Disclaimer: All characters, settings and themes recognised in the Harry Potter series belong to J.K Rowling.

Hey guys! I am so, so, so sorry for the long wait.. D: I wasn't feeling particularly creative for about a week, so that meant no writing. And then I had a whole bunch of stuff come up, and that took up all my time. :x This is also a pathetically short chapter, but I promise I'll try and make it all up in the next one.

On a better note, I'll say now that reviews make me write faster, which makes me update faster!

~ Mae

Chapter 3

Hermione had her eyes closed as tightly as they would go as she waited for something – anything – to happen. Maybe a feeling like Apparition? Or the Portkey sensation? Even a whoosh of wind would have been good. But there was nothing.

Her eyes flew open and she looked around confusedly. Had she not done it right? Did she pronounce it wrong? Was she supposed to say the spell before she took the potion? Horrified, she frantically reached for Dumbledore's letter. But he had said 'you need not do anything to take you there aside from taking the potion and speaking the incantation'. In that order. So she had done it right. Right?

Her mind raced. What would happen to her? Would she die? Would she get sick? Would she faint? She had heard that potions that were not taken correctly could result in poisoning. Or rather, she had read it, but that wasn't the point. What about Potions class? Had Severus said anything about this in any of their classes? Oh, she knew she shouldn't have fallen asleep that one class two years ago! I bet it was in that class, she thought manically. That's when Severus told us how to fix this.

Her internal panicking and rambling was interrupted by a loud crash downstairs, and she was jerked out of her reverie. She stilled, and listened intently, all alarm forgotten. There was another loud crash, and then a few shouts. Death Eaters.

How had they gotten here? How had they passed the Fidelius? Dumbledore wouldn't have told them, and they had no other Secret Keepers. Knowing Voldemort's genius, which she grudgingly admitted to, he might have found a way around it.

There was a cry. "Hermione!"

Her legs spurred into action, her only thought being that whoever had called her – Harry or Ron – could be in danger of dying. And she was not going to lose someone else today.

"I'm coming!" she shouted back as loudly as she could. She reached the door of room, and was about to pull it open when she suddenly felt the strange sensation of falling down an endless pit, and then she was covered in darkness, her last thought being 'I'll save you…'

She drifted back to consciousness slowly. There seemed to be no time involved, and every time her eyes fluttered open, she saw an old face that was…so familiar, another man who looked very confused and stupid and a girl with the brightest blue eyes she had ever seen, brighter than even Dumbledore's…and then her eyes would close again after a few seconds and she would be swallowed by dreams, because this bed she was on was so fluffy, comfy…

She came to on the 31st of August, which happened to be a Thursday. She knew this because there had been a man sitting in the seat beside her bed reading the Daily Prophet with the front cover practically shoved in her face. He was humming incessantly and it was annoying Hermione.

"Would you please stop?" she asked, irritably. "I've got a splitting headache."

The humming stopped and a face appeared above the newspaper. Hermione could barely hold in a gasp when she recognised the face of a younger Albus Dumbledore, with auburn hair and blue eyes. He looked at her curiously, excitedly, and said, "You're finally awake, are you?"

Hermione could think of no response to this that would not make him feel stupid. He was, after all, the man she respected the most, even if he did not know her yet, and she didn't want to insult him. However, her answer must have shown in her eyes, for he chuckled.

"Well, that was a painfully unintelligent question," he smiled, and she saw that it did not completely reach his eyes. There was, now that she looked, the smallest hint of sharp suspicion. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm feeling fine," she said slowly. She looked around, and concluded that she did not recognise where she was. "Where am I?"

"You are in the Hospital Wing of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," Dumbledore replied. She should have known that. She was in a bed, after all, with Dumbledore sitting in front of her. Shaking her head, she turned her focus back to him. He gestured to the empty room. "The beds have not been set up yet, as term has not started." His voice held the slightest question, and she knew that to earn his trust, she'd need to tell him everything immediately.

"Professor Dumbledore," Hermione said, ignoring his look of surprise at her knowing his name, as he had not yet asked for hers, "is there somewhere we can speak in private? I have matters to discuss with you."

There was a long pause as Dumbledore appraised her carefully. Hermione blushed under his continued gaze, but kept her eye contact. Finally, he said, "This place is as good as any other. I will set the appropriate spells to ensure we are not disturbed."

As Dumbledore set about waving his wand around the area around her bed, Hermione took a long sip of water out of the glass on the bedside table, her mind running over what had happened to her. It had seemed like only a few minutes ago, but she had just jumped years and years…and she had been unconscious for a few days as well, she surmised. A quick glance at the front cover of the Daily Prophet again, and she knew she was in 1944. Dumbledore's fingers had been covering the year in the date before, but now it was there for her to see. 1944. She felt slightly faint.

"Now," Dumbledore said, breaking into her thoughts as he sat back down on his chair, "before we begin, I think that pleasantries should be observed. They have been a little late coming, and it seems you already know my name. Nevertheless, I am Albus Dumbledore, professor of Transfiguration at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. May I enquire as to your name?" His voice was full of politeness that had never been directed towards her by him since her first and second year, since they had known each other enough to fall into casualness. It made her feel disorientated.

"Hermione Granger, sir."

"A Muggleborn?" Dumbledore's eyebrows rose. "I do not recognise your name."

Hermione only nodded, and when it was clear that she was not going to talk anymore, he sighed. "Well, what was it you wished to discuss?"

Hermione hesitated, when she remembered the documents she was supposed to have brought with her. "Oh!" she exclaimed, and she looked around, trying to find the large envelope.

"Looking for this?" Dumbledore asked, producing the envelope in question. Hermione looked at him suspiciously, and he quickly reassured her that he and no one else had looked.

Hermione slumped in relief. "Good, because Professor - those documents are for your eyes and your eyes alone."

"Oh?"

Deciding to go for the direct approach, the words tumbled from her mouth. "I'm from 1998," Hermione said bluntly.

Dumbledore didn't react as she had expected. In the small time she had had between meeting the Dumbledore of this time and having this conversation, she had imagined that he might fall out of his chair. Burst out laughing, perhaps. At the very least look shocked.

But he did none of these things. Instead, he gazed back at her, somehow looking amused and earnest at the same time. "Is that so, Miss Granger?"

Anger bubbled in her chest. This was the most inopportune time for Dumbledore's eyes to be twinkling. Before she could make out a livid response, though, he had spoken. "Make no mistake, Miss Granger, I believe you. It was merely a question, although I might have said it more tactfully."

Hermione sent him a reproachful look, and did not say a word. If anything, this made Dumbledore more amused, but he tried to keep this mainly to himself. Wiping his face of mirth, save for the smallest bit still in his eyes, he continued, "And how is it these circumstances came to be, Miss Granger? Say, in a purely hypothetical sense, that I did not believe you. What would you tell me to convince me that what you say is true? I'm sure if it had not been me here, they would have cast your story off as just that – a story – the moment it came out of your mouth."

"Well," Hermione said carefully, "there are those documents that you hold in your hand, for starters." Dumbledore's eyes immediately flew to his hand, in what seemed like supposed bewilderment, before he chuckled, mumbling something about 'old age and old memory'. Giving her a questioning look after he had settled slightly, she nodded, and he used his wand to neatly cut open the envelope.

"You do not mind, Miss Granger, if I spend the next few minutes perusing these papers?" Hermione nodded again, and Dumbledore immediately retrieved the documents from the packet and started reading them. For about fifteen minutes, the only sound in the vacant Hospital Wing was the sound of papers being shuffled. Hermione entertained herself by counting the tiles in the ceiling. She had just counted one hundred and fifty seven when a throat cleared.

"Well, Miss Granger, it seems that your story holds enough validity," Dumbledore said cheerfully, straightening the papers and placing them back into the envelope.

Hermione looked at him curiously. "What exactly did they say? I haven't actually looked through them, I only brought them here."

"That," Dumbledore replied, smiling somewhat guardedly, "is a matter between myself and myself in the future."

Hermione's curiosity was not sated, and she felt completely dissatisfied, but she nodded anyway. She had much respect for Dumbledore, even if he did not know it yet.

"You have a task," Dumbledore said, and when Hermione gave a sign of acquiescence, he continued. "My future self informed me that a student of mine, has made a Horcrux or will make a Horcrux within the next year or so, and that you are to find out what it is and notify him, or rather me, of what it is." He grimaced. "Poor Tom's soul has already been mutilated beyond repair. Fancy making multiple Horcruxes, and being under seventeen to boot!"

"I don't think it's something to sound excited about, sir," Hermione admonished, and then went slightly red when she realised she was reprimanding a man that was over a hundred years older than her. He didn't seem to be offended, but his expression quieted at her words.

"Yes," he said softly, "yes, you are right. But it amazes me. So young, so powerful. Brilliant, but terrible magic. He has so much potential, yet he uses it for the wrong reasons. If only he knew the power of love." He was looking at her in a way that made her squirm, so she changed the subject quickly.

"I was told that I was to enroll as a Seventh Year student here, Professor?" Although it was completely inappropriate, she felt excited at the idea of returning to school and finishing her incomplete education. She hadn't been to Hogwarts for a long time, and she had missed it terribly.

"Yes," Dumbledore said. "You will need to be sorted. The school term begins tomorrow, so that will be no problem. The real difficulty is coming up with a plausible story for you that Headmaster Dippet will believe, and before he comes back. Although Armando isn't the brightest fellow there is, he is not easily deceived. There is also the matter of meeting your saviour."

"My saviour?" She did not remember a saviour, but then again, she had not been awake for long. As far as she knew, she had collapsed immediately upon landing in this time. She wondered who it might be. Hazy memories were called to mind, and she briefly recalled a girl who had been watching her with Dumbledore and another man who she now had deduced was Headmaster Dippet. That girl must be her saviour then. She had stood out, because of her impossibly bright eyes… The rest of the details were fuzzy, and when she tried to remember them it made her head hurt, so she closed her eyes and just waited for Dumbledore to speak again.

"Yes, your saviour. You are lucky you were found by dear Eileen. She knew the exact potions to right you." His eyes twinkled, and he stood up. "She will no doubt stop by to see how you are, as will Armando. If you'll excuse me, I will head up to Armando's office now to explain your story to him."

Hermione nodded. "Of course, sir."

"I will return to explain your story." Dumbledore gave her a polite nod, and then strode out the Hospital Wing doors, leaving her with time to think.

Eileen? Why did the name sound so familiar to her? She rummaged through her memories for anything that could bring up a memory, and although nothing clear came up, she thought that her sixth year might have something to do with it. The professor had mentioned potions, which also caused her mind to be slightly unsettled, although she didn't know why. Eileen… With a shrug, she reasoned that she'd find out soon enough, if Dumbledore's claims were true and the girl would be coming by.

Reaching for the glass of water on her bedside table, she took a huge gulp to relieve her suddenly parched throat, before succumbing to the sleep her drooping eyes were tempting her to.