Unconsciousness had been a blissful respite from the agony of her broken heart but, like all good things, it had to come to an end.
When Hermione awoke next she was relieved to realized that she was safely tucked into a bed at the hospital wing. She would recognize the stark white linens and bright blue curtains anywhere considering between herself and her best friends she had spent a considerable amount of time staring at them.
The young witch sat up quickly and felt the instant regret at her hasty decision. Her head had felt perfectly normal before she had moved but now it was pounding furiously. She wasn't sure of the time but knew if she strained herself just a little and stretched a little more upwards she would be able to glimpse out of the window to see where the sun was on the horizon and at least get a rough estimate of how long she had been asleep.
"In for a knut, in for a galleon." Hermione murmured and stretched. It did worsen the pounding headache she was feeling but she was able to see the sun just beginning its ascent above the horizon. It was early morning then. That meant that the events that had transpired were now yesterday's events. It didn't lessen the heartbreak she felt in her chest at the thought of them though. By this point Hermione deduced the throbbing in her head was likely from a head injury at some point and decided to very gingerly feel her forehead with her fingers. She confirmed her suspicions when her fingertips brushed what seemed to be a rather large knot that had formed likely when her head had smashed into the forest floor.
"Head injury would explain why I hallucinated." The girl said to herself, relieved to have an explanation for the vision of the younger version of the woman who had so crassly obliterated her heart. It was a much more comforting thought than the idea that she had merely gone round the bend.
"Hallucinated what, Dear?" The motherly tone was expected since that was all that Madame Pomfrey tended to use with sick or injured students under her care. What was not expected, however, was that the voice that used such a tone was not the one she recognized as belonging to said matron. Hermione's eyes widened and she whipped her head around to face an elderly woman with snow white hair, slate gray eyes, and a warm smile. The smile on the other witch's face quickly morphed to a look of outright concern when the girl winced violently at the sharp pain her sudden movement caused.
The other witch merely tutted in disapproval. "Sweet, you've bumped your head pretty hard. You need to move more slowly." The matron approached the young woman's bedside and quickly arranged the pillows behind her.
Hermione sank back slowly into the pillow arrangement and then eyed the other woman suspiciously. "Who are you?"
"Griselda Fairstone. The matron of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardy. You're currently in our hospital wing and under my care. And who, might you be?"
Hermione swallowed hard, knowing that name only from the pages of Hogwarts: A History.
"Please, Ma'am, what year is it?"
To say that the strange young witch had rendered Griselda speechless was the understatement of the year. Questioning what the date was or being confuse was not an altogether uncommon occurrence, especially when it was coupled with the patient having just experience a head injury. The way that the girl had asked the question was what troubled Griselda. The girl had seemed perfectly aware of her surroundings and had there was no glassiness in the brown eyes staring back at her. Instead, the young witch's eyes shone with inquisitive intelligence and crystal clear understanding of the predicament only she seemed to know she was in.
"1954." Madame Fairstone carefully watched as the expressions flickered briefly across her young charge's face. There was a fleeting instance of shock, followed by panic, and finally resignation.
"You're bound by a healer's oath of confidentiality, aren't you? You cannot share any information I divulge to you regarding my medical or biographical history, correct?" Hermione questioned. There was the slightest flicker of hesitation but she plowed on with typical Gryffindor bravado.
"That is correct." The girl became more interesting by the minute.
"My name is Hermione Granger. I was born on September 19th, 1979."
For a moment Griselda can do nothing but stare. She knows, even without the aid of a truth spell or veritaseum, that this Hermione Granger is telling her the truth. Then, she knows she must suggest the only thing she can think of. Hermione needs someone with contacts in the department of Mystery. She needs to find herself a way home and there is only one person capable of making the necessary inquiries. Loathe as she is to involve him, there is no other way.
The old mediwitch allows herself to take a deep, steadying breath before she raises her slate gray eyes to meet the earthen brown of her time travelling charge, "I think you'll need to speak to Professor Dumbledore."
Hermione is surprised that Griselda conveys her suggestion with such weariness but she is not surprised at the suggestion itself. Upon the realization of where, or rather when, she was, she knew that there was only one person she could turn to in order to help her get out of this mess. Professor Dumbledore was not the headmaster at the school but she knew that he had been Minerva's transfiguration professor when she attended and that if Minerva was a student currently then Professor Dumbledore would certainly be around.
"Could you call him please? I'd rather explain the situation only once if possible. I don't quite exactly understand how I managed to get his far off of my timeline but I'm afraid that the way I arrived is not a way I can return to the future with." Hermione frowned then as, for the first time, images of her friends' smiling faces swam in front of her mind's eye. Her frown quickly turned to determination and she shook her head to clear it. There was no use crying about what she couldn't change.
Probably should have thought of that, Hermione, before you went sobbing hysterically into the forbidden forest after your meeting with Minerva. Then you wouldn't be in this mess.
The thought rose unbidden in her mind as did the accompanying pain in her chest. Perhaps, she wasn't in such a hurry to return as she once thought.