Hermione tugged the edge of her scarf up over her nose as the seat below her rumbled. The wind was biting cold against her cheeks, and her eyes watered behind the protective goggles. Her feet were dangling above the ground, but the height didn't bother her.
It had been a couple years since the last time she'd been skiing. Her parents had taken her on holiday to Switzerland in her fifth year, the last holiday she'd taken with them. There would be no more family trips though, not anymore, so she took one on her own to honor their memory. She had never been to America, but her parents had often talked about visiting the Northeast someday. It was this thought that had prompted her to book a flight, Muggle style, to Vermont a few months after the Battle of Hogwarts.
It had absolutely nothing to do with the dreams.
Nothing whatsoever.
Hermione shifted forward on her seat as the chair lift reached the summit of its journey before sliding down and dropping gracefully to her ski-clad feet. She shook her long braid back behind her, readjusted her goggles, and gripped her ski poles firmly. Pure adrenaline filled her veins, lighting a smile across her lips, as she flew down the mountain side. Snow kicked up on either side of her as she shifted, left and right, left and right, all the way to the bottom. She'd forgotten how free she felt in the snow.
This must be how Harry and Ron and Ginny feel when they're flying, she thought to herself, grinning. Her cheeks were frozen after hours out in the blistering cold, and her fingers were starting to cramp. The sun was beginning to set anyway, so Hermione decided to go in to the ski lodge for some hot cocoa. It wouldn't be as good as Remus's, but it would do.
After visiting the locker rooms to change back into her street clothes and shoes, Hermione took a moment to stretch out her legs and back before returning her rented skis to the attendant. It was only a short walk before the warmth of the lodge enveloped her aching muscles. It didn't take long to order her drink and find a comfy chair in front of one of the fireplaces scattered along the perimeter of the room. With her feet tucked up next to her, she sighed happily and took out her book.
oOoOo
It had been six days of isolated bliss. Hermione wasn't quite ready to go home, though she knew she had responsibilities waiting for her. Repairs on Hogwarts were still on-going; the damage had been quite a bit more extensive than first thought, and hopes for reopening for the next school year had been quickly dashed. Hermione was determined to earn her NEWTs though, and that would require fixing the school up first. She really ought to return to help, but there was just something about this place…
She shook her head, almost ashamed at how she had run away. She had tried so hard to just grin and bear it, as the saying went, but the ghosts of the Battle had been too much. Not the literal ghosts, no, but the memories haunted her, teased her, sought her out at every turn. There had been so much death, so much destruction, and she couldn't stop seeing it play out. Six months of working on the school had led to a breakdown, and not the first one that Madam Pomfrey had had to deal with. And so, Hermione had just dropped everything and run.
Harry had been the only person who knew her plans, and even then, only because he had found her at her parents' house using the telephone to book her flight. His understanding had almost broken her again, but she just needed to get away, to go somewhere that held no memories.
Dreams were not the same as memories.
The first dream had happened just before she'd found out she was a witch. The older Hermione got, the more often the dream had come. The fact that she'd been having the dream almost every night since the battle had, perhaps, played a part in her breakdown. First was the strange noise, then that handsome face smiling at her with his hand stretched out to reach for her. His brown eyes were wide, in fear or excitement she wasn't sure, but they were kind, and old - so old. How such a young face could house such an ancient stare was a mystery, but she yearned to solve it. Hermione had always hated mysteries.
With a heavy sigh, Hermione turned from the window in her rented room where she'd been staring out at the falling snow. It was time to check out and head home. She gave the room one last once over before grabbing her two bags and turning out the light. The door clicked softly behind her as she strode down the hall and to the elevator.
The receptionist behind the desk look harried. Hermione frowned as she looked around the waiting area; all the guests looked upset about something, glancing outside as they murmured to each other. When it was her turn to talk to the poor girl behind the counter, she pulled out her room key and placed it down.
"I'm just checking out of my room," she said. The young lady looked at her sympathetically.
"Oh dear, I'm so sorry, but you must be trying to head to the airport?" At Hermione's confused look, the girl fluttered her fingers towards her mouth. "I just… Your accent? You were here on vacation right?"
Hermione's expression cleared. "Yes, that's right, my flight leaves in a few hours so I must get on the road soon."
"I'm afraid that's not possible," the girl replied. Hermione frowned again before the young woman hurried on. "The airport is closed, I'm so sorry! All of three of the closest ones are, actually. Nor'easter," she tacked on at the end by way of explanation. "They're saying we're supposed to get at least six feet by tonight, possibly more." Hermione stared at her for a moment before groaning.
"So I suppose I'm not checking out after all, am I?"
"I guess not," the girl replied, grimacing. "Conditions at the airports in Manchester and Boston are worse than here right now, though I expect it'll get really bad within the hour," she said, looking out the window with a practiced air of one who had lived in the area her whole life. "But on the bright side, we can keep you in the same room you've been in for another night, for no charge. No one is able to get in or out of the lodge right now." Her smile was sympathetic, and Hermione swallowed down her irritation. It wasn't the girl's fault, after all.
With sigh, Hermione picked her room key back up. "We'll be offering a complimentary dinner tonight as well," the girl told her. "It starts at five." Hermione nodded and shuffled to the side to pick up her bags as the next person in line learned his fate.
After stowing her bags back in her room, Hermione sat down on the bed. She really ought to get a message to Harry, but then, she hadn't been explicit on when she could be expected back home. Perhaps a nap is order, she thought. I haven't done that in quite a long time. The room she was staying in did have quite a comfortable bed. If it hadn't been for that blasted dream, Hermione was sure that she would've slept quite well. Waking two or three times a night for the past several months had not been conducive to restorative sleeping.
oOoOo
Her windows were dark when she woke suddenly a few hours later. Her heart racing, Hermione tried to determine what exactly had brought her to consciousness so quickly. The Merlin-damned dream still echoed in her mind as she slowly sat up. It had been even more realistic this time. The man's hair, a rich shiny brown, had been stuck up at all angles, a detail she hadn't ever seen so clearly before. Usually it was his eyes that captivated her.
Hermione rubbed her neck before she shook her head, trying to dislodge the memory of that unearthly screeching that seemed to always be in the background of her recurring dream. After several long moments, she could still hear it pulsing in the air.
Her eyes widened as her head shot up. No, it can't possibly be… It can't be real! she thought. It's just a dream!
Still, as though magnetized, Hermione climbed to her feet quickly and crossed to the window. Cupping her hands to the glass and pressing her face closer, she squinted into the darkness. Snow swirled past window, caught in the raging winds that buffeted the building. As her eyes adjusted, she saw a flashing blue light. It was only one light, and it was rotating slowly, so that ruled out a police vehicle.
Without a second thought, Hermione hurried to her bags, dumping them out on the bed before grabbing the shell pants and shoving her denim-clad legs through. She tossed her coat on roughly, grabbed her wand off the small dresser, slipped her trainers on, and threw her door open. The elevator took too long, so she ran down the stairs, across a hallway, and out a side entrance.
The brutally cold wind slapped her in the face, tossing her curls around her head. As she was absolutely sure that she was the only person crazy enough to be outside right now, she didn't even pause before casting a Bubble-head Charm on herself. Now able to breathe easier, Hermione stopped for only a moment to find the blue light she had half-convinced herself she'd imagined.
It was slow going, wading through the already knee-high snow and fighting against the wind. She was no stranger to cold weather; after all, the Scottish Highlands could quite unforgiving. This snow storm, though, was something else entirely. The people of the northeastern America must be quite tough indeed to deal with this chaos every year.
Hermione couldn't say how long she'd been out there before a strange scene finally resolved itself in front of her. It was a box. A blue box. The kind she had seen in old British photographs back home. It had been quite a while since police boxes had been used with any regularity, and yet, here one sat at the edge of the woods near a ski lodge in America. 'Strange' actually didn't even begin to cover this impossible scenario.
She tightened her grip on her wand as her heart rate sped up. The sickly screeching noise had since vanished, though the blue light on top of the box still glowed happily. Hermione suddenly wasn't sure what to do. It had been almost instinct to run out here, but now she wondered if that had been smart. It was such a Harry thing to do that she found herself doubting her sanity. Harry had always been the one with the unexplainable dreams, the one with impulsive tendencies. Hermione hadn't even stopped to think before running out into the worst snow storm she'd ever seen, and now she was faced with something that simply wasn't logical. And logic was something she prided herself on using.
Before she could turn around, though, the door swung open.
"Oh, hello there, is it really you?"
Hermione's eyes flew wide open, her jaw slackening. There in front of her stood the man from her dreams, framed from behind by a soft golden light. He smiled encouragingly at her, but she could do nothing but gape at him. This… what… Is he - …?
"I've finally lost my mind," she said to herself. It wasn't uttered very loud, but he still somehow seemed to hear her over the howling winds.
"Nope, sorry, don't think so," he replied cheerfully. "Are you Hermione?" he asked, still with that wide grin on his face.
"I - I am…" Her eyebrows drew together as her legs tried to decide whether to turn around and run back to the lodge, or move forward to figure out how a person from a dream could suddenly turn up in real life.
"Oh brilliant! Right on my first try, how convenient!" He beamed at her. The twinkle in his eye reminded her somewhat of Dumbledore, and a bit of the tension in her shoulders eased. "Come on now, it's quite cold out here and we have so much to discuss!"
Hermione tilted her head in confusion. Though she was still protected by the bubble around her head, her lips were frozen. That was why she seemed to be having trouble replying, yes; it had absolutely nothing to do with the sudden surge of excitement tingling through her veins.
"But - but… who are you?" The question burst out from behind her now-working lips, though her brain had yet to catch up.
"I'm the Doctor!" he exclaimed, as if that explained anything.
"Doctor? Doctor who?" The man's eyes lit up brilliantly.
"Just the Doctor." He held his hand out. "Are you coming, Hermione?" She stared at him for a few moments longer before throwing all caution to the wind. The wind at her back urged her forward, and she waved her wand to cancel the Bubble-head Charm before stowing it back in her forearm holster.
Holding her breath, Hermione stared at this beautiful, familiar stranger, and placed her hand in his.