A/N: Please see part one for disclaimers and other info.
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Their shoes squeaked beneath them as the crossed the Entrance Hall, and Hermione wondered if fate was conspiring to get them caught. It seemed that now, when it was so necessary for them to be quiet, their actions were noisier than ever. Even their breathing sounded deafening in her ears.
It had taken the Ennervate Spell to rouse Ron from his shock induced faint, but Hermione could hardly begrudge him his reaction. It was quite safe to say that Sirius Black and James Potter were the people Hermione least expected to encounter when she woke this morning. Dead men usually told no tales, and very rarely did they wander freely, so young and carefree.
"Mione, do you think you could lift this Disillusionment Charm?" Ron asked, frowning as his body blended with the surroundings of the Entrance Hall. "Sort of giving me the willies."
"Not just yet," Hermione replied. "Wait until..."
"Until what?"
Good question, Hermione thought, as she really had no idea what to do next. They were wandering around in a world where, strictly speaking, they had yet to be born. Hermione was not even entirely certain her parents had meet as of the autumn of 1975. Every law of logic was violated by their presence here. How could they possibly seek assistance, which they desperately needed, without altering the past and changing the course of the future?
Ron sighed when she offered him no reply. "Guess we have no choice, really," he said. "We have to go to Dumbledore."
Hermione laughed out loud, her voice echoing like gunfire through the empty hall. "And say what?"
"Tell him the truth," Ron said simply.
"But, Ron, why should he believe us? We must remember, this is a very dark time in history we have landed ourselves in. The threat from Voldemort..."
Ron cringed. "What is it with you saying that ruddy name?"
"...is climbing toward its apex. If we go to Dumbledore, dressed as students when he has never seen us before, what will he think? He may think we have ill intentions."
"But what other choice do we have? We can't just sit around and wait out the next quarter century, now can we?"
It was a valid argument. Hermione despised it when Ron was right.
"I say we just go up to his office and beg for help," Ron continued. Hermione acquiesced with a nod.
They crept up the stairs to the second floor. The stone gargoyle stared expectantly at them as they came across it; even the statue seemed to recognize that they were out of place.
"Know the password?" Ron asked her. "Dumbledore always has odd ones."
Hermione glared at him. "Ron, how could I possibly know what his password was on this particular night in 1975?"
"Dunno. I thought maybe it was in 'Hogwarts: A History' or something. You know all sorts of peculiar things."
Hermione shook her head mournfully. "Oh, Ron, I really may have to kill you."
Ron gulped. "Okay. Let me give it a try." He cleared his throat. "Ice Mice!"
The gargoyle did not move.
"Ice Mice were not invented until 1984, Ron," Hermione stated.
Ron stared at her.
"All right, so I know an odd fact or two," Hermione admitted. She then turned back to the statue. "Licorice Wand!"
Still nothing happened. Hermione and Ron spent the next several minutes naming all the sweets they could think of, but the gargoyle remained unresponsive.
"We may have to try something else," Ron suggested.
"Such as?"
Ron opened his mouth, thought a moment, and then closed it again with a shrug.
"Maybe his passwords centered on something else in the seventies," Hermione mused. "Maybe instead of candy, he was focused on pastries. Or tarts. Or maybe they had absolutely nothing to do with food. I mean, if you think of every object, emotion and phrase in the world, the list of potential passwords is..."
"Endless." Ron stepped forward and smacked the gargoyle atop the head. "Hey, you stony git! Open up! Come on now!"
"Ron!"
Ron gave the gargoyle a swift kick and then hopped back, clutching at a freshly stubbed toe, cursing under his breath, "That was a bad idea."
"Are you two in need of some assistance?"
The voice came from right behind them. Hermione and Ron froze, their eyes going wide with fright, and they turned in a slow circle to face Albus Dumbledore.
* * *
Dumbledore sat behind his desk, his fingers steepled beneath his chin, his eyes friendly but guarded as he observed them over his spectacles.
"So I must ask you," he began, "who exactly you are, and why you are wandering about the castle in Gryffindor robes. Until this moment I was quite certain that I was familiar with each of the students in my care."
Hermione was wringing her hands with such force that Ron was afraid her fingers would snap. "Well, you see, sir," she sputtered, "the thing of it is, we are your students. But not at this junction in history."
"Could you please elaborate?" Dumbledore inquired.
His guise remained friendly, but Hermione could see the scrutiny flashing in his eyes, and it occurred to her that explaining their situation properly would not be easy. Ron was at a complete loss for words, and Hermione was not fairing much better.
Thinking that perhaps it would help to provide Dumbledore with something concrete, Hermione reached into her pocket and gathered the shards of the Time Turner. She placed the broken glass and glittering sand on his desk.
Dumbledore drew the remnants of the Time Turner toward him. He studied the shattered object closely for what seemed an eternity, rubbing a grain of sand between his long fingers.
"What are your names?" he asked. Hermione was relieved to hear that a note of understanding had entered his voice.
"Hermione Granger, sir," she replied. "And this is Ronald Weasley."
Dumbledore leaned back in his chair and considered Ron with a twinkle of recognition. "Weasley?"
"Yes, sir," Ron squeaked.
"Arthur is your father?"
Ron nodded.
"But not yet, Professor Dumbledore," Hermione interjected. "Ron and I were born in 1980. We came to Hogwarts in 1991 and we have just begun our sixth year."
"I see," Dumbledore said. "But this Time Turner has brought you back to 1975."
"Right. Someone," Hermione looked accusingly at Ron, "was using it improperly."
"I see," Dumbledore repeated. "You two are in quite a predicament."
"But you can help us, right, sir?" Ron blurted.
Dumbledore was quiet for a moment. His eyes closed and Hermione felt that he was preparing to deliver some bad news.
"Unfortunately, with the offending Time Turner broken, there is very little that can be done on this side of history. It is in my future, your present, where action will have to be taken. Is anyone aware of what has happened to you?"
"Our friend Harry..." Hermione stropped, suddenly reluctant to identify Harry more clearly, for reasons she did not fully understand. "He knows," she finished feebly.
"Than this Harry," Dumbledore smiled, "is your best hope to return to your time. I will do what I can to assist you, but I must stress that my powers are, at least in this matter, limited."
Hermione understood. Ron stared fixedly at his shoes, the flush returning to his face as the full weight of guilt fell upon his shoulders.
"In the meantime," Dumbledore continued, "we must devise a way for you to be here at this time without disrupting the delicate web of time and history." He paused and looked at them with a steeliness in his gaze that Hermione had only seen on very rare occasions. "Do each of you truly believe that you can interact with the denizens of this school without divulging your knowledge of the future?"
"You'll let us interact with the other students?" Hermione asked, unable to keep a twinge of hopefulness out of her voice. The danger of altering the flow of history was very real, she knew, but the chance to speak with James Potter and his friends was a tantalizing prospect.
"I do so with reservations, Miss Granger. Perhaps if I knew you would be able to return to your rightful place in time within hours, even days, I would keep you sequestered. Unfortunately, there are no guarantees in this matter, and I feel it best to provide you with as normal a life here as possible, in case you must remain here for an extended period of time."
"Yes, sir," Hermione said. "And we will exercise discretion, Professor, I promise. Neither Ron or I wish to cause problems."
"Of course." Dumbledore stood and motioned for Hermione and Ron to do the same. "Tonight, you will sleep in rooms separate from the dormitories. Tomorrow I will introduce you to the school as transfer students from Beaxbatons, and you will not do or say anything to dispute this statement."
"Will we have to be Sorted?"
Dumbledore smiled. "Certainly. Plain robes will await you in your rooms. You will be allowed to don your Gryffindor robes once you are placed in that house properly."
Hermione did not ask what would happen if they were Sorted into different houses; a vision of being named a Slytherin entered her mind and she quickly shied away from the idea.
Dumbledore led them to the seventh floor. Hermione recognized the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy at once and knew he was bringing them to the Room of Requirement.
"I am positive you will find adequate sleeping quarters beyond this door," he said, brushing a hand over the wall, which suddenly developed hinges and a handle. "Miss Granger, you shall be on the left, Mr. Weasley on the right. Please come down to the Great Hall first thing for breakfast and your Sorting."
"Thank you, Professor," Hermione said. "It means a lot to me that you believe us. I hope to be able to tell you so in the future."
"You know, Miss Granger, I must confess that I am an excellent judge of character."
Dumbledore smiled and strolled down the corridor and out of sight.
Hermione pulled the door open, and found that the Room of Requirement looked quite different than it had when she last saw it. A small, comfortable common room awaited them. Doors on opposite walls led to their separate bedrooms.
Ron entered and sat heavily on the plush sofa. Hermione followed and sat beside him. He had barely spoken since they first encountered Dumbledore, and though Hermione was certainly not altogether pleased with her friend, she did not like seeing him so miserably racked with guilt.
"Ron, everything will be all right," she said, reaching to pat him consolingly on the shoulder.
"Not even Dumbledore can send us back," Ron muttered, obviously shaken by this news. "We could be stuck here forever. All because of me."
"You made a mistake. It happens."
Ron looked over at her.
"Of course it was a rather large mistake. And, yes, there is a possibility that we will never get back to our lives in the future. We may never see our families or friends again, and there is a distinct chance that we may inalterably change the course of history..."
"Thanks, Hermione. I feel loads better now." He stood and slunk towards his bedroom. Hermione intercepted him at the door.
"Ron, what I am trying to say is, we can get through this. We have survived worse."
"Have we? I may have ruined your life, Mione," he said pitifully. "I would understand if you hated me."
"I do not hate you," she asserted. "I would very much like to strangle you sometimes, now being a primary example, but I would never hate you."
But Ron would not be consoled by words, and so Hermione heaved a great sigh and embraced him tightly.
"Everything will be all right," she said again. "Harry will get us back. He has never let us down before, has he?"
"I suppose not," he said, his voice a notch more cheerful than it was a moment before, and so Hermione drew back. She kissed him on the cheek before she hurried to bed, and, oddly enough, Ron found that he suddenly felt worlds better.
* * *
Harry awoke in the library, his face plastered to the pages of 'Clumsy Clockwork: When Time Travel Becomes Troublesome.' A long night amid the shelves of the Hogwarts book collection had offered him little comfort; most of the texts he consulted offered little more than a litany of terrible stories where wizards became lost in time, and the means to bring them back were more complicated than he imagined. He did all right with spells, generally speaking, but it was Hermione he needed if he was going to tackle matters this in depth.
The most logical course of action, Harry decided, as he rose from his seat and gathered the books spread across the table, would be to find another Time Turner. He could then go back to the moment when Ron had been toying with the original, and stop him from ever getting hold of it in the first place.
But how? As he walked back to the dormitories for a change of clothes, Harry found himself at a loss. Where could he find a Time Turner? It was not as if they were sold in the stores of Hogsmeade.
"Defense Against the Dark Arts is canceled," Neville announced when Harry entered the common room. "You know. With Dumbledore gone and all."
Harry nodded, his mind wandering back to the other problem gnawing away at his insides. He had almost forgotten what Lupin said about the growing threat of Voldemort, and the Order's increased actions against the Dark Lord.
He should have suspected it, he thought, running his hands through his hair as he mounted the stairs to the dorms. When they had returned to Hogwarts this year to find that Dumbledore would be teaching the O.W.L and N.E.W.T level Defense Against the Dark Arts class, Harry had been tremendously pleased, and with good reason. Their last Dark Arts Professor had been overwhelmingly useless, and now more than ever they needed those skills.
Now Harry wondered, had Dumbledore had secondary motives? Had he been trying to train his sixth and seventh year students to protect themselves in the event of his absence? Had he known these days were rapidly approaching?
His head spinning, he sat on his bed, wondering what to do next. With the majority of the Professors gone and his friends missing, he felt so alone he could hardly stand it. For the first time in a long while, the loss of Sirius burned painfully in his chest, and Harry felt hot tears suddenly prickling at the back of his eyes.
The door to the dormitory swung open and Harry swept a quick hand over his eyes. He looked to see who had entered and got to his feet in shock.
"Professor Lupin!"
Remus Lupin stood in the doorway, looking even more tired and worn than usual, his lined face pallid. He offered Harry a weak smile. "Hello."
"What are you doing here?" he exclaimed. "I thought you were doing something for the Order!"
Lupin did not respond. It was then that Harry noticed that Tonks was not with him.
* * *
Hermione and Ron walked awkwardly into the Great Hall the following morning, all too aware of the eyes that turned toward them as they approached the staff table.
"Welcome," Dumbledore said, standing, a gentle smile peaking out of his long beard. "You may wait right there. This will only take a moment."
Hermione hoped so; the students had fallen silent as soon as Dumbledore arose from his chair and were now staring up at them. The whispers were flowing through the Hall like a wave, and Hermione noticed several students pointing up at her and Ron, who had turned tomato red at her side.
"I beg a moment of your attention, please," Dumbledore announced, and the whispering immediately ceased. "We have some new students joining our Hogwarts family this morning. I ask you all to welcome with open arms, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, transfer students from Beaxbatons."
The students continued to stare. Ron bounced impatiently on his heels, but Hermione was too preoccupied to feel embarrassed. Her attention was now focused on the Gryffindor table, where James and Sirius sat, along with two young men Hermione recognized as Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew. Lupin wore a Prefect badge on his chest, and, of the four, was paying the most attention to Dumbledore. James and Sirius were whispering back and forth, and Pettigrew was clearly attempting to eavesdrop on their conversation.
"And now, as is Hogwarts tradition, our two new students will now be Sorted."
A side door opened and Professor McGonagall entered, bearing with her the Sorting Hat and a small stool. McGonagall looked almost as Hermione knew her, and though her hair was less gray and her face less lined, she retained her intimidating presence. Hermione begin to feel nervous again, aware of the eyes on her, fearing what the Sorting Hat would say. What if she wasn't placed in Gryffindor, and, worse still, what if she and Ron were separated? She did not think she could handle being away from him.
Professor McGonagall beckoned her forward. "Hermione Granger, if you please."
Hermione glanced at Ron, who appeared terrified, and walked over to the stool. She sat, trembling, as McGonagall placed the Sorting Hat atop her head.
"Odd..." a voice sounded in her ears. "You remember being here before, and yet I have never sat on your particular head. Something strange is afoot, but I suppose that is not of my concern."
Oh please, hurry up, Hermione thought, as hours and hours seemed to pass, and the students continued to stare.
"No, my concern," the Hat continued, "is where you belong while you are here. You have a sharp mind, I see, very sharp indeed. But it is your courage that is flourishing now."
Not enough, she thought bitterly, her knees knocking together with fright.
"I say...GRYFFINDOR!"
The shouted exclamation produced cheers from the Gryffindor table, and Hermione was relieved, though only for a moment. She left Ron standing alone at the front of the room and approached the Gryffindors, who were hurrying to make room for her.
During that short stroll from the stool to the table, Hermione found herself in quite a mental tug of war, silently asking herself if she dared sit by James Potter and his friends. She wanted to, very much so, but she was unsure if it was truly a good idea.
She finally decided not to chance it and sat several places down from the group. She smiled politely as those around her offered introductions, and then turned to watch Ron be Sorted.
Hermione crossed her fingers under the table as Ron sat there, the Sorting Hat falling almost over his eyes, for what seemed quite a long time. Finally, the hat cried out, "GRYFFINDOR!"
Hermione grinned wildly and clapped harder than the rest. Ron hurried to sit beside her.
"Relieved?" she whispered.
"You have no idea," Ron replied. He quickly helped himself to a heaping plateful of scrabbled eggs and toast. "With everything that's gone on, I forgot how hungry I was. You want anything, Hermione?"
Hermione nodded, though as Ron began to spoon eggs and sausage onto her plate, she discovered something that caused her appetite to rapidly wane.
Seated directly across from her was a pretty girl with lush red hair. She was reading a copy of 'The Standard Book of Spells Grade 5,' and Hermione would not have recognized her had she not glanced up from the pages to briefly meet her eyes.
The eyes...shaped like almonds and so brilliant green...Hermione knew them at once.
"Hi," the girl said, when she noticed Hermione staring, "Hermione and Ron, right? I'm Lily Evans."
Their shoes squeaked beneath them as the crossed the Entrance Hall, and Hermione wondered if fate was conspiring to get them caught. It seemed that now, when it was so necessary for them to be quiet, their actions were noisier than ever. Even their breathing sounded deafening in her ears.
It had taken the Ennervate Spell to rouse Ron from his shock induced faint, but Hermione could hardly begrudge him his reaction. It was quite safe to say that Sirius Black and James Potter were the people Hermione least expected to encounter when she woke this morning. Dead men usually told no tales, and very rarely did they wander freely, so young and carefree.
"Mione, do you think you could lift this Disillusionment Charm?" Ron asked, frowning as his body blended with the surroundings of the Entrance Hall. "Sort of giving me the willies."
"Not just yet," Hermione replied. "Wait until..."
"Until what?"
Good question, Hermione thought, as she really had no idea what to do next. They were wandering around in a world where, strictly speaking, they had yet to be born. Hermione was not even entirely certain her parents had meet as of the autumn of 1975. Every law of logic was violated by their presence here. How could they possibly seek assistance, which they desperately needed, without altering the past and changing the course of the future?
Ron sighed when she offered him no reply. "Guess we have no choice, really," he said. "We have to go to Dumbledore."
Hermione laughed out loud, her voice echoing like gunfire through the empty hall. "And say what?"
"Tell him the truth," Ron said simply.
"But, Ron, why should he believe us? We must remember, this is a very dark time in history we have landed ourselves in. The threat from Voldemort..."
Ron cringed. "What is it with you saying that ruddy name?"
"...is climbing toward its apex. If we go to Dumbledore, dressed as students when he has never seen us before, what will he think? He may think we have ill intentions."
"But what other choice do we have? We can't just sit around and wait out the next quarter century, now can we?"
It was a valid argument. Hermione despised it when Ron was right.
"I say we just go up to his office and beg for help," Ron continued. Hermione acquiesced with a nod.
They crept up the stairs to the second floor. The stone gargoyle stared expectantly at them as they came across it; even the statue seemed to recognize that they were out of place.
"Know the password?" Ron asked her. "Dumbledore always has odd ones."
Hermione glared at him. "Ron, how could I possibly know what his password was on this particular night in 1975?"
"Dunno. I thought maybe it was in 'Hogwarts: A History' or something. You know all sorts of peculiar things."
Hermione shook her head mournfully. "Oh, Ron, I really may have to kill you."
Ron gulped. "Okay. Let me give it a try." He cleared his throat. "Ice Mice!"
The gargoyle did not move.
"Ice Mice were not invented until 1984, Ron," Hermione stated.
Ron stared at her.
"All right, so I know an odd fact or two," Hermione admitted. She then turned back to the statue. "Licorice Wand!"
Still nothing happened. Hermione and Ron spent the next several minutes naming all the sweets they could think of, but the gargoyle remained unresponsive.
"We may have to try something else," Ron suggested.
"Such as?"
Ron opened his mouth, thought a moment, and then closed it again with a shrug.
"Maybe his passwords centered on something else in the seventies," Hermione mused. "Maybe instead of candy, he was focused on pastries. Or tarts. Or maybe they had absolutely nothing to do with food. I mean, if you think of every object, emotion and phrase in the world, the list of potential passwords is..."
"Endless." Ron stepped forward and smacked the gargoyle atop the head. "Hey, you stony git! Open up! Come on now!"
"Ron!"
Ron gave the gargoyle a swift kick and then hopped back, clutching at a freshly stubbed toe, cursing under his breath, "That was a bad idea."
"Are you two in need of some assistance?"
The voice came from right behind them. Hermione and Ron froze, their eyes going wide with fright, and they turned in a slow circle to face Albus Dumbledore.
* * *
Dumbledore sat behind his desk, his fingers steepled beneath his chin, his eyes friendly but guarded as he observed them over his spectacles.
"So I must ask you," he began, "who exactly you are, and why you are wandering about the castle in Gryffindor robes. Until this moment I was quite certain that I was familiar with each of the students in my care."
Hermione was wringing her hands with such force that Ron was afraid her fingers would snap. "Well, you see, sir," she sputtered, "the thing of it is, we are your students. But not at this junction in history."
"Could you please elaborate?" Dumbledore inquired.
His guise remained friendly, but Hermione could see the scrutiny flashing in his eyes, and it occurred to her that explaining their situation properly would not be easy. Ron was at a complete loss for words, and Hermione was not fairing much better.
Thinking that perhaps it would help to provide Dumbledore with something concrete, Hermione reached into her pocket and gathered the shards of the Time Turner. She placed the broken glass and glittering sand on his desk.
Dumbledore drew the remnants of the Time Turner toward him. He studied the shattered object closely for what seemed an eternity, rubbing a grain of sand between his long fingers.
"What are your names?" he asked. Hermione was relieved to hear that a note of understanding had entered his voice.
"Hermione Granger, sir," she replied. "And this is Ronald Weasley."
Dumbledore leaned back in his chair and considered Ron with a twinkle of recognition. "Weasley?"
"Yes, sir," Ron squeaked.
"Arthur is your father?"
Ron nodded.
"But not yet, Professor Dumbledore," Hermione interjected. "Ron and I were born in 1980. We came to Hogwarts in 1991 and we have just begun our sixth year."
"I see," Dumbledore said. "But this Time Turner has brought you back to 1975."
"Right. Someone," Hermione looked accusingly at Ron, "was using it improperly."
"I see," Dumbledore repeated. "You two are in quite a predicament."
"But you can help us, right, sir?" Ron blurted.
Dumbledore was quiet for a moment. His eyes closed and Hermione felt that he was preparing to deliver some bad news.
"Unfortunately, with the offending Time Turner broken, there is very little that can be done on this side of history. It is in my future, your present, where action will have to be taken. Is anyone aware of what has happened to you?"
"Our friend Harry..." Hermione stropped, suddenly reluctant to identify Harry more clearly, for reasons she did not fully understand. "He knows," she finished feebly.
"Than this Harry," Dumbledore smiled, "is your best hope to return to your time. I will do what I can to assist you, but I must stress that my powers are, at least in this matter, limited."
Hermione understood. Ron stared fixedly at his shoes, the flush returning to his face as the full weight of guilt fell upon his shoulders.
"In the meantime," Dumbledore continued, "we must devise a way for you to be here at this time without disrupting the delicate web of time and history." He paused and looked at them with a steeliness in his gaze that Hermione had only seen on very rare occasions. "Do each of you truly believe that you can interact with the denizens of this school without divulging your knowledge of the future?"
"You'll let us interact with the other students?" Hermione asked, unable to keep a twinge of hopefulness out of her voice. The danger of altering the flow of history was very real, she knew, but the chance to speak with James Potter and his friends was a tantalizing prospect.
"I do so with reservations, Miss Granger. Perhaps if I knew you would be able to return to your rightful place in time within hours, even days, I would keep you sequestered. Unfortunately, there are no guarantees in this matter, and I feel it best to provide you with as normal a life here as possible, in case you must remain here for an extended period of time."
"Yes, sir," Hermione said. "And we will exercise discretion, Professor, I promise. Neither Ron or I wish to cause problems."
"Of course." Dumbledore stood and motioned for Hermione and Ron to do the same. "Tonight, you will sleep in rooms separate from the dormitories. Tomorrow I will introduce you to the school as transfer students from Beaxbatons, and you will not do or say anything to dispute this statement."
"Will we have to be Sorted?"
Dumbledore smiled. "Certainly. Plain robes will await you in your rooms. You will be allowed to don your Gryffindor robes once you are placed in that house properly."
Hermione did not ask what would happen if they were Sorted into different houses; a vision of being named a Slytherin entered her mind and she quickly shied away from the idea.
Dumbledore led them to the seventh floor. Hermione recognized the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy at once and knew he was bringing them to the Room of Requirement.
"I am positive you will find adequate sleeping quarters beyond this door," he said, brushing a hand over the wall, which suddenly developed hinges and a handle. "Miss Granger, you shall be on the left, Mr. Weasley on the right. Please come down to the Great Hall first thing for breakfast and your Sorting."
"Thank you, Professor," Hermione said. "It means a lot to me that you believe us. I hope to be able to tell you so in the future."
"You know, Miss Granger, I must confess that I am an excellent judge of character."
Dumbledore smiled and strolled down the corridor and out of sight.
Hermione pulled the door open, and found that the Room of Requirement looked quite different than it had when she last saw it. A small, comfortable common room awaited them. Doors on opposite walls led to their separate bedrooms.
Ron entered and sat heavily on the plush sofa. Hermione followed and sat beside him. He had barely spoken since they first encountered Dumbledore, and though Hermione was certainly not altogether pleased with her friend, she did not like seeing him so miserably racked with guilt.
"Ron, everything will be all right," she said, reaching to pat him consolingly on the shoulder.
"Not even Dumbledore can send us back," Ron muttered, obviously shaken by this news. "We could be stuck here forever. All because of me."
"You made a mistake. It happens."
Ron looked over at her.
"Of course it was a rather large mistake. And, yes, there is a possibility that we will never get back to our lives in the future. We may never see our families or friends again, and there is a distinct chance that we may inalterably change the course of history..."
"Thanks, Hermione. I feel loads better now." He stood and slunk towards his bedroom. Hermione intercepted him at the door.
"Ron, what I am trying to say is, we can get through this. We have survived worse."
"Have we? I may have ruined your life, Mione," he said pitifully. "I would understand if you hated me."
"I do not hate you," she asserted. "I would very much like to strangle you sometimes, now being a primary example, but I would never hate you."
But Ron would not be consoled by words, and so Hermione heaved a great sigh and embraced him tightly.
"Everything will be all right," she said again. "Harry will get us back. He has never let us down before, has he?"
"I suppose not," he said, his voice a notch more cheerful than it was a moment before, and so Hermione drew back. She kissed him on the cheek before she hurried to bed, and, oddly enough, Ron found that he suddenly felt worlds better.
* * *
Harry awoke in the library, his face plastered to the pages of 'Clumsy Clockwork: When Time Travel Becomes Troublesome.' A long night amid the shelves of the Hogwarts book collection had offered him little comfort; most of the texts he consulted offered little more than a litany of terrible stories where wizards became lost in time, and the means to bring them back were more complicated than he imagined. He did all right with spells, generally speaking, but it was Hermione he needed if he was going to tackle matters this in depth.
The most logical course of action, Harry decided, as he rose from his seat and gathered the books spread across the table, would be to find another Time Turner. He could then go back to the moment when Ron had been toying with the original, and stop him from ever getting hold of it in the first place.
But how? As he walked back to the dormitories for a change of clothes, Harry found himself at a loss. Where could he find a Time Turner? It was not as if they were sold in the stores of Hogsmeade.
"Defense Against the Dark Arts is canceled," Neville announced when Harry entered the common room. "You know. With Dumbledore gone and all."
Harry nodded, his mind wandering back to the other problem gnawing away at his insides. He had almost forgotten what Lupin said about the growing threat of Voldemort, and the Order's increased actions against the Dark Lord.
He should have suspected it, he thought, running his hands through his hair as he mounted the stairs to the dorms. When they had returned to Hogwarts this year to find that Dumbledore would be teaching the O.W.L and N.E.W.T level Defense Against the Dark Arts class, Harry had been tremendously pleased, and with good reason. Their last Dark Arts Professor had been overwhelmingly useless, and now more than ever they needed those skills.
Now Harry wondered, had Dumbledore had secondary motives? Had he been trying to train his sixth and seventh year students to protect themselves in the event of his absence? Had he known these days were rapidly approaching?
His head spinning, he sat on his bed, wondering what to do next. With the majority of the Professors gone and his friends missing, he felt so alone he could hardly stand it. For the first time in a long while, the loss of Sirius burned painfully in his chest, and Harry felt hot tears suddenly prickling at the back of his eyes.
The door to the dormitory swung open and Harry swept a quick hand over his eyes. He looked to see who had entered and got to his feet in shock.
"Professor Lupin!"
Remus Lupin stood in the doorway, looking even more tired and worn than usual, his lined face pallid. He offered Harry a weak smile. "Hello."
"What are you doing here?" he exclaimed. "I thought you were doing something for the Order!"
Lupin did not respond. It was then that Harry noticed that Tonks was not with him.
* * *
Hermione and Ron walked awkwardly into the Great Hall the following morning, all too aware of the eyes that turned toward them as they approached the staff table.
"Welcome," Dumbledore said, standing, a gentle smile peaking out of his long beard. "You may wait right there. This will only take a moment."
Hermione hoped so; the students had fallen silent as soon as Dumbledore arose from his chair and were now staring up at them. The whispers were flowing through the Hall like a wave, and Hermione noticed several students pointing up at her and Ron, who had turned tomato red at her side.
"I beg a moment of your attention, please," Dumbledore announced, and the whispering immediately ceased. "We have some new students joining our Hogwarts family this morning. I ask you all to welcome with open arms, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, transfer students from Beaxbatons."
The students continued to stare. Ron bounced impatiently on his heels, but Hermione was too preoccupied to feel embarrassed. Her attention was now focused on the Gryffindor table, where James and Sirius sat, along with two young men Hermione recognized as Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew. Lupin wore a Prefect badge on his chest, and, of the four, was paying the most attention to Dumbledore. James and Sirius were whispering back and forth, and Pettigrew was clearly attempting to eavesdrop on their conversation.
"And now, as is Hogwarts tradition, our two new students will now be Sorted."
A side door opened and Professor McGonagall entered, bearing with her the Sorting Hat and a small stool. McGonagall looked almost as Hermione knew her, and though her hair was less gray and her face less lined, she retained her intimidating presence. Hermione begin to feel nervous again, aware of the eyes on her, fearing what the Sorting Hat would say. What if she wasn't placed in Gryffindor, and, worse still, what if she and Ron were separated? She did not think she could handle being away from him.
Professor McGonagall beckoned her forward. "Hermione Granger, if you please."
Hermione glanced at Ron, who appeared terrified, and walked over to the stool. She sat, trembling, as McGonagall placed the Sorting Hat atop her head.
"Odd..." a voice sounded in her ears. "You remember being here before, and yet I have never sat on your particular head. Something strange is afoot, but I suppose that is not of my concern."
Oh please, hurry up, Hermione thought, as hours and hours seemed to pass, and the students continued to stare.
"No, my concern," the Hat continued, "is where you belong while you are here. You have a sharp mind, I see, very sharp indeed. But it is your courage that is flourishing now."
Not enough, she thought bitterly, her knees knocking together with fright.
"I say...GRYFFINDOR!"
The shouted exclamation produced cheers from the Gryffindor table, and Hermione was relieved, though only for a moment. She left Ron standing alone at the front of the room and approached the Gryffindors, who were hurrying to make room for her.
During that short stroll from the stool to the table, Hermione found herself in quite a mental tug of war, silently asking herself if she dared sit by James Potter and his friends. She wanted to, very much so, but she was unsure if it was truly a good idea.
She finally decided not to chance it and sat several places down from the group. She smiled politely as those around her offered introductions, and then turned to watch Ron be Sorted.
Hermione crossed her fingers under the table as Ron sat there, the Sorting Hat falling almost over his eyes, for what seemed quite a long time. Finally, the hat cried out, "GRYFFINDOR!"
Hermione grinned wildly and clapped harder than the rest. Ron hurried to sit beside her.
"Relieved?" she whispered.
"You have no idea," Ron replied. He quickly helped himself to a heaping plateful of scrabbled eggs and toast. "With everything that's gone on, I forgot how hungry I was. You want anything, Hermione?"
Hermione nodded, though as Ron began to spoon eggs and sausage onto her plate, she discovered something that caused her appetite to rapidly wane.
Seated directly across from her was a pretty girl with lush red hair. She was reading a copy of 'The Standard Book of Spells Grade 5,' and Hermione would not have recognized her had she not glanced up from the pages to briefly meet her eyes.
The eyes...shaped like almonds and so brilliant green...Hermione knew them at once.
"Hi," the girl said, when she noticed Hermione staring, "Hermione and Ron, right? I'm Lily Evans."