Wow! All of your support has been incredible! Thank you so much!

The end of this chapter is basically some of my random speculations about how time travel works in this universe. If that bores you, you can safely skip all of it.


"Have you seen it yet?" a Ravenclaw third year whispered to her companions, standing huddled behind Hermione in the long queue that led down the second-floor corridor.

"You really reckon he fought You Know Who and lived?" another replied, skeptically.

"Sounds a bit far fetched, if you asked me," the third pitched in. "I, for one, need further evidence before I can decide one way or the other."

"Well, it wouldn't be the first time he survived the Killing Curse, mate-"

"And you have to admit, Diggory's death was suspicious..."

"Potter wouldn't have named names if he was lying, would he? Malfoy and his friends are probably sharpening their knives as we speak."

They'd held out talking about it for quite a while, but had eventually succumbed to the irresistible temptation. The Quibbler article, published the day before, was already on everyone's lips.

Of course, Umbridge had swooped down upon them in the Great Hall mere seconds after Harry received the first edition, and had swiftly banned the Quibbler from the entire school. Consequently, there wasn't a soul in all of Hogwarts that hadn't read it by now, and the High Inquisitor, frustrated at her failure to control every facet of what the students did, learned, and thought, was conducting an investigation.

Hermione had received her summons in first-period Arithmancy, which she took alone, so she didn't know whether the boys had been up to see the horrible woman yet, but she hoped not. Umbridge had already gone through three dozen students, and it was barely 10 o'clock in the morning. Hermione had noticed that more than a few left the office with ghastly mysterious symptoms - evidence that the Weasley twins had been plying their trade in secret, despite her threats. But she couldn't really bring herself to be angry: if their Skiving Snackboxes were helping students escape that pink toad's clammy grasp, well, who could fault them?

It did make her wonder though. For every student that left the office with purple boils, another five left crying - what was Umbridge doing to them in there? Most of them had nothing to hide, but she, Hermione, was the very reason that article had been published at all. She was the one who had set up the interview with Harry in the Three Broomsticks, blackmailed Skeeter into writing the piece, and convinced Luna to have it published in her dad's ridiculous magazine. Not too shabby for the perfect little Gryffindor bookworm, she thought, self-satisfied.

But her gloating was cut short as she saw Cho Chang leave the office and make her way down the hall. The Ravenclaw walked past, head held high, without sparing her a single glance, as Hermione swallowed the lump in her throatfought the urge to turn around and watch the girl's retreating back.

They hadn't spoken since Valentine's day - the day of Harry and Cho's disastrous date, the day of the interview. Impossibly, Cho had gotten it in her head that Harry fancied his scruffy Gryffindor best-friend, and had stormed out of Madame Puddifoot's in jealousy. But for Hermione, it was truly laughable to think of herself as an object of anyone's affections. The only dates she'd ever had were with the study-schedule and with the library, a circumstance she hadn't truly minded until this summer.

The worst, the absolute worst part, was that Harry couldn't even find the compassion to understand why Cho was so upset, to sympathize with her grief, to treat her kindly. He had lost his parents as a baby, and had never had the time to know them before they passed. What he felt for them was not the same as what Cho or Hermione had felt. Nothing, in his eyes, was more important than his epic, life-and-death battle with Voldemort. Which, perhaps, was why Hermione had said nothing all this time; she didn't trust him to offer comfort.

But still, she found herself advising Harry how to win back the lovely Ravenclaw. Part of it was a genuine wish to see two miserable people find a little joy, and another part was something like the pleasure of picking at a nearly-healed scab to feel the sting all over again.

"Hermione Granger!" Filch read out from his scroll, scanning the line of students with contempt. Mrs. Norris, equally unimpressed, stood sentinel at his feet.

"Here!" she called out, stepping forward as he crossed out her name with an irritated huff.

"Get in there," he growled, jerking his head toward the door, which stood slightly ajar.

Taking a moment to gather her wits, she stepped through to the Defense Against the Dark Arts Office, momentarily stunned at the sight which greeted her. Harry wasn't wrong; it did look like a Pygmy Puff had vomited doilies all over the place.

"Hem hem," Umbridge coughed daintily, snapping Hermione out of her horrified examination of the multicolor kitten plates which decorated the walls. "Miss Granger, is it?" the woman said in that saccharine tone of hers, like a syrupy drink whose sweetness couldn't quite disguise the flavor of cyanide.

You know exactly who I am, Hermione thought with a scowl. And if you don't, you will soon.

"Do have a seat, my dear," Umbridge simpered, gesturing her into a little chintz armchair in front of her desk. "Would you like some tea? Biscuits?"

A generous tea service was laid out between them, with all manner of snacks and confections. Though tempting, the abundance made Hermione deeply suspicious.

"No.. thank you," she refused carefully, "I...I'm not feeling well."

Umbridge narrowed her eyes, clearly annoyed. "Yes... there seems to be a lot of that going around."

They fell into silence, the older witch glaring daggers at Hermione, tapping her stubby fingers impatiently against the curve of her teacup. She's trying to intimidate me into blurting out information, Hermione realized. Her stomach was already twisted in anxious knots, and, if she were honest with herself, she had to admit that this was a tactic that usually worked on her. McGonagall certainly used it to great effect on all of her Gryffindors.

But this was no Professor McGonagall: this was a twisted, vicious toad of a woman who would love nothing better than to find an excuse to expel her, and Hermione refused to give her the satisfaction. It took every ounce of her self control, but she summoned up an insincere smile and looked around the office casually.

"Your plates are lovely, Professor," she said, at last, the mockery barely concealed in her tone. "Very...original."

Umbridge crooked her head, the gears obviously turning in her brain as she realized that the girl before wouldn't break so easily. "Why, thank you Miss Granger. Let's get right into it then." Drawing out a parchment and quill, Umbridge laid them down neatly. Then she withdrew a pair of winged pink reading glasses from her robe and perched them on her nose. "Are you now, or have you at any point, been in possession of the magazine, The Quibbler?"

"No, Professor," Hermione replied tonelessly.

The older woman gave her another piercing look, as though trying to peer into her mind. But Hermione had already honed her ability to know when people were performing spells on her, and she sensed from the Defense Professor's magical aura that she wasn't a particularly powerful witch. Even if she and Cho never spoke again, she would always be grateful to the Ravenclaw for what she had taught her about the nature of magic.

Umbridge made some note on her parchment and proceeded to her next question.

"Have you read the interview that Harry Potter gave to The Quibbler regarding the events that took place during the last challenge of the Triwizard Tournament?"

"I haven't, Professor."

"Well, I find that hard to believe," Umbridge hissed, dropping her indifferent facade for a moment. "Considering that you are well known as one of Potters closest confederates."

"He's in my year in Gryffindor, yes," Hermione replied evasively.

Umbridge made another note on her parchment, then decided to try a different tack. "I've taken the liberty of looking into you, Miss Granger, and I couldn't help but notice that your parents don't work at the Ministry. What exactly is it that they do?"

Hermione swallowed, looking down at her clasped hands in her lap. The knuckles had gone white. She doesn't know about what happened...does she? She couldn't! She's probably just fishing for leverage.

Telling herself to calm down, she said, "They're dentists."

"Dentists?" A tiny, cruel smirk crooked the corner of the woman's mouth. "Ah, so you are muggle-born."

So she doesn't know, then. What a relief. "Yes. Is that relevant?"

"It is certainly curious..." Umbridge drawled, leafing through some of the scrolls on her desk, picking out one. "Well, your academic record is certainly impressive. One wonders how someone of your… heritage was able to assimilate so well into wizarding life. Quite a world apart, I imagine."

Wow, never heard that one before, Hermione thought snidely. It's like all of these twits read from the same Bigotry 101 handbook.

"I take my education very seriously."

"I'm sure that you do, Miss Granger. Of course there have been comments submitted to the Board hinting that certain students are being held to a lower standard in light of ... their lack of contextual knowledge."

"I see." Whatever you do, don't reach over and strangle her, Hermione told herself. You're better than this. They all want to see you fail and you prove them wrong every single day!

"Indeed." Umbridge smiled coldly. "Certain parties clearly feel that it is unfair to expect those who didn't grow up in our world to perform to the same level as everyone else. What do you think of that, Miss Granger?"

The woman was clearly baiting her, but Hermione would be damned before she rose to it. Looking Umbridge right in the eye, she said, "I believe in equality. I don't think anybody should be treated unfairly or abuse their power for personal gain."

If the Professor understood the double meaning behind her words, she showed no sign. Perhaps she truly believed that her actions were justified in the name of the greater good.

"Very noble sentiments, Miss Granger. Sentiments that the Ministry shares, you'll be glad to know. That is why I am here. To ensure that those who have been slighted and overlooked by the current administration finally get the recognition they deserve. And to weed out those who have been unfairly riding on the coattails of their… special status."

Riding on the coattails of their special status… if that didn't describe the entitled Slytherin purebloods she had to suffer on a daily basis, Hermione didn't know what did. Of course she doubted that the Ministry, sitting cozy in the pocket of Lucius Malfoy, saw it quite like that.

"Take Mr. Potter for instance," Umbridge went on, casually. "A mediocre student, with poor prospects, clearly acting out from a desperate need for attention. Enabled in his bad behavior by the doting staff members who pity him for the tragic demise of his parents...

"That is..." fucking bullshit "...one way of looking at it."

"Oh, don't misunderstand, Miss Granger," Umbridge tittered. "I have sympathy for Mr. Potter - one can see how he could end up in this state. Orphaned, alone, raised by Muggles. Can you imagine? However, the security of the Ministry is my first priority, and Mr. Potter, misguided though he may be, threatens that security."

By the end of this little speech, Hermione was positively seething. Insulting her blood status was one thing, but insulting her friends? The Gryffindor in her wanted to hex the smug look off the woman's face (Ron, God knows, would have already tried) but she was the level headed one, always. Losing control would only make her - and, by extension, all Muggleborns - look bad.

Instead, she dropped her wand in her bag where it wouldn't tempt her, and stood. "Is that all, Professor? Only, I would like to make it back to Arithmancy before the end of lecture."

"Yes, Miss Granger, that is all," Umbridge snapped, irritated at her failed provocations. Hermione was already at the door when the witch continued. "However, should you feel the need to be more forthcoming in the future, my door is always open. And may I just say that it would not be remiss of you to demonstrate a little more respect for our customs. I'm not sure how it is among your people, but in the wizarding world we value order and integrity."

"Integrity?" Hermione cried in disbelief as she spun around. This, from the woman who is torturing students in detention for so much as coughing out of turn.

"Yes, Miss Granger. Integrity." Umbridge smiled in absolute self-righteousness.

It was a miracle, really, that somebody with such enormous hypocrisy managed not to explode, Hermione thought. But what had she expected, really? That villains sat around twirling their mustaches, delighting in their naughtiness? No, she was coming to understand that everyone felt justified in what they did, no matter how depraved. Even Voldemort probably thought he was performing a public service.

"And before I forget," Umbridge said, "here is your essay on the theoretical application of the Expelliarmus Charm, with a few of my comments."

Hermione grabbed the outstretched parchment, riddled with red, and scanned it with building fury. Rationally, she knew that Umbridge was going for the low blows because she wouldn't give up any information, but this - this was too much to tolerate!

"E minus?" she burst out angrily. "But it was perfect! Twice the required length with at least a dozen sources! I even included the most recent research from Defense Quarterly-"

"Yes that's right, but the assignment asked you to focus on the theoretical applications, yet you discuss the practical applications," Umbridge explained with a nasty glint in her eye. "And in a way that suggests to me that you've actually performed this spell, which is troubling, as you know that performing defensive spells unsupervised is grounds for expulsion, as per Educational Decree No. 17, revised clause 2b."

"This is… it's completely ridiculous!" Hermione gasped.

There was no distinction between the theoretical and the practical applications of the Expelliarmus charm, and it was a spell that even most of the third years had already mastered. Unable to make Hermione confess to any rule breaking, this horrible woman was punishing her in any way she could. The unfairness of it all appalled her.

"Clearly your other Professors have failed to instill in you the importance of following directions. But not to worry - we will soon correct that! Your days of being coddled and are over, Miss Granger!"

Hermione closed her eyes and prayed for patience. This doesn't matter, in the larger scheme of things, she told herself. There is only one thing that matters now: changing the timeline.

When she looked at the Professor again, Hermione's gaze was blank and cold, and it left the older witch deeply unsettled, though she did not show it.

"Good day, Professor Umbridge," Hermione said, and left the office without a backward glance. The bell rang, signaling the end of first period, and as she walked through the castle, the halls filled with students rushing to their next lesson. The boys were probably heading over to Divination. Fortunately for Hermione, who had given up the subject long ago, she had and couple of hours free before lunch.

"Watch out!" someone yelled, and Hermione barely had time to step back as a blonde-haired blurr leaped in front of her, viciously whacking the air with a stack of books.

"L-Luna?" Hermione sputtered in shock, as the other girl concluded her battle with the invisible foe. "What's going on!?"

"It's a Wrackspurt!" Luna exclaimed, panting. "It was about to get you! I saw it!"

"Err...it's a what?"

"A wrackspurt. They're these little invisible creatures that live in your head. You see, they come in through your ears and - "

"Actually, nevermind." Hermione held up hand to forestall an explanation guaranteed to leave her more confused that she already was. "Ummm...what are you wearing?"

"Oh these?" Luna asked, taking off her kaleidoscope glasses as though it were the most natural thing in the world. "They're Spectrespecs! They help you see Wrackspurts, and good thing too, because that one had its eye on you."

"Did it, really?" Hermione asked politely, trying her best to humor Ginny's strange friend.

"Oh, yes, they'll hide wherever they can," Luna explained excitedly, "But they especially love to live in gloomy, dark places…"

Gloomy and dark places like my brain, Hermione though with a grin. "So what's going on, Luna? Besides, um...wrackspurts, I mean."

"Oh, I'm just heading over to Divination. I'm sure it's going to be twice as good now that Firenze is teaching! Are you coming?"

Hermione couldn't help but roll her eyes. After the morning she'd had, Divination was the last thing she wanted to think about. "Certainly not! Divination is a load of rubbish, as far as I'm concerned. I mean, if gazing vapidly into a crystal ball for hours ever helped anybody, I would love to know about it!"

Luna cocked her her head. "You are a very curious person, Hermione."

"What do you mean?" she snapped, more defensive than she intended. The meeting with Umbridge had really put her on edge.

"Well, you told me once that Arithmancy was your favorite subject," the Ravenclaw explained airily, as though that answered the question.

"It is. What does that matter?"

"Did you know that Arithmancy and Divination were once the same discipline? People used to think both were just a bunch of nonsense, but Arithmancy was able to gain some legitimacy by using Numerology and Astronomy, which were already established fields. Divination remained as the more theoretical branch -"

" 'Theoretical' meaning wild, unproven speculation?" Hermione cut in, annoyed. How did Luna always manage to suck her into these never-ending, nonsensical discussions? "Numerology - and, by extension, Arithmancy - is a field thoroughly rooted in logic and verifiable facts. It's a real science."

"Necromancy was once a "real science" too, around the same time that Transfiguration was considered far-fetched and unrealistic. New discoveries are made all the time. Ideas come in and out of fashion. It doesn't make them wrong - it's just that their moment hasn't come yet."

Hermione scoffed. "The moment for Nargles? And Crumple-Horned Snorkacks?"

"Exactly!" The blonde witch shot her a beatific smile.

"Ok, fine," Hermione sighed, "but we're talking about predicting the future here! I mean it's one thing to put together probability charts with Arithmancy, and a completely different thing to look at some old tea leaves and predict somebody's death!"

"Well, that's not a hard prediction, actually," Luna mused. "Everyone dies. So the probability of that is 100 percent."

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, her brain suddenly on fire. "But, of course…it's just a question of when." The moment of inspiration, of understanding, rocked her like a seismic wave. It was the best, the sweetest high.

This must be what sex feels like, Hermione thought.

"Hmm?" The Ravenclaw scrunched her nose; for once, she was the one confused.

But Hermione didn't have time to explain. "Oh Luna, you ridiculous, brilliant, crazy genius!" she cried. "Thank you! Thank you so much!" Planting a sloppy kiss on the other girl's' forehead, Hermione dashed down the corridor and took the grand staircase two steps at a time.

Students leapt aside as she careened down the hallway madly, in search of her lab - that is, the broom closet on the fourth floor she had magically equipped for her purposes. This is it! This is finally it! she thought, dizzy with excitement as she fumbled with the wards. Her hands were shaking so badly that it took her a full five minutes to finally get inside.

The room wasn't much more than a matchbox, every square inch of wall space covered in notes and diagrams, and at the end, on the counter, her pride and joy…

The Rockwood-Mintumble Experiment, which she had painstakingly duplicated from the Department of Mysteries. While they had a hummingbird, repeating an endless cycle of reincarnation, she had a Salamander - hatching out of a tiny blue flame, dying away with the fire, being reborn. It was a delicate system, running through a complex Arithmancy set with each life-span, and then restarting from the beginning.

But there was one particular point that interested Hermione the most: that infinitesimal moment between death and rebirth when the little creature did not exist. That point was called Gamp's Continuity Paradox because it violated the cardinal rule of Elemental Transfiguration: that life cannot be created from nothing. So, whence came the Salamander and the hummingbird?

The Department of Mysteries had no idea. But Hermione did. And Judith Mintumble likely knew it too. "The hourglass - it's got two parts," she'd said. "Because there has to balance in everything."

Balance. Because the probability of death was 100 percent.

But existence… existence was a coin-toss. Sometimes the Salamander was born again, and sometimes it wasn't. The human eye, however, only observed the moments when the coin landed heads - choosing life - while all the times the coin landed tails, there was just an empty glass vessel. The unbroken life-cycle was an illusion. The reality was pure chance.

Or, such was the case in the controlled environment of the experiment, where initial conditions were the same every time. The real world was messy, with a host of intervening factors that skewed the results one way or another. The only way to achieve relative parity of outcomes in the timeline was to go back far enough. Maybe even past the Threshold...

Suddenly, Hermione wondered: Is that why Eloise went back 500 years? Everyone had always assumed it was an accident, but what if it was...intentional?

Shaking the thought, Hermione grabbed a spare sheet of parchment and began to write. If she was going to flip the coin on her mother's life until it landed heads, she'd need a lot more Time Turners.


Reviews are greatly appreciated!

Some notes:

You know when you think you've hit rock bottom...and then later, you realize that you couldn't' even see rock bottom from where you were? That's Bellatrix right now (in 1969). She has so, so much further to go before she's even remotely ready for Voldemort.

Also, it truly pains me to say this, but there's no way Hermione and Bellatrix can meet before the point at which they are supposed to meet. Which wont be for several more chapters. Sorry!