Disclaimer: I'm not JKR. I am, however, grateful that she lets us muck about in her Potterverse as long as we're not trying to cash in.
A/N: Thank you to Moaning Myrtle, the alpha beta! One chapter to go.
Chapter 3Hermione awoke to the sound of the irritating fortune-telling alarm clock Lavender bought in Hogsmeade last trip, which this morning was screeching: "I predict untold horrors for you today if you do not get up right now!" (I predict untold horrors if I do get up, Hermione thought grumpily.)
She did not look at Lavender or Parvati as she stumbled into the bathroom. She did not look at herself in the mirror as she brushed her teeth more forcefully than required. She did not look at Harry or Ron (she allowed him his name, since she was now the prat of Gryffindor) as she made her feet take her out of the common room toward breakfast, and she most decidedly did not look at the House hourglasses in the entrance hall that would show Gryffindor to be out of the running for anything but last place.
Only when the table was full of students, none saying a word about the astonishing change of fortunes, did she dare to raise her eyes. Seamus was shoveling in overlarge pieces of French toast. Parvati and Lavender had their heads together over Unfogging the Future. Ron was passing eggs to Harry while chatting about Quidditch -- ". . . you've got to try that move, now you have your Firebolt back," he said, punctuating the sentence by shooting a nasty look her way. She blinked. He certainly wouldn't still be on about the broom's stint with Professor McGonagall if Gryffindor was about 30 points from zero.
A quick dash to the hourglasses confirmed it: Gryffindor's rubies from the night before were still there -- or all but 20, at least. No one would take note of that, as the Houses regularly moved in the standings by as much as 50 points in either direction during a typical day. This turn of events was nearly as surprising as the Potions master bursting into the classroom last night, and the only explanation that offered itself was that Professor Dumbledore rearranged matters between then and now. Perhaps 800 points seemed too harsh to him.
As Hermione walked back to breakfast, she glanced surreptitiously at the staff table. The Headmaster was slathering jelly on a piece of toast and talking to Professor Lupin with none of the amused twinkliness he usually radiated after stepping in to save the day. Professor Snape, on the other hand, was scowling at his oatmeal. He looked up to see her staring at him and narrowed his eyes.
Well, she thought to herself as she quickly turned away, he can take comfort knowing I'm going to be almost as miserable trying to keep time intact over the next week.
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It was not an easy task. She managed to remember enough of the debacle to piece together a script of sorts, though she couldn't swear she wasn't mixing up Tuesday's role with, say, Wednesday's. As she grimly headed off to the Charms classroom after dinner Monday night, it occurred to her that she would have to pretend to be surprised to see Professor Snape, and she wondered if all her future selves would now be acting, too. Deciding it was not a question on which to dwell if she didn't want to end up very dizzy, she walked in, locked the door -- one locking spell should be safe, she figured -- and flipped her now-hated Time-Turner.
That night she took credit for the horrible idea of multiplying herself, managing to smile instead of gag.
Tuesday she watched her two-day-younger self's dawning comprehension that this Might Be a Bad Idea and thought, you don't know the half of it.
Wednesday she played the Know-It-All.
Thursday she babbled an apology to her irate professor. She noticed that, pre-roar, his mouth was twitching as he watched the volley of conversation between herselves, but she didn't know what to make of it.
Friday she insulted herself. That felt rather good.
Saturday she said this was a "convenient time," which she realized wasn't altogether untrue, as she had finished a good bit of homework.
Sunday she said nothing after explaining her presence, thankful that her penance would soon be over. She read ahead for Potions -- she didn't want to give Professor Snape any reason to take points off her in future -- and waited for the man who assigned the book to burst in.
On this occasion, her seat afforded her an unimpeded view of the side of the door, which meant she saw his face as he turned to leave, just before he swung around again to take off points. He was smiling. Not smirking, smiling.
Hermione almost didn't recognize the man. It was profoundly disturbing.
She thought she had Professor Snape pegged, once the little misunderstanding in first year had been ironed out: Evil, no; petty and mean, yes. He might appear when you least expected him, but he was always predictable once on hand.
This tantalizing clue transformed him into a puzzle, and Hermione Granger abhorred an unsolved mystery.
The internal struggle was brief. She sighed.
Tomorrow night, she was coming back.