Hermione felt a jolt like electricity rush through her body, and her vision blurred and grayed. She swayed on her knees and pitched forward, throwing her arms out in front of her so she wouldn't crush Ron. She forced away her disorientation and grappled for her friend. Her hands met grass and dirt.
"Ron," she said, hoarsely.
She shook her head to clear it, and looked down to where Ron was lying. There was a patch of grass. He wasn't there. Where was he? She had to get to him, now. He might need help. She didn't even know if he was alive.
She searched the ground with her hands in a panic, saying his name again, before sitting back on her heels. She attempted to think rationally, but her mind was in a haze.
"Ron," she said.
It was a moment before she missed the shouting and yells, the sounds of battle. She couldn't believe she hadn't noticed it sooner; now it seemed like the silence was ringing in her ears.
No one was there. The entire battle was missing. Not even Harry or Voldemort remained.
It was as if she'd just awakened from a dream. Had she been sleepwalking? Hogwarts grounds were empty of people. The grass was not trampled, and there were no fallen fighters. The greenhouses were all intact.
But—there weren't as many greenhouses as there should have been. It wasn't as if they'd been demolished, it was as if they'd never been there at all. Hermione, academic enthusiast as she was, was absolutely certain of the number of greenhouses—yet now there were only four.
Hermione reached down to the ground to where Ron should have been, brushing the grass lightly, and blinked. She pushed herself to her feet.
Had it been just a dream? It had been so vivid—so vivid it had seemed like a nightmare at the time. She had seen Charlie Weasley die. Tonks had bled all over her, and her own left arm was rendered useless after an effective Cutting Hex.
She looked down, half expecting to see pajamas. But they were the robes she'd worn to battle—rumpled, torn, and bloody. Her muscles were sore, and her arm bleeding. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, she could feel prickles of pain growing stronger at the wound. She'd clearly been in a real battle.
But where was the battle?
Oh Merlin.
She looked over the landscape hurriedly, taking it in. It wasn't even the right time of year. It was supposed to be late spring, and here she was at a Hogwarts in the early stages of autumn. She'd just been in the afternoon—now it seemed to be late morning.
Oh Merlin. Oh God.
She whirled around the where the Whomping Willow had been thrashing wildly at any fighters who ventured near, its antics energized by the Invigorating Manure with which Hagrid had fertilized it prior to battle, protecting the passageway.
No Whomping Willow.
Hagrid's hut—too small, it was normal-sized, and it was missing a pen of dangerously 'interesting' creatures.
Hermione turned back to the empty battle ground, stray thoughts running through her shell-shocked brain.
It had happened. R.A.B. must have failed, or lied. And Harry had sent her back.
It all fit. The missing greenhouses hadn't been built yet; Hagrid wasn't gamekeeper now, the gamekeeper must be a normal sized man; Remus hadn't come to school yet, so the Whomping Willow hadn't been needed and planted.
They'd done it.
Or—oh Merlin—they'd tried to. Time spells were notoriously imprecise. What if they had missed by just a year? Or by many, many more?
Hermione closed her eyes and took a deep breath. So she had to find out when exactly she was, and take her next step from there. There was no point in agonizing over it any more than necessary.
She looked back to the battle ground, to where Ron had lain. This meant that she had a chance to save him. Him and and Dumbledore and Sirius and Charlie and Tonks and Kingsley and countless others. She could save Harry from his fate.
For the first time she looked to the castle itself. It looked relatively the same as in her day, but school didn't seem to be in session. She'd never seen it so empty. In all the windows she could see only one shadowy figure, looking out from the library . Usually the shapes of students could be seen everywhere, milling around or rushing to classes. Maybe it was late summer, not early autumn.
Hermione mused for a moment longer before mending and cleaning her robes. She approached the front doors, attempting an air of confidence, as if she was supposed to be there (and then).
A tall wiry woman with graying blonde hair opened the door, betraying only mild surprise as she surveyed the unfamiliar, unexpected visitor.
"Welcome to Hogwarts… are you here to see Headmaster Dippet?"
"Actually, I'd like to see Albus Dumbledore," Hermione said, calmly, praying that Dumbledore was at Hogwarts whenever she was. She was pretty sure Dippet was the right headmaster for when she wanted to be…. "If you could please take me to him as quickly and discreetly as possible…" she looked at the woman expectantly.
The woman looked annoyed. "Is he expecting you? Professor Dumbledore hasn't mentioned a guest coming today. I'm sure—"
"Please—I really don't have time for pleasantries. I—" she felt a wave of dizziness and closed her eyes. "I don't think I can stand very long. I need his help."
She opened her eyes again to see a startled look cross the woman's face. She looked faintly concerned and stepped back to allow Hermione entrance. "I'll take you to his office."
Hermione stepped inside, masking her tiredness again, and nodded at the woman tersely.
She soon found herself standing outside of the Transfiguration office. Her escort had knocked and was opening the door, talking to someone inside—presumably Professor Dumbledore—"there's a young woman here to see you, Albus, she just showed up on the Hogwarts doorstep." She sounded somewhat uneasy. After all, Hogwarts was heavily protected, and it would be upsetting to have someone so easily gain unexpected entrance.
Professor Dumbledore came to the door, looking puzzled, and Hermione's heart caught in her throat. "Thank you, Augusta. I'll see what I can do for our guest."
The wiry Augusta stood dismissed as the door closed behind Hermione.
Dumbledore situated her in a seat by his desk and offered her a tin. "Sherbert lemon?" Hermione struggled not to cry or laugh as she refused. She took a calming breath as Dumbledore helped himself to a candy and settled into his own chair.
"Why don't you tell me who you are, and what I can do for you?" he prompted kindly, eyes twinkling.
Hermione leaned forward. "Professor, I must know what year it is," she said urgently.
Dumbledore beamed at her for a moment, and then said, "Excellent."
AN: How many greenhouses are there? Are there actually four in current day? I sort of think there were… If so, feel free to correct me. I'd like to know what pages you got that from, too. Sorry, stickler for those kind of things. Also, I have Hermione saying "oh God" because I figured that in moments of stress, Muggle expressions would come back to her.