Saturday, 24th September 1977
As the Marauders and Lily were asleep in their beds, Hermione woke with a strangled scream, searching frantically for a wand - any wand - as she tumbled out of the bed, not taking notice of the hospital gown she was wearing or the emptiness of the infirmary.
Her mind frazzled, she didn't notice when Professor Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey stepped around the curtain, wands held tightly in lowered hands, just in case.
Hermione's search quickly turned from frantic to downright desperate, sobs escaping her throat as her breath seemed to get stuck in her lungs when she realised her beaded bag - her trusty, magically extended beaded bag that carried her whole life - was gone.
'What am I going to do!? Oh no, oh no, oh no', she thought, turning just as quickly from desperate to defeated. 'I'm going to die. That's it. I'm done for'. She sobbed loudly, clapping her hands quickly over her mouth as the noise echoed around her in the quiet room. She finally looked around to take stock of her surroundings, her jumbled mind trying to make sense of the quiet and empty hospital wing, like trying to finish a puzzle with only half of the pieces.
It wasn't until her eyes landed on the sorrowful face of Madam Pomfrey and the old, unmistakable wizard beside her, that she finally realised the gravity of the situation. She had travelled through time before, of course.
Hermione fainted. Again.
The second time she woke, Hermione just rolled to her side, letting silent tears roll down her nose and cheek, soaking into her hair and the pillow below.
She knew that Dumbledore would want to speak to her - could feel his presence on her other side, staring sadly at her back. But instead, she let sleep take her again.
The next time Hermione woke up, the sun was high in the sky outside the window. Pushing herself up on shaky arms, she wiped her tear-stained face and reached for the bottomless glass of water beside the bed. She hadn't realised how thirsty she was until the water touched her tongue, and she kept drinking steadily until she felt full and slushy.
Heaving a sigh, she turned towards Professor Dumbledore, still sitting in the same armchair as he had been hours earlier. Tears welling up in her eyes, she gave a small forced smile and told him how good it was to see him again.
"It's clear that you know me, my dear," said Professor Dumbledore, his sad eyes still twinkling as they were wont to do, "however I've not yet had the pleasure of meeting you. At least not consciously."
"My name is Her-" she began, only to be interrupted by the infirmary doors banging open, the newcomers calling the Headmaster's name.
Dumbledore chuckled quietly, raising a hand to wandlessly remove the privacy wards and allow entrance to five teenagers, raising the wards again once he'd expanded the area and conjured some extra seats to fit them all.
Hermione quietly observed the newcomers, recognising three of the boys and the redheaded girl. All of them were about her age, maybe a little younger, or older, if you really thought about it.
She immediately recognised James and Lily Potter, quickly reminding herself that Lily wasn't actually a Potter yet, and making a mental note not to blurt that out, lest she change the future and risk the birth of her best friend.
Feeling tears gather for what would surely not be the last time, she forced her eyes away from James' messy hair and Lily's bright green eyes, instead focusing on two of the three remaining boys.
Remus and Sirius looked almost exactly as they did in Harry's old photographs. Her mouth turned up in a small smile as they shoved each other playfully while each trying to snag the most comfortable seat, and she had to swallow a laugh when Sirius sat down smugly only to yelp when Remus summoned the chair from under him.
As the headmaster chuckled at their antics, Hermione looked up through her lashes at the last boy in the room.
He had messy blondish-brown hair - almost like it couldn't decide which colour to be - that looked attractively windswept. His skin was slightly tanned and he had blue eyes so bright they almost looked like muggle contact lenses. As he leaned back in his seat smirking in amusement at his friends, he made eye contact with Hermione, shaking his head in playful exasperation.
She couldn't look away. Who on earth was that? She couldn't recall ever having seen him in any of Harry's old photos. And now that she thought about it, where was Pettigrew? Wasn't he supposed to be one of the Marauders? Who was this gorgeous young man, sitting so casually with quiet confidence and with such an air of belonging?
Had she already changed the future without realising?
Hermione looked back down at her lap, shaking her head at her internal ramblings. She shouldn't be checking anyone out for goodness sake! She was in a lot of trouble. The very first rule of time travel was to not be seen, and she had been seen by who knows how many people! Feeling vulnerable and uncomfortable in her Hogwarts hospital gown, half laying in a bed while everyone else was sitting up like adults, Hermione cleared her throat, cringing inwardly when everyone turned to look at her.
"Headmaster, with all due respect, I'm not sure I feel comfortable speaking with you in front of an audience," she said quietly, quickly continuing before Sirius could interrupt her in indignation. "It's nothing personal," she added, looking at each of the rooms occupants, before settling back on Dumbledore. "I just don't... I mean, I - ugh."
She shook her head in frustration and started again.
"It's nothing personal, please don't be offended," she made eye contact with Sirius. "It's just that I know I'm putting all of you at risk right now, and until Professor Dumbledore knows the back story, I don't know how much he wants others to know," she tried to explain.
"Thank you, Miss - er?"
"Granger. Hermione Granger," said Sirius, surprising Hermione and the Headmaster, although the other students didn't look shocked at all.
"Thank you, Mr Black."
"Sorry Professor," Sirius grinned sheepishly, dodging James' smack to the back of his head.
"Thank you, Miss Granger. Although I have invited our young friends here in full confidence that whatever you tell us, more minds are better than one," said Dumbledore, twinkling over his spectacles at her. "It was also taken slightly out of my hands," he added, gesturing with open hands towards James and Sirius. "Misters' Potter and Black are the ones who found you injured on the seventh floor and brought you here."
Hermione looked at the boys, finally remembering passing out in front of them as flashes of the last few hours (or was it days?) ran through her mind.
"Thank you," she said quietly, truly grateful that she hadn't been found by the enemy.
The two boys mumbled embarrassed you're welcome's, avoiding her eyes and seeming uncomfortable yet relaxed at the same time.
"If it's alright with you, Miss Granger, might I suggest you start from the beginning? I can assure you, each person in this room has my full trust," the Headmaster prompted.
"That's all well and good sir, but I only know for certain that I can fully trust five of you. I don't know who this is," she countered, jerking her head towards the handsome stranger. She knew she was being rude, questioning the great Albus Dumbledore like this - in front of other students no less! - but her situation was way too serious to take chances.
The boy in question straightened up, clearing his throat and looking her in the eye as he introduced himself.
"I'm Peter Pettigrew."