Hermione's eyelids fluttered, finally opening painfully to a view of the ceiling.
"Ow," she whispered, her hand sliding across the stone to cup the back of her head. She'd cracked it badly when she fell.
Who knew? Malfoy had finally gotten good enough to knock her out. She wondered what spell he had used...
She raised herself from the floor slowly, looking around. Malfoy was gone, the cowardly prat, what a surprise. She closed her eyes against the pain in the back of her head...
And then yelped at a stronger, sharper pain in her chest. Her eyes dropped, widening at the small splotch of blood on her shirt. She put a hand to it, drew it away with a curse...
That was sharp...
"Oh, no," Hermione gasped, as realization struck. She grabbed the chain around her neck and fished out the smashed Time-Turner.
She'd only had it for minutes and she'd broken it!
Well, technically, Malfoy had broken it... but she hadn't had to provoke him like that... and her a Prefect, too...
She'd have to tell Dumbledore.
Groaning, Hermione got to her feet, scooping up her bag, heavily retracing her steps back to the entrance of Dumbledore's office.
"Chocolate Frogs," she muttered. Nothing happened.
Wow, he'd changed the password quickly.
"Every-Flavor Beans? Fizzing Whizbees? Jelly Slugs?"
That did it. She ascended the stairs, knocking on Dumbledore's door.
"Come in..."
"Professor Dumbledore, I'm so sorry, you're going to be so angry at me..."
"Well, I doubt that strongly," Dumbledore smiled, putting the tips of fingers together. "But you might start with telling me exactly who you are?"
----
Hermione gaped. What had Malfoy done to her? Some kind of Memory Charm?
"Sir... I'm... I'm Hermione Granger, I'm-I'm in Gryffindor, I'm one of your fifth-year prefects..."
"I am very much afraid that you are not," Dumbledore replied, "Either a prefect or a student at this school."
"Malfoy!" Hermione spat. "Sir, he's put some kind of charm on me, he's made everyone forget me..."
Dumbledore's eyes took on a strange light. "Perhaps you ought to have a seat."
Hermione dropped into a chair, her head aching. "Maybe... Sir, could you call for Harry? He might..."
"Harry Elkins?" Dumbledore asked.
"Harry Potter..." A horrifying thought occurred to her. "You... you haven't forgotten him, too, sir?"
"I'm afraid I don't know a Harry Potter..." Dumbledore mused. "Perhaps you mean Harry Manticore, or perhaps James Potter?"
"So you do know of James Potter," Hermione said with relief. Here, at last, was a thread she could pull at.
"Certainly... shall I summon him for you?"
"Summon... summon... you can summon James?"
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Well, he ought to be in Potions right now... I think he'd be quite glad for the distraction..."
"James c-can't be in P-Potions," Hermione stammered. "He's... he's dead... he's Harry's father..."
Dumbledore peered at her then, seemed to see through her...
And stood up to Silence and Ward the door.
"I had thought this was a prank," Dumbledore said quietly. "I see that it is very much not. Hermione Granger, was it?"
"Yes, sir."
"May I ask... what year it is?"
"It's... It's 1995, sir."
Dumbledore blinked. "Miss Granger... I'm afraid it's 1975."
He let that soak in for a moment, waiting patiently for her eyes to clear. "Have you any idea how this might have happened to you?"
Hermione's mind whirled... and then she set the broken Time-Turner in front of Dumbledore.
"I see," Dumbledore said quietly, prodding it with his wand.
"Sir -- this is your Time-Turner. You let me borrow it. Couldn't another be used to send me back?"
"I... I let you just borrow... a Time-Turner?" Dumbledore was clearly quite shocked. "The Ministry..."
"You, ah. You've... um," Hermione bit her lip. "You've become somewhat... disinterested in the rules of the Ministry. Where... when... I'm from."
"You are handling this with remarkable calm, Miss Granger."
"I'm... a little used to weird stuff."
Dumbledore let out a small, wry laugh. "Well, you did say you were friends with a Potter..."
Suddenly, the Headmaster's face fell, his gaze turning serious. "Friends with a Potter..." he mumbled to himself, and then, "I wonder..."
The Headmaster rose, opened a book. "Aha. As I suspected. The school has recognized you."
"I'm... I'm sorry?"
"The school has recognized that you belong here, Miss Granger; you're appearing in the Registry. Fifth-year Gryffindor, just as you said... although no longer a prefect. I can even give you your class schedule, if you like..."
How could he joke at a time like this? "Sir... Headmaster... I'd like to be sent back."
"I'm afraid I cannot do that, at the moment. To my knowledge, a Time-Turner has never done this before... and I do not currently own one. Applying for permission from the Ministry to obtain a Time-Turner, let alone experiment with one, will be... difficult. As will be explaining your sudden appearance..."
He shot Hermione another piercing gaze. "Miss Granger, do you speak any foreign languages?"
"I learned a little Spanish in my Muggle School... and a bit..." Hermione flushed, "A bit of German..."
"A bit of German?"
"I... dated a student from Durmstrang. Briefly."
"And are you reasonably familiar with the school? Enough to pretend to be a transfer student?"
"Victor described it fairly well in his letters..."
"Very well. I think we have a temporary solution, at least to the difficulty of you being here..." Dumbledore crossed to the line of portraits, whispering a soft order... then paced his shelves, taking down a box. "Would you mind putting this on, please?"
Dumbledore was holding out a small opal ring. Hermione took it, watching as the colors shifted into each other. "Does which finger matter?"
"It does not, although I suggest one you will be comfortable leaving the ring on. You should not take it off while you are here."
Hermione slid the ring on, a cold sensation followed by gut-stabbing pain. She'd felt like this before... the night she, Ron, and Harry had taken the Polyjuice Potion...
She felt something brush against her cheek, and realized it was a ringlet of hair... a long, black ringlet, growing before her eyes to snake over her shoulder and down to her waist...
"I'll need to modify the charm, a bit," Dumbledore said, "To include the accent..."
"Why...?" Hermione gasped, her insides still on fire.
"People will remember you, Hermione. It's best the person they remember neither looks nor sounds like you."
There was a knock at Dumbledore's door.
"Ah, excellent... although I wasn't expecting him so promptly." Dumbledore turned to Hermione. "Miss Granger... a bit of hiding might be in order..."
A large portrait opened in the far wall of Dumbledore's office as the knocks grew louder.
Still clutching her stomach, Hermione went through it.
The portrait-hole closed behind her, and Hermione found herself alone in Dumbledore's quarters.
She almost forgot the abating pain in her wonder at all the books. She moved, instinctively, towards the nearest shelf...
And then her eye was caught by a portrait... a portrait mimicing her movements exactly.
A portrait of someone in the same room...
A mirror.
Heavy black curls fell to her waist; when she raised her eyes, they were bluish grey in skin much paler than her own. She seemed to be a little taller, too; a glance down at the hem of her uniform confirmed this... and also explained the source of the pain that had not gone away.
Hermione performed a muttered Transfiguration on her school clothes, enlarging them in the areas where they had become painfully tight.
What if I never get to go back?
Fluttery panic rose within her, and she forced it down. She didn't have time to waste on senseless worry when she had so many legitimate things to worry about. She was trapped in another time -- a time that she, yes, might never get back from -- but also a dangerous time, and not just because Voldemort was on the rise...
She could mess things up here. Badly.
Harry's dead parents were here. Sirius. Lupin. Even Pettigrew -- how would she be civil to him? Even -- wasn't Bill Weasley here? And possibly Lucius Malfoy... how old was he, anyway? She could mess everything up, she could prevent Harry's parents from falling in love, she could prevent Harry from existing, Voldemort from being stopped...
Or could she? If she'd already messed things up, wouldn't they be messed up in her mind now? How could she remember a boy called Harry Potter if she'd prevented him from existing... or would? Hadn't Harry seen himself cast that Patronus two years ago?
God, it made her brain ache.
These were all questions for Dumbledore...
She moved back over to the portrait-hole, noticing with a soft inhalation that she could see straight through it into Dumbledore's office.
Dumbledore sat, deep in conversation with another student, who she could only see from the back. She noted the glossy black hair tied in a ponytail at the nape of his neck, the casual elegance of his stance, the graceful arch of his hands and forearms, disappearing into rolled-up dress sleeves. Something about him was very familiar...
Sirius?
Dumbledore looked at her then, seemed to see her through the painting. "Why don't you join us, dear?"
Dumbledore, no... don't introduce me to Sirius, of all people...
The portrait swung open, and she walked up beside the boy, keeping her eyes on Dumbledore, trying to will him to read her mind. Instead, he reached out and tapped her ring with his wand.
"Hello," said Sirius. His voice was deep, his syllables crisp, like tailored black velvet, not what she remembered, but then... this boy hadn't spent years in Azkaban... and it was strangely familiar...
"Hello," she replied... shocked to find her own voice changed, a hint of accent added, a subtler version of Krum's attempts at English. She tried to avoid meeting Sirius' gaze, concentrating instead on his necktie...
His... silver-and-green necktie...
Sirius had been in Slytherin?
Well... he was a Black, after all... and pretty cunning, when you really thought about it... she'd just assumed...
"I suppose we should go," Sirius said, stiff-formal as a butler. This didn't mesh with her memories, either...
The boy turned, and she glanced back at Dumbledore, who nodded.
She followed Sirius out and down the stairs.
She'd been afraid of a million questions -- Sirius was endlessly curious -- but he seemed content to walk in silence. Perhaps Dumbledore had explained it all for him, including the importance of not talking to her...? Of course, when had Sirius ever listened to Dumbledore?
Of course, her own lips itched with a million questions of her own. What Harry wouldn't give for this opportunity!
Where was Sirius taking her, anyway? Someplace Dumbledore wanted her hidden?
They reached the foot of the stairs, turned left... when a voice stopped Sirius in his tracks.
"Why, Snivelly... don't you look pretty today...!"
Hermione looked up, instinctively wary. Malfoy.
No, no... not Malfoy at all. The resemblance was there, but this boy's hair was black, not blonde, and his eyes were familiar...
"Nice to see you finally figured out what a bar of soap is for," the boy continued.
"I'm on a task for the Headmaster, Black," Sirius sighed. "I suggest you leave me alone for the moment."
Black?
Hermione's eyes flew to the boy who'd made the comments, noting the Gryffindor colors, mentally aging his face.
That was Sirius! Then who was...
She turned her gaze on the boy she'd assumed was Sirius, taking in his neatly tied-back hair, his pale skin, his impossibly long eyelashes over nearly black eyes, his thin lips, his...
His slightly hooked nose...
No way. No way. This boy was way too attractive, too clean, to be...
"Snivelly giving you trouble, Padfoot?"
Harry. No, no, no, not Harry... James... was loping down the hallway, a very Weasley-Twin glint of pre-mischief in his eyes.
"No trouble, Prongs," Sirius -- the real Sirius -- said casually. "Apparently, he's being the Headmaster's fetchit boy today. On his best behavior, and with a little lady friend to boot!"
"Don't be ridiculous, Padfoot," James laughed, "Snape can't get a lady friend."
So it was Snape. And why were James and Sirius being such prats? She knew Sirius especially didn't like Snape, but...
A horrible thought occurred to her. Had she ended up in some... other dimension, some other timeline completely? Snape was tidy, had been -- well, not friendly, but certainly polite -- and James and Sirius were being awful.
"Although..." James added, letting his eyes travel all over her body in a way that made her shudder, "I gotta say, Padfoot -- it's truly amazing what Snivelly can do with a mobilicorpus spell."
Oh, that was just disgusting...
"Are you quite finished?" Snape said coldly... and now Hermione was sure it was him.
Snape took off down the hall at a furious pace, and Hermione struggled to keep up with him.
"Um, Pro-"
Oh dear god, she'd almost called him Professor Snape.
Snape halted. "Yes?"
"I never... I was never told your name."
"Severus Snape." He did not extend a hand for her to shake... if anything, he seemed to recede further into himself.
"I'm Hermione..." She stopped, biting her lip. Fabulous. Well, at least she wouldn't have to worry about not answering when called for... "Hermione Klum."
She nearly slapped herself on the forehead. Well, at least it went with the accent.
"Nice to meet you." And he started walking again.
"I was wondering... Pr... Severus..."
How bizarre to call Professor Snape by his first name!
"I was wondering where we were going?"
"The Slytherin common room. I would imagine the house-elves have your room ready by now."
"S-Slytherin? But..."
One eyebrow arched in Snape's somehow regal face. "Yes?"
"I'm not..."
"Virtually all transfer students from Durmstrang are sorted into Slytherin," Snape said, not unkindly. "And it will keep you closer to me."
"B-but, w-why?"
"Why me?" The corners of Snape's mouth turned up sardonically, giving Hermione another chill of deja vu. "One: I speak German, I'm to improve your command of it while you're here. Two, being seen with me will prevent you from getting... inconveniently popular."
"Dumbledore told you that?" Hermione gasped, horrified.
"No, Dumbledore told me to teach you German, help you out, and help you keep a low profile. But I'm not stupid." And Snape stomped off down the corridor once more.
Hermione trotted after him, unable to believe she suddenly felt so sorry for Snape, of all the horrid people...
"Severus," she wheezed, finally catching up. "I don't... I don't think that's why Dumbledore asked you to do this."
He wheeled on her. "Oh, really? Then why am I picked as your 'German tutor' when there are others far better at it than I?"
"Because..." Hermione thought fast. "Because, Severus... I need - I really need your help - to be kept away from... certain people."
The eyebrow went up again.
Hermione lowered her voice. "I need... to be kept away from Potter, Severus. And Black, and Lupin, and Pettigrew. Probably Evans, too. And Weasley," she added, stabbing in the dark.
"What did they do to you?" Snape asked, the low grumble of his voice with a hint of danger.
"Nothing... yet. But I really need to avoid them. I... I can't explain."
"Dumbledore picked me to... to protect you from Potter and Black?"
"That's my guess." After a thought, Hermione added, "I saw how you handled them back there. I guess things like that are why."
Something odd flickered across Snape's face. Pride? Hope? Pleasure? Whatever it was, it changed his face, made it...
Hermione Granger, she told herself sternly, you did not just find Professor Snape attractive!
"I don't know how useful I'll be to you," Snape said slowly. "But I'll... try."
He gave her what might have been -- on anyone else -- the ghost of a smile, and turned again down the hallway.
Hermione let out a sigh of relief. That was -- at least -- a partial solution to her problem. James, Sirius, and the rest would see her as the enemy now, just another Slytherin. There would be no awkward questions, like Hey, does Voldemort kill me? or Do I wither away in Azkaban?
Of course, Harry would be disappointed, but... better disappointed than never born, right?
Maybe she'd wake up tomorrow and this would all have been a dream... or Dumbledore would have found a clever way to send her back. Just in case, she'd head over to the Library tomorrow...