Entwined Love
Chapter One
Hogwarts' grand library was Hermione's second home, so seeing her there wouldn't have made anyone give her a second glance. Several large tomes that looked impossibly heavy were spread out on the table at which she was sitting, some of them lying open, some the base of a tower of novels that partially obscured Hermione's form. The sight was far from uncommon, though, so no one bothered to get a closer look at the titles of these particular books, or what information they held. More than one student had made the grave mistake of interrupting her while she was engrossed in books.
That said, if they had looked closer, they would have seen the uncharacteristically frustrated expression on Hermione's face. She'd been stressed before, certainly, but her face now looked especially bedraggled.
All she was looking for was one measly potion, she bemoaned to herself. So why can't I find it?
"Fine," Hermione said aloud, fed up and tired. She glanced around the library then, a little startled to see that she was the only one there. Looking at the clock, she understood why. "Well," she sighed, "I guess an ordinary potion will have to do."
She picked up the countless books, many of whose titles had completely worn off, some of whose covers were held together by what could only be a spell, all of which had to do with what was arguably the most debated and most complicated of magic: time travel. Hermione had, of course, been previously knowledgeable about it, but only insofar as that knowledge would be sufficient enough for House Points; that is, she didn't know too many specifics.
Too tired to manually put all the books back, she muttered a spell and all but the one she'd finally decided on flew back to their respective places, tucking themselves in neatly as they budged aside their neighbors.
That done, Hermione turned to the lone book left on the table. Absent of a title, instead embossed with only an hourglass and decades of dust, it was one she'd almost missed during her perusal of the shelves, but which ended up being the most informative. Its swirling text and verbose prose proved difficult to read even for her, but its author was clearly a master of the subject.
Knowing there was no way she could brew a potion and say the spell without getting noticed, she quickly gathered her belongings and, with a grunt, picked up the book and scurried out of the library. She found an empty classroom fairly quickly, and she set her bag and the book down gently, locking the door behind her and casting a silencing spell—just in case.
She opened the book to the designated page, exposing its contents to her invitingly. Her eyes snapped straight to the spell she'd already spent a good hour studying, the words a bit faded but still legible. Truthfully, she doubted she'd even need the book; the spell was emblazoned in her mind clear as day.
With subtly shaking fingers, she grabbed an empty vial from her stocked bag along with various Potions ingredients she had snitched from class. Fortunately for her, Seamus had set his hair ablaze—again—giving her ample time to grab the ingredients she anticipated she'd need. She had excess, of course, since she wasn't sure which ones would be needed, but she fully realizes she'd lucked out that this complicated spell hadn't required something like a unicorn heart. She guessed even Snape wouldn't have as rare an item in his stores.
"Let's see…" she muttered, running her finger down the text. "Powdered hair of roomstang, one drop of dragon blood, one-half teaspoon crushed scarab shell…" She continued to read the list, dropping ingredients into her cauldron and stirring every so often as the book delineated.
Over an hour later she had almost finished the concoction, brushing her hair impatiently out of her face. She looked at the last ingredient in her hand and with a moment of wariness, dropped it in. Her cauldron emitted a cloud of black smoke and a bang so loud she thought it might wake the entire castle, in spite of her spell to mute any noise. She coughed a couple times, waving her hand to disperse the smoke. Carefully drawing up some of the liquid into a dropper, she filled up the vial to the brim. For good measure, but also for her own reassurance, she once more read the spell in the ancient book.
"Well, Hermione, here goes," she whispered as she brought the bottle to her lips and swallowed it. She pointed her well-used wand at herself and uttered the spell, knowing there was no turning back.
Immediately the room spun mindlessly fast though Hermione was standing still. Colors and sounds shrieked around her, and she shut her eyes to stop the dizziness. She needed to concentrate on the time she wanted, the place she wanted. She knew the risks. One wrong thought or mistake in the potion and you could find yourself in limbo—or worse. When what seemed like an eternity had passed, during which Hermione wondered in a panic if she had messed something up and would be stuck in this spinning vortex forever, she felt herself being thrust forward with brutal force. She did not fall, but her every bone felt bruised and abused. Subconsciously, she looked behind her, for some reason expecting to see some sort of portal, but there was nothing. Only gleaming wood paneling and, as she took in the rest of her surroundings, the most beautiful room she could imagine.