A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed, favorited, or followed! It's been many years since I've written anything, so I really appreciate the support.
Hermione landed in the middle of a hallway on the seventh floor. The force of the spell had thrown her back, leaving her staring up at the Barnabas the Barmy tapestry just opposite the Room of Requirement. She made her way to a standing position, brushing off dirt from the hard stone floor and straightening out her uniform. This won't be my uniform for long, as I'm now in a completely different time. She fought off her panic and devastation, focusing instead on her goal. Find Dumbledore, just find Dumbledore.
Then, just as she started toward what was- or would be, rather- Professor McGonagall's office, she heard giggling and footsteps heading straight toward her. Hermione quickly paced in front of the Room of Requirement thinking, I need a place to hide, until a door appeared; she slipped behind it just in time. The room was small, no bigger than a broom closet, but as the room tended to, it fulfilled her purposes perfectly.
Hermione thought about how she would get to the Transfiguration professor's office without anyone noticing her. This would be a good time to have an invisibility cloak, Hermione thought, irritated for a moment with Dumbledore and her own lack of preparedness. She ran through spells and charms in her head, eventually landing on the Disillusionment Charm as her best bet. She had never performed it before, but she remembered the incantation from Defensive Magical Theory. Hermione let out a hollow laugh. Umbridge's class proved useful after all. She performed the spell and left her trunk and an annoyed Crookshanks in the Room of Requirement. "Sh, I'll be back for you soon." This did not seem to comfort the orange ball of fur, but Crookshanks complied, not following her as she left the room.
Five minutes later, she found herself in front of Dumbledore's office. Hesitating momentarily, she straightened her spine and knocked. Then, she quickly remembered herself and performed the counterspell so that Dumbledore would actually be able to see her.
"What can I do for you, Miss…" Dumbledore trailed off, eyeing Hermione curiously. He looked almost exactly the same. His hair was auburn rather than silver, but the biggest change was in his eyes. He no longer looked- for lack of a better word- old. Although he seemed stressed, likely due to Grindewald, the exhaustion didn't consume him as it did in 1998.
"Sir, I believe you told-" she stopped herself, realizing how confusing that would send. "I was told to give you this," Hermione finished instead.
Dumbledore surveyed her curiously through the same half-moon spectacles, reading over the note he had written himself, his eyes widening with every line. At last, he finished, smiling. He scrawled something on a new piece of parchment and handed it to an owl Hermione had never seen before, whispering before the owl soared away.
"Well, then, Ms. Prewett," he winked as he emphasized her new last name, "I believe we have a new transfer student."
Hermione stared at him. "Sir, Prewett? That's not my last name. I'm-"
"It's best that I don't know anything about you, Ms. Prewett," Dumbledore cut her off, emphasizing her last name once more.
"Why Prewett?"
"They are a large, but old, pure-blooded family. Large enough that no one will question where you came from, especially because there are no Prewetts currently attending Hogwarts."
"Why do I have to be a pureblood?"
"I'm not sure exactly why," Dumbledore said quietly. "The letter insisted. It will certainly draw less attention."
Hermione wasn't sure if she should believe him, but she nodded. She would certainly earn more respect from Voldemort as a pureblood, though it irritated her to have to shed her Muggle-born heritage that she had always worn so proudly.
"That makes sense, I suppose. How should I answer questions about the Prewetts? And life before… now?"
"Good questions, Ms. Prewett. You were taught at Beauxbatons before now. Although your family is not French, your parents were good friends with the headmaster. While you and your family were vacationing over the summer in Paris, you were unfortunately involved in a duel involving some of Grindewald's fanatics. You survived, but your parents did not."
"So why am I not back at Beauxbatons?"
"How about we say that you wanted to avoid the war? And you have family here- the Prewetts."
Hermione quickly absorbed her new back story, but couldn't help but feel a little panicked by this. "Are you sure no one knows them, Professor?"
"Many people know them, of course. But it is well-known that the family does not all see eye-to-eye, so they are not all in contact with one another. I have written to Anastasia Prewett, one of the oldest members of the family. I have saved her life on more than one occasion, you see." Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled. "I have told her that you need a new identity because Grindewald's followers are after you, after they killed the rest of your family. I see no reason why she should not agree to speak of you as her niece."
"Was that all in the note, sir?"
Dumbledore merely smiled in response. "Lemon drop?"
Because she could not be more precise in using her time turner, Hermione had arrived about a week and a half before term started. She never met with Dippet, as she had expected, and Dumbledore simply told her everything was taken care of. Her "aunt" had agreed to the plan, and Dumbledore assured her that Dippet was all too happy to allow her to be Head Girl and not have to think of another replacement. As for Hermione, she spent her time wandering around the castle or confined to the Head room, trying to learn French when not lost in her own memories.
When the day finally came to get ready for her eighth opening feast, she couldn't help but think of the her last feast as a seventh year, a year ago today.
Hermione nervously fiddled with her red and gold tie as she steeled herself to enter the Great Hall, knowing the whispers that would follow her entrance.
As she went to sit down in her usual place, Ron avoided her eyes. Instead, she sat opposite Neville. "Hi, Hermione," Neville greeted her kindly. "How was your summer?"
"It was… I've had better," Hermione finished.
Neville nodded sympathetically. "My gran reckoned he would defeat You-Know-Who. Now it's hard to know what to think. I think we should keep the DA going, though. Even if we have a decent Defense professor, we could use the extra practice."
"Good idea, Neville" Hermione replied, half-listening. Although it had been months ago, Harry's death felt too fresh to talk about without pain. She could still see him sprawled out on the floor of Dumbledore's office…
"Hermione?"
"Yes, Neville?"
"You'll use the enchanted coins, then?"
"Oh, yes. Yes, of course." They ate their food in silence after that, which Hermione preferred. She did her best to block out the whispers all around her.
"I heard she was dating Draco," she heard Lavender's familiar whisper. "And he let them in."
"But she was his best friend!" Parvati exclaimed, her voice breathy but not quiet.
"I'm sorry, Neville, but I should be going," Hermione said suddenly.
"But you've barely touched your food!"
Hermione rushed out of the Great Hall, holding back tears, but not without locking eyes with Ron, who was staring at her with nothing but hatred.
Tom Riddle walked into the Great Hall, straightening his tie and making his way over the Slytherin table. His followers had saved him a seat, and were regarding him with the fear that he knew many mistook for admiration.
Shortly after Tom sat down, the Sorting began. He smiled and clapped politely as new Slytherins made their way to the far table, while he let his mind wander. After the Sorting, Professor Dippet made his way up to make his customary long speech. Tom had mastered looking incredibly attentive. Feeling the cool presence of his Head Boy badge over his crisp shirt, Tom felt the mask was well worth it.
"Good evening, students, new and old," he begun. "Before I greet you, though, we have one more student to sort." In typical Dippet fashion, he paused for dramatic effect. Did the little first year get lost?, Tom thought to himself, amused. "We have our first ever transfer student, Hermione Prewett." Prewett, Tom scanned his mind. He knew that name. Blood traitors, he remembered. "She has been attending Beauxbatons until now, but has recently lost her parents to Grindewald's forces, and now joins us to be closer to her remaining family." Dippet kept talking, but Tom stopped listening, instead surveying the new girl. She's a mess, he thought to himself. Her tie was askew and her hair was a fright.
Suddenly, Tom had the sense that someone was in his space. Turning away from Dippet for a moment, he saw Lestrange leaning over toward him. "Head Girl," Lestrange half-whispered, half-mouthed, and gestured up at the new girl.
Confused, Tom tuned back into Dippet's speech, catching only, "and without further ado, I will let the Sorting Hat do its job."
The new girl, Prewett, surveyed the crowd nervously through a curtain of bushy hair and shifty eyes. She sat in the Sorting chair and looked around again. Dumbledore, who had placed the hat on all the first-years, had taken his seat long ago. Realizing that no one was coming, perhaps, Prewett gingerly picked up the hat, looking at the Headmaster as though to ask if she was doing the right thing. Dippet was already deep in conversation with Professor Merrythought, however, and paid her no attention. Finally, Prewett sat up straight and placed the hat on her head.
Five minutes into her second go at seventh year, and Hermione was already feeling deeply agitated. Dippet had made her stand up at the front of the room for nearly ten minutes while he used ten words for every necessary one, finally allowing her to be sorted, but not even bothering to watch or hand her the hat. After staring into the sea of eyes, Hermione finally grabbed the hat herself and yanked it on top of her head as gracefully as possible.
"Ah, a time traveler. I don't get those often." Hermione shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "Don't worry, I won't tell. I see you were a Gryffindor in your time… No that won't do, won't do at all."
You also wanted to put me in Ravenclaw, Hermione thought.
"You could do well in Ravenclaw, but I also think you would do well in Slytherin."
Not Slytherin, was Hermione's first reaction. Although I suppose it would be useful…
"What a very Slytherin thing to think." Even though Hermione couldn't see the hat, she was almost certain it was smirking. "Still, I think it better be… RAVENCLAW!" It shouted to the whole room.
Hermione shakily made her way to a table of blue and bronze, forcing a smile as the Ravenclaws smiled shyly back at her. She sat across from a pale girl with big blue eyes and dark hair long enough that Hermione couldn't see where it ended from across the table.
After a minute, the dark-haired girl spoke. "You're staring," she said simply.
"Right. I'm Hermione," she paused for a moment, stopping herself from giving her real name, "Prewett."
"Nice to meet you. I'm Lyra Lovegood," Lyra replied dreamily. Hermione couldn't help but smile. Lyra reminded her a lot of Luna. After the introduction, Lyra stared up at the starry Great Hall ceiling.
"Are you a seventh year, too?" Hermione interrupted.
Lyra looked back at her. "Yes. You know we've never had a transfer student before."
"I didn't know," Hermione lied. "It was very nice of Professor Dippet to allow me to transfer. What classes are you taking?"
"Herbology, Ancient Runes, Transfiguration, Charms, Divination. What are you taking?"
"I'm taking Ancient Runes, Transfiguration, Herbology, and Charms as well. I'll also be taking Potions, Arithmancy, and Defense Against the Dark Arts."
Lyra, who was busy separating the olives from the rest of her food, looked up suddenly and responded in a gently scolding tone. "Divination is very important."
Hermione had to stifle a laugh. "Yes, unfortunately I don't have the gift." Lyra nodded solemnly in response, seeming to accept her answer.
Some of the other students at the Ravenclaw table were openly staring at the exchange. So the Lovegoods aren't popular in this time, either, thought Hermione. There was another pair of eyes staring at her from the next table over, though. Hermione could feel them like invisible pins pricking her. She turned around and met a pair of beautiful, but empty, gray eyes. They belonged to a handsome boy whose regal air and paleness reminded Hermione a bit of Draco, but his dark hair and blank expression made his effect quite different.
Hermione turned back around and returned to her food, wondering a few moments later if she had just met the eyes of Tom Riddle before they turned red permanently. She had never seen Tom Riddle; Harry had seen him in several memories, and Ginny had the unfortunate opportunity to meet him, but Hermione had only heard secondhand accounts, and it never seemed particularly important to ask about his appearance. Certainly no one mentioned how attractive he was. He's already killed multiple people by now, Hermione reminded herself, disgusted. Murderers are not attractive.
An hour later, Hermione was making her way up to the Head common room, having to remind herself to breathe every few steps. She had noticed the boy with the gray eyes head up a while back, and had stayed quite late to avoid the inevitable. You're just going to meet Tom Riddle. Not a big deal.
As she entered the room, she took in the surroundings once more. The room hadn't changed much in the next fifty-odd years. The common room still had the same black leather couch with cozy armchairs in cream and brown, purposefully avoiding any house affiliation. Crookshanks was curled up in the dark brown chair, staring up at Hermione. Missing from the room, though, was Tom Riddle. Hermione wasn't sure if she should be relieved or not. Part of her wanted to get this first meeting over with, so she could get one step closer to completing her task. Instead she sighed and curled up with Hogwarts, a History, which she had left in the polished black end table. Crookshanks made room for her as she sat down. Her mind was racing with the events of the day and nerves over meeting her Head counterpart, but all was forgotten for a few blissful hours after a few minutes with the familiar text.