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

Wow. Ok. Well. This is a longer chapter. I've been typing furiously to get this done. Consider it a peace-offering because of the last chapter. :D

~ Mae

Chapter 4

Dumbledore didn't return until what she supposed was dinnertime the day she had woken up. Her guess was based on the number of hours she thought had gone past with her staring at the Hospital Wing ceiling, however, so she didn't particularly think it accurate.

The Transfiguration professor had been mistaken, it seemed. Eileen had never come, and Hermione found herself disappointed at that. Her curiosity had been burning in her since the professor had left; who was Eileen? Why had she stirred a memory in her? And, aside from all that, Hermione meant to honestly thank this Eileen girl for saving her.

Now that she had the time to think, her mind was bombarded with worries about being back in time. She wasn't prepared for this at all. She didn't think she'd be able to cope with seeing a young Voldemort, and she knew he wouldn't be the only familiar face. What would she do if she were to meet a Weasley? Or for that matter, what if she met Draco's grandfather?

That thought caused something to stab deep into her heart, and tears to well up in her eyes. Instead of brushing them away, however, she let them flow. It wouldn't do to appear weak in a time period where Voldemort was more dangerous than ever. In the future, everyone knew who he was, but here, no one did. At least, no one who would be able to befriend and protect her. The best enemy is the one in plain sight, she knew. She had heard the stories from Harry – the stories about how charming, how handsome, how wonderful the great Tom Riddle was – and knew no one would suspect that boy of turning into the monster she knew him to be.

So she let herself cry, and surprisingly, she was only weeping for a couple of hours. She thought that once she let the floodgates open, there would be no stopping it for days, but she was wrong. Despite the fact that Draco had only died yesterday – or 54 years into the future, whichever way you took it – she was still numb from it all, and it didn't hurt her as much as she thought it would. She knew that the real pain would hit her when she least expected it.

After the crying, the rest of the time had been spent wondering what the curriculum in the past was and how she could ever fit in. What if this curriculum was harder? Or worse, what if it was too easy? What if all the males here were the chauvinists she knew to exist in the 40s? What if she was expected to only do lady-like subjects, such as Charms and Transfiguration? What if her demeanour was so different from the propriety of the 40s that she was outed before she had even started? And the most worrisome thought of all: how the hell was she supposed to befriend a teenaged Voldemort?

She avoided thoughts about her past at all costs.

The sound of footsteps startled her, and she turned her head to see Albus Dumbledore walking into the Hospital Wing with a spring in his step. It saddened her, because in the future, there was no jovial Dumbledore. Despite his crazy jokes and eccentric personality, she saw through it, and knew it was all a big farce. She saw the tired, old man burdened with the responsibility of the entire Wizarding community of Britain. She watched him longingly, wishing she had lived in a time where such carelessness was welcome, and would not result in an often fatal mistake.

"Miss Granger," Dumbledore nodded cheerfully to her, eyes twinkling. "How have you been?"

"Fine, sir," Hermione replied, trying for his sake to muster up a smile. Judging by the slight falter of his beaming face, however, she knew it wasn't quite satisfactory.

"Are you certain?" Dumbledore searched her face, trying to find what was wrong. "You do not look very well. You have not contracted an illness, have you?"

Hermione's heart warmed at the genuine fondness she felt from him. It would be just like him to become caring of someone he had known loss than a day. "No, sir," she said softly, a genuine grin making it's way onto her face now, "I sincerely doubt I have, since the few hours ago you last saw me."

Dumbledore chuckled. "Well, onto business now, Miss Granger. I have already been to talk to Armando, and needless to say, he now believes you are a young witch from a Pureblood family trying to escape Grindelwald's clutches in Germany." Hermione gaped, not noticing the minor dim in Dumbledore's eyes at Grindelwald's mention.

"What?" she spluttered, all warmth from her heart gone. "I'm sorry, sir, but I don't think I heard you right. Did you say I'm from a Pureblood family?"

"That is your cover story, yes."

"But- but-" Hermione couldn't organise her suddenly chaotic thoughts into sentences.

"I assure you, Miss Granger, it is for your own safety. It will also, I think, help you complete your task."

"You can't do that!" Hermione shouted angrily, forgetting herself. "How can you- don't you know I've spent my life- I'm a proud Muggleborn!" she finally managed to get out furiously.

"I know." Dumbledore's voice was now soothing, as if speaking to a small child, but Hermione didn't back down. "However, it is for your own good. If certain parties in the school knew your true heritage, they would not hesitate in trying to injure you."

"But I've spent my life fighting against prejudiced Purebloods! I'm not about to suddenly act the part of one, and you can't make me!"

There was no response, and Hermione, who had been yelling at the wall across from her since she thought it too disrespectful to yell in Dumbledore's face, scowled and turned her head slightly to see Dumbledore looking amused.

"Calm down, Hermione," Dumbledore said, and at the use of her first name, Hermione unexpectedly deflated. She felt the anger leave her, but the irritation was still deep in her stomach, and she glared at the professor. "You will not have to act prejudiced. As a matter of fact, the family I have put you in is known for their tolerance of Muggleborns-" her glare intensified at the word 'tolerance' – "and, while it will still turn particular people against you, it will no doubt help you in the long run. Also, it adds credence to your story, for Grindelwald is known for targeting families that support Muggleborns."

Hermione's irritation seemed to leave her for a moment, to be replaced with interest. "Grindelwald is still in the open?" From what she knew, Grindelwald had been defeated by none other than the man in front of her, but she couldn't remember when. It was times like these – and many other times – when she felt frustration towards Professor Binns, who had never taught them anything about anything other than goblin rebellions.

Dumbledore nodded solemnly, but did not elaborate.

Now that she knew that Grindelwald was still on the loose (she remembered Dumbledore mentioning him when he first explained her story, but she had been too overcome with anger to notice), she understood why putting her in a Pureblood family was the wisest choice. It still irked her, but she accepted it. "What family am I a part of now, then, sir?"

Instead of answering her, Dumbledore conjured a file out of thin air and handed it to her. She looked at him curiously, and he motioned for her to open it. She gingerly opened the file, gasped, and then dropped it into her lap abruptly.

"What- what-" Her face was suddenly stricken, and her hands trembled. Her eyes darted around, landing on anywhere but the open file, but soon her vision became blurry anyway, and it didn't matter.

"I'm sorry, dear," she heard Dumbledore say, and he took a hand of hers in his in grandfatherly affection. "Would you like to talk about it?"

She shook her head, but the action made her dizzy. She knew it…the pain would hit her hardest when she least expected it. Thank Merlin it was in private, with the only man who would not use where she was really from against her.

Her weeping was the only sound in the empty Hospital Wing for a few minutes. Hermione felt like her heart was being wrenched out of her chest, and squeezed harshly, and it was all she could do not to collapse completely.

After she was done, Dumbledore offered her a silken handkerchief, and she took it gratefully and cleaned herself up. She spent another few minutes staring straight ahead, trying to muster up the courage to read the file.

Through this all, Dumbledore waited patiently. He knew what it was like to have loved, and then lost, and when he felt her hand no longer trembled in his, he offered her the file again. She took it steadily, and stared at the picture in the right hand corner of the first piece of parchment.

Her dead husband's face stared stoically out at her, and she felt a surge of love. The same short blonde hair, the same pointed chin, the same stormy grey eyes… But when her eyes darted to the name beside it, her heart sunk awfully, for where it should say 'Draco Malfoy', it instead read 'Abraxas Malfoy'.

"You…you're putting me in with the Malfoys." Even to her, her voice sounded dreadfully flat and dead.

Dumbledore nodded.

She had wanted to have the Malfoy last name since she had met Draco and gotten to know the real boy underneath the bully, but never like this. Not when he wasn't with her, not when he wasn't even thought of. It seemed Fate was playing cruelly with her.

"You can't put me with another family?"

"No," Dumbledore replied, and there was real sorrow in his voice. "I'm sorry, but this is the family that will aid you the most. The Malfoy name alone will protect you, I am certain. I have already arranged your legal papers."

"The Malfoys…you said they tolerated Muggleborns?" The very idea was incredulous to her, because despite having married Draco, she knew that the rest of the family was about as tolerant of Muggleborns as Ron was to spiders. That is, they felt that they'd be better off squished under their boots.

"I take it they are not as understanding in the future?" Dumbledore asked mildly, and she snorted. That was all the answer he needed. "Regardless of what they are like in the future, here they are supporters of Muggleborns, which I hope appeases your fears."

Hermione said nothing, and he continued.

"You will play the part of Abraxas' cousin. His father, Hyperion, has a brother, Pallas, who has no child. However, I am certain that he will not be averse to acting as your father. He is a friend of mine, and owes me a favour or two."

"How will you explain the fact that Abraxas didn't know he had a cousin until now?"

"Pallas and his wife Clarissa have been in hiding in Germany since Grindelwald began attacking Muggleborn supporters. Naturally, he has not been in contact with Hyperion, and therefore Abraxas, for a very long time."

"And how will you explain how I got out of Germany without being killed?"

"That is up to you, my dear."

Hermione fell quiet. Her mind was thinking of any loophole she could find, so that she could force Dumbledore into putting her in with another family. "I do not look at all like the Malfoys," she finally stated, and even to her, it sounded pathetic. However, it was the only thing she could think of.

Dumbledore took out his wand, and she flinched, feeling helpless. Somewhere deep inside her mind, she knew Dumbledore wouldn't hurt her, but she was instantly in survival mode, and she had had too many wands pointed at her in her lifetime. She didn't know where her wand was, and she felt stupid for not realising it before.

Dumbledore saw her flinch, and sadness clouded his eyes. Nevertheless, he pointed his wand at her. "Don't worry, Hermione, I'm only going to be casting long-lasting Glamours on you."

Hermione's anxious look didn't drop. "Where's my wand?" she asked, her voice unexpectedly high-pitched. "Where is it?"

"Shh." Dumbledore sent her a worried look, and produced her wand out of the inside pocket of his robe. He handed it to her, and Hermione practically snatched it out of his hand. She felt blissful as her magic seeped through her at the familiar wood, and she nuzzled it lovingly in her cheek.

"Thank you sir," she whispered, feeling mortified at her display of survival instinct. "I- I don't know what came over me."

Dumbledore gave her an understanding look. "Will you allow me to cast the Glamours on you?"

She nodded timidly, her wand still held tight in her hand. Dumbledore muttered an incantation, and waved his wand over her. She felt a tingling sensation that quickly stopped. Dumbledore wordlessly conjured a mirror for her, and she cautiously peered into it.

She still looked like herself, and she felt relief wash over her. The only thing that changed was that her hair was now platinum blonde, and her eyes were the same shade as Abraxas' – or Draco's. Her hair was still a big bushy mess (even more so since she hadn't brushed it at all since she had woken up) and her eyes were still large and almond shaped. The rest of her – her peach and cream complexion, the freckles along her nose – were still the same. Despite the sadness she felt whenever she thought of her husband, she couldn't help but giggle. If only he could see her now.

"Thank you, Professor," she said sincerely, and he smiled, nodded and stood.

"Have your rest now, Miss Granger. If you are hungry, there is an assortment of food at your disposal." He nodded at the bedside table, and Hermione now noticed the food waiting there under a heating charm. "The students come tomorrow. I will leave you to your thoughts now."

He departed, and Hermione was left to sink into her thoughts.

She was a Malfoy now, but she didn't feel any joy at that. After all, it wasn't because she had married Draco. She had been referring to him as her husband, and that was what he was in her mind. However, technically they hadn't finished the ceremony, and so she never had his name legally. Instead, she now had his name as a supposed witch on the run.

She couldn't wrap her mind around the concept that the Malfoys were not 'Mudblood haters'. She had grown up at Hogwarts knowing that the family hated her type to the point where they'd kill them to be rid of them. Was this Voldemort's doing? Had he corrupted the Malfoys? Now that she thought of it, it was entirely possible.

Rage flew through her. If it wasn't for Voldemort, she might have found Draco long before desperation had pushed them together. That desperation wouldn't even exist. There would have been no war. He wouldn't have hated Muggleborns, and they might have been together. Her hand clenched. If it wasn't for Voldemort, Draco wouldn't have died and she wouldn't be here.

Voldemort was the root of all her worries, from the age of 11. The blood prejudice, her best friends Harry and Ron always putting themselves in danger, the possible extermination of all Muggleborns… it all stemmed from him.

These dangerous thoughts were making her tremble again, this time from anger. It was only when she heard her water glass explode that she was pulled from her thoughts. Feeling ashamed for letting herself get carried away, she calmed down, cleaned up the mess, and decided to eat a bit.

As she ate, and just before she went to sleep, a thought kept repeating in her head.

I will perform this mission correctly, and Voldemort will die.

~ Convertimini Tempus ~

The chirping birds awoke Hermione, and she giggled at this rather cliché way to be woken. She groped for her wand, which was stuffed under her pillow, and with a quick 'Aguamenti', her glass was filled with water, which she drank to sooth her parched throat. As she drank, she breathed in the delicious aroma of breakfast and grabbed the tray on her bedside table.

The first bite of fluffy eggs made her feel uneasy, and the second made her want to vomit. She quickly pushed the plate away, wondering what was happening to her. Her stomach was churning, and she soon realised it was nervousness. She was going to meet the other students today, as well as her teachers and the Headmaster. How was she going to survive this?

And worst of all, what if someone became suspicious of her?

She had no idea of knowing how observant the people of this time were. In her time, because of the constant attacks and not being able to determine who you could trust, everyone had been jumpy, and something as fishy as a transfer student would arouse suspicion immediately. Here, they had no big threats aside from Grindelwald, but he was still in Germany and it didn't look like he was coming to Britain anytime soon. Therefore, the people wouldn't be too worried about her sudden appearance (at least, that's what she hoped), but she would never know until she faced them.

Getting out of the bed, she realised she was wearing a plain hospital gown. It was quite thick actually, made from a heavy grey material, and reached her ankles. She frowned at it, took it off (being sure to use privacy wards) and using her wand, transfigured it into something more decent for walking around the castle, which she planned to do to pass the time. In her lap was a simple grey cotton dress, the same as Draco's eyes, with thin straps and a modest length of just above the knee. With a jolt, she realised that it was now the same colour as her eyes as well.

She felt her eyes going a bit moist, so she quickly put it on before she could stare any longer at it. She conjured a brush and ran it through the knots and tangles of her bushy hair, before her hand froze, still buried inside the nest on top of her head. A thought had occurred to her. Now that she was impersonating a non-existent Malfoy, she had to look the part, otherwise it wouldn't be half believable. She guessed that though they supported Muggleborns, they were still one of the richest families around, and had the demeanour and appearance to show it.

With a sigh, she took her wand out again and, with regret in her eyes, tapped it to her temple. There was a slightly painful tug of her hair, and then it stopped. Conjuring a mirror, she looked at herself within it and saw that her usually untamable hair was now cascading down her shoulders in beautiful curls. Despite the fact that she actually looked quite pretty now, she glared at her reflection. In her younger adolescent years, she had despised the fact that her hair would not stay down and forbade brushes from successfully calming it, but over time she had grown fond of it. It was one of the things that defined her, and one of her trademarks. Other witches thought it silly, but she wasn't too worried about her appearance anyway, always being more concerned about grades and keeping Harry alive.

Also conjuring a black cardigan to go over her grey dress and some pretty black shoes that she was admittedly fond of, she decided she didn't look too bad. She actually looked like a Pureblood bimbo now. Or, because that last thought was a bit too harsh, she looked like a witch who actually cared about her appearance.

She grinned in spite of herself, and hopped out of the bed.

"Up and about, I see," a familiar voice came from behind her, and her smile widened.

"Good morning, Professor Dumbledore," she responded, turning around. Dumbledore was standing on the other side of her bed wearing a bright orange robe covered in blue stars, and although her eyes hurt when she looked at him, she was glad he hadn't at least lost his hilarious sense of fashion over the years. "I didn't hear you come in."

Dumbledore chuckled. "I can be very quiet when I want to. What do you plan to do today? The other children will not be here until the Welcoming Feast."

"I'm going to explore the castle, sir," Hermione replied truthfully. "I want to get re-acquainted with it. I haven't been here in a year, and there are bound to be changes anyway, seeing as I'm 54 years into the past."

Dumbledore didn't ask why she hadn't been there when she was obviously still in the Hogwarts age-group. She guessed it was in the documents she had given him, and shrugged. "What about yourself, sir?"

"Just going over the term's Transfiguration curriculum," Dumbledore said, feigning great boredom. "My days are not quite as exciting as they used to be. I hope you have fun, however."

Hermione beamed at him. "Yes, sir."

~ Convertimini Tempus ~

The first place Hermione headed to was, predictably, the Library. It was open, and as she walked in, she took in the familiar and comforting smell of old parchment and books.

"Still the same," she murmured, her eyes closed. A goofy smile was now on her face, and she began perusing the books in shelves closest to her, wanting to remember the layout of the library in case it was different to the future's.

It was the same, but there was still more fun to be had – going over the books to see which ones had not been there when she had gone through these same rows of shelves. There were multiple books that she had never been able to find because they were so outdated, and to her great delight, she found them easily. Both were old Potions texts recommended to her by Severus, and she had been disappointed before when she couldn't find them. At least one good thing had come out of her trip to the past.

She spent the next few hours reading these texts in a quiet corner of the library. It was her favourite place to read, because it was almost always deserted and was situated in the small Muggle section. No one cared enough about Muggles, books about Muggles or Muggle fiction to actually look for them, and although that upset her a bit when she found out, she was now grateful, because it had given her a place among books of her own kind that would not be disturbed.

When she had finished the first text and was halfway through the second text, she began feeling uncomfortable in her hunched position and decided that she would come back to read them later. Unfortunately, the librarian of the time was nowhere to be found, so she couldn't check them out. Instead, she left the books in her corner (she hated books not being in the right place, but she didn't want anyone to take them before she could finish reading the second one) and strode out. It was two corridors away from the library that she found Eileen.

At least, she thought it was Eileen. The girl was about her age, with long black hair and a lithe body. From the side, she couldn't really tell, but she thought she was pretty. She was staring at a portrait, and Hermione approached her with a friendly smile.

"Hello," she said when she had reached the other girl, "are you Eileen?"

The girl turned to her, and slowly raised an eyebrow, appraising her. From the expression alone, she knew who this was. She had seen it on his face so many times when they had been brewing together… Severus Snape. This was Eileen Prince, his mother. She saw the girl's bright, blue eyes and wondered why Severus hadn't inherited them. They were beautiful.

"You looked different the last time I saw you," she said bluntly, eyes narrowing, and Hermione's stomach sunk. So there were observant ones…she hoped they weren't all like this. Her mind raced for a solution, and she couldn't stop the look of relief that came over her when she found one.

"Those were Glamours. I'm running from Grindelwald in Germany, and so I had to disguise myself. I'm a-"

"I know your story already," Eileen said sharply. "Dumbledore told me. You don't need to tell me again." Hermione's mouth, which had been open to hurriedly explain her cover story, snapped shut with an audible crack. She glared.

"No need to be rude about it," she hissed. "I was about to thank you for saving me, but now I see you aren't worth thanking." She turned and stomped about three steps away before Eileen's voice cut through her thoughts.

"You're awfully quick to judge." It was said softly, but Hermione heard it, and she stopped. "You're welcome, by the way."

Guilt coursed through her. This girl had saved her, and she was being immature. Part of her tried to reason that the girl had interrupted her quite rudely, but…it was Severus' mother. He had to get it somewhere, right?

She turned around, and gave Eileen a small smile. "Sorry."

"That's okay." Eileen didn't spare her another glance. She turned and began striding away from Hermione.

"Where are you going?" Hermione called after her, confused.

"Dorm," was all the other girl said, not even looking over her shoulder. Hermione didn't try to stop her from leaving, but went the other way.

That wasn't at all like she had expected their encounter to be. She had imagined a friendly girl who might jump on the chance to make friends with a new student, not Snape's mother.

Sighing, she absentmindedly walked up a fleet of stairs and found herself in front of Barnabas the Barmy's tapestry. Her encounter forgotten, a grin made its way onto her face and she turned to the opposite wall. She walked past it three times, and opened the door that stood there.

Inside was a bathroom that rivaled the Prefect's bathroom. A nice, long, hot bath was exactly what she needed right now. It would calm her before she faced the masses. And even better, there were some books in a small shelf that were charmed to be waterproof. Perfect.

~ Convertimini Tempus ~

She sat inside the Headmaster's office, looking nervous. Her hands kept creating moisture, and she frantically wiped them off on her black robes, devoid of a House crest. The man seated in front of her watched her carefully, before breaking into a smile.

"No need to be nervous, dear," he said, reaching over and patting her hand. "It's quite alright. The students here are lovely. You'll find yourself settling in no time."

Hermione swallowed thickly. She felt a bit nauseous, and wondered if Headmaster Dippet also thought it was very stuffy in there. "I…why am I here, sir, if I might enquire?"

"Ah." Armando Dippet nodded importantly, and coupled with his clueless face, it would have looked quite amusing if Hermione didn't feel like retching at the moment. "I am here to explain about tonight." He paused. "Are you well, dear? You look a little green."

"Fine," Hermione managed to choke out, before closing her mouth again hurriedly.

"Hm. Well. You'll be Sorted at the Welcoming Feast tonight-" Hermione paled even further, "- but don't worry," he said, incorrectly reading her expression, "I'm sure you'll be Sorted in no time."

All Hermione could think as the wizard blabbered on and on was what she would do when she finally saw Tom Riddle. Would she feel the need to hex his arse off as soon as she saw him? Would she need to physically control herself? Or worse, would she run and hide?

It was a few minutes later when she realised the Headmaster had stopped talking and was staring at her expectantly. She blushed under his stern gaze. "Sorry," she mumbled, "I just had a rather disconcerting thought."

"That's quite alright, Miss Malfoy," Dippet said sympathetically, and Hermione had to restrain herself from looking around to see who he was referring to when he said 'Miss Malfoy'. The only thing that stopped her was the tendril of blonde hair flying in her face that reminded her of who she was impersonating.

The Headmaster looked at his wristwatch, and his eyes bulged comically. "Is that the time? My dear, we'd best be going, before we are late to the feast!" He stood up quickly, and brushed past her. Even standing, he was only a few inches taller than the seated Hermione. "Come on, girl!" He waved his hands around erratically.

Hermione stood up, slightly entertained by the frantic man's behaviour, and followed him down the staircase from the Headmaster's office. They moved briskly from the two gargoyles that guarded the entrance, and in five minutes were standing in front of the Great Hall, where chatter could be heard. Professor Dumbledore was waiting outside for them, and with a quick nod and glance at Armando, he took Hermione from his care. The Headmaster entered the Great Hall, effectively ending the silence.

Hermione moved to follow him, but was stopped by Dumbledore.

"He is going to announce you," he said quietly, and Hermione felt slightly woozy. "Don't worry," he said, catching the look on her face. "The First Years will be going before you. When you go up, do not look around. You might see something you are unprepared for." Hermione nodded, thankful for the advice.

They waited at the entrance of the Great Hall, and soon, a crowd of 11 year olds came into sight, following a short, plump woman with a friendly face. She grinned at Dumbledore and looked at her curiously, before ordering the First Years into a single line.

"Isn't that the duty of the deputy Headmaster?" Hermione asked, watching the students line up. They looked at her with apprehension all over their faces, and she gave them an encouraging smile.

"Wherever did you hear that, Miss Malfoy?" Dumbledore replied, also watching the children. Hermione shrugged.

"That was how it went in the fu- at my old school."

Dumbledore sent her a side glance at her slip up, but nodded. "We usually send whichever teacher volunteers." His lips curled at the corners. "Otherwise, we draw straws."

Hermione burst out laughing at that, an image of her future professors (Snape and McGonagall) drawing straws brought forth in her mind. She didn't notice Dumbledore's amused glance as she watched the First Years begin entering the Hall.

After Hermione had calmed herself down, silence descended upon them again, each lost in their own thoughts. It was interrupted when Dumbledore began walking. "The Headmaster has announced your arrival, Hermione."

Hermione's tenseness was brought back full force. Don't look at anyone, she reminded herself. Eyes straight ahead. Go straight to the stool, sit down, get Sorted then sit at your table. Don't look at anyone. Taking a deep breath, she patted her hair down, smoothed her skirt, wiped her hands on the ends of her robes and, with her head held high, stepped into the Hall after the Transfiguration professor.