Hermione stays locked up the bathroom. Her panic turns into a stupor and it's not until a loud knock on the door snaps her out of it that Hermione wonders how long she's been in the toilets for.
"Hey, did you fall in, in there, or what? I really gotta go!"
Hermione quickly washes her hands and unlocks the door. The student gives her a strange look when she passes by. She supposes she would have to, if she'd been waiting for the loo for over fifteen minutes.
The compartment Hermione originally arrived in is still vacant and she slumps down on the bench. She feels calmer than before, though. As long as she doesn't think about what happened, she can remain composed. As soon as she is, though, James' face pops up in her memory. And Remus'. And Sirius', still alive! Hermione wants to run back to their car and tell them, warn them, hex Peter and avoid the whole situation entirely. She brings her hands up to her face. If only she could. Not only would no one remember, but she can't interfere with the past. That was the number 1 rule of time travel. Professor McGonagall had stressed this point emphatically when she'd recommended Hermione as a valid candidate for the device. "This means no going back to redo an essay you scored less than perfectly on," she'd said at the time, because that had been Hermione's biggest weakness and concern: her grades.
Saving Sirius the first time, so many years ago, had been one thing. It was the immediate past and their future hadn't happened yet to meddle with. But now if she saved James and Lily who knows what other ghastly consequences she could indirectly cause. What if her meddling now prevents James and Lily from getting together? Then Harry might not be born and the prophecy will never be actualized and Voldemort won't die and he'll take over the Wizarding world and mass murder all the Muggles…
Hermione tries to push that line of thinking of out her mind, but it's easier said than done. As she focuses on the darkening sky outside her window, she sees Voldemort reigning in chaos. No, she absolutely can't meddle. Even simply talking to Remus and Sirius could have serious repercussions. Her best bet is to make herself small, stay out of sight, not draw attention to herself and find a way back to her time as quickly as possible.
When the train stops at the Hogsmeade station, Hermione waits until everyone's gotten off before following. There are hundreds of students, but somehow she still manages to spot the group of boys amongst them. Remus and Sirius are ahead looking for a vacant carriage, but James is hanging back with Peter. From faraway, he looks so much like Harry. The same unruly hair, and when he turns his head and Hermione sees his profile, she almost thinks she hallucinated the first time and that it is Harry, that he played a really bad joke on her and that she'll give him hell for it but that everything will be alright.
Then Sirius turns around and yells, "Prongs, Wormtail, we found one. Hop on it."
Hermione watches as James looks around him. She wonders who he's looking for until she follows the direction of his eyesight and spots a tall, redheaded girl. Her hair is a darker red than the Weasley orange she's used to, but there's no mistaking who it is. Hermione is almost fascinated by her, her long hair, the way she walks with such confidence in her step. She doesn't look around her when she walks, so she doesn't see James looking, but she holds her head high and stares at her destination instead of her feet. She has a few friends around her and one of them says something and she laughs. There's an aura around her, Hermione realizes right away, even so far away from her. No wonder James was smitten by her. No, not was, Hermione thinks as she looks back at James. Is.
The thought scares her and she turns away quickly. In her haste, she gets in the first carriage she sees. A group of friends has already claimed the carriage and they fall silent when Hermione gets in. It's not like sharing a carriage with people you don't know is forbidden, it's just commonly accepted that most prefer to ride up to the castle with their friends and there are more than enough carriages to go around.
By the time Hermione realizes she's gotten in an already-occupied carriage, it's too late and the Thestral-drawn carriage begins to move. The ride up to the castle has never been longer for Hermione. She has no plan for when she arrives. Can she really just walk into the Great Hall, sit down and pretend like she's a Gryffindor? Even if she gets away with it for the beginning feast, the teachers will notice her right away and wonder who she is and why she didn't report to Dumbledore's office. This is like a nightmare, she thinks, like the ones she used to have in her first year when nobody liked her and she'd dream that she showed up to class one day and no one recognized her and she was informed that she wasn't a Witch after all and returned to the Muggle world.
Professor McGonagall is standing outside the entrance doors when the carriage finally slows to a stop. Professor McGonagall is Hermione's favorite teacher. She's strict, but fair, values hard work and ambition, and has revealed on more than one occasion her kind nature and a vivid imagination through dry humor and unparalleled wit. Because of their past, Hermione has grown to notice the nuanced expressions in her professor's face, how her face looks softer and her lips are more relaxed, sometimes even tilting upwards in the facsimile of a smile, when she sees them. She's forgotten what an intimidating and scary person Professor McGonagall can be.
She's reminded just then, however, what an intimidating and scary person Professor McGonagall can be when she walks up to the carriage Hermione is in. She looks at Hermione without a shred of recognition.
"Follow me, please," she says, her tone cold and the words short and clipped. Hermione swallows hard and dread hardens in her stomach. There goes her plan to sneak in undetected.
Professor McGonagall takes Hermione to Dumbledore's office. When they approach the gargoyle statue Professor McGonagall says "Choco-loco" and the statue pivots, revealing a stairway. Hermione has never been in Dumbledore's office and that this novelty should happen when neither he nor Professor McGonagall know her is nerve-wracking.
At the top of the stairs is a big oaken door that Professor McGonagall pulls open and then ushers Hermione through. Dumbledore is sitting at his desk, a quill in his hand that he puts down when he hears them entering and looks up.
"Ah, our mysterious arrival," he says when Hermione walks in. She can tell that he doesn't recognize her either. It shouldn't be a surprise after everything she's seen, but somehow a part of Hermione believed that her present-day Dumbledore's memories would have travelled back in time with her as well and influenced this Dumbledore. It's ridiculous now that the thought actually materializes itself in her conscious mind, but she really believed Dumbledore would know her. He knows everything. "Please, sit." He gestures to a chair that had not been there when Hermione walked in.
She hesitates, then sits. Professor McGonagall is standing by the desk, peering down at Hermione like she's accusing her of some wrongdoing. Well, trying to walk into Hogwarts twenty years early is somewhat of a wrongdoing, Hermione muses. Still, she's not used to being looked at like this by teachers, or at least not by Professor McGonagall.
"With the war looming closer, we've set up a system of identifying intruders. You are not a registered student at this school," Dumbledore says. Coming from anyone else, it would have been an accusation, a demand to justify one's self. Coming from Dumbledore, it sounds more like a question, like he's curious to know who Hermione is. This calms her, strangely, and a desperate plan forms in Hermione's mind. She doesn't think it over, just blurts it out before the holes in her logic can manifest themselves.
"Has that not been taken care of?" she asks, trying her best to look confused. She's never been a good actress. Hopefully, she can be a better liar. "My name is Gabrielle Granger. I'm a transfer student from l'Académie de magie de Beauxbâtons." She figures saying it in French will give her more credibility. She thinks she notices Professor McGonagall's features relax a bit, the equivalent for her of a slack jaw. Dumbledore peers at her over the top of his spectacles. "I have the acceptance letter in my trunk, if we could just go and get it," Hermione begins to say, suddenly confident by the truth of her words.
"The trunks have already been distributed to their respective dorms," Professor McGonagall informs her coolly. "No excess baggage was reported."
Hermione gapes at her. The trunks have already been distributed? Her hopes sink. Of course, she may have been brought back to where she should have been in the past if she had existed, but her luggage didn't suffer the same fate. She swallows thickly and turns to Dumbledore. She has no choice but to keep up with her masquerade. She doesn't want to even think about what will happen to her if she's denied access into Hogwarts.
"Please," she can hear the desperation in her voice, but it's no match for what she's actually feeling. "With Vo- You-Know-Who rising in power my parents wanted to transfer me here, where I'd be safer. My mum's French but dad's English, which is why I thought you'd approved the transfer request. But now that you say I'm not actually registered, what am I to do? I've already been unregistered from Beauxbatons Academy." The tears aren't hard to summon up. It's not that Hermione particularly wants to play the damsel in distress, but it's that she actually can't prevent the tears from coming. The situation is so ludicrous – she should be in the Great Hall celebrating the start of the new school year with Harry and Ron, all of them safe and sound until further notice, but instead she's here, lying through her teeth and desperately trying not to get kicked out of Hogwarts because if she does then where will she find a collection of books as extensive as here to research a way to return home?
She manages to stop the tears quickly, focusing on closing off her throat and grinding her teeth together. She wipes her cheeks off furiously and accidentally stabs herself in the eye in the process. She feels embarrassed at having lost control like this. She can't bring herself to look at either Dumbledore or Professor McGonagall, who are both still silent.
Finally, Dumbledore speaks. "Minerva, please accompany Miss Granger to the hall to be Sorted."
Hermione's head snaps upwards just as Professor McGonagall's head pivots towards Dumbledore.
"Albus, really!" she exclaims in a rare moment of shock. She remembers herself and clears her throat. "We do not know anything about her situation, if what she says is even true."
"Minerva, the poor child is obviously distressed. If Voldemort intended me harm within the castle it is not his style to send an obviously frightened child."
"She could be under the Imperius Curse." Professor McGonagall lowers her voice when she says this but Hermione still hears it. She doesn't blame her for being worried. Voldemort was rising in power at this time, and he had already committed many atrocities. If she's not mistaken, the Order of the Phoenix must have already been created, or was on the verge of being created.
"Maybe so. We shall find out soon enough, I believe. Please escort Miss Granger to the Great Hall. We are already behind schedule. Any longer and I fear we may have a riot of hungry teenagers on our hands."
Professor McGonagall's lip tighten into such a thin line they almost disappear into her face. She turns abruptly and it takes a moment for Hermione to realize she has to follow. She scrambles to her feet to rush after her, but at the door she turns back to Dumbledore. "Thank you, sir," she says, hoping he can hear the gratitude and relief she feels flooding into her tone. "Thank you so much."
Professor McGonagall walks Hermione to the side door that leads into the Great Hall. It's only ever used by teachers and the first years once a year for the Sorting ceremony. Hermione never would have thought she'd be here, standing at the front of a line of first years, waiting to be Sorted again.
Shortly after they arrive, Professor McGonagall opens the door and leads them all through into the Great Hall. Hermione is made to go first. Professor McGonagall announces her name before even unrolling the parchment containing the names of all the new students. "Gabrielle Granger."
Excited whispering erupts throughout the entire Great Hall as Hermione steps up to the stool, her heart hammering painfully inside her chest. It's not common for a 16-year-old to be Sorted, after all; transfer students weren't unheard of but very rare. The whispering, Hermione knows, is from the older students, the thrill of having a new student in their midst. Oh, the mystery and the possibilities. Hermione almost laughs at the thought. She has no intentions of mingling with any of them. Who knows what small trivial words, even just a look, could do to the past. Just the fact that she had the meeting with Dumbledore and is being Sorted has altered the past more than she's comfortable with. What if this has already changed her present?
These thoughts run through her mind as she sits on the stool and Professor McGonagall places the hat on her head.
"Well, well, isn't this interesting," the Sorting Hat says as soon as it's placed on her head. "Aren't you a fascinating case? From the future? You'll have to tread carefully here."
"Don't I know it," Hermione mumbles, more to herself than to the hat.
"All the knowledge you hold. You're a pure Ravenclaw if I ever saw one."
Hermione's hear sinks. Ravenclaw? No way. She has nothing against the House, but it's not her House. The Sorting Hat laughs.
"Not keen on the idea, eh? Well, your bravery and loyalty does shine through all of your actions. That Harry Potter is a lucky man to have such a faithful friend. If only he knew your worry got you in this mess in the first place."
"Oh, just put me in Gryffindor already," Hermione snaps. She's not in the mood for a talking hat to tell her what she already knows. This seems to amuse the hat greatly because he spends a good few seconds cackling over Hermione's bad mood. Finally, though, he announces her "Gryffindor", and Hermione is free to stand and make her way to the cheering Gryffindor table. Hermione hears hooting and catcalls, but it's not the first time she's lived through that. She sees James and his friends clapping at the Sorting. Sirius is one of those making catcalls and Peter is doubled over laughing beside him. James grins when their eyes meet. Hermione quickly averts her gaze and sits at the furthest area away from them. Since she's near the end of the table, Hermione only has three students sitting near her, which is a relief. No one talks to her much while the Sorting goes on, but once that's over and done with and Dumbledore has delivered his speech and the food has appeared and everyone starts digging in, the questions begin.
Hermione is polite in her answers but short. She can't afford to make friends here.
"Wow, a transfer student, that's so cool! Where did you transfer from?"
"Beauxbatons Academy." Hermione wants to build her persona with as few lies as possible. If she gives Professor McGonagall proof that she's lying, she knows that even Dumbledore's compassion won't save her.
"Why did you transfer?"
Hermione lifts her head at that. "In case you haven't realized, there's a war brewing. Vol- He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is on a killing spree and no one can stop him. Right now, Hogwarts is the safest place to be. Anyone with a half a brain would realize this."
She didn't mean to lose her temper, but the girl across from her looks like Hermione stood up and slapped her. She looks so hurt that Hermione wants to apologize, but she bites her tongue and looks back down at her plate. No, she's not sorry for having spoken like that, it's the truth. Even more so now when no one knows about Harry yet. At least in her time period they have Harry, they have hope.
Dinner is interminable. It drags on and on and all Hermione wants to do is fling herself into bed. Maybe she'll wake up in her own time. Maybe this is only a temporary time-turner malfunction and she'll wake up on the train, two hours before the Sorting ceremony in her own time period. She knows how futile these thoughts are though she can't help but hope on one of these scenarios.
Eventually, everyone stops eating, full to the point of sickness, and Dumbledore bids them goodnight. Hermione plans to make a hasty retreat, escape to the dormitory ahead of everyone and hide out in the room. No one goes to bed early on the first night. They hang out in the common room and catch up with those they couldn't sit beside at the table, greet the newcomers and torture them a bit with myths and legends and usually fake horror stories about their professors.
Hermione is not so lucky. Professor McGonagall is already at the entrance of the Great Hall, waiting for her.
"Despite your transfer status, you are a 6th year student and professors will not tolerate any tardiness from an older student," she tells Hermione, "so I am assigning a Prefect to accompany you everywhere for your entire first week here."
Hermione has to fight not to roll her eyes. She doesn't need to be shown around the castle; she probably knows its nook and crannies even better than Professor McGonagall. Of course, she's not supposed to know, having just transferred from Beauxbatons. Besides, she knows it's just a cover anyway and merely Professor McGonagall's way of keeping an eye on her.
She looks at the Prefect assigned to her and nearly chokes on her own saliva. For one second, she almost thinks that she's staring right into Harry's eyes.
"Miss Granger, this is Miss Lily Evans. She has kindly volunteered to be your personal guide for the week."
It takes a moment for Hermione to gather her bearings and when she does, she's too shell-shocked to do anything but agree. "T-thank you."
Lily's resemblance to Harry ends at the eyes, thankfully, and if Hermione focuses her eyesight on Lily's face, or chin, she finds it easier to cope with the fact that she's following Harry's mother up to their dormitories.
"You'll see you'll find your bearings in no time," Lily says as they make their way up to the Gryffindor common room. Students are rushing past them, but Hermione doesn't miss the curious looks sent her way from the older students. "The only intimidating thing about this place, other than its size, is the moving stairs. Do you have moving stairs at Beauxbatons?"
"N-no," Hermione says, thrown off by the question. She tries to remember if Fleur or any of the other Beauxbatons students had ever mentioned being thrown off by the stairs at Hogwarts but all she can remember about them at this moment is how obnoxious they were.
"Gabrielle," Lily calls out suddenly and Hermione stops in tracks. In her hurry to get to the common room, she hadn't even noticed that she had started walking faster, leaving Lily behind. "You sure seem to know where you're going."
Hermione feels her face heat up and she scrambles for an excuse. "We've just been going up stairs," she says, "and besides, I figured you'd stop me if I took a wrong turn."
Lily laughs. "You're a very confident person, aren't you?" She smiles when she says this, and there's no disdain in her words, the way there is in other people's tones when they comment on how Hermione is headstrong or confident or self-assured. Tentatively, Hermione smiles back. Well, she supposes she could have landed a worse Prefect buddy.
They finally make it to the common room where Lily delivers the year's first password – "Hippogriff." Hermione smiles fondly at that.
"I suppose you'll be sleeping in our room," Lily says. "I bet the House Elves must have set up an extra bed already. Ours is on the left. You'll see our year number marked on the door so you know which one it is."
"Thank you," Hermione says, like she didn't already know. The common room is already packed full and brimming with loud talking and laughter. A few heads turn when they come into the room and now Hermione can see an interested gleam in some eyes.
"Oh, don't you want to stay in the common room for a bit? I can introduce you to everyone." Hermione recognizes the two girls Lily had been walking with on the platform and she can't think of anything she would = rather do less at that particular moment than meet them and everyone else there.
Across the room, near the fireplace, she sees James and Sirius and Remus and Peter. James is looking her way, but Remus and Sirius are discussing something, heads bent over near the fire. Sirius is laughing and Remus looks rather smug. Seeing them like this, laughing, happy… alive, makes Hermione sick to her stomach. She's overwhelmed with the need to save them, somehow.
"N-no, thank you," she finally manages to whisper. "Next time. Tomorrow. I have to lie down." Hermione pushes her way past students to get to the dormitory. She sees James turn, about to head her way, but she manages to fight through the crowd and dashes to the girl's dormitory. She slams the door shut behind her and sinks to the floor. She knows James can't follow her up, but her body is waiting for a knock or the doorknob to turn, despite that fact. When nothing happens, she finally manages to breathe more easily.
She finds her bed quickly enough, as it's the only one without a trunk at the foot. Since she has no other clothes, not pajamas or a change of robes, Hermione just strips down to her underwear and gets in under the covers. She pulls the curtains around her bed closed and hugs the pillow tightly against herself.
Hermione had thought the solitude would calm her, but now that she doesn't have to focus on avoiding James or pretending to be Gabrielle, her mind kicks into overdrive. She's so far managed to avoid getting kicked out of Hogwarts, but how will she survive? She has no money, no textbooks, and no change of clothes. Her only solace is that at least she had her wand on her when she used the time-turner. Speaking of, Hermione lifts the necklace up again. She tries turning it, but it still won't budge. The sand level in the top glass has not lowered since she looked at it on the train.
Hermione makes a fist around the time-turner and closes her eyes. She can't avoid Lily, not now that she's been made her personal guide for the next week, but she can avoid the Marauders. She'll just have to keep her head down, go to class and find a way home. There has to be some record of a similar occurrence somewhere in the library.
She had read up on the subject when Professor McGonagall had brought up the possibility at the end of 2nd year, but she hadn't done a thorough search. She'd trusted Professor McGonagall to give her a briefing on the risks of the device and the necessary precautions to take when going back in time. Professor McGonagall had done just that, and very efficiently. She couldn't have predicted Dumbledore giving Hermione another time-turner at the end of her 3rd year, in case they ever needed it, in case the worst-case scenario ever presented itself and had to be changed at all costs. Hermione thought of the battle at the Department of Mysteries and how the last-functioning time-turner is currently grasped inside of her fist. Or so she'd thought. Maybe the charm on the time-turners stocked in the Time Room had affected hers as well, although she finds that hard to believe.
No, that's a ridiculous thought. Dumbledore gave her this time-turner years before the battle took place, and Hermione's had it on her person ever since. Hermione feels fatigue slowly creep up throughout her body. It's been a long day and her emotions have been going haywire since Harry disappeared on the train. Slowly, Hermione lets herself give in to the temptation to sleep.
Starting tomorrow, she thinks as she starts dozing off, she'll go to the library and find a solution. There has to be one. She sees herself, by the end of the week, reuniting with Ron and Harry, laughing because Harry's fine and she went through all of this for nothing – but too relieved about seeing him, about being back, to be properly angry.
The thought is reassuring and Hermione clings to it, repeating it over and over in her mind as she falls asleep.