Mrs. Weasley threw them a Prefect party. There was a cake and everything, although it wasn't very good. Everybody milled about, drinking Butterbeer and eating cookies shaped like little gold-and-red badges.
The first thing she'd done after sneaking back into Grimmauld Place was use the stolen Time-Turner. Her first impulse had been to go back a few hours just to take a nap, but she couldn't do that. That was how it had all started last time too; at first she was thrilled with her extra classes and with her special secret, but after the tenth all-nighter spent scribbling essays, Hermione began to fear that she was losing her grip on sanity. That's when she started using the Time-Turner to sneak afternoon naps into her impossible schedule. From there, it wasn't such a stretch to start using it to get ahead on homework, do extra research, help half of Gryffindor revise for exams… and before she realized it, she'd added an entire year to her lifetime.
No, she couldn't let herself be carried down that slippery slope again. So instead, she gave the Time Turner fifteen spins, and went back all the way to that morning. While one Hermione was dying of boredom in a Ministry elevator, the other carried on as though she'd never left the house. She got up, had breakfast with the Weasleys, helped with the cleaning, and waited for Harry to return from his hearing.
That was a few days ago, and she'd managed to resist the temptation to use it again since then, mostly because it would have been difficult to avoid running into her other self while stuck in the same house.
Tonks had come again, and they'd spent an entire afternoon in the attic brewing potions and practicing defensive spells. Despite the activity, it had been surprisingly pleasant: a bright spot in an otherwise desperately dreary summer. No one knew what they were doing up there, and it gave Hermione satisfaction to feel like the Auror was singling her out with her attention. That they had a secret together.
Tonks seemed to understand her on a level her friends didn't, and the conversation flowed so easy that Hermione felt like they'd known each other for years. Before she left for the nightly patrol, Tonks had thanked Hermione for her help and given her a long, tight hug.
Which was, perhaps, why Hermione now found herself sulking alone in a corner, miserably watching the Auror laugh at Remus Lupin's stupid jokes, her hand on his forearm. Sirius was standing with them too, smiling benignly upon the scene as though he knew exactly what was going on, and approved.
"Granger," someone rasped, drawing Hermione out of her thoughts.
"Um, hello Professor Moody," she replied, watching as the hunched wizard loaded his plate with more roast potatoes.
"Don't look too happy with your new appointment." He squinted at her with his good eye, while the electric blue whizzed right past her towards the door.
"I am, I swear." But her tone was a bit more defensive than she would have liked.
"Well, as I was telling the Weasley boy, you best be prepared to withstand most major jinxes and hexes. Authority figures always attract trouble!"
And with that unreassuring pronouncement, he turned away to speak with Mrs. Weasley, but not before firing a parting shot : "Things are going to come to a head this year, you better watch your back, Granger!"
"...thanks for the warning..." Hermione muttered to his retreating back.
She watched as Mundungus Fletcher passed the twins a package - contraband, no doubt... Ron continued to brag about his new Cleansweep to anyone who would listen... Mrs. Weasley nagged her oldest son about his ponytail…
An hour passed, maybe more, as she sat listening to the flow of conversation without interest and absently rubbing at the scar on her wrist. As soon as she noticed people starting to put on their coats, she tried to make her escape. Unfortunately, Mrs. Weasley spotted her just as she was nearly through the door.
"Oh, Hermione, dear, come and have another piece of cake. You're still looking a bit pale."
"I'm alright, Mrs. Weasley, thanks," she replied, totally unenthused.
"But I had Kreacher help me with it - look he did these little icing lions...well, they look rather more like fuzzy dragons, but still - I really think he's staring to come round!"
Ron was at her elbow now. "Urgh, Mum, are you sure it's safe to eat? How d'you know that little tosser didn't put razors in it? He sure hates us all enough."
"Mind your tongue, Ronald! I'm sure it's perfectly fine."
In the end, Hermione had to stay and eat the cake. Ron followed her up the kitchen stairs, talking her ear off about the anti-jinx varnish on his new broom, but as they neared the entrance hall, they heard hushed voices and Hermione motioned for Ron to be quiet. None of them had been inducted into the Order yet, so they were eager to eavesdrop on any and all adult conversations they happened across in the hopes of learning something important.
"You're crazy if you let an opportunity like that slip through your fingers, mate." It was Sirius, and Hermione had a sinking feeling that she knew just who he was talking to, and about what.
"I told you, I don't want to talk about it!" Remus replied in a strained tone.
"Why, because you're determined to play the bloody martyr? Get your head out of your arse, Remus, she doesn't care about what you are!"
"Well perhaps she should!"
Sirius grunted in disgust. "All I'm saying is a witch like that won't pine away for you forever."
"She is not pining-"
"Oh, come off it. Everybody can tell she wants it."
How dare he talk about her like that, so disrespectful? Hermione thought furiously.
She marched all the way down the hall, and, shooting the two an angry look, stormed up the stairs.
The front door opened, and Tonks walked in, already mid-sentence: "...checked the perimeter, nothing suspicious..." Seeing the girl's retreating back, she turned to a confused-looking Ron, who'd just come into view. "What's up with Hermione?"
He shook his head, as bewildered as the rest of them. "No clue." Then, under his breath: "Time of the month, I bet."
Hermione found herself shut up in the bathroom once more, curled in the same corner where she'd spent many a night choking back bile and sobs. She was crying her eyes out, and, most frustrating of all, she wasn't even sure why.
The pressure's finally getting to you, you know it is, a voice in her head said. Nothing's going right...its only a matter of time before it all falls apart…
"That's not true, I...I got into the Ministry!".
Yes, and now what? You have no idea what to do now, you idiot. You're just going to fail….
All you ever do is fail...
Everything you touch falls apart in the end….
"Stop it, stop it, STOP IT!" She shouted at herself, clutching her hair in fistfuls. "Get a grip Hermione!"
Standing on shaky legs, she walked to the mirror and studied her reflection. She looked disgusting. Which was appropriate, because, really, she was disgusting. No wonder Tonks didn't want her.
Wait...where did THAT come from? Hermione thought, puzzled, but the question made her so uncomfortable that she forced herself to stop thinking of it. Instead, she washed her face and went back to the room, where Ginny was already lying under the covers.
"Nite," she deadpanned, and lay down, facing the wall.
"Hermione…" Ginny began, but fell silent. Long moments passed.
She was just beginning to relax into her pillows when she felt the mattress dent under Ginny's weight.
"Ron may be a prat, but he's got a point, you know. Are you...are you alright?"
"Im fine," she replied, and her tone brooked no argument.
Ginny sighed. "Hermione, you know I can hear you crying at night."
Oh god. How embarrassing, Hermione though. "Oh...I, um...it's just silly stuff. You know, hormones, or whatever."
Ginny paused for a moment, as though choosing her words carefully. "Does this have anything to do with Tonks?"
Receiving no response, she continued with hesitation: "I know you were raised in the Muggle world, and I don't know what's acceptable there…. but in wizarding society, that kind of thing is, you know, well…."
Hermione's eyes widened. "What are you saying?" she asked, struggling to keep her tone neutral.
"Nothing! I just...I just don't want you to get hurt, Hermione, that's all. People will use any excuse to judge you. Know what I mean?" Ginny's look was both apologetic and pitying.
Hermione nodded. She wasn't sure if she could deal with all of this right now. "Thanks for looking out, Gin," she said finally. "Goodnight."
But she didn't sleep; she lay under the covers long after Ginny's quiet snores filled the room, staring at the ceiling and trying to stifle a rising panic.
She couldn't believe that she'd been so obvious that someone felt compelled to confront her about it. Whatever the hell was going on with her had to stop NOW, before things went too far.
The first day of term dawned bright - brighter than any morning she could recall in the past two months. It wasn't much, but it fortified Hermione's spirits enormously, and, from the open, happy expression on Harry's face, she had an inkling that he felt the same.
They made their way to King's Cross with a guard composed of Order members: Tonks was walking with the group, oblivious to Hermione's lingering resentment, and Moody brought up the rear as he pushed a trolley piled high with luggage, porter's cap pulled over his magical eye. Even Sirius was there (unwisely, Hermione considered), bounding up and down the platform excitedly in his Animagus form.
Aboard the Hogwarts Express, she and Ron had to part ways with Harry and Ginny since they were due in the Prefects carriage for their first official meeting. Ron was looking glum at the prospect.
"Hope this won't take long," he sulked.
"Well, the Head Girl and Boy are going to give us all instructions and then we have to patrol, so I expect it will take a good while," she responded, already annoyed.
Ron sighed with the air of someone greatly put-upon. "But what if we miss the lunch trolley? I want a pumpkin pastry."
"Honestly, do you ever think about anything besides food? You were happy enough to be made Prefect when your mother bought you that new broom, but the minute you have to do an ounce of real work, you start complaining! Well let me tell you something right now, Ronald Weasley! I'm not going to be doing your rounds for you, and I am NOT going to let you copy off of me this year!"
"I..I.." Ron sputtered, "Blimey, Hermione, all I said was that I wanted a pumpkin pastry! You're just as bad as Harry, biting my head off over nothing all of the bloody time! Well, I've had it up to here with your-"
They were already at the door of the prefect's carriage, so Hermione just shot him a dirty look in reply. Walking in, she spotted a vacancy between Ernie and Hannah (the Hufflepuff prefects) and took it, leaving Ron the last empty seat next to Pansy Parkinson and Draco Malfoy. Realizing the fate that awaited him, he shot her a pleading look, but she ignored him.
"Had a good holiday, Weasel?" Malfoy drawled.
"What's it to you, ferret-face?" Ron demanded, arms crossed defensively across his chest.
"Oh I dunno... just thought it might have been a bit rough since your dad is on such thin ice at the Ministry and your best mate turned out to be the crackpot we always knew he was."
Pansy sniggered. Encouraged, Malfoy continued in a mock-terrified voice: "Noo...please, don't let the Dementors get me...nooooo…"
"Shut your stupid mouth, Malfoy!" Hermione snarled at him, motioning to take out her wand.
"Or what, you dirty little Mudblood?"
But Hermione's retort was cut short as the door opened and the Head Boy and Girl walked in.
Ron's fears had been unfounded, as it turned out; they received brief instructions and a quarter-hour later, they were sent off with their patrol schedules.
Grabbing her trunk and a rather grumpy Crookshanks, Hermione was about to go and find a compartment, when a voice called to her.
"Hey! Hermione Granger, right?"
"Oh, hello Cho." She could have reminded the other girl that they'd already met a couple of times last year, but didn't see a point to it.
But Cho seemed to be thinking along the same lines, and blushed faintly. "Oh, sorry, um...good summer?"
"Fine, thanks. Yours?" Hermione couldn't for the life of her figure out what this girl wanted, having never shown the slightest interest in speaking to her before. Cho Chang was not only one of the prettiest girls at Hogwarts, but also one of the smartest. Just being in her presence made Hermione feel wrong-footed.
"Oh, you know, it was...well, it could've been better…" she trailed off pathetically, and Hermione felt a pang of pity as she suddenly remembered that the late Cedric Diggory had been Cho's boyfriend.
"Cho... I'm really sorry. He was … a great person." Hermione said, briefly putting her hand on Cho's shoulder.
Looking down as though trying to conceal incipient tears, the Ravenclaw whispered: "Yes, he was." Gathering herself, she continued. "Anyway, I just wanted to ask if you'd seen Harry around? I wanted to say Hi."
Of course, thought Hermione with a touch of bitterness, she only talked to me to ask about Harry. "Oh, I think they got a compartment in the last carriage, but I'm not sure."
"Thanks!" Cho said, smiling. And just like that, she was gone.
"Yeah, see you…" Hermione muttered at her retreating back, and suddenly found herself thinking that the way Cho looked in jeans was a miracle.
NO! We're not going down that path again, Hermione! she told herself mercilessly, heading off to find Ron and the others.
Week 1 of what Hermione would later refer to as Umbridge's Reign of Terror was, by common consensus, the worst first week of term ever. Harry was constantly on edge, Ron seemed determined to argue with her at every possible opportunity, Ginny vacillated between sulking and sarcasm, the twins were carrying on illicit experiments on the first-years, and everyone else in Gryffindor couldn't stop gossiping about Voldemort's supposed return.
Perhaps the worst of the lot were here roommates, Lavender and Parvati. While Hermione typically found their inane, non-stop chatter rather soothing (or had she simply gotten used to it after four years?), their new habit of performing dramatic readings to each other from the Daily Prophet was driving her absolutely mad.
That was why, on their first Saturday back, she found herself breaking into Hagrid's abandoned cabin, where she was certain no one would ever think to look for her. After a few well-placed Scourgifys, the place was nearly habitable and Hermione settled in for a marathon research session.
The first thing she pulled out of her bag was the Prophet- the issue from a few days prior that reported that Sturgis Podmore had been sentenced to six months in Azkaban for trying to break into a door at the Ministry. When she'd seen it first, something had tickled at her memory, like a connection her brain wanted to make, but couldn't. Now, as she reread the article and examined the tiny photo, the missing link finally snapped into place.
She hadn't noticed before, but Podmore was standing handcuffed in front of the Department of Mysteries. What's more, she was sure that she'd seen him that day in the lift….right before Lucius Malfoy got on. The wizard named Yaxley had asked Malfoy if 'it was done'...and Malfoy had said that someone would be useful...Malfoy wanted something in the Department of Mysteries...
Slowly, realization dawned. Malfoy had compelled Podmore to break into the Ministry, in order to get his hands on whatever he wanted to steal and discredit the Order, in one fell swoop. In fact, the situation bore certain parallels with Malfoy's attempts to tarnish Arthur Weasley's reputation by slipping a cursed diary to his eleven-year-old daughter. She was certain her guess was true because that was exactly what she would have done if she were a sociopathic pureblood-supremacist working for Satan himself. As far as evil plots went, it was quite brilliant, Hermione thought begrudgingly - and she wasn't too Gryffindor to admit it.
Fortunately, it seemed as though Podmore had been caught before actually completing his assignment...which, she realized, only meant that Malfoy would try again.
Hermione spared a moment to wonder at how uncommonly lucky she had been to avoid getting caught that day - well, she had been caught, but not reported - and turned towards the fruits of that endeavor: the copied research.
Most of it, as she had already noticed, was concerned with stabilizing the enchantments placed on Time-Turners to prevent the disintegration of either the user or the timeline, especially in cases where time had been reversed more than six hours. Well, to say that time had been reversed was incorrect, Hermione though; in fact, it was only the traveller who was reversed, detached from the materiality of the physical and thrown into the chaos of timeless space.
The effects of this process on the human body were so poorly understood that it was strictly forbidden to travel back in time more than 24 hours. Evidently, the last witch who had attempted it (in 1972) had suffered a most painful demise and no one had dared try it since. The 24-hour Time Turner Hermione had stolen was one of only two in existence, and neither had ever been used for anything but theoretical study, she read.
Well, until now, Hermione thought, remembering her already-numerous sojourns in time over the past couple of weeks, though none had lasted even half a day. The first few times had been terrible; her head had felt as though it would explode from internal pressure and she had vomited uncontrollably. But those symptoms seemed to be getting better with each successive trip, so it stood to reason that she could eventually work her way up to a full day without killing herself.
That had to have been the mistake of the other witch, she reasoned. Going too far, too fast. That, in itself, was quite typical of the irrational arrogance she frequently found in wizards. Instead of starting with logic and planning, they jumped into things, blindly trusting that their magic would see them through. Her friend Ron was a quintessential example.
But Hermione had never had that luxury. Nothing ever came easy to her. She had had to struggle for every single small accomplishment, and had learned to rely not on her power or even her cleverness, but on her discipline and her iron-willed determination.
Beside the physical effects of travelling too far back, the other major obstacle seemed to be something called the Self-Consistency Threshold. It was an unspecified point beyond which the timeline became so volatile that it could be damaged irreversibly- or even destroyed. It was the point beyond which paradoxes became possible.
Only two people were ever known to have crossed it: Eloise Mintumble and her daughter, whom she had read about in the library of Grimmauld Place. Hermione knew that, in order to accomplish what she'd set out to do, she would have to cross the Threshold. And, hopefully, survive.
She had managed to piece together something of the mechanics of Time Turners: the little hourglasses held enchanted sand - sand that had been created at the beginning of time. Over the centuries, most of the grains had scattered in the wind, and rubbed so small that now they resided in every living thing, moving the world in synchrony. The witches and wizards of antiquity had collected a few of these precious grains and discovered a way to manipulate their flow. A complex system of Arithmantic calculations determined the length of time one could travel with each time-turner. Pulling out a piece of parchment, Hermione began to scribble down some calculations; if her hunch was correct, and she rather suspected that it was, even a single grain contained in itself the entire legacy of the world, so it alone should allow her to travel back as much as necessary. Now she just had to find out the correct figures….
A sudden pop disrupted her concentration, and Hermione, looking up, was surprised to see Dobby the house elf standing in the middle of Hagrid's cabin, supporting another elf who seemed to be on the verge of slumping to the ground.
"Oh...Miss Hermione!" Dobby squealed, giving her a wide, toothy smile.
"Dobby? and... is that Winky? What are you doing here?" Surreptitiously, she shuffled aside the papers on the table.
"Well, you see...um…" Dobby began, looking down at the other elf, who was now fully prostrate and had begun humming loudly to herself.
"Is she...drunk?" Hermione asked with concern.
Dobby hung his head. "Last year,Winky's family gave her clothes, and she's been very unhappy, Miss Hermione. Dobby tries to tell her it's a wonderful thing to be free, but Winky just cries and cries..."
"Oh, that's terrible!" Hermione said sadly, wondering how someone could miss being enslaved to the maniac Barty Crouch Jr. so much. "I'm sure she'll realize one day how fortunate she is."
"Dobby hopes so too! Dobby brings Winky here sometimes to sleep, when she's had too many Butterbeers."
Meanwhile, Winky sang: "...In times o' old, when I 's new," she hiccupped loudly, then continued, "and H'warts barely started, the founders…of our noble school..."
"Well, I won't say anything, Dobby, I promise. Maybe…" Hermione began, hopefully,"maybe a hat will make her feel better?" With that, she reached into her satchel and pulled out one of her misshapen wooly creations. "Oh wait a minute thats a sock…."she tossed it aside and pulled out another "hmmm, this one too...oh here's a nice one! Look, red and gold, Gryffindor colours!"
She held it out to Winky, but the small elf looked at it with a mixture of revulsion and horror.
"Oh, I'll take it for her! Dobby loves hats!" he exclaimed, snatching it out of Hermione's outstretched hand.
Watching the elf try to fit the hat over his enormous ears, Hermione recalled her earlier musings about the Podmore case, and decided to take advantage of an opportunity to gather information. "Dobby...I'm wondering if you could help me with something," she began, tentative.
"Anything for a friend of Harry Potter!" He beamed at her once more.
"Well...you used to work for Lucius Malfoy, right?"
A dark look came over the elf's usually jovial features, and he nodded sharply.
"I was wondering, that is, I wanted to know...if you could tell me about him?"
"About him?" Dobby asked, evidently confused.
"Yes. About the way he thinks."
Dobby pondered for a long moment."Oh, well he's a Slytherin, isn't he? Master Malfoy always looks out for himself."
Hermione nodded, encouragingly. "Go on..."
