When Ron didn't show up after the game, Hermione nearly lost her wits with panic.

He's dead, kept running over and over in her head, like some sort of morbid mantra. I've killed him. And then an ever worse thought popped into her head, and she gasped, drawing the stares of a couple of first years huddled in the corner.

Maybe...maybe, he's been...unborn…

The idea was too ghastly to even consider.

Fortunately, at the precise moment she was about to burst into terrified sobs, the portrait swung open and a dishevelled, snow-covered Ron came in, looking more miserable than she could ever remember seeing him. When he told them that he'd been out for a walk, Hermione wanted to smack him, although whether from irritation or relief, she could not say.

"McGonagall took me to her office, was just about to give me detention-" Harry was saying.

"Let me guess," Ron interrupted. "Umbridge showed up."

Harry nodded morosely, and continued. "She's gone and granted herself the right to assign all the punishments at Hogwarts. And she decided that, in this case, Fred, George and I are to be banned from playing Quidditch. For life."

"NO!" Ron gasped, face frozen in horrified disbelief. "But...but that means…"

"We can kiss the Quidditch cup goodbye," Harry finished. "Unless Angelina can conjure up a couple of Beaters and a Seeker from somewhere."

While the boys consoled themselves trying to top each other's insults for the Hogwarts High Inquisitor, Hermione stared into the dying fire, thoughts rushing at breakneck speed.

Yesterday...that is, today...realization had dawned so sudden, as she sat at Ron's bedside in the hospital wing, that she couldn't believe it had taken her months to get there. Some random footnote in Eternal Enigma: Theory of Time Travel had said that a single moment, while discrete within itself, in fact subsumes every alternative. There were lynchpin events, so to speak, around which others were clustered, and in the very near past, those events were absolutes - immutable - but if you went far back enough... everything became uncertain. It was a question of understanding the chain of events and isolating the single moment when the potential of another outcome became possible. According to the pilfered Ministry notes, the process of finding that moment required an impossibly complex Numerological Model, but Hermione had thrown caution to the wind for once, and chosen on instinct.

The Time-Turner had been used to its full capacity: a full 24 hours. After checking and re-checking her notes and trying to talk herself out of what she was doing for the hundredth time, Hermione had settled on hiding beneath the stands and bewitching the Snitch so that Harry could have an easier time getting ahold of it. Not a very glamourous or elaborate plan, to be sure, but certainly effective. They won the game.

And afterwards? She had suspected that redirecting the timeline could introduce an element of chaos, and chaos seemed to love taking on the form of Delores bloody Umbridge. Was it indirectly her fault that Harry and the twins had been ousted from the team, and that their chances of winning another game were smaller that Crabbe and Goyle's combined IQ? Ruthlessly pushing down a pang of guilt, Hermione rose and paced to the window. She stood there a long moment, absently rubbing at the scar on her wrist.

Harry and Ron would understand, she thought, if they knew how much I need this.

She could stop now, of course, but she knew that she wouldn't. Besides, it was already done. She had crossed the Self-Consistency Threshold. She had altered the timeline.


Cho Chang kept popping up everywhere Hermione was trying to be. Like the Room of Requirement. And the Library. And the First-Floor Girl's Lavatory.

The latter annoyed her most because Myrtle's bathroom had become something of a private sanctuary for the Gryffindor witch since her second year. She had even managed to get on nearly-civil terms with the resident ghost, with whom she'd bonded over a shared love of Muggle science fiction. But Myrtle was nowhere to be seen today: only the drenched floor tiles and a distant echo of sobbing remained as evidence of her dour mood.

Locking herself in the first stall, Hermione proceeded to down an unsavory cocktail of Calming Draught, Anti-Dizziness Potion, Draught of Peace, and a Wit-Sharpening Potion for good measure. Don't vomit, she told herself sternly. You brought this on yourself.

She had failed to anticipate that her strange time-travel-related malady would worsen after the Gryffindor-Slytherin Game. But, of course, it had: as she walked through the Transfiguration courtyard this morning, she had noticed Hogwarts...shifting. Suddenly, instead of proud stone wall, there was only rubble before her, black smoke curled ominously from the turrets, and the enormous oak doors lay in splinters… and the sound of screaming was ringing in her ears.

And, just like the other inexplicable occurrences of the past few months, the vision was gone in the blink of an eye.

Maybe I'm just going insane, Hermione though. But before she could evaluate the merits of this idea, a soft sniffle from the next cubicle drew her attention. Hardly sparing a thought for the perhaps-disturbing fact that she could recognize the intonation of that sniffle, Hermione said:

"Hey Cho. You OK?"

There was a long pause. Hermione could just picture the Ravenclaw girl sitting there, no doubt wearing a mortified look.

"Umm...hey Hermione."

Hermione sighed. "I wish you weren't so sad." Adding mentally: You're too pretty to be crying all the time.

"It's nice of you to check on me."

Their doors opened at the same moment, and just when it seemed to Hermione that they would stand there in silent awkwardness forever, Cho rushed forward and wrapped her arms around Hermione's neck.

"T-thanks," she hiccoughed.

"For what?" Hermione asked, stunned. She could feel her neck grow wet with Cho's tears, but the sensation was not altogether unpleasant.

"For being a friend." Cho pulled away, smiling briefly, then continued: "Hey, did you mean it the other day when you said you wanted me to teach you?"

"Oh- oh yes."

"OK, can you meet me on top of the Astronomy Tower at 10? We can't risk going to the R.o.R again. You're right: if Umbridge finds us, the D.A. is finished."

"Alright," Hermione replied, still trying to comprehend what exactly she had just agreed to, but Cho, as was her habit, had already rushed away with a hasty "See you!"

At 9:45 that night, a despondent Hermione stood in front of the mirror in her dorm, trying to run a comb through her unruly mane, which stubbornly refused to cooperate. Ginny, who was curled up on the floor amidst a pile of Transfiguration notes, was sneaking surreptitious glances in her direction.

"No use," Hermione whined, and tossed the comb onto her dresser, where it knocked over a plate of cold breakfast rolls.

Ginny chortled. "Hot date?"

Hermione went pale. "W-why would you say that?" she asked, trying, and failing, not to sound like a guilty first-year.

"Oh, you know, it's not everyday I see you try to fix your hair."

"Maybe I just want to look presentable for a change, huh? Did that ever occur to you?" the older witch demanded.

"It did. But then you asked me to lend you a clean jumper. Which you never do."

Hermione crossed her arms and pinned Ginny with her best 'Prefect' look. "It's not a date."

"How do you know?"

"I just do, OK?"

"Well, where are you meeting?"

"The Astronomy Tower."

"Hmm, and what time?"

"Ten."

Ginny grinned with satisfaction. "It's a date" she declared.

"Do you really think so?" Hermione blurted, and was immediately embarrassed by the hopefulness in her tone.

But her redheaded friend just laughed at her and went back to reading. Later, Hermione would wonder why Ginny hadn't mined for details.

That first meeting with Cho had been nearly two weeks ago, and since then, they'd met twice more in different abandoned corners of the castle.

"You will find that an orderly and disciplined mind is the key," Cho had told her. "That's why many Ravenclaws are able to grasp it so easily, and I think you will too. At the beginning, it's all about self-control: keeping your mind and body absolutely still and just feeling the source of your magic."

"The source of my magic?" Hermione asked, bewildered.

"Yes, the place your magic lives in your body. It's different for everyone. Mine always seems to be here," she explained, pointing at the spot below her clavicle. "Like I said, you need to really focus to feel it. Get rid of all distraction. My grandmother used to say that magical energy is the only thing that is eternal; it merely finds a temporary home in us, and all other living things. Try to feel that."

If Hermione had to guess what Ginny, Lavender, and Parvati thought she was doing on her late-night jaunts, she wouldn't have put meditation on top of that list. But meditate is indeed what they did. They would sit for hours in silence looking out over the Hogwarts grounds, Cho utterly serene and Hermione struggling to tame her roiling thoughts.

"You're having a hard time with this, aren't you?" Cho pointed out.

Hermione looked at her, face grim with frustration. "I don't understand why, I don't usually have trouble concentrating."

The Ravenclaw tilted her head to the side, thoughtful."Well, if I was trying to learn at at a time like this I don't think I'd get it either."

Hermione's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"Well, everybody grieves differently, I suppose. I need to cry, because it gives me a release, and you need to bottle it up and channel it into something else."

Hermione blanched. Was she so transparent? Did Cho know something? How?

"You don't have to explain anything, Hermione. But I...I can tell you're miserable."

Hermione found that she couldn't look at the other witch. She wanted to get up and flee the tower, but couldn't bring herself to move at all. Somehow, Cho's hand found its way to her shoulder, and Hermione flinched away, as though burned.

"But if you need to talk about it…"

For an interminable moment, the silence was absolute. But then - Hermione's mouth opened as though of its own accord, and the words poured forth. Like the rupture of a towering dam.

"It was this past summer. I had just come back for holiday…"

….

On the third Sunday of her return the Grangers drove out to the country, as usual. Hiked some, ate a spartan picnic out on the hills, shared a quiet tea in the village. It was a weekly ritual that Hermione missed while away at school, but rather dreaded while home during holidays. Her father mostly pottered about in the shrubbery, collecting plant samples for his collection, pressing them between the pages of a book with all the care of a surgeon. Mr. Engel, her parents' partner in their dentistry practice, hovered around him, keeping up a running commentary about the odds of one football team or another.

Her mother spent half her time rifling through some true-crime novel and the other half pestering Hermione with questions: What could she really do with a degree from Hogwarts? Why couldn't she maybe just consider applying to a normal University? Didn't she still want to be a doctor? Didn't she want to have the option of joining the Granger family practice? After all, both of her cousins wanted to be dentists. It was a nice, stable living. She could even get married and buy a house down the street from her parents, and her mum could come over on the weekends and bake fresh pie…

For what felt like the hundredth time that afternoon, Hermione gave a long sigh, sounding every bit the teenage girl that she was.

"Sure mum." They just don't understand me at all, she thought.

The conversation was dropped for the moment. But on the car-ride home, they started in on her again.

"You know your cousin Odette is getting married in November."

"Yes mum." Hermione forced out. She always had to ride in the back with old Mr. Engel, who suffered from intense motion sickness. Even now, she could see his sweaty hand clutching the seat and hear his asthmatic wheezing.

"Wouldn't it be nice to have all the girls together again as bridesmaids? The dresses are just lovely. Lavender!"

"I know mum."

"She always asks about you, you know. I think it would be just wonderful if you could be there. But we'd have to do something with your hair, darling. "

Hermione rolled her eyes dramatically, but her mother was in the passenger seat and facing forward. Her dad, however, caught sight of it in the rearview, and grinned.

"There's nothing wrong with my hair."

"Hermione, darling, you're almost sixteen. Don't you think it's time you started to make an effort with your appearance?" her mother said, not unkind. And after all, could she be blamed for wanting her daughter to be ordinary in some small way, when she was otherwise so different?

"No. I don't." Hermione sulked. "And I have school in November. So there's no way in hell I'm coming."

"Don't be rude to your mother, Hermione. You know it would mean a lot to Gran if you were there, she hasn't got much longer-"

"And I said I'd introduce you to Mr. Finnicker," her mother continued, "You know he's in the Foreign Office? He might fix you up with an internship, now thats a REAL prospect-"

"Or, you know, I could just work for the Ministry. OUR Ministry." Hermione said, feeling a vindictive little thrill.

"Hermione!" Her father exclaimed, scandalized. Engel didn't know anything about it, nor did anybody else. His daughter's … condition was treated something like a shameful family secret, though neither parent would ever have admitted that.

"What? It's the truth! Maybe me, Harry and Ron will all be Aurors! "

"Don't you say another word, young lady!" A slight hysteria was creeping into her mother's voice.

"I will!" Hermione was getting heated, resentment which had been building over the past few weeks - years, really - finally boiling over. "I'm tired of you treating me like some kind of… some kind of…"

"I'm not a child, and I know what I want!" She finished, rather lamely.

"Please, just listen to yourself-" her father began, but she wasn't hearing any of it.

"Stop the car, I want to get out." She snapped, with more conviction than she really felt.

"But we're in the middle of nowhere!"

"Well that's not a problem for ME." She may not have been able to Apparate without a wand or a licence, but her parents didn't know that.

Angry now, her father gripped the wheel, knuckles white."We are NOT stopping."

"Oh, really? Because you know I can make you!"

"Hermione, if you don't stop this RIGHT NOW, I'm going to write to your Headmaster and tell him you won't return this year!" her mother nearly screeched. It was one of the worst threats she could have made. Mr. Engel fidgeted in his seat, looking equal parts confused, uncomfortable, and nauseous.

"FINE!" Hermione yelled, completely furious. Her magic surged forth, jerking the car wildly. She had only been intending to stop the car, but instead, she had sent them all into a tailspin in the middle of a two-lane highway…

"Nobody was badly injured - except her. After a week, she died in the hospital. And it was... my fault," Hermione trailed off into a whisper. "I…I wake up every morning and wish it had been me."

"Hermione…I'm so, so sorry…" Cho said, pulling her into a tight hug. "You know you can't blame yourself…."

Trying to offer some comfort, Cho rubbed small circles on her back. At first it was soothing, but quickly began to take on an entirely different dimension. Hermione pulled back, suddenly, embarrassed at the jolt of pleasure the other witch's innocent touch had caused.

"Listen, I'm going to fix it," she told the Ravenclaw.

"Fix it? But how? I don't….I mean, you can't change what happened..."

"Oh that is exactly what I'm going to do. Change the time line."

Cho drew a sharp breath. "That sounds like a really bad idea, Hermione, please promise me you won't-"

"I have to-" Hermione hissed. She had imagined that Cho would understand, considering her own experiences - and maybe even want to help her. Clearly she was mistaken.

"But time magic is really dangerous, you don't even know what could happen!"

"Well, it can't be worse than this!" Hermione snapped, looking away. They sat a moment in uncomfortable silence, and then Cho leapt up, grabbing her bag.

"I - I think I'm going to bed. You should too... maybe you'll come to your senses in the morning," she tossed out coolly.

Cho was already out the door when Hermione realized the stupidity of what she had just done. She rushed to follow the other witch, chasing her down the stairwell and calling: "Cho! You forgot something!"

The Ravenclaw turned around, confused, and in that momentary pause, Hermione took out her wand.

"Obliviate!"

The spell hit Cho in the chest, pushing her backward with its force. She looked around, eyes unfocused. "Hermione? What - where-?"

"It's alright, I was just doing rounds and found you crying up here. You should really get back to your common room, though, it's past midnight," Hermione directed, an odd feeling gnawing at her stomach. If she hadn't been so accustomed to the heady heights of the moral high-ground, she may have recognized the feeling as guilt.

"Yeah….you're right," Cho mumbled distractedly, and, turning, continued her descent.

"Watch out for Umbridge and Filch!" Hermione called after her, rather unnecessarily.

She knew it would be best to return to her own tower - considering all the after-hours wandering of late, odds were good that she'd be caught sometime soon - but Hermione remained immobile, watching the moonlight cast delicate shadows in the grooves of the stonework.

What she wouldn't give for a little bit of peace. She'd never truly appreciated it - living free of constant panic - until recent events had rendered it an impossibility. Even the Calming Draught she kept on hand wasn't doing the job like it used to do even a couple of weeks ago.

Sinking down onto the cold, hard step, Hermione curled her cloak about herself tightly and closed her eyes.

"Focus. Get rid of all distraction." She would get this right if it was the last bloody thing she did.