A/N: Once again, written for the Are You Crazy Enough to Do It challenge. Prompt 239: Genre - Historical Fiction. Word count: 1,527

The transition was such a shock that Hermione didn't have time to hope she'd been dropped back at home.

It took a split second for her to realize she was in a dress, but it wasn't a typical dress, flowy and light like those popular in her own world. This one was stiff and suffocating. Scrunching the skirts in her hands and wiggling her body as best she could, she quickly asserted that she was in a corset and petticoats. She'd never worn either of them before, but there was no other explanation for the heaviness of her skirts or the way her insides felt like they were being squashed.

She thanked her lucky stars to have been born in a time period when she wasn't expected to dress like this every day. She never would have made it.

It took several seconds for her to realize the clothes weren't her primary problem.

As her awareness widened, she realized there was a book open in her lap. She glanced at the cover and then the pages, but she didn't find it familiar. Whatever it was, it had fallen out of popularity by her own time. Assuming she was even in the past.

The room she was in was decorated in a tasteful style that hinted at elegance but wasn't over the top. The lack of a TV struck her almost immediately. Most wizarding households didn't own them, but everything in this room struck her as Muggle-made.

If being dropped in an entirely new location had been worrisome, being dropped a hundred years in the past was a new level of horror. Hermione's eyes were wide as she scanned the room for further hints of what she was facing.

Pictures sitting on the mantel caught her attention, and she stood, brazenly tossing her book aside. The people in the pictures were undoubtedly herself—at least that was proof she looked like herself here—and her parents. She gasped as she took it in. Even her grandparents were in one picture.

Everyone looked exactly the same except for their choices in styling, which were distinctly Victorian. Hermione raised a hand to the back of her head and felt the same hairstyle she could see on herself in the pictures. She was sure she'd seen the same on some portraits at Hogwarts.

Hermione knew others held the Victorian era as idyllic, but she'd never had a particularly strong affinity for it. She enjoyed some Victorian literature, but it wasn't her favorite period for any of the arts. And she was being shown just how unromantic their fashion sense had been.

She made for the door and promptly tripped over her skirts. Cursing quietly to herself, she hiked the skirt up in her hands, certain that she'd scandalize anyone she happened across.

The hallway the parlor opened to was a short one, and it only took several feet before Hermione could hear voices floating out from the other room. It took several more seconds before she'd ascertained that one of the voices belonged to her father.

"I have made my decision, and you will not convince me otherwise, Faith."

Hermione mouthed the name 'Faith' before the women her father was addressing spoke for herself.

"Be that as it may, I feel it prudent to make it abundantly clear you are making a mistake."

Hermione gasped before rushing to cover her mouth, sure her cover had been blown, but neither her father nor her aunt gave any indication of having heard her indiscretion. She took several small steps forward, trying to find a way to look into the open crack of the room without being spotted. The aunt Faith of her own time had died when she was small, but many stories had lived on. Hermione longed to hear about them from the woman herself. She had to remind herself that this Faith wouldn't know them.

"We kept silent when you sent her off to some mysterious school you refused to name," the woman continued.

Her father tried to speak, but Faith somehow quieted him before she continued.

"I don't care for your excuses, Porter. That's not why I'm here. There's no taking back the years she spent outside of polite society, and I'm not questioning your decision to educate the girl like others have. What I disapprove of is your choice of school.

"When you sent her off, you assured the rest of the family that the decision wouldn't harm her future, that she'd still be able to find a respectable husband. Now you want to marry her off to some man with an unrecognizable family name who can't explain to you how his family makes its money?"

Her father let out a loud enough sigh that even in the hallway Hermione could hear it. She took another step forward, tempted to reach out and touch the door to steady herself.

The school they spoke of must have been Hogwarts. Perhaps she was a witch in this world just as she had been the last. She felt at her skirts for a concealed wand and discovered, to her surprise, that her dress contained a pocket. Her wand had been hiding in the folds of her skirts the whole time. She closed her hand around it, keeping it hidden, and felt joy to realize that there was no difference between this wand and her real wand back in modern London.

"Nothing points to him being an unrespectable man," her father said. "He has been most sensitive about the subject, and I can tell that he will take good care of her."

"All the way off in Devon," Aunt Faith replied as if Devon were one stop away from Hades' realm.

"As much as I'd love to have her close by, Devon is not so far that we'd never see her again, and perhaps she has grown fond of the simpler life provided by the country while away at school."

They must have been in London then. She glanced around her but couldn't find a window to confirm her suspicions. She wasn't sure that this London would be recognizable to her anyway.

Faith's scoff told them what she thought about escaping the city for the countryside.

Motion on Hermione's left startled her. Her hand shot into her pocket, gripping her wand, before she took in the friendly, smiling face of a woman dressed in a maid's uniform. She swallowed down the awkwardness of having servants and tried to smile back. The woman made no comment about having found her spying on her father and aunt as she sweeped past her and swung the door open.

"Mr. Weasley is here, sir."

Hermione could now see her family easily, and the mention of Ron's last name made her aunt scowl. Hermione, however, couldn't control the bright smile that erupted across her face. She had ascertained, of course, that the man they spoke of must have been one she met while at Hogwarts, but she wouldn't have dared hope for the good luck of it being Ron.

At least, if she remained stuck in this world, she hadn't found herself in the midst of an engagement to a man she'd never met.

She caught her father's eye and found him smiling gently at her. It only made her smile wider.

He turned to her aunt, his face turning stern.

"All I've asked is that you meet with the man before you become obstinate in your objections."

Aunt Faith narrowed her eyes but gave her older brother a short nod.

That was all the encouragement he needed to sweep out of the room, patting Hermione on the arm as he went. Hermione followed him, resisting the urge to hike up her skirts.

She could hardly hear her aunt's footsteps behind her, but she was sure the woman was there. Her hands shook as if it really were crucial that her aunt come to approve of Ron.

They wound up back in the parlor Hermione had originally found herself in. Ron was sitting in the same chair she had occupied, but he stood when they entered the room. Hermione could easily detect his nerves, from the way he swallowed to the way he kept adjusting his posture.

Even without much knowledge of Victorian style, Hermione could tell Ron's choices didn't quite align with her father's. She hoped her aunt bought that this was due to Devon and not the fact that this man, just as the one she loved in her own world, was more accustomed to robes than to suits.

When Ron's eyes moved past her father to her, his shoulders relaxed, and his smile mirrored hers. Sadly, it fell again when he saw her aunt. Hermione glanced over her shoulder to see her aunt's scowl for herself. She took a step forward, wanting to reach out to Ron in comfort but feeling unsure of what was and wasn't acceptable here. She doubted that showing her aunt something scandalous would help Ron's case.

As it turned out, she didn't need to make a decision. The world shifted once again, and the parlor disappeared along with her family and Ron.