Yes, I am aware that I updated twice in one week – however, my motives are not wholly altruistic. This is a bribe.

I'm really pretty bummed that I'm not getting more reviews. I know it's early in the story, and I know I'm not the greatest writer ever, but if you can take the time to press the favorite or the follow button on the screen then SURELY you can at least drop a smiley face or something in the review box. Please? Pretty please? I don't expect a well-written critique or anything like that. Like I said, a smiley face (or frowny face, depending on how you feel about the chapter) will do just fine.

So our little cliché sorting scene is in this chapter, but you will be seeing it from Tom's perspective, not Hermione's. Don't worry, I will let you in on some of the hat's commentary later on in the story. Just snippets, mind you. It seems like every time-travel story I read includes some sort of epic monologue by the gleefully enigmatic sorting hat saying things like "Oh, a time-traveler, eh? Yes yes, I put you in Gryffindor before. But you've changed, haven't you? You don't belong there anymore…" Blah blah blah. Yeah. I'm not going to do that. I just don't really have the energy, to be honest.

Thanks guys! And a special thank you to those who do take the time to review!

oooo

By three methods we may learn wisdom: first, by reflection, which is noblest; second, by imitation, which is easiest; and third by experience, which is the bitterest. –Confucius

I hate war as only a soldier who has lived it can, only as one who has seen its brutality, its futility, its stupidity. –Dwight D. Eisenhower

If I could face them
If I could make amends
With all my shadows
I'd bow my head
And welcome them
But I feel it burning
Like when the winter wind
Stops my breathing

- "I of the Storm" by Of Monsters and Men

oooo

Monday, December 14, 1998

Number 12 Grimmauld Place

It is early, early morning when the doorbell rings, and both Hermione and Ron, whose senses have been honed by a year of war and terror, are up and out of bed in an instant, along with probably half of the residents of Grimmauld Place. She hears Harry's door bang open and the three of them, plus Ginny, Arthur, and Kingsley, are down the stairs in seconds. Mad-Eye bursts through the kitchen door, wand flourished, followed quickly by Fred. In a routine practiced hundreds of times, Ron grasps the doorknob and throws open the door, wand in hand. What awaits them on the other side has them all holding a collective breath.

Pansy Parkinson stands on the front stoop, looking paler than ever. Her shiny black hair is pulled back into a hasty ponytail, and her blue eyes look dazed. She struggles to support a beaten, bloodied Draco Malfoy, whose eyes are half-closed and who looks to be suffering the after-effects of the Cruciatus – something that Hermione, as well as others, are far too familiar with at this point.

"Crumple-horned snorkack," Malfoy says deliriously, spitting out the code word as if his life depends on it (which it probably does). Pansy looks to be holding back tears, and shifts his weight. Before she has the chance to drop him, George Weasley and Kingsley Shacklebolt are there to take his weight, lifting his tall, lithe form inside. Ron makes a noise in the back of his throat – one of restraint, she thinks, and is proud of him – and ushers Pansy inside, quickly scanning the street for any potential threats, before closing the door behind him.

As Draco is carried into the room they have designated as a medical ward, the pretty dark-haired girl turns to face Hermione and Ron and speaks, her voice small. "I made sure to apparate right onto the top landing, like Draco said. Narcissa is right behind us," she says. "Our cover was blown wide open." Her voice hitches. "I was careless, and because of me Blaise could be dead, or worse, and Draco might die, and – and – "

Hermione holds up a hand and Pansy stills instantly, tears spilling from eyes the color of raw cobalt. "Parkinson, it isn't your fault. In situations like these, in a war like this, things happen. Whatever you think you did, however careless you may have been, it was an accident and you can't allow yourself to wallow in the guilt. We all make mistakes. All of us are guilty a thousand times over. Now, before I sit you down and make you a cup of tea, I need to verify your identity with a security question. Do you understand?"

Pansy nods, still shaking like a leaf.

"What did you tell me about my knitting for the house elves in fourth year?"

Pansy smiles tremulously. "I was the one who told you that Dobby was the only one who would take all your hats and scarves – stacks at a time. And I told you how stupid you were for not realizing it and naively thinking that you were making a difference, and how the elves were more terrified of you than any master they could ever have." She looks down, staring at her impeccably polished boots, covered in a light dusting of snow. "How terribly mean of me."

Hermione smiles and, with a hand on the former Slytherin's elbow, guides her back into the kitchen. "It was a hard truth, one I would've learned eventually. All water under the bridge, wouldn't you say? Now," she begins, sitting Pansy down and starting up a kettle. "I need you to tell me everything."

She is surprised at all she learns – that Draco, Zabini, Pansy and Lady Malfoy have all been working with the late Severus Snape as spies for the Order, taking over the clandestine operations in lieu of the man's untimely death a few months ago. She also learns that, despite their cover having been blown, they still have a man on the inside, but Pansy will not reveal his identity for his own protection. It is hard to adjust – knowing that these people, who she'd thought so selfish and dishonorable for all these years, have risked everything to do the right thing.

It just goes to show Hermione that she, in all of her knowledge and experience and wisdom, does not know everything.

oooo

"Merlin, Malfoy, what are we going to do about him!?"

Hermione was back in the hospital wing, sitting at Draco's bedside, talking to him even though she knew he couldn't talk back.

She sighed, rubbing her temples with her fingers. She'd felt all right earlier today: talking with Madam Soranus, walking with Snowborn, having lunch in the kitchens with Ignatius, Lyall, Sabrina and Bertha (whose twin brother was named Bertie – unfortunate). The four of them had been delightful company, and had even taken her mind off her current situation; even if she had been forced to come up with lie after lie to substantiate her story. After they had taken their leave – "It was so nice to meet you Hermione – I hope you get sorted into Ravenclaw!" "Not bloody likely – this one is definitely Gryffindor material." "We'll see you at dinner!" – Hermione had darted back up to the hospital wing, eager to be in Draco's comforting presence after her meeting with Tom Riddle a couple of hours earlier.

She wasn't feeling quite as good now; fatigue had settled deep in her bones, and her muscles and skin were on fire wherever she had wounds. She sipped at a hot mug of tea that one of the elves, Muffin, had made for her.

"He's bloody evil, Draco," she continued, whispering into his ear as she set her head down on the bed next to his. "Every time I look at him I get chills, and I feel like something slimy has just slithered over my body. He disgusts me. And yet…"

She hesitated, frowning. Absentmindedly she ran a hand over his candy-floss hair, cleaning it with a softly spoken spell. She knew he would want it to be clean.

"And yet…he's fascinating, Draco. And bloody gorgeous, though even saying that out loud makes me want to beat my head against the wall in embarrassment and shame. I can't read him. My brain is all over the place when I'm in his presence – and I've only seen him twice so far. How am I going to do this for – for – for however long we're stuck in this godforsaken place?" She looked down at her toes. She was barefoot, her shoes kicked off a while back. Her close cut toenails were a pale, bright turquoise; but the polish was peeled in places, chipped off with the effects of time and wear. She felt her hair crackle around her, and her heart warmed uncomfortably in her chest – she could still feel the echo of another heartbeat, drumming along inside her ribcage.

"I'm sure I came off as some bipolar nut job talking to him today, hot one minute and cold the next – and I tried to disarm him, Malfoy…I almost bloody disarmed him!" she continued, her voice getting hysterical. "I nearly disarmed Lord Voldemort! Fuck, he's going to kill me!" She pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes, groaning. "I know that we're probably evenly matched at this point in his life, and that I have more experience than he does in many things," she continued, rubbing her eyes with the heels of her hands. "But he's still a force to be reckoned with, and all I can think about when I see him is how monstrous he will eventually become."

And she would have to handle it all by herself, because Draco was dying, and she was not. He would cross over, and she would remain behind, mourning the loss of every friend she had ever had.

She would be inescapably alone, doomed to a life of grief and pain and fear and uncertainty. Stuck in the past, unable to escape the future that she knew would unfold.

She was reminded of a quote she had read once, by C.S. Lewis – one of her favorite authors. No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear.

Of course, he had had every chance to kill her in that bathroom. As soon as she turned her back, he could have killed her and destroyed all evidence of her body.

Then she remembered that Tom Riddle wouldn't dare to kill anyone here at Hogwarts – he already nearly shut down the school once and was almost sent back to that orphanage forever, after Myrtle Warren's death. He wouldn't risk doing it again. That basilisk was confined to the Chamber and the school pipes for good – until 1992, that is – and Riddle knew he was being watched. Dumbledore had never believed that it was Hagrid who opened the Chamber of Secrets a year and a half ago. He had always suspected Tom, and Tom knew this.

Hermione sighed, resting her hand on his chest. "Can we just leave, Draco?" she said, clutching his sheets in her hand. "Go back to the south of France and just camp for a while? We were happy there, remember? For a whole month, we were happy there, just me, you, Harry and Pansy. It was so beautiful, and warm, and smelled like lavender. Provence, Draco. Just you and me." She closed her eyes, wishing for a response that would not come. "Oh God, Draco," she whispered, tears brimming in her eyes. "What the fuck are we supposed to do?"

oooo

That evening, she finally made her way to the Great Hall for dinner. The awkward, unlikeable Headmaster Dippet had been insistent that she be publicly sorted as early as possible, which she was not looking forward to. His argument was that school had been in session for over two weeks, and he didn't want her to fall behind.

Being in the giant room awed her, transporting her back to a time in her life when she was still filled with the wonder of the magic of Hogwarts. The ceiling was the deep indigo of twilight shot through with streaks of rich red-orange, twinkling with stars and floating candles. She found herself looking up, thinking of happier times.

As she made her way down the stairs, clad in the all-too-familiar uniform of Hogwarts that Dumbledore had provided for her, the students in the hall quieted. A pin could have dropped and been heard.

Headmaster Dippet made his way to the podium as Hermione stalked down the middle aisle between the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables, still struggling with the pain in her body. She bore it stoically, like the soldier she was.

"Good evening, students!" said the Headmaster's voice, not quite as arresting as his successor's. "Before we tuck in to our evening feast, we have two new students to introduce. Hermione Granger and Draco Mallery have come to us all the way from China, although their story is their own to tell. They have come from a very perilous situation, and we are happy to welcome such delightful new students to Hogwarts. Mister Mallery, unfortunately, is very ill at the moment and won't be joining us tonight. They will be in their seventh year here – am I correct about that, Miss Granger?" She nodded her head, climbing the three stairs up to the stage that held the staff table, the podium and, this time around, the stool and the Sorting Hat. She stood next to it, and Dumbledore stood from his chair to take up the Hat, motioning for her to sit. She did.

Hermione chewed her lip anxiously. They – she and Dumbledore – had wanted to forgo sorting, or to at least do it in private, but Dippet had insisted on making a show of it. After she had taken her placement tests earlier that afternoon (at his insistence ) and the Headmaster had realized that he had a new student who topped the charts academically, Dippet had been set on parading her in front of the teachers and student body. Hermione could see Slughorn practically salivating from his chair, staring at the new resident with gleeful, greedy eyes. More students for his stupid Slug Club, she supposed, and suppressed a snort of derision.

"I expect, of course, no matter what houses they are sorted into, that all of you will do your best to make Draco and Hermione feel welcome, especially now that they are in a place of safety and security," Dippet continued, and Hermione despised the sympathy that coated his words, watching as a few students in the crowd nodded their heads gravely, obviously pitying the poor, battered pair and wondering what sort of horror they had come from.

They had no idea what sort of horror she and Draco had come from. Not even a clue.

Blood drips from the walls. Flies buzz around dead faces. Rats scurry, gnawing on the remains of friend and foe. Tortured screams echo through the halls.

"So, without further ado, let's get Miss Granger sorted and get on with dinner!" the Headmaster said cheerily. "Albus, if you would do the honors?"

She met Albus' eyes, his blue ones shining with the same anxiety she was sure filled her own. Wringing her hands nervously, she watched with baited breath as Dumbledore set the Sorting Hat down on her head. Hermione closed her eyes.

oooo

Tom and the rest of the student body sat, transfixed, as the lovely brunette sat with the Sorting Hat on her head. The Hat was quiet, only making a few harrumphing sounds every now and again. Hermione Granger squirmed in poorly concealed anxiety.

The Hat was completely silent. The only way to tell that it was even working was the occasional twitch of its faded, tattered black fabric. Tom watched Hermione's face as the minutes went by. She looked irritated.

His Tempus charm buzzed at five minutes, and then again at six. Tom held his breath, watching the Hat and its wearer closely. Hermione's eyes were wide open and furious, and she looked to be internally arguing with the hat, her mouth turned down into a tight frown. Her jaw ticked. He wondered at how gracefully she'd walked down the aisle, despite her injuries – well, it was more of a stalk than a walk, purposeful and predatory and full of contained energy and power. Like a tiger in a cage. And now the expression on her face, her eyes spitting with annoyance and ferocity…what a strange girl.

After seven minutes passed, the student body and the staff began to fidget, alternately looking around the room uncomfortably and staring at the Sorting Hat as if it was defunct. Some stared in suspicion at the girl whose head it was perched upon, as if she had somehow hurt the Hat. Tom glanced at Dumbledore, who was staring at the girl with concern, his pale eyes unmoving.

After Tom's Tempus charm buzzed at eight minutes, the Sorting Hat shifted and sighed, and after a couple of seconds, cleared its throat.

"Well then, I suppose you belong in Slyther – no, it better be GRYFFINDOR!"

The hall erupted in gasps and cheers, and the Gryffindor table didn't quite know what to do with itself. Hermione walked over, sitting between Lupin and Snowborn, as her new housemates congratulated and welcomed her heartily, some looking excited, some looking astonished, some looking suspicious.

She sat on the far side of the Gryffindor table, and he tilted his head curiously as her face slackened in what looked like relief. Dumbledore looked pleased, and relieved as well. Headmaster Dippet moved up to the podium again, but Tom had stopped listening. He was staring so intently at the young woman that he almost didn't realize she was staring back at him.

Granger's gaze was once again cool, calculating, and unnerving in its intensity. Her lips quirked up at the corners, as if she was gloating over some secret that he was not privy to. Then her gaze flicked over to Dumbledore, and the old man nodded at her from across the hall, his eyes sparkling infuriatingly. Hermione smiled and turned her head back towards her new friends, her eyes sliding past Tom as she did so.

And then food appeared on the table, and someone shifted at the Hufflepuff table, blocking his view of the mysterious Gryffindor. When the unnamed Hufflepuff shifted back Hermione was smiling, laughing, and looking anywhere but at him.

When he let his gaze travel over to the staff table, Dumbledore was looking at him, his bright gaze trained on Tom. Tom swallowed, but he did not look away, narrowing his eyes. He eventually broke eye contact and looked at each of his followers. They were all looking at him for instruction, and he picked up his fork, indicating that they could begin to eat. They did so with gusto. But Tom just sat there, looking down at the scuffed white surface of his plate.

Eight minutes and four seconds. It was the second longest sorting in history – just behind the eight minutes and twenty-two seconds of Merlin himself, sorted into Slytherin. And this girl had nearly been put into Slytherin – that was initially what the hat had started to say, was it not? – and yet had ended up in Gryffindor? He might understand if the hat had decided for Ravenclaw instead of Slytherin, or for Gryffindor instead of Hufflepuff. But to belong in both Slytherin and Gryffindor? Did the two houses even have anything in common? Exactly who was this girl?

He could not help the small part of him that felt like he was missing something important. But what was it?

oooo

Hermione was doomed to share a dorm with the seventh year Gryffindors, all alone with a group of girls she was not even remotely acquainted with besides Sabrina. Who would she endeavor to get to know? Who would she place even a modicum of trust in?

No one. Too risky.

Naturally, Sabrina, Lyall and Ignatius walked with her up to Gryffindor tower, laughing and chatting all the way. The boys reminded her some of Harry and Ron, and at other times it was like she was suddenly standing between Fred and George. It was wild. But they made her laugh, and she was not prone to laughing much anymore. It was a nice respite from the seriousness that had consumed her life.

Of course, just as it had been back in the '90s, girls were already giving her jealous looks. Unfortunately, besides Ginny and then later Pansy, she had never really had many strong friendships with other girls. She was a guys' girl, and she usually preferred it that way, but having to deal with the envy and the petty meanness of the surrounding female population was always a trial. It was obvious that Lyall and Ignatius were popular – reasonably attractive, outgoing, funny, and fairly academically successful. And because they were being so kind to her and paying her extra attention, even though she got the distinct feeling that they weren't keen on her romantically, the other girls were whispering to each other behind their hands and slanting her hostile looks. Some of them merely looked curious, and she took note of the ones that looked like they might be a good place to start making friends. Or at least acquaintances. She was under no illusions that she could afford to make any real friends here. Sabrina was probably as close as it would get. She could not afford to trust anyone else with her full story. Not even Dumbledore, with whom she had been careful not to reveal too much.

"Alright, Hermione, this," Ignatius said, dramatically bowing before the Gryffindor tower portrait, "is the Fat Lady."

"And the love of my life," Lyall added, placing his hand on the gilded frame.

Sabrina rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. The Fat Lady giggled and pressed a hand to her heart, flattered. "Oh Lupin, you absolute cad," she said, her cheeks suffused with a merry blush. "Don't be silly. Is this a new student?"

"Yes, ma'am," Hermione said, stepping forward. She curtsied prettily. "Hermione Granger, at your service. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance." The Fat Lady and she had never really gotten along – Hermione had always thought the portrait silly and petty and everything that Hermione wasn't – but she'd learned from experience that it was better to be on her good side. The painting had a remarkable ability to make a student's life miserable, if she so wished. Hermione was glad for the chance to start over with her.

"Oh, my, well, what a dear," the Fat Lady said, and Hermione smiled up at her. "So polite. Such manners. Well, darling," she continued, fanning herself with her fine silk fan, "the password right now is 'Bowtruckle.'" She winked. "But if you forget it, I'll make an exception for you, dear. I've let these two gentlemen pass time and time again when they've forgotten passwords. Mr. Prewett is especially prone to forgetfulness, isn't that right, Ignatius, dear?"

The way Ignatius blushed from the tips of his ears to his throat reminded her so much of Ron and the rest of the Weasley clan. Hermione simultaneously felt like giggling and crying.

"Well, er, yeah, but I can't help it, you know?" he said to Hermione, rubbing the back of his neck. "It sort of runs in the family, you see. My father sometimes forgets to put on socks in the morning, and he'll come home from work with giant blisters on his feet."

Hermione grinned. "Well, Ignatius, if you ever need help remembering something, just come to me, all right? I'll make sure you have your socks on and your password straight." She turned back to the Fat Lady. "Thank you very much, madam. Now, if you'll excuse us – it's been a very, very long week, and I can't even tell you how good a warm bed sounds right about now."

"Oh, yes of course, dear," the Fat Lady crooned, and she swung open without waiting for the password, allowing them inside.

The Gryffindor common room was more or less the same as it had been during Hermione's school days, and the familiarity of it was such a balm on Hermione's permanently broken heart that she almost started crying then and there.

Instead, she let Lyall, Sabrina and Ignatius show her around, listening with only half an ear to all of the facts and trivia that she already knew twenty times over. She knew where everything was by heart. Besides the fact that one of the armchairs in 1944 had been turned into a couch by 1992, she could walk the room blindfolded.

"Thank you so much for showing me around, guys," she said graciously, flashing the two boys a brilliant smile. Though Hermione had been awkward and socially inept for years, partially due to her somewhat priggish, uptight personality as a girl, she had long since learned to put that aside in favor of manipulation. Did she still have an affinity for being an overly organized know-it-all? Yes. Did she let that part of her get in the way of doing what needed to be done? Not anymore. She had shed that skin long ago. She was uptight for a different reason, now: survival. And it was a vastly different creature from her previous nature.

"No problem, Hermione," Ignatius said, clearing his throat and blushing cutely. "Lyall and I can't show you up to the girls' dorms because the door won't let us pass, but Sabrina will take you up." So the sliding staircase hadn't been invented yet? Interesting.

"Yes, Ignatius, dear," the pretty prefect said in a scathing tone, sending a long-suffering look to Hermione, to which Hermione grinned.

Lyall threw an arm around Sabrina's shoulders and the leggy brunette automatically threw it back off, glaring at him. Ignatius sniggered.

Sabrina rolled her eyes but took Hermione by the elbow. "As if you louts haven't already done your damage," she muttered. Hermione couldn't help but chuckle, and Sabrina winked at her. "Right little monsters those two are – and have been since our first year here. Don't let them talk you into doing anything, all right? They have a penchant for embarrassing people with obnoxious pranks. They might like you, but no one is safe. No one."

"Oi, that's not fair!" Ignatius said petulantly.

"Don't poison her against us so soon, 'Brina!" Lyall called out as Sabrina steered her towards the girls' dorms.

Hermione turned to look over her shoulder. "I wasn't born yesterday, boys. I already knew you were trouble; I didn't need her to tell me that. Goodnight!"

Sabrina clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle laughter and she pulled Hermione up the stairs and shut the heavy arched door behind them, cutting off the guys' loud protests.

Hermione smiled. "Thanks for agreeing to take me under your wing, Sabrina. Without Draco here, I feel sort of lost," she admitted, rubbing the back of her neck. It was a semi-true statement – she had been with Draco for so long now that being separated from him around so many new people felt strange and just a little unsafe. Too many variables, she thought, the soldier in her processing her surroundings with a speed developed by years of instinct. But for the most part the statement was a manipulative one. Pretty girls were easily threatened by other pretty girls, especially at this age. Showing vulnerability made Sabrina more likely to sympathize with her, and more likely to trust her. And less likely to stab her in the back, although her interaction with her all day had been so delightful that Hermione doubted the girl would be a problem. They had already formed a tentative friendship.

These politics were exactly why Hermione preferred men.

"So what's going on with your friend Draco? How long will he be in a coma?" Sabrina asked casually.

Hermione hummed. "He was cursed, and it's taken a toll. He'll be all right," she said, and she nearly choked on the lie, "but it's probably best for him to be close to Madam P – Soranus." She winced as she nearly spat out the name Pomfrey, but if the other girl noticed she did not say anything. Hermione mentally berated herself. She needed to be more careful.

Sabrina nodded in agreement as they came to the top of the stairs and then grabbed Hermione's hand, pulling her into one of four corridors. "The sixth and seventh year girls' dorms are down this hall," her guide said, changing the subject.

"Oh, do we all live together in one room, then?" Hermione said, feigning wide-eyed ignorance.

Sabrina giggled. "No, silly there are seven sixth year girls and only four seventh years – you make five, I suppose – so each group gets their own room and bathroom." She stopped suddenly in the hallway, and Hermione struggled not to pull her wand out and look for danger. Sabrina drew her in close. "There are a couple of girls to warn you about, by the way," she said lowly, looking over her shoulder. Hermione paid close attention. "Anita Bath is a sixth year, and she's just bloody awful. Keeps to herself, mostly, super weird, and she glares at anyone who looks at her. She gets teased a lot, but don't even bother trying to make friends with her – she isn't interested," she continued, waving her hand and rolling her eyes. "Misty McGill, Suzanne Sapworthy and Lorraine Limpley are also sixth years, and thick as thieves. Don't tell them anything you don't want to be spread around the entire school. Also, they're prone to exaggeration, so any story they hear is going to end up outlandish when they tell it. Iris Fawley is a seventh year, and she lives with us; she's prone to flights of fancy, and she's stupidly gorgeous, so she sees other girls as threats to her 'throne', I suppose you could say – so don't show any signs of weakness, but don't pick fights with her. She's not awful, mind you, but she's also prone to gossip and she likes to think of herself as the most desirable girl in the school." Sabrina looked Hermione up and down, and Hermione crossed her arms over her chest, feeling strangely self-conscious under the penetrating icy gaze. "You might give her a run for her money, so watch your back," Sabrina said lowly.

Hermione's eyebrows drew down in consternation. She knew that she was reasonably good-looking, but she was no beauty – or at least, no one had ever told her so. Had she missed something this whole time? All she saw when she looked in the mirror was a jaded, too-thin woman with haunted eyes, crazy hair, and a multitude of scars.

"Zuri Rubright is another seventh year – you'll kind of get the sense that she's looking down her nose at you, because she's a pretty fantastic student. Her younger sister, Basil, is a sixth year Ravenclaw, and she'll give you the same snotty look sometimes. Zuri should have been sorted into Ravenclaw too, if you ask me, but we get along with her well enough." Sabrina paused. "Oh! I almost forgot," she said with a smile, "my best friend is Kat – Kat Agory. I think she's already up for the night, so you'll get to meet her tonight, hopefully. She's pretty great." Sabrina tapped her chin. "There are three more sixth year girls who are all pretty nice and won't bother you: Polly Swedenborg and Wilma Johnson, who are best friends and on the quidditch team together, and Alma White, who you'll sometimes forget exists. But I told you some of this already."

Hermione exhaled, filing away all of the names for later so that she could write them down and commit them to memory. The perks of an eidetic memory did not always apply to verbal and auditory information, which is why she had always taken such impeccable notes.

It was also a curse, because it meant that she remembered everything – everything – that she had ever seen with vivid detail. And unfortunately because of the war there were hundreds of things that Hermione would rather have forgotten; images that were doomed to linger in her steel trap of a mind forever.

"Thanks for the crash course, and thank you for spending the morning showing me around," Hermione said, feeling unsteady. She was too tired for anything else. She just wanted to go to bed.

"No problem," Sabrina said, her voice cheery. "Tomorrow we can go over a few more things, although Iris might be best suited for that, seeing as how her social network is infinitely more vast than mine and spans over all four houses – even the Slytherins," she said in a mock whisper behind her hand. "So scandalous. But I'll tell you all about house rivalries later. I'll bet you're exhausted. You look dead on your feet, Hermione."

Hermione nodded and sighed. "It's been a long day. A long year, to be honest. I could really use some sleep. Will you show me the dorm and bathroom?"

Sabrina agreed heartily and continued down the hallway to the door on the right side of the hall – Hermione knew from experience that the door on the left was the sixth year girls' dorm.

As the common room had been, the dorms and bathrooms were just as she remembered them. Four-poster beds, full size, with rich scarlet curtains and white, gold and red bedding. Only one shower stall though, cast in white tile with a frosted glass door, and three toilets in private stalls, with flush chains that hung down from the ceiling decorated with red and gold fabric. There were three nice looking baths in the back. Bronze sconces lined the walls, casting dancing light and shadows across the red wallpaper.

She had never realized just how unsettling the color red was. She'd been surrounded by it in her youth, growing up in the Gryffindor dormitories, wearing Gryffindor robes, watching her best friends march off in crimson-colored quidditch uniforms. Now she was starting to realize that it had become less a color of comfort and familiarity and more a color of horror and a reminder of loss. Gryffindor red no longer only reminded her of home, of solace, of security. Now it also reminded her of blood, and of death. It reminded her of the sticky wet feel of someone's life force on her skin. It reminded her of how many people she'd seen killed at someone else's hands – and how many she'd killed with her own hands.

Suddenly, she wished the Sorting Hat had stuck with its first choice for her – Slytherin. She might have been better off there. And, strangely enough, she might belong there more now, after everything she'd seen and done; now that they way she thought and the attitude with which she looked at the world had been flipped on their heads. But her overwhelming desire to be away from Tom Riddle and instead amongst the place she had once felt so safe had swayed its decision, and now she would have to lie in the bed she'd made. And if she wanted to at least attempt to keep his interest away from her, being in his house was probably not the best option.

Sighing, she allowed Sabrina to lead her around, trying to shake the images of her past from her damaged psyche with little success.

"Everyone, this is Hermione," Sabrina said when they fully entered the seventh year girls' dorm. Three young women occupied the room, and they all greeted her with varying degrees of warmth.

One of the girls was already tucked into bed, her eyes heavy with sleep. She was obviously of Indian descent, with slanted dark eyes, warm skin and jet-black hair pulled back into a tight braid. She reminded Hermione of Padma, but with a stronger nose. Hermione thought she looked slightly irritated. "I'm Zuri," the girl said without a smile. "Nice to meet you." Then she pulled the curtains of her bed close, cutting off any reply Hermione might have made.

There was a snigger from the corner, and Hermione looked over to see a slim, rather plain girl with an oval face and pretty hazel eyes lounging on the window seat, laughing. "Zuri gets a bit grouchy when she doesn't get her beauty sleep," she said in a stage whisper. Hermione thought she heard a mumbled curse behind Zuri's bed curtains, and this only made Sabrina and the other brunette laugh harder. The girl got up from her seat on the window and walked over to where Hermione stood, offering her hand for her to shake. "I'm Kat. We're glad to have you with us, Hermione." As average as the girl's appearance was (she certainly wasn't ugly, but not as striking as her best friend), her personality certainly seemed to pack a punch.

"It was starting to get a bit boring around here, to be honest," said another voice from the far right corner. Hermione looked over to see a stunning, blue-eyed blonde wrapped in a fluffy blue towel perched on the edge of an unkempt bed. She was painting her nails a pale pink, and her long golden hair was still damp at the ends. She turned around, and Hermione was able to get the full effects of her spectacular beauty. She made Lavender Brown look plain. She smiled at Hermione, but Hermione, as perceptive as she was, saw the calculating glint in her eyes. "It's nice to shake things up a bit, especially since it's our last year here. I'm Iris Fawley. Hermione, was it?"

"Hermione Granger," she confirmed, inclining her head. Never having been one for vanity, Hermione still felt slightly shamed in Iris' presence. She inwardly sneered at herself for being so ridiculous. She was above such things…wasn't she?

"Well, Hermione," said Iris, flashing her a pearly white smile, " welcome to Hogwarts. How does it compare to China so far?"

"Less bloodshed," Hermione responded, her voice flat.

Iris' smile faded, and Kat coughed uncomfortably. Sabrina laid a hand on Hermione's arm. She tried not to flinch. "Yes, well, you're incredibly tired, as you've said before," the blue-eyed brunette said, "and we don't want to keep you up. We can finish playing twenty questions tomorrow over breakfast, yeah?" she finished, looking around at Iris and Kat and then back at Hermione.

Hermione swallowed, instantly regretting her poor choice of words. These girls…they weren't like her. They didn't even come from the same planet as her. Draco and she were like two wasps in a colony of ants. They didn't fit in here, and their sense of humor was too jaded and cynical for the likes of a bunch of teenage students. She couldn't just say things like that and expect people not to feel uncomfortable.

Then again, she didn't necessarily want to make them feel comfortable. She was not here to make friends, and yet… Perhaps she could somehow…work it to her advantage?

She could be likeable. She could make herself attractive to the opposite sex. She would somehow have to put herself out there in a manner that was alluring to the male students and yet not too threatening to the female students, all the while making sure they knew she wasn't someone to be trifled with. She would have to be subtle about it; she didn't want to draw too much attention to herself. She needed to draw people in, but at the same time keep them at arms length. She had decided to try to fly under the radar, so to speak, but the more she thought about it, the more she realized that it was probably a fool's errand. She remained undecided about it. She had already caught the eye of the Hogwarts staff and students, including one Tom Marvolo Riddle. Now that she was under the microscope, so to speak, she might as well twist it to her advantage. It might be too late to pretend to be nobody. She would try it first, of course, maybe starting with trying to be mediocre in class and putting a subtle notice-me-not charm on herself, but if it didn't work she would have to go in the other direction.

Then she would have to be mysterious and extraordinary. Because there was no in-between here. It was either have no one notice you, or be so noticeable that no one would ever forget you. And she might have already missed her chance to pull the first one off, much to her annoyance. Take her crash landing in the middle of Albus' office during lunch, plus her accidental meeting with Riddle in the empty lavatory earlier that day, complete with Bellatrix Lestrange-esque crazy eyes and a display of wandless, non-verbal magic that no teenager should be able to pull, and, well…

She would have to channel her inner Snape, her inner Draco, her inner Pansy, and her inner Ginny. She would have to be cunning, in control of her emotions, manipulative, and fearless. She would have to create a persona so ambiguous that no one would be able to put a finger on her. She would have to start by getting people to trust her, and yet she couldn't let them become too comfortable. It would have to be the perfect balance. And she might have to come to terms with the prospect of the timeline being completely warped.

"Thank you girls for making me feel welcome," she said, making sure her smile was tight but genuine. She did not have to fake the look of haunted intrigue in her eyes. "I'm sorry I'm not very lively. Unlike Zuri, I haven't really had the chance to get any beauty sleep in…quite a while. So I'm a bit grouchy, and I just wanted to make sure that you all know that I'm grateful."

The three girls still awake visibly softened, and Hermione wanted to slap the looks of sympathy from their faces – but it was the reaction she'd been looking for. She smiled sheepishly.

"Of course, Hermione," said Sabrina softly. "We've been so thoughtless. Here, your bed is the closest one to the door. Is that alright?"

"Perfect," Hermione said, and she meant it. The closest she was to the door, the quicker she could escape; it was just how she thought these days. "Is this…my trunk?" she asked, running her hand along the lid of the open trunk at the foot of her bed. It contained two Hogwarts uniforms in addition to the one she was wearing: two crisp white shirts, one heather grey sweater and one charcoal grey sweater, two pleated skirts in black and grey, two red and gold striped ties, three pairs of knee socks in grey, black and white, a pair of black tights for colder weather, and a pair of shiny black Mary Janes. Two sets of outer robes, seemingly new, black as pitch and lined with deep crimson, lay draped across the end of the bed. Thirteen books for the ten N.E.W.T. subjects she would be taking (unnecessary, but if there was one thing she hated it was being idle) sat at the bottom of her trunk, complete with a leather binder full of parchment and several fine quills and bottles of ink. Folded atop her pillow was a pale blue satin nightgown that came to her knees and an ankle-length, ivory satin robe, true to 1940s style. "All of this stuff is mine?"

She had stuff, of course – after she had bathed she had tucked her beaded bag back into the cup of her bra. But all of these things were brand new, and the quills, ink and binder were expensive, by the look of things. The things in her purple bag were, if not ancient, well worn. Of course, she had certain books and items in her bag that weren't even remotely legal, whereas all of the things in her new trunk were innocent, free of the darkness of war and death. It was…nice.

"It seems the Headmaster arranged for some things to be sent up for you," Sabrina said, raising her eyebrow at the sight of the pile of nice things.

"Dippet? Really, Sabrina?" Kat said, taking the liberty of picking up Hermione's robes and folding them neatly on top of her books and uniforms. She kindly handed Hermione her new pajamas, urging her to put them on. "You know his belfry is full of bats these days. No, it would've been Dumbledore or Merrythought to do all of this. I'm sure Mallery has one just like it, waiting for him when he wakes up."

Hermione fought against every instinct she had to cover up her body from these strangers; it was one thing to be undressed around Draco, or Harry, or Pansy, or almost any Order member, but it was different around people she didn't know. What she could see of Iris' smooth skin was pale and creamy and free of any blemishes or scars. Nothing like the mess that was Hermione's body. But she shook off her insecurities, imagined what Harry or Draco would say – "They're badges of honor, Hermione! Battle scars! They just prove how much of a badass you are!" "You're still hot, Granger – you're just a bit more colorful than other girls. It's kind of a turn on, to be honest." – and channeled her inner Pansy. "Who cares what those tossers think, anyway? We're still the sexiest bitches in England." She still did not look any of the girls in the eye when she changed, and she did so as quickly as humanly possible. She was glad she had the presence of mind to ask Dumbledore to put a powerful notice-me-not charm on her left arm over her scar. There was no concealing it effectively with a glamour charm beyond the short term – an hour or two, at most – but the notice-me-not charm would last for a few days, and her skin would tingle when it was time to renew it. She couldn't make it disappear – she could never make it disappear – but she could make sure no one cared to look too hard at what it said.

She ignored the awkward silence that filled the room as she removed her bra, returned her beaded bag to its original size and heavily warded it as subtly as she could, and began to redress in the night clothes that had been provided for her.

"So where did – " Kat began.

"It's not our business, Agory," Zuri said, poking her head back out of the curtain, her tone still brisk but softer than it had been before; she had been awake and listening all along. "And surely any questions we have can wait until tomorrow, when she's better rested. Right, girls?" She looked pointedly at each of her classmates, giving them quelling looks, as if she knew all of them were just dying to delve into Hermione's story. Hermione was grateful for this, actually, because she didn't have the energy to answer questions all night. She gave Zuri a small, secret smile, and knew they would get along just fine. Out of all the girls she'd met so far, Zuri was probably the most like Hermione – or the most like the original Hermione, the person she had been back in her school years before she'd transformed into whoever, or whatever, she was now.

"I know it's not necessarily your business," she said to Zuri, "but I dislike people feeling awkward around me. So don't be afraid to ask. If I don't want to answer, then I'll tell you I don't want to answer, and I won't be shy about it. But I don't want you to tip toe around me like I'm some half-starved, orphaned kitten that washed up on the beach," she continued, her lips quirking up. "But perhaps we can talk more tomorrow?"

All four girls nodded, and Zuri, after one last, tight smile, disappeared back behind her curtains while Sabrina and Kat got undressed for the evening in comfortable silence. Hermione suspected, as she watched Iris' blue eyes shift between all of the beds, that her presence was disrupting their nightly routine, which she imagined involved some gossiping and giggling. She would make sure to somehow encourage them to get back to it tomorrow – after all, gossip could be helpful, and Hermione planned to have her hands in many pots here in 1944 Hogwarts. The sooner she could get started, the better.

"Goodnight, all," she said quietly, settling in under the covers and blowing out the sconce that was nearest her bed. "Thanks for everything, and see you in the morning."

She heard a couple of "goodnights" echo around the room, and, pulling her curtains closed tightly around her, she attempted to drift off to sleep, hoping that her nightmares wouldn't be enough to wake her new housemates.

And knowing that perhaps that was too much to hope for…and preparing for a night of blood and screams that were sure to echo throughout her dreams.

After she fell asleep, she didn't notice the ghostly, orange apparition that escaped through her skin, hovered over her body, and then receded back to its new home in her heart. All she did was kick the sheets off, suddenly flushed.

Fawkes tried his hardest to keep the nightmares at bay.

oooo

So, I know that in the early twentieth-century female Hogwarts students wore gymslips instead of just skirts, but I don't really like that idea, so all the girls will just be wearing plain old pleated skirts, nice and simple. And much easier to take on and off, if you catch my drift. *winks lecherously* ;)

And, like I said before, sorry for robbing you of the chance to see the sorting hat's perusal of our Hermione's brain, but I will show it to you piecemeal throughout the rest of the story.

Hugs and kisses and well-wishes to anyone who reviews. :D

Giraffe :)