Authors Preface for this chapter: Here we are at the end of Act 1. THERE WILL BE MORE ACTS. Like not as many as Homestuck, but this story is not over yet. Happy 413!

It had been a little over two months since her tearful farewell at the end of January. Not a day had gone by that she hadn't thought of both Dave and Roxy. There were moments where she stopped before entering class as if looking for someone who wasn't there. And most Sundays if you were looking for Hermione you would find her sitting in the Astronomy Tower, looking out at the sky bleakly as if waiting for someone who would not come. Sometimes she'd find herself just staring out the window at night. She would drink in the stars because somehow they made her feel closer to the new friends she'd lost. If Harry or Ron noticed her melancholy, they did not say. And if asked, Hermione suspected they'd just blame it on her overfull schedule. Stress made a nice scapegoat and kept Harry and Ron from asking difficult questions.

That was perhaps the best thing that had come out of the last two months. They were now a trio once more. Apparently Hagrid had something of a hand in it. He might have mentioned the handful of times where she'd gone to his hut on the pretense of helping him with Buckbeak's hearing, only to spend a good portion of it crying. He might have also mentioned that they ought to care more for a friend than for brooms or rats. They had sheepishly apologized to her sometime after Hagrid's dressing down.

A very small, petty part of her didn't want to forgive them. It wanted to hold on to the hurt, to make them feel a fraction of what she'd been dealing with for so long. But the better angel of her nature prevailed. In the end, the only person she'd hurt would be herself. They were friends again, that was all that mattered.

Days after her Roxy and Dave had left, she had half suspected that Harry would track her down and demand answers. Surprisingly, he didn't. She supposed that Ron's smack to his arm had really reminded him that they were pretending she didn't exist. Even so, it was a persistent worry of hers that he'd become insistent on getting answers she couldn't give. This did not stop once they'd reconciled. In point of fact, Hermione had made it a point to not be alone with Harry, hoping he'd forgotten but knowing he hadn't.

It had been during a very early breakfast that he'd finally cornered her. She knew something was wrong because he was unusually quiet, biting his lip and glancing at her surreptitiously. Whenever he had a question that he was afraid of asking, he'd nibble on his cuticles for several minutes before hitching a breath and pressing his lips together and then he'd just bluntly blurt out whatever was bothering him. His pattern remained unbroken. The question came out in a breathless rush of words, 'Whowerethosestrangepeopleyouweremeetingbefore?' It was as if the faster he said it the less likely it was to make her angry with him.

Thankfully she'd had loads of time to come up with a good excuse. The time turner provided a logical way to divert their attention. Obviously she couldn't tell them about it, but they had noticed her schedule and all the very odd contradictions on it. This provided a ready excuse and it would work because it wasn't entirely a lie. Those strange people he saw her with were helping her with a special project McGonagall had given her.

"I'm really not supposed to let anyone know, Harry. I've gotten special permission for it and Professor McGonagall thought it'd look bad if other students knew. They want to avoid even the hint of favoritism, you know. So please, don't ask about it anymore."

She had felt sick about telling her best friend such a blatant lie, feeling even worse when he bought it hook, line, and sinker. She had never felt so guilty in her entire life but it really was for the best. They'd put her away if she told them the truth - that two bored demigods hung out with her for a month because she was going to help them out in the future. That was the stuff of bad muggle Sci-Fi that her father favored, things like Doctor Who with their villains made out of hosepipes and vaccum cleaner parts.

The important part was that everything was back to normal. They were all friends and any awkward questions she couldn't answer had been completely cleared up.

Today was April 13th, which was not a remarkable day at all, except for the fact that it was the first really nice spring day they'd had. The sun was out and there was a very lovely breeze. There were a number of students skiving off to enjoy the day. Hermione was not one of those students, though sadly Harry and Ron were. They thought she was mental for staying in and studying after class when she could be outside doing something 'fun'. She rather thought her studies were a bit more important. Her Arithmancy paper would not write itself.

So here she was, in the library as always with books and notes piled around her neatly. There was a conspicuously muggle looking notebook set out amongst all the parchment. Written in surprisingly neat handwriting were pages and pages of notes and formulas. The notes were clearly not written in Hermione's hand, the syntax was off, the spelling was atrocious, and it was liberally peppered with swear words, something Hermione would never have done. They were, of course, Roxy's copious notes she'd give Hermione before she left.

Had she not been familiar with the way her friend wrote, she might think she was drunk or otherwise impaired. But she knew for a fact that half of the typos were on purpose to make her laugh and the rest were because she thought so fast that spelling became too much of a bother. There were also little crudely drawn pictures of kittens in pink ink and other silly doodles (clearly added in by Dave and John in red and blue ink respectively) that made her smile fondly when she looked at them. Roxy had said that she hoped they lasted a couple months. In truth, the notes could last a whole year and that was only for ONE of her classes. Hermione was deeply impressed by how thorough she'd been. The best part was how she'd worded them to be easily understandable with the added effect that Hermione read them in her voice when looking them over.

She had only known them a short month but she missed them both terribly.

Shafts of bright sunlight shone through the narrow library windows, only slightly muted by the stained glass. Hermione looked up briefly to appreciate it as motes of dust coruscated gently through the bright planes of light that illuminated the dark library. Someone must have opened a window somewhere. A clean spring breeze drifted through the hall. Breathing it in, she exhaled with a smile and went back to her work. Roxy's detailed notes would all be for naught if she didn't use them, after all.

Such was her concentration that she didn't notice the unnatural hush that came over the entire library. Even though Madame Pince tried to enforce absolute silence, it really was a losing battle. There was always some noise. Whispered conversations, the sound of rifling paper, the slow sound of books being draw off or onto shelves and the satisfying thunk when they were plopped on desks. All of that stopped abruptly. Hermione would have known why had she bothered to look up, but she didn't. She was fully focused on her paper and her notes.

To call the young woman who walked into the library that day beautiful would have been a dreadful understatement. She was quite short and very slight but the way she carried herself made her seem terribly imposing. The sound of her clacking heels was now the only one that could be heard. Almost every eye in the library watched her progress as she strolled down the isle of desks. One young man who was so absorbed in watching her managed to drop a very large tome on his foot as he tried to re-shelve it. Another girl fell off the chair she'd been leaning back on just to get a look at her. The only one who remained oblivious was Hermione.

She stopped at Hermione's table, gracefully threading her way through the chairs until she stood directly in front of the girl she'd come here to see. With an impish smile, she dropped the large set of books she'd been carrying on the table in front of Hermione, heedless of the echoing sound they caused. The young witch gasped loudly, her eyes flying up to glower at whoever decided to interrupt her work. Any remonstrations she had died on her lips.

Standing in front of her with her hand delicately tented on a large pile of books was none other than Rose Lalonde, dressed in Ravenclaw robes. The pictures she'd seen had not done her justice. She was the single most beautiful woman Hermione had ever seen in her whole life.

Bright lavender eyes shining, she tilted her head and asked in a low voice. "Would you mind if I sat with you?"

Hermione could only nod her head mutely. She slowly cleared off an area in front of her, hardly able to believe her eyes. In one fluid movement, the Seer of Light sat down with enviable grace.

"I think we can dispense with formal introductions. We know each other's names, after all. Seems a bit pointless repeating facts we're already aware of."

"Um, s-sure," Hermione agreed nervously. "Not to appear ungrateful, but I'm wondering..."

"Why I'm here?" Rose thought for a moment, resting her head in her hand. "That's a very simple question with a very complex answer. I suppose the foremost reason is a bit selfish on my part. I wanted to meet you."

"You wanted to meet me?" Hermione squeaked, curling in on herself in disbelief.

"Is that so unbelievable?" Rose said with a laugh, it was a light, tinkling sound.

By the startled look on Hermione's face, it was. Rose sobered somewhat as she reached into the air, seemingly tapping at nothing. A book floated slowly into her hands like a leaf falling from a tree in autumn. She caught the paperback easily and held it in both hands like it was a precious treasure. Hermione could not read the cover as it was turned away from her. The back of the book wasn't much better; it was very tattered from being read quite a bit, no doubt. All she could see was a bit of vibrant illustration - there were a number of what looked like brightly patterned curtains and an owl flying over a vast forest. In the corner, she could see just the tip of a trainer belonging to a figure she could not see.

"There's a theory that there are infinite discrete universes in infinite variations with infinite possibilities. The concept is best expressed by Schrödinger's cat - being simultaneously alive and dead in box. I think that's rather grim, don't you?" Rose asked, her gaze was penetrating.

"Yes, I agree," Hermione answered cautiously, it was a very strange way to begin a conversation with someone you'd just met. She rubbed her lips together nervously before continuing. "Dave said you all were from some alternate version of earth. I suppose that's why you bring this up."

Rose tilted her head in acquiescence, her eyes never leaving Hermione's own. She placed the book, cover up, in front of her as if daring her to look. Hermione did not. "Do you believe him?"

She thought about it for a long time before nodding. "Yes, I think I do. Is it so important that I believe?"

"That's for you to decide. Personally, I think having hope in something is far more important than just belief. Hope for the future. Hope that you might make a difference in the world, no matter how small. Hope that things turn out all right. Belief suggests a certain rigidity of thought, a sense of unshakeable certainty that all those things WILL happen. But what happens when it doesn't? Hope is less certain than belief but it is also more flexible - more adaptable to the idea that the world is imperfect and that things don't always work out as planned. But that's just my perspective. That being said, I do hope you'll take his words at face value." Eyes glittering, she said nothing for a long moment before calmly observing, "You're very nervous. Dave and Roxy have talked me up quite a bit, haven't they?"

"Just a little."

"Hmm. They say that you should never meet your heroes because you'll inevitably be disappointed. No doubt because you realize that the person you idolize is human after all, with all the messiness that entails. I disagree. Meeting my hero has been very agreeable, I think." Rose said all this while looking her directly in the eye, unblinkingly.

Hermione was breathless with shock, easily reading between the lines. It took her several seconds to recover. "You're implying that I'm your hero?"

"Oh, it's not mere implication. It's a statement of fact," Rose said bluntly. "And I suppose I've become something similar for you, thanks to Dave and Roxy's no doubt outrageously exaggerated tales about me and my exploits."

"Well, yes. But it makes sense... even if they were exaggerated, you are quite brave. He said... he said I reminded him of you."

"That's very sweet of him. I'll have to remind myself to give him the sick-nastiest of fist bumps when I get back."

"But what I don't understand is how I could be yours, even if Dave exaggerated stories about me. I haven't done anything important like you have. Not really. Besides, I'm so much younger than all of you."

Rose gazed at her, her lips tipping up into her trademarked impish smile. "Someone once said that if you believe in infinite universes with infinite possibilities, then by extension you would have to believe that somewhere in the universe dragons exist. I think it was Charles Dutton. Yes, I'm very sure it was Charles Dutton who said that." Her eyes twinkled mischievously, knowing full well Charles Dutton said no such thing. "In my universe, on my earth, there were no dragons. No magic. No witches. It was all the stuff of fantasy. Only when I entered the Game did such things become real. Here, in this universe, on this earth, there are dragons and magic and witches but thankfully no game to usher in Armageddon. The more you dig into the guts that make reality, the stranger existence becomes." There was that smile again as she slowly tapped one manicured finger on the book laying just in front of her, once again daring the young witch to look.

Hermione glanced down quickly, her eyes skimming the cover finally. She had to look twice. In embossed gold lettering was her best friend's name and underneath in what looked like faux stone was written 'And the Sorcerer's Stone'. Blanching, she immediately looked up at Rose and glared.

"What is that?"

"A book my mother gave me when I was only eight. I almost cried when I turned eleven and didn't receive a letter. But then, there isn't a Hogwarts where I come from." Her smile was a little sad. "I never thought I'd find myself here, and with you for that matter. As you can imagine, being a very smart girl, perhaps just a bit too smart for her own good, I was very happy to find a character in a book that was so much like me."

"Is that why you all knew so much about... everything? Because there's some book that tells our... Harry's story?" Hermione breathed, not sure of what emotion she ought to be feeling right now. It was a strange thing to know that somewhere in a completely different universe someone who hadn't even known you had written your story.

"There are movies as well." If possible, Hermione became paler. "Incidentally, you look nothing like the actress that played you. But to answer your question, yes, that's partly why we know so much. The other part is, of course, due to Dave's flagrant abuse of time travel."

Hermione closed her eyes. "I'm going crazy. This isn't happening. It's just the stress." She opened her eyes to find Rose staring at her wryly, leaning her head on her folded hands.

"Still here," she chimed merrily. "Infinite universes with infinite possibilities, remember? And one of those possibilities is a world where this one is a story that I've read multiple times since I was eight. I've come to the conclusion that perhaps even my story has been written by some author or the other. If my theory holds, there's a girl in some other universe right now reading about everything I've gone through, as horrible as some of it was. I have to admit, I can't imagine there'd be anyone who'd want to write a highly fictionalized account of what we've done or who would even read that kind of garbage. Just as I think you couldn't imagine anyone wanting to read about you." Rose could see how Hermione was focusing on the book from the anguished way she was gazing at it. She knew it wouldn't do to dwell, so she carefully put it back into her Sylladex.

Shaking herself, she looked at Rose with furrowed brows. "Why show me that? Why tell me at all?"

"Because you deserve the truth," Rose stated simply. "The whole truth, or at least as much of it as I can safely divulge. And because you need to be prepared for what you'll face four years from now." Without looking, she set a hand gracefully on the stack of books she'd brought with her.

"What are those?"

"Books, obviously."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You know what I meant."

"Of course but that doesn't mean I won't give you shit for it!" Another tinkling laugh escaped her lips before her face became serious once more. "I brought these for you. Since we knew so much about you, I felt it only fair that you knew more about us." She carefully pushed the pile of books towards Hermione.

The young witch didn't know what to say. Gingerly, she pulled the first book off the pile, a thick lime green volume with no title. Opening it, she flipped through the contents curiously. Stopping on a random page, she began to read. It all seemed very technical, like a manual of sorts - talking about devices that had to be deployed and punch cards.

Without waiting for any questions, Rose began, "That volume is a complete record of the game as we played it. The first part was a walkthrough of sorts that I wrote when first playing it, I apologize that you have to read it but it does have important information you'll need to understand, well, a lot of things. Just remember, I was only thirteen when I wrote it," she said with a self-deprecating smirk. "The rest are culled from everyone's recollections during and after, including as much of my research into the game and its overall history, as little as there is of it."

"Parts are blacked out," Hermione observed, looking up at her skeptically as she gestured at the book.

"Information on certain players and antagonists have been omitted because knowledge of them is very dangerous. I wouldn't have done it otherwise." It was the first time Rose avoided her eyes. "We all have our monsters we have to fight, you see. Ours... well, even saying his title is like an invitation. So, for your own good and the good of your universe, I censored it and anything else I thought might put you in harm's way. Don't think for a moment that I like it, but better safe than sorry. It's a bit like the reason no one in your world likes saying Voldemort."

Hermione flinched, silently conceding the point. "And the others?"

"Books 'borrowed' from Prospit's library. They give details about the various mythological roles in the Game. One deals with Class and the other deals with Aspect. The third had details on how Class and Aspect interact. The last is about basic mechanics of the game that I hadn't included in my walkthrough; the functions of Prospit and Derse, dreamselves, etcetera. I hope it'll be informative."

"Thank you," she replied quietly. Her eyes losing focus as she was deep in thought.

"What's wrong?"

"When I first met you all... I wanted answers. But now that I have them, I'm not sure that I want them. Does that make any sense?" She looked at Rose with heartbreaking confusion.

"That's the trouble with asking questions," Rose commented sadly. "You don't always like the answers you're given. An experience I am intimately familiar with, I assure you."

Hermione gave a small nod. For the first time since they started this conversation, she looked around. While every eye in the room was no longer fixated on Rose as they were when she first entered, it was still quite obvious that she was a definite source of interest. People were staring, though they were trying not to be obvious about it. Hermione looked around, confused by the reaction. In a way, it was like she was Roxy's exact opposite. People noticed her too much rather than not at all.

"That's odd," she mumbled, mostly to herself.

"What is?"

"Everyone keeps staring at you... like you're famous or something. But no one even knows who you are!"

"That would be a side effect of my Aspect. Light tends to call attention to itself - you might even say that it illuminates things," she explained with a fluttering hand wave. "It's made a bit worse due to the fact that I'm a Seer. The interaction between my class as a Seer and my aspect as Light... well, once you've read the materials I've left you, you'll understand. You'll also find that illumination isn't its primary function, game-wise."

"What other functions could light have?"

"Ah, you've hit my weakness. Us Light players do like to talk about our Aspect. But, sadly, I'm afraid I will have to resist the urge."

Ever observant, Hermione said, "You have to go."

"Unfortunately, yes. You also have to study and I'm doing an awfully good job of distracting you."

"I suppose I'll see you in four years then?"

"That you will." She smiled very genuinely and held out her hand. Hesitating for only a moment, Hermione took it. Rose placed her other hand over Hermione's, squeezing it gently. "I'm very glad we got to meet and I look forward to seeing you again."

Hermione had not known what to think about Rose. At first she wasn't even sure that she liked her, not until this moment. She wasn't as effusive as Roxy or as silly as Dave. She was, in point of fact, very intimidating. There was something closed off about her, as if she held people purposefully at arm's length with the sheer force of her intelligence. Hermione admitted quietly, and to herself, it was because Dave was right - she and Rose were very similar people. They both sought solace in learning, in being the smartest and the best at whatever they set their minds to; both of them reaching for a kind of personal perfection that was always just beyond their reach.

Hermione squeezed her hand back and said with great sincerity, "I'm very glad we got to meet as well."

"Study hard," Rose commanded, her smile turning impish once more as she knocked her knuckles on the books. "There'll be a quiz in four years."

"Well then, I suppose I should get right to it. I'd hate to fail, especially after having four whole years to study for it."

Rose laughed a bit louder than she had up to this point, it sounded like pealing church bells. Without further ado, she stood. "Goodbye, Miss Granger."

Hermione stood up as well, thoroughly amused. "Goodbye, Miss Lalonde."

Rose gave a little salute, very much as Dave had often done. It was the first time Hermione could really see the family resemblance in terms of personality. Suddenly light from the windows hit her pale hair just right, surrounding her like a halo. The dark library seemed impossibly bright in that moment and she looked akin to an angel. The light faded but she did not dim. Almost as if in slow motion, she turned and began to walk away. Stopping only to summon a boy no one else, not even Hermione, had noticed. He was dressed in Hufflepuff's colors and he turned to give her a silly wave which was preceded by a cool April breeze ruffling her hair.

'Goodbye,' she mouthed with a grin, waving back at the Heir of Breath.

Hermione did not watch them leave like everyone else. Instead, she turned back to her studies, once again oblivious to the world. Flipping the green book open, she began to read. She didn't choose the very first page of the walkthrough; instead, she skipped ahead a bit to the actual narrative. It began: A young man stands in his bedroom. It just so happens that this day, April 13th, 2009, is his birthday...

End Act I