Chapter 3

20 Years Ago

"Harry, Ron. I guess I'll see you guys later," Hermione's voice was clipped, formal almost, with her sadness at leaving 'her boys' behind. Well, it had to be done. "You do know enough not to follow me, right? You'll never be able to."

Harry nodded listlessly. Closing down emotional attachments was his way of being sad. She couldn't blame him for not begging her to stay. He gave up when things went wrong now. Too many things had gone wrong for him. "How long will you be gone?"

"Oh, er, a couple of weeks, I expect," Hermione stumbled, trying to hide the truth. Would the rest of her life be like this? Lies and hurriedly spun tales of her past or future? Harry and Ron looked appalled.

"Holidays end in a couple of days! You'll miss classes!" Ron exclaimed, sputtering unintelligently. Hermione smiled sadly. The truth was, she wasn't coming home. Not to this home. Possibly to a different one, in a different stage of her life.

"I realize that. Listen, Harry. I've left a letter on your desk explaining everything. If I'm not back in a month, read it," Hermione said, brushing Harry's abnormally messy hair – even for Harry – out of his eyes lovingly. She picked up her bag and looked at them both. "I'll know if you read it before then. Goodbye, boys."

She walked out of the Burrow's front door, into the lightly falling snow of the early January winter. It covered the trees gently, giving them a lovely magical look. Not to say they weren't already magical. One boot print was made in the snow by her feet before she was whipped around by the arm to come face-to-face with a terrified-looking Harry Potter.

"You'll be back. You promised me you would always be here," he whispered, his deep voice panicked. Hermione's eyes filled with tears and she looked away. His hands brought her face back up to look at him. She saw the line of worry between his eyebrows, the slight frown that graced his perfect lips. Those green eyes that she loved so much were tearing holes in her heart with the lost look they held. "Please, Hermione!"

"Yes, Harry. I'll be back," she murmured back, pressing her face into his chest while she hugged him. She breathed in his completely Harry Potter smell and scrunched her face tightly. She'd never hug him again…she'd never see his face…

She was lying to him. It felt awful.

He could tell.

"I'll find you again. I won't stop until I do. To hell with Voldemort, with school, with anything. You're more important than world peace to me, Hermione."

"Goodbye, Harry," she whispered.

With a swirl of her cloak and the disturbing of some dirt, she disappeared into the darkness.

OoOoO

The Leaky Cauldron was deserted. After the Death Eaters had attacked it last month, not a soul had been near it. Diagon Alley was at it's all time highest poverty rating. The entirety of the city had been all but evacuated, save a few pitiable souls who had staked out refused to leave their homes. For Hermione, this was good news. There would be no interruption as she traveled through time.

In one moment of weakness, she found her eyes blurring and her lip quivering. She was leaving this. Sure, it was a disaster. Sure, it was chaos. Sure, it was just one tragedy after the next. But it was her home. It was a fight that she had vowed to stick by Harry for and here she was abandoning it when the going got tough.

Some Gryffindor she was.

Hermione shook her head as if she could shake away her thoughts with it. She set all the things she wished to take with her back in time on the floor in a circle around her. Sitting Indian style on the floor, she pulled out a piece of parchment proclaiming the spell she had so carefully crafted and took hold of her wand. Finally, all was ready.

Atsūtiet man atpakaļ divdesmit gadiem, un vieta, kur man nav asaras.

Hermione felt the wind swirling around her. It wasn't like the feeling of slight dizziness that had plagued her when she used the Time Turner in fourth year. It was more like what she imagined Harry felt when he flew his Firebolt at its highest speed. The wind rushed through her hair; she could feel the sun on her face, though she didn't know why; a joy rose inside of her until she almost couldn't bear it any longer…

And then it stopped.

Looking around, Hermione blinked in surprise. It was quite amazing, really, how much a motel room could change in just twenty years. Hermione remembered The Leaky Cauldron rooms to be tattered, dusty, and smelling of moldy Grindylow dung. Now that was not the case. The wooden floors shone with good health and hard-rubbed lemon polishing. The pink and slightly moth-eaten drapes from Hermione's age were a dark raspberry colour and billowed slightly from the breeze flowing through the sparkling windows that – oh, how wonderful! – actually opened.

Every surface in the room glowed with good care and cleanliness. The bed no longer had pilly grey cotton sheets, but creamy satin ones with a matching feather duvet and pillows. In a word, it was beautiful.

"Oh," Hermione breathed. She looked down at her belongings and laughed out loud as the bizarreness of the situation hit her, as well as the dangerousness. How lucky was she to have landed herself in a room that was not rented? She could have kicked herself for her stupidity and giggled gleefully at her luck. Instead, she listened to the hustle and bustle coming from the halls that had been long forgotten in her time.

"Oi, Prongs! I booked 319 through 322 for us! Take the usual," a male voice called. Hermione jumped as she heard someone shout from just outside her door. But that wasn't what made her blood run cold.

Prongs?

James Potter. Harry's father was standing just outside of this very room, planning to walk right into it – and her.

Without any warning, a…dear lord…a gorgeous boy of about sixteen flung open Hermione's door. He looked at her for a moment in confusion before bursting into hysterics.

"James, Tom's finally got me figured out!" The boy shouted to his mates down the hall. "He's put a girl in my room!"

Three boys came traipsing down the hall, dragging trunks and owl cages, to peer over the boy's shoulder and take a look at her on the floor.

"What's she doing down there?" The small, mousy boy asked in confusion. Hermione glared disgustedly; this could only be Peter Pettigrew.

"I reckon she fell down in awe when she saw me," the original boy said arrogantly. He had familiar grey eyes and a very trademark lopsided grin. Hermione knew exactly who this person was: Sirius Black, in the flesh.

Hermione stood up and made her way over to the boys, painfully aware of all their eyes on her, and opened the door all the way with a gesture that invited them into the room. They all piled in and flopped on various pieces of furniture. James (she guessed) on the chair, Pettigrew on the desk, and Sirius on the bed as if he belonged on it more than he belonged anywhere else. Looking at him, Hermione couldn't doubt that he'd been on many girls' beds.

"Well, hello, then," Hermione said. All three boys were lounging about, with the exception of Remus, Hermione suspected, who was standing awkwardly in the entryway. He was looking down at all of his friends disdainfully.

"You do realize how rude you're being, don't you?" He asked them pointedly. Sirius looked at him as if to say, 'duh, it's in my nature'. James scooted forward in the chair far enough to make a lame swat at Sirius' head and Pettigrew simply blushed.

"Oy, I don't believe we've been introduced!" James said in his most suave voice, which was really not-so-suave. Sirius looked at him disappointedly.

"I know who you are," Hermione said easily, forgetting where – or perhaps when – she was. They all stared at her as if she needed to be committed to St. Mungo's Ward 6. "You're James Potter, completely and impossibly in love with Lily Evans. You're Peter Pettigrew, world's biggest prick. You're Sirius Black…enough said."

Sirius attempted an indignant look, but the Marauders all turned to him with expressions that showed just how right they thought Hermione was.

"How 'bout him?" James asked, pointing at Remus, trying to conceal how impressed and unnerved he was by Hermione. She turned her attention to the handsome werewolf still standing in the doorway. Oh, God, she missed Professor Lupin.

"Remus Lupin, the only student in over a century to get more OWLs than I did," Hermione whispered. She threw her arms around Remus, realizing belatedly that he had no idea who she was. She withdrew her arms and smiled weakly. "Sorry."

"Quite alright," Remus said shyly, ignoring the 'woo's of his friends. "So, who are you?"

Hermione looked at him and his fellow Marauders, not quite sure how to respond to that question. Who was she? Well, to everyone in this decade, she was no one.

A sudden thought popped into her head. She'd taken a course on inadvertent Divination in the summer of fourth year, much to everyone's surprise. What had she learned?

Why, that most people knew things about their futures from the simple act of dreaming, of course!

She smiled slyly at all four boys.

"Guess."