Chapter. 1 Far From Home
Hermione winces, brows furrowed tightly. She hazily notices the familiar weight of her wand in her hand. She lies on her back for what feels like ages, wishing the world would stop spinning. When the dizziness fades, she sits up with a grunt. Pain shots through her shoulders.
She opens her eyes slowly and examines the now gloomy surroundings. The previous light source came from a now-destroyed jar, rendering the room in shadows. Even within the darkness, she knows she's alone.
The last thing she remembers is knocking both Death Eaters unconscious with Harry's and Neville's help. The situation had been "under control."
Then, why was she on the floor, left all alone? What went wrong?
Her heart beats faster.
Hermione suddenly recalls the strange creature coming her way. It must have done something to her! But what? And why? Where was it now? For how long was she out?
Finding herself with too many unanswered questions, she decides to work with what she does know.
Get the hell out of here.
She stands up slowly and looks around for the last time. Hermione starts healing her shoulder, repairing her torn robe, and cleaning the blood and sweat.
"I'll meet them back in school..." Her voice was low, tone uncertain.
She'll regroup once she's out; best not to get caught.
She places a disillusionment charm on herself and watches a white light slide through her body, disguising it with the surroundings. After casting Silencio on her boots, she walks stealthily back to the lift.
While she's heading back, Hermione looks around for her friends. Every turn she takes, she's careful to not walk right into Death Eaters or Ministry workers.
Dragging her feet throughout the last steps, she makes her way out of the headquarters of the Ministry of Magic.
Strange that they left me behind... something must have happened. But what?
Hermione reaches the nearest apparition point. Having already studied ahead through the 6th-year curriculum, Hermione learned Apparation extensively, considering it was one of the most useful skills she could have. Being able to teleport oneself out of a desperate circumstance was a card she needed to have at her disposal. She was desperate enough to use it now, even without having a license. She hopes the mess caused by their battle outshines this minor infraction.
She thinks of Hogsmeade and instantly reappears in its High Street without the usual loud crack, unlike most people.
The first rays of sunlight flickered through the branches of large pine trees. The air was thick with a dewy and woodsy fragrance. The cold wind blew Hermione's robe. There weren't many people outside; the village had just started waking up.
Not able to maintain her disillusionment charm after an apparition, she decides it would be suspicious to cast another one in the middle of the sidewalk with people around. Pulling her hood tighter over herself, with her shoulders hunched against the early morning damp and cold, she walks in Honeydukes' direction. There's a secret passage in the cellar - a trap door on the floor - that'll get her back to Hogwarts.
She doesn't get very far before pausing in her hurried steps. Hermione's eyes squint out into the audience that's slowly building; she frowned– observing the weird expressions on their faces. A few passersby stopped in their tracks to stare at her and whisper between them.
She felt exposed and confused. Something nagged at the edge of her consciousness.
They all wore vintage wizardly clothing and old-fashioned hairstyles, nothing like her modern look, with old muggle jeans, a knee-length black robe with a simple grey t-shirt underneath, and her dark brown boots. Her hair was a big mess, locks gone wild cascading down her back.
She understands that her current wardrobe makes her stand out in this particular crowd.
Why are they dressed like that?
Hermione feels her face getting hotter and pointedly looks over their shoulders, noticing the cottages and shops for the first time.
She freezes.
It's all... different, somehow. This isn't the Hogsmeade I remember.
No-
Did I hit my head that hard?
She glances back at the forms of curious onlookers, really looks at them - and her mind makes the necessary connections -
A heaviness descends upon her. She swallows as a ringing grows in her ears.
Oh, no! Please, no...
I think I'm going to vomit-
A lady in her mid-forties within the ever-growing crowd felt pity for Hermione's situation. She strongly disapproved of all the staring and comments about the odd girl's appearance.
The lady steps towards Hermione, and their eyes meet. The older woman had a strange expression on her face; she appeared transfixed with something on Hermione's face.
"Hello, dearest." Said the woman with blue eyes and a soft voice, raising a hand in greeting. "Are you alright?" She had a round face with tight blonde curls around it.
"I-I-" Hermione stuttered, "I don't know." After a pause, she asked: "What year... is it?"
The woman raised her eyebrows, taken back by the ridiculous question. "Why, it's 1944! Surely you know that?" her tone wary but polite.
Hermione's heart stopped.
"Y-yes, I do." She crosses her arms, hugging herself tightly. She felt lost and was holding back her panic. She continues: "You s-see, I just had a... a rather nasty fall a while ago, and since then, I started suffering from a light amnesia." She lied straight through her teeth. "Nothing too serious."
"Oh, my! You poor, poor thing. Please, let me help you, I insist." She said. "My shop's just around the corner. A nice cup of my best tea will do you good, child. I promise." She nodded in the direction where her shop was supposed to be.
"Alright," Hermione replied, nodding.
Hermione turned on her heel, wanting desperately to put distance between herself and these people. She follows the lady whose name she does not know yet. They neared an old-looking tea store with a sign in front that read "The Golden Brew."
The woman opens the door for Hermione before closing it behind her.
"Take a seat wherever you like." The kind owner of the shop said. "I'll just go prepare your tea, missy." She offered a smile before walking towards the kitchen.
"I don't have money with me..." Hermione admits quietly, looking at her boots.
"Don't worry about that, child!" She dismisses with a wave of her hand. "It was I who invited you."
Hermione relaxes and looks up; "Thank you, Ms...?"
"Mrs Hearth and It's my pleasure." She replied happily, proceeding into the kitchen at the back of the room.
Alone once more, Hermione doesn't waste time running to the loo and promptly shutting the door. She throws a silencing charm before leaning against a wall and sliding to the ground.
Take a deep breath- in and out, in and out...
She keeps repeating those words over and over in her head like a mantra. If she stops, she forgets how to breathe.
"1944!?" She shouted at herself, letting a burst of high pitched laughter escape. "You've got to be kidding me!" Hermione runs shaking hands through her hair and pulls hard on the roots.
"What am I going to do?" She spoke in a hoarse whisper.
She needs to think. Discover what happened, and fix it. Read every book about time travel that exists. Do whatever it takes to go back home, back to 1996.
She'll need access to Hogwart's library.
How?
Hermione shouldn't exist. There's no documents, family, money to back her up.
What if her being here already destroyed the whole timeline? She needs urgently to research more about how much she can change and do without creating paradoxes and un-borns.
There's Dumbledore; he could help her if she were to tell him the truth...
Maybe.
She's tempted to get an adult involved, to share the burden, however;
Does she trust him?
Does she want his attention?
Dumbledore's regarded as the most powerful wizard of his time. He won't know her and may not trust her at all. What if he thinks she's Grindelwald bloody spy?
She can prove that she's not. But what if? What if he betrays her and delivers her to the Aurors? Obliviates her? Imprisons her because her knowledge is too dangerous?
She shutters.
No.
No one can know that she's from the future; it's too risky hence why Hermione needs to create a believable and boring backstory. Something plausible that will justify her transferring in her fifth year to Hogwarts.
Who will she be here?
An orphan, it's what she already is.
Muggle-born?
It would be easier to fake muggle documents, but it wouldn't explain Hermione's magical abilities and skills. Her muggle parents shouldn't know how to teach her anything occult.
A pureblood?
Hermione would never pass as a pureblood; with the traditions, social norms and all their ignorance with anything muggle related- it would be useless.
Half-blood it is.
Her mother's the witch, and she homeschooled Hermione because... her mother never told her husband about magic. She made sure Hermione attended muggle school and secretly taught her magic at home when her father was at work for long hours.
Hermione will need to see if any unmarried man with no child has died recently. Having a real deceased father might strengthen her story. She'll work out some memory alterations if she has to with his family and friends.
She'll also need to create a genuine backstory for her parents being together.
It's going to be complex and delicate work, but Hermione feels that she can manage.
Satisfied that she now has a mission and something to keep her occupied, Hermione leaps to her feet, moves towards the sink, and washes her face with cold water.
She looks at herself in the mirror for the first time.
"Wha-?!"
Leaning closer to her reflection, she observes the strange colouring in her eyes. There were blue, purple, white and brown specks mixed, strangely resembling a moving galaxy inside her iris. Her pupil dilated.
She needs to cover that up immediately! No wonder people were ogling her. She'll freak out about that later.
She wandlesslessly and non-verbally changes her eyes back to brown and spells her plain grey t-shirt into a grey striped bow-neck blouse and the black robe into a more unadorned and loose-fitting style. Her muggle jeans turn into a skirt placed at her natural waist; it hangs smoothly over her hips with a slight flare at the hem, reaching below her knees. She finishes her transfiguration with a heel lace-up oxford shoe and silk stockings.
The Britain magical community's fashion was heavily inspired by the muggle's of this time, but with better textures and patterning.
Hermione's now in a similar style she saw one of the witches outside wearing. She smoothes down her clothes and stares at her hair in the mirror, deciding to cast a hair charm to help with the frizz - something she learned with Lavander. She twirled a curl and felt the softness.
With a thin layer of neatly put makeup, Hermione leaves the bathroom, stepping into the sitting area. She finds a table with hot tea, biscuits and a generous slice of apple pie waiting for her. The delicious aroma fills up the space.
Being met with such kindness during her most vulnerable state is touching.
Hermione takes a seat and starts eating. She'll need the energy.
Hermione enters muggle London shortly after leaving The Golden Brew undetected by its owner.
Regardless, she hopes to repay the woman someday.
She's humiliated by not having a single coin to her name and detests being at the mercy of others- but Mrs Hearth helped her without asking anything in exchange.
She'll never forget that act of selflessness.
Back to where she's at and where she's going, Hermione takes in the sight of a London at war.
London in 1944 was a damaged city passing through difficult times. Wherever you let your gaze wander, you'd see skeletons of buildings and piles of rubble. There were holes, missing pieces all over the landscape.
Death was ever-present; the streets reeked of it.
The people were thinner because of rationing; they looked sadder and fearful.
She wished to tell them that the war would end next year-
But it's better not to get involved.
Hermione has her own war to get back.
The first muggle location she ventures off to is a hospital. It's a busy hour with all the war victims spread out in the lobby.
She was there to gather information about their dead- looking for the perfect candidate for her father's role.
She finds him after searching the obituary files for nearly three hours.
David Owens, an unmarried man in his mid-forties that recently moved to this part of London.
Why did he move here? Because her mother died of cancer, they wanted a fresh beginning.
The plan was to start over.
No one here had the chance to get to know him better; if they did, they would have known about his late wife and curly-haired daughter.
He lived alone and had no contact with his family. Father never told her why they grew apart over the years.
Hermione shares a sufficient amount of physical traits with Mr Owens, but she resembles more her mother.
He died today in a car accident. He was drinking again.
No one came for him.
"I'm sorry for using you like this."
Hermione casts her first Unforgivable because she needs authentic documents.
She had concluded that it would be the most logical way of achieving a perfect coverup. If it's legitimate, it's the truth.
Unfortunately, no one in their right mind would do it for her.
It shouldn't have been that easy to cast- she shouldn't have felt pride in getting the spell right on her first try.
She has confirmation of her existence:
Hermione Owens, born in London on 19 September 1929.
Father: David Owens (Deceased)
Mother: Monica Owens (Deceased)
She has to cast the imperius curse again because she needs proof of her education.
Perfect grades, the same as before.
Hermione Owens is in the system.
Hermione adds personal touches to her father's house, minor signs that indicate that a grieving family lived here.
It's a lovely house, better than the one she used to live in. She wasn't expecting a wealthy father. Not really in the mood to think about her questionable actions today, she heads to bed.
Sleep did not come easily for Hermione on her first night in the past. She was exhausted, having spent the entire day crafting her backstory.
She dozes off, pushing her worries and fears to the farthest shelf in her subconscious.
The next day
Someone was knocking on the door at 9 in the morning.
Hermione had a restless night and had awakened earlier than usual. She had just eaten breakfast when she heard it.
She answers the door, thinking it might be one of her father's acquaintances."Hello?"
"Hello, good morning! I'm looking for a Miss Hermione Owens."
"Good morning - That's me, Sr. - Who are you?"
"I'm officer Jhon Taylor, here to give my condolences and escort you down to Wool's Orphanage."
"Who gave you those orders?"
"The City of London Police, Ms Owens. If I don't escort you today, another one will tomorrow - I apologise, but we take this very seriously. We cannot have children all by themselves during war times."
This is what happens when you're part of the system, when people know you exist-
"I understand, Sr. Taylor. I'll need to go pack a bag first."
"No problem, I'll wait outside. Hurry, now!"
Hermione lets herself be taken to the orphanage, the place where she might meet him.
And maybe he's her ticket into Hogwarts.