you, but you might be. Besides, you'd be amazed by how many every-day uses defensive spells can have. For example—expecto patronum!"

A silver terrier burst from her wand, stopping Hermione's heart. She hadn't tried to cast the charm since going back, but she would never have expected it to have changed form so radically. Grief threatened to overwhelm her, and the patronus began to fade, but then her gaze fell to Ron. He wasn't her husband, and never would be now. Still, she loved him, had loved him, even at this age. And that love spurred on the patronus, until the dog was lively enough to dash around the room.

A number of the students gaped, and Lavender Brown gasped, "I want to pet it!"

"Unfortunately, Miss Brown, that isn't possible. However, who can tell me what a patronus charm can do. Does anyone know?"

Hermione didn't raise her hand, and she was frowning, clearly upset by her lack of knowledge. Instead, it was Theodore Nott who raised his hand. Professor Watson was a bit surprised, having never really paid the boy much mind while still at school, but called on him anyway, "Yes, Mr. Nott."

"They ward off dementors, don't they?"

It hurt her a bit to do, but Professor Watson fought away the desire to be spiteful, "Yes indeed. One point to Slytherin. They also would work against a lethifold."

She noticed a few blank faces among the muggle-born students, and even Ron, so she added, "Those both being dark creatures. You can find more about them in Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find them. Now, though, I'm wondering if anyone knows or can think of other uses for the patronus, something that is not inherently defensive, but could nevertheless be useful."

There was a lot of blank looks, which Professor Watson found a bit frustrating. Finally, though, Harry raised his hand. "Uh, well you could use it as a light, couldn't you?"

A bunch of students sniggered, and Malfoy hissed, "Scared of the dark, Potter?"

"Five more points, Mr. Malfoy," Professor Watson chided. "I won't tolerate bullying either. And, for the record, Harry is correct, so, one point to Gryffindor. Of course a lumos charm would likely be easier than a patronus for creating light, but it is a valid non-defensive use. Can anyone think of another?"

Neville hesitantly raised his hand, so nervous his arm seemed to shape. Professor Watson, and everyone for that matter seemed surprise, but the professor beamed, "Yes, Mr. Longbottom?"

"They can send messages, can't they? I think my gran received one once."

Professor Watson couldn't have been prouder if Neville was her own child. She could hardly remember him ever willingly answering a question in anything but herbology. But good on him. "Yes, exactly. Patronus charms can carry messages far faster than an owl, and have the added benefit of being impossible to intercept. One more point to Gryffindor."

"My point, then, is clear. I hope you all learn a great deal in this class so you can defend yourself should it be necessary, but even if it isn't, I hope you all work hard because defensive spells can be as useful as you let them to be. Now, as my predecessor was more apt to practice the dark arts than to teach, we're going to begin with a short refresher."

Quite frankly, she wasn't sure what they were supposed to know. Hermione's own education had been so lacking in defense, each professor taking their own spin, that she wasn't even sure there was a curriculum. Still, when she thought about her best Defense teacher, it wasn't Lupin that came to mind. No, it was Harry, and if there was one spell they needed to know…

"Everyone stand up and find a partner," she ordered, waving her wand. The furniture began to move even before the students had finished getting up, which put a fire under most of them. Soon enough, the classroom was cleared and everyone had formed two different groups.

"This is so exciting. We've never had a practical defense class before," Professor Watson heard her younger self mutter. It wasn't just her though. Even the Slytherins looked begrudgingly excited. All except for Draco who was too busy smarting over the lost points and detentions, that is.

"Alright, everyone copy after me, it's not a difficult wand movement," Professor Watson began, waiting until they all more-or-less had it down. Then she added on. "Now, the incantation is ex-Pel-lee-ar-muss, and what will happen depends on how much power and intent you put in. Ideally, the spell just knocks the wand out of your opponent's hand, but if you're not focused you can send them flying. And while that may seem preferable, it's no good tossing someone across the room if you don't manage to get their wand off them. So, everyone have a partner?"

As an afterthought, she conjured padding for the floor. Then, Professor Watson said, "Alright, everyone get to work and I'll be walking around to help. If you need me before I get to you just flag me down."

Her students seemed a bit flustered to be left to their own devices, and for a moment, Hermione wondered if this was a bad idea. They were only second years, after all. It was difficult to remember back that far, but Hermione knew they certainly hadn't done much practical work in Lockheart's class—not after the pixies, at least. Was it safe to let them practice like this, or was she being utterly irresponsible?

It was hard not to worry, but as she began her rounds, none of the students seemed to be endangering one-another. It probably helped that she'd let them pick their partners instead of paring them up. House rivalries only made practical lessons dangerous. Still, the worst that she noticed was students struggling. Even during the DA, Neville had struggled with the spell, so Professor Watson wasn't surprised to find him looking nervous. Luckily he'd partnered up with Hermione, who, admittedly, picked up the spell quickly, but was controlled enough in her actions not to send Neville flying.

Whack! Professor Watson cringed as Ron went flying across the room, landing in a pile of Slytherin girls. They laughed hysterically, and the boy's face turned as red as his hair. Both Hermione's and Harry dashed over to see if he was alright, but luckily, he'd landed on one of the mats.

"You might want to see Madame Pomfrey for a Bruise Potion," Professor Watson suggested, offering him a hand up. "And Harry, you'll want to focus more on your intent while casting so it doesn't just throw him about."

Harry didn't say anything, but Hermione piped up, "Actually Professor, Harry wasn't the one casting. It was Ron's spell that rebounded. His wand's all broken, see?"

Professor Watson did see, and she sighed. Of course, how could she have forgotten? Ron had spent his entire second year with the Spellotaped wand, and it had caused no number of problems. Hermione flushed a bit as she remembered one incident in particular; Ron had only spent hours vomiting slugs because he'd defended her. It made her heart ache for her husband and their love, but she pushed it aside. This Ron was cute in the way any red-haired, freckled-faced, twelve-year-old boy was cute. But he certainly wasn't her husband, and honestly, that wasn't very difficult for Hermione—for Jean Watson—to accept.

"Well, then, perhaps we need to look into getting you a replacement wand," Jean cautiously suggested. She knew, of course, that the Weasleys couldn't afford a new wand for Ron. Still, it was no wonder he'd struggled to learn when he didn't have a functioning wand. Actually, the same thing could even go for Neville. If she remembered right, he was using his dad's old wand, clearly a poor fit. (And Neville didn't even have the excuse of poverty; it was just Augusta's own baggage which brought her grandson down.)

"But in the meantime, just practice the movements and incantation with a quill. And you, Harry? How are you finding this spell?"

"I haven't tried yet, Professor," he admitted with a shrug. Clearly he wasn't expecting to be any good, which she just found amusing. How could she not, though? In just a few short years he'd use the spell to defeat Voldemort himself—though not if Hermione succeeded in changing the future.

"Well, as we're now down a partner you can try it on me. No need to look nervous, just on the count of three focus on my wand and cast. One, two, three."

"Expelliarmus!" Harry chanted, and without fail Professor Watson's wand went flying. It hadn't been perfectly done. If she'd wanted to, she could have blocked it easily. Still, it was impressive for a first try, and she had to admit that Harry was talented at defense. When she was younger, that had made Hermione burn with jealousy, and even then, she could see a flash of annoyance pass over her younger self. But it was true. Harry was actually quite a powerful wizard and defense had been for a long time the key to his survival. If Hermione did manage to protect him from Voldemort, would she ruin that? There was a part of her that was scared she would. What if by taking away the ax hanging over their heads, Hermione somehow managed to make them learn less? It would be a shame.

I won't let it happen. I'll protect Harry, but I'll help him as well. Maybe with a proper teacher he can be even better this time around, she promised. And besides, no doubt her younger self would be keen to join in on any extra lessons. Hermione had always resented how much she'd never learned, and maybe if she taught her younger self along with Harry, maybe that would be almost like getting the chance to do it again.

Content in her decision, Professor Watson went back to correcting different students' form. Before she even knew it, the lesson was over and the second years filtered out and her NEWT students filtered in. Teaching them was even more nerve-wracking than teaching the younger students, mostly because Hermione worried she wasn't actually good enough. But even they seemed to enjoy her lesson on countering wandless spells. When the first day of classes was finally finished, Professor Watson retreated to her rooms surprisingly content with everything she'd accomplished.


But Hermione Granger, even as Jean Watson, was not about to rest on her laurels. For the first time, she was almost confident in her ability to get through the teaching portion of her job, but she hadn't actually returned to Hogwarts to be a teacher. No, she'd come for an entirely different reason, and she wasn't about to delay.

"Miss Weasley, may I have a moment," Professor Watson asked the first year right before dinner. Of all her friends, Ginny was the youngest, and it was downright strange to see the powerful and confident woman she'd known as a giddy and naïve child. Still, she was getting better at not brooding on all that once was, and focused instead on the task.

Ginny, for her part, looked nervous. Unsurprising. If one of Hermione's professors had asked to speak with her in private on her first day at Hogwarts, Hermione might have cried. Even if she'd done nothing at all wrong she would have been convinced she was about to be expelled. Especially because the first-year Gryffindors hadn't even had Defense yet. So Ginny had plenty of reasons to be nervous. Therefore Hermione tried to look as open and friendly as possible, even if she knew her smile probably resembled more of a grimace.

Still, Ginny followed her, and that was all that mattered. Professor Watson led the girl into one of Hogwarts's many unused classrooms, and then got down to business. Dancing around the matter would only make Ginny more nervous.

"Have a seat, Miss Weasley," she told the girl. Then she climbed up on the desk next to it, which probably seemed like an odd thing for a teacher to do. But it was odd enough that it helped Ginny relax, which was the goal.

"Professor, have I done something wrong?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, or, at least, I don't believe you have done anything wrong intentionally. But I need you to be honest with me. It has come to my attention—and don't ask me for my source—but it has come to my attention that you've found yourself in possession of a rather dangerous magical artifact. Do you have the diary on you now?"

Shock, fear, and disappointment waged a war on Ginny's face, but finally, she nodded and grabbed it from her bookbag. Hermione's heart skipped a beat as she laid eyes on the horcrux. It looked so ordinary. So harmless. Who could blame poor Ginny for getting enamored?

"I didn't steal it, I swear. I just found it in my books. Is it actually dangerous? I thought it was fun."

Ginny looked so defeated, it made Hermione feel terrible. Even if the Professor knew logically how much trouble she was saving the girl, and the school, Ginny didn't. All Ginny knew was she'd been scolded first day and had her fun new toy taken away from her.

So Hermione figured she owed her honesty, and besides, when had teachers lying to her ever worked out? "Yes, Miss Weasley, it is. The spell upon this diary allows a person to preserve a part of themselves, much like a portrait would, but unlike a portrait, this memory isn't content as it is. It's like a dementor, feeding on your soul to increase its own power. In the end, it would kill you."

And bring back Voldemort in the process, she thought, but left out. Ginny was so young, there really was no point in terrifying her. Already the girl looked properly rebuked and Hermione had no intention of making it worse.

"Professor, I'm so sorry. I didn't know. I just found it… I guess I was a bit stupid. My dad always says not to trust things if you can't see where they keep their brain."

Hermione wondered how, exactly, Arthur Weasley's astute observation applied to his own flying car, but didn't comment. Instead she reached out, squeezing Ginny's shoulder. "I'm not angry, I promise. I'm just glad that you haven't already fallen under its spell. Five points to Gryffindor for being honest with me. You can head to dinner now."

Ginny nodded, standing and grabbing her stuff. But then she hesitated for a moment, and when she spoke, Hermione could see some of her lost friend's spirit. "Professor, someone should probably tell Flourish and Blotts their books have cursed artifacts in them. That doesn't exactly seem legal to me."

Despite herself, Hermione laughed. Ginny was young, but she wasn't stupid. "No, it's definitely not legal, and I promise you I'll look into it. Now go, enjoy dinner. And, if you don't mind, try not to tell anyone about this diary, alright? I know it may seem like an exciting story, but you and I both know that your brothers might find the idea of a talking diary irresistible. Lead us not into temptation and the such."

Ginny obviously didn't know the Lord's Prayer, but she got the sentiment and nodded. "Fred and George would think it's fun. I won't tell, Professor. And thank you. I'm glad not have had my soul sucked out."

The girl dashed off, a spring to her step. Hermione just shook her head, amazed by the resilience of children. If someone told her she'd been walking around with a cursed diary for a month, well, Hermione would have called them a liar or panicked. Probably both. But Ginny didn't question it. She just trusted the adults around her to deal with it, and ran along her way. It was an amazing thing. And it definitely made her job easier.

Now for the hard part—convincing the adults of the danger right beneath their noses. She grabbed the diary with the corner of her robes, and started towards Dumbledore's office. It was time she and the headmaster have a talk.


AN:
I've tried to distinguish time-travel Hermione and child-Hermione the best I can, but if it's ever not clear, please let me know so I can improve it. Thanks for reading!