Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter- the books, the movies, or the characters.

Summary: A look into her future sparks a desperation in Hermione to change it. With the uneasy assistance of Dumbledore, she is sent back to 1944 for a chance to do just that. But dealing with Tom Riddle will prove to be more of a challenge than she would prefer.

I'm very happy that people like this so far. It makes me feel good about updating it. And just in case anyone was curious, the title of this story- Avenir Incertain- is a French translation of "uncertain future." I thought it fit well and, come on, French is ten time prettier than English.

And sorry I haven't updated all weekend. I just moved into my new apartment! Anyway, please enjoy!

Chapter 3: The Present Past

The light engulfed her. She felt her body bend and stretch unpleasantly as she fell into the vaccuum of blue and gold light. In a matter of seconds, though it seemed like an eternity longer, the awkward pressure she felt in her body subsided and her setting changed drastically from the warmth of Dumbledore's office to the cold darkness of the Forbidden Forest.

Hermione lay there for a while as she tried to regain feeling in her lower body. She must have landed on rocks. Hermione could already feel the bruises forming down her spine. With a heavy groan, she used her arms to lift herself into sitting position.

Some kind of bird made a sound above her. It was like a cross between a screech and a squak. She looked above her at the trees. The area seemed so... familiar. But not necessarily in a good way. Apprehensiveness washed over her. Hermione hoisted herself up, using a rough, heavily chipped tree trunk for support as she surveyed the area. The darkness consumed everything. There was barely a sliver of light aside from the pale moonlight that bounce off a few chips of bark on select trees. Her eyes took much longer to adjust than she would have liked. Crackling sounds behind her broke her out of her thoughts and made her gasp. She turned her head in the direction it was coming from- it was hopefully just the wind. Maybe some leaves, considering it was early September. Or a little rabbit. She could even handle a family of large, territorial deer, but nothing more.

Swallowing her fear, she began a slow and steady walk in the direction opposite of the snapping sound. She prayed it was the right direction.

The scenery didn't change much as she walked. It mainly consisted of tall, dead-looking trees and darkness. While it looked like an average forest, the air felt heavier. Gloomier.

That thought faded as she came across a cluster of ominous yew trees. Yew. These didn't grow in just any forest. She reached a hand out and ran it against the cold bark of one of them. Now she was quite sure she had landed in the Forbidden Forest. Absolutely, positively, terrifyingly sure. But how far in was she?

Hermione took a deep breath and looked around. Being paranoid was allowed at this point.

The rustling came again, only this time it didn't stop. It didn't sound like a rabbit or a kind family of deer. Her eyes widened with panic and she set aside the pain of her fall to break out into a sprint. It didn't matter that a jolt ran through her spine every time her left leg pushes off of the ground, it didn't matter that her left ankle felt decently swollen, it didn't even matter that blood was trickling from her nose past her lips. She just kept running. The noises behind her increased on volume and speed as well, confirming her suspicion that she was being followed. Of all times and places.

"Unh!" A sneaky root hooked her foot and she landed on her knees. Pain thundered through her leg and up her lower back, and she was most certain that something was either sprained or broken. Still, she pursed her lips and pushed herself up, running as fast as she could on now two skinned knees and a bruising shin. Her body was screaming.

And the she saw it- light. Light coming from behind a tall, scraggly tree maybe thirty meters ahead. It wasn't bright, but it wasn't the eery moonlight that barely touched the Forbidden Forest. She knew it was more.

Strangely enough, a slow smile spread across her face. She was almost there! Almost out!

Not a second later than her discovery, she heard a deep, angry cry. Hermione held her breath as her entire body tensed. More rustling and the sound of hooves accompanied. Hermione at least now knew her predator. A wave of nausea hit her. They would not be so understanding if they caught her. That one centaur called for more, and more did come. She ran faster, now just feet away.

Another godforsaken root tripped her, but she caught herself on a sharp trunk, adding yet another injury. Using it to her advantage, she pushed against it, practically jumping out of the Forbidden Forest. But the running didn't stop there. Hermione allowed some strangled cries and grunts to escape her, panting as she ran further and further through the field until the rustling was silenced and the forest was well behind her.

The final time Hermione tripped, it was over her own two feet and partially due to her inflamed lungs. She let herself tumble and laid there for minutes while her heartbeat went down. It was over. She was out. She closed her eyes. Of all places in the Wizarding World to land, it had to have been the Forbidden Forest in the middle of the night.

Slowly, her head cleared and she began putting together the facts.

It was September 10th, 1944. Tom Riddle was not Lord Voldemort. Albus Dumbledore was not Headmaster. The Minister of Magic was... Hermione crinkled her brows. Was it Ottaline Gambol? Perhaps.

She looked to her right, taking in the twinkling lights of Hogwarts. It hadn't changed a bit. Or rather, it wasn't going to change. It made her sad to think about things in present tense when it was so far from the present. Well, her present. It just led to her coming to certain conclusions. Looking back up at the moon, she took a breath.

It was September 10th, 1944. She was born in 1979. Her friends weren't born. Her memories were... Visions? Prophecies? God, she'd had enough of those... She was a former future student of Hogwarts-

She shook her head.

Start over.

1944. This was her time now. She would somehow enter the castle and ask to enroll. She would find Tom Riddle and destroy him. If she survived, she would live out her life as best as she could given the circumstances. She would never speak to a soul about Harry Potter, the boy who lived, or Ronald Weasley, the boy who loved, or any of the other wonderful people the left behind.

Forward? Wherever it was, they were long gone. She would make new friends and start a new family.

This was all on the off chance she survived, though.

Hermione winced. If her math was correct, were she to survive, she'd be fifty two years old when she was born.

As her body relaxed, the pain that was somewhat numbed by her exhaustion from running began to surface. She threw an arm over her eyes and clenched her jaw, willing herself not to cry. It wasn't like she could do anything to fix things. Crying certainly wouldn't do anything- she had already jumped into the pit and there was no climbing out now. She would have to deal with it for the sake of her loved ones. She would have to save them.

But... a small, selfish part of her regretted it. It almost made Hermione wish she had never found the time-turner in the first place.

"Don't be so selfish, Hermione Granger." She cringed as she sat up, preparing to stand. "The good of the many outweighs the good of the few." Even her own voice sounded like a stranger's. She felt so... disembodied. Maybe the time travel warped her a little.

Standing with her chin held high, as proudly as she could despite how broken she felt, she racked her brain for a believable explanation as to why she was here. It would have to be a solid story with few solutions other than attending Hogwarts. But what would she say? How would she persuade the Headmaster?

Who was the Headmaster...?

Hermione felt slightly ashamed of herself for not knowing. After all of the books she had read-Hogwarts, A History being among them-and all the conversations with Dumbledore, how could she not remember the Headmaster before him? She decided that it just wasn't an important piece of information, what with all the life-threatening chaos surrounding her each day.

With a tinge of anxiety shining in her brown eyes, Hermione hesitated for only a fraction of a second before beginning her trek across the grounds toward the castle.

The castle loomed over her. Was it really always this big and intimidating or was it just her current mood that made it so? Hermione stared at the front entrance of Hogwarts. She could simply walk in. But chances were slim that the school had stayed the exact same all these years. Where would she go? Which hallway would she take? Dumbledore was no longer Headmaster, and she didn't know where the current Headmaster's office was. She also didn't know who to speak to about finding said Headmaster.

There was also a slim chance that it wasn't past curfew. There wouldn't be a (rule-abiding) student left in the halls!

Well, if worst came to worst, she'd get caught by a prefect or a staff member and be taken to the Headmaster anyway. Yes, that was a great plan. So she went with it.

The large door creaked as Hermione pushed it open. She frowned. It seemed a little too easy to get inside the castle. Was it because she was already safe on the grounds? She wouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. She was in, now she just needed to attract attention.

If her legs and back weren't burning, she'd be running up and down the halls, shouting at portraits and playing on the staircases. Well, in her mind she would be. Instead, she slowly crept through the torchlit corridors, eyeing the portraits and paintings, watching for an approaching light.

"Hello?" She stopped. The sound of her voice was really something pitiful. She could do better. "Is anyone there? Hello? Please, I- I need to speak with the Headmaster. I'm here to-"

"Who is causin' such a ruckus?" A hoarse, unfriendly voice came from around the corner. Following it was a short man, not taller than five and a half feet, with a long, thin face and an almost alarmingly thin figure. He must have been close to sixty, which added to the gauntness of his features. His hair sat at his shoulder, a charcoal color, and slightly balding in the back. His dark eyes landed on her. "Who're you?"

Hermione realized that planning this conversation in her head and actually going through with it were two different things. She could have planned a speech in front of a mirror and she still wouldn't have known what to say.

Better start off small. "I-I'm Hermione Gr-" Damn it.

He raised an eyebrow at her and tapped his food impatiently. "I don' have all nigh'. State yer business or get off my groun's!"

Ah, "his" grounds. He must have been the caretaker. She held back a snigger as she thought of Filch. Was it a job requirement for caretakers to look so... homely?

No, she had to think. Had to make up a name. "Hermione Graves. I have to meet with the Headmaster. It's urgent."

He lifted his chin and widened his eyes mockingly, stepping toward her. "Oh, urgent is it? So you expect me to let a girl tha' has no business bein' here waltz righ' on to my land, demanding the comp'ny of the Headmaster." He stepped closer, cocking his head to the side. "A girl tha' righ' well might be one'a... one'a Gridelwald's stooges? Is that it?"

Hermione cringed as his eyes vibrated in paranoid excitement. "...no. Sir. I-I'm a student from... Beauxbatons. I'm here to request a transfer."

The man scoffed loudly. "Transfer? You wan' to transfer? A student has never transferred before. You're outta luck, princess." He guffawed.

"Sir, please! I must speak with him! I must transfer to Hogwarts. I will not leave until I am shown to his office." She huffed. Her face was red and her fists shook. Who was this rat of a man to tell her who she will and will not speak to? And who is he to call her princess?

He looked taken aback. Now he was on the verge of shouting. "Get off my groun's or I'll-"

"Mr. Bay, may I be of assistance?"

Hermione felt the tears well up inside of her again as-a much younger-Professor Dumbledore strolled out from behind the corner. His glasses were the same, his robes were still as flamboyant as ever, but his hair... he could have passed as Grandfather Weasley with that red tint to his beard. A small smile tugged at her mouth.

The so-called Mr. Bay gawked at him. "N-no sir." Then he looked over at Hermione's battered, dirty form. "This one says she's come to speak to Dippet-"

Dippet. That's what it was.

"-abou' transferring. Says it's urgent." He scoffed again, narrowing her eyes at her as he shook his head in distaste. Then he looked back up at Dumbledore. "Can you believe tha'? Look at her. Wha' student from Beauxbatons rolls around in the mud?"

Hermione pursed her lips. "It is urgent." Her eyes darted to Dumbledore's. "Please, Professor. I need to speak with someone."

Bay eyed her. "How'd you know he's a professor? Been spyin' on us, have you?" He looked to Dumbledore as he pointed an accusing finger at Hermione. "See? I told you she was no good!"

Dumbledore smiled and shook his head at the man. "Alright Deontos, I'm sure I can handle Miss..." His eyes asked the question on their own.

"Miss Graves..." Her voice has never been so shaky.

"I will speak to Miss Graves."

"You'll uncover 'er hidden intentions?"

"I will try my best Mr. Bay. Have a good evening." Dumbledore strode past him towards Hermione, dismissing Deontos Bay, 1944 Hogwarts caretaker, to take care of "his" land. That left the two of them alone and Hermione completely uncertain about how to initiate this conversation.

"What is this urgent matter, Miss Graves?"

Hermione wasn't sure how to tell him. Should she? Of everyone at Hogwarts, Dumbledore was surely one she could trust. And if she convinced him and gained his favor, maybe he'd help her persuade Headmaster Dippet.

But... future Dumbledore warned her not to tell anyone. Did that include himself as well? But really, how bad could it be? If she just briefly explained the Tom Riddle situation to him, he could find a way to expel him!

Who's to say he still won't turn into Voldemort though? And what if he's twice as bad after his expulsion?

She groaned.

"Miss Graves?"

Hermione was pulled from her thoughts.

Dumbledore could see worry in her eyes. It wouldn't hurt to hear the girl out. "Shall we get you to the infirmary before we talk?"

"Oh, um..." She had completely forgotten about her injuries. Looking down at herself, she realized her shirt and jeans were torn and muddy. Blood stained her hands and there was a hole in her right shoe. There was also the throbbing ache of her back and limbs. "Thank you, Professor. I would appreciate that." She amiled, almost awkwardly. It felt weird being in his presence. Especially since he wasn't the him she knew. Hermione glanced up at him as they walked. Hard to imagine that Dumbledore was ever younger. Even just slightly. The red did suit him though, she thought with a suppressed smile.

Who was she kidding? If anyone could help her, it'd be Dumbledore. If there was anyone she could trust, it would be him, she decided resolutely.

"Professor?"

His eyes sparkled when he gave her a small smile. "It can wait until you've been healed." He nodded toward the door in front of him. The door to the infirmary stood tall a few steps ahead.

Armando Dippet's stare was intimidating. Even though he was very old, balding, and couldn't seem to sit up straight, he practically loomed over her from behind his desk.

Hermione thought about what she was going to say; how she was going to persuade him to let her stay at Hogwarts. It had been easier with Dumbledore, but that was because she knew so much about him already. She could trust him with the truth.

"I'm not from here, Professor," she finally spoke up.

"Mr. Bay mentioned you had come in from Beauxbatons." He confirmed. "Is there any particular reason you and your family made such a trip?"

Hermione frowned, sighing nervously. "I'm not... from Beauxbatons."

Dumbledore's eyes gleamed. "Is that so? And where are you from, Miss Graves?"

Hermione looked up at him. Her eyes were pleading. "Hogwarts." She had to tell him. She had to disregard her promise she made to future Dumbledore. Briefly she wondered whether or not he would remember this conversation in the future... Did it work like that?

He cocked his head to the side. She could tell he was trying hard to be polite and to listen to her, but she could also see his confusion. "I'm sorry. I don't understand."

Hermione looked away again. "I'm from Hogwarts, but not... not from this time, sir."

Dumbledore was quiet now. She made eye contact again. "You're from... the past?"

Hermione smiled. "Not exactly."

"Future then..."

She nodded.

Dumbledore hesitated. "If what you say is true, then why are you here, Miss Graves?"

Hermione honestly couldn't tell if he believed her or not, but she continued to explain. Without giving too much away, of course. "I've come to stop a student from making a terrible decision, one that will affect much of the wizarding world in my time."

He raised an eyebrow in curiosity and pursed his lips. "Who?"

Hermione stuttered. "I-I can't tell you. I'm sorry. I-it might..."

Dumbledore nodded in understanding. "While your attire seems strange and you do not necessarily radiate the personality of a young witch from this period, I'm afraid I can't just take what you say as truth."

She nodded. "You're very interested in Dragon's blood, Professor. In fact, you're looking to discover the multiple ways to use it. You'll eventually discover twelve. You also are a friend of Nicolas Flamel. I can't say much, but the two of you have been working on a project together. Something very powerful," she whispered.

Dumbledore's jaw went lax as she continued, "You once told me that," She laughed thinking back at the memory. "you have a map of the London Underground above your knee. You also..." She considered telling him this, but she wasn't sure if it would alter any future events. It was just knowledge, wasn't it? Dumbledore was responsible.

He looked very unsettled. "Yes?"

Might as well. "You become Headmaster in 1970. And a great one at that."

He didn't speak, he just stared at her. His hand was limp in his lap as he sat on the edge infirmary bed across from hers. Then, without voicing his thoughts on everything she had just told him, he stood. "If you are feeling well, I will let the Headmaster know that you would like to meet with him in an hour."

Hermione gaped. "Really? Thank you so much, Professor! I'm very grateful." Her grin made her face hurt, but it soon fell when she realized he wasn't smiling back. She supposed it would be hard to go back to being lighthearted after meeting someone from the future. He must be thinking all kinds of things about it; about himself, about the student she came back for...

With a final nod, he excused himself, telling the witch in charge to take her to Dippet's office later.

Which brought her to here and now.

While convincing Dumbledore she needed to here was easy, it was different with Dippet. With him, she needed a strong story that was very much opposite the truth. "Headmaster, I really appreciate you allowing me to speak with you."

As if he had disregarded her words, he jumped straight to the point. "Professor Dumbledore has told me you wish to spend your last year of schooling here at Hogwarts. To transfer from..." He scrolled a finger down his scroll of parchment. "...Beauxbatons. Is that true?"

She cleared her throat and nodded. "Yes, sir."

Linking his fingers in front of him, he leaned forward. "In all its years, Hogwarts School has never had a transfer. While we do not discriminate, we do adhere to the system. A student begins their schooling at age eleven, when they are sorted into the houses and families that will help them grow to the best of their abilities. We pride ourselves in the witches and wizards we mold."

She snorted inwardly. Dippet molded a fine man in Voldemort, that was for sure. I bet he was shaking with pride.

"You would see how this would be a problem-allowing a... non-traditional student to enroll."

Hermione shook her head in disagreement and opened her mouth to argue, but Dippet continued.

"Each of the first years start afresh. They have limited knowledge of magic and wizarding history, so they learn together. The third years have equal general knowledge among their class, for example. As do the fifth years, and so on. You, Miss Graves, seem like a bright young witch, but unfortunately, it is highly unlikely that you match your potential classmates in magical intelligence taking into account the school from which you are transferring from."

Her fist shook. She clenched her jaw and tried not to rip the remaining hairs from the old man's head. Hogwarts was a fantastic school and it did provide the wizarding world with some of its best, but who was he to undermine the other schools?

"I regret to inform you that Beauxbatons' curricular is not quite as... advanced, as is Hogwarts'." He piled together his papers and tapped them against the desk to organize them. "I sincerely apologize, but you will not be a transfer student."

She stood quickly, surprising him. A parchment escaped his grip and landed crookedly on his desk. "You meant to tell me you're not letting me into Hogwarts because I'm not at the same level as the other seventh years?"

Dippet cleared his throat. "Miss Graves," he warned.

"Is that it, sir? You told me you did not discriminate, and here you are saying that I don't match up with yourstudents because I am from another school? Is that it or is it really because I would not be traditional? That it would not be following these... unwritten rules?"

He raised his voice slightly, still managing to sound tired despite his volume. "Miss Graves. Please sit down. I am not unjustly comparing you to my students, I am simply trying to keep my school's reputation intact."

"So my supposed level would compromise it's standing?"

He eyed her. It was not something he wanted to admit. He wanted to let her down easily and make her believe it was just the rules. But she was very adamant. "Yes. Unfortunately. Once more, I sincerely apo-"

"How do you know what my level is?" She blurted, now shaking with anger. How dare he? How dare he? Even if she were a Beauxbatons student, Hermione knew her standing with the other students. She knew she loved magic with all her heart and the school she chose would not have changed her desire to learn more. Had she really attended Beauxbatons, she still would have read the countless books on spells, charms, curses, and hexes. She still would have practiced on her own. She still would have been highly attentive in her classes. She still would have been the same, skilled witch. "Let me prove to you that I'm worthy of your school."

"Miss-" he began, but she didn't let him get a word out until she was finished with her request.

"If Hogwarts is as quality of a school as you say it is, and if you're going to be picky about the students you've raised, let me prove to you that I am worth your time."

Dippet was silent. He didn't know what to say. It was only a request-he could say no if he wanted to. There were no consequences for denying her entry. But... this was a challenge and, even in his old age, he still could not appear to be reluctant or afraid. Especially not to a student. And he knew that the professors at Beauxbatons were not nearly as advanced as his magical staff. Perhaps a test would not do any harm.

After half a minute of silence, where Hermione stood angrily, staring Dippet hard in the eye and sweating profusely beneath her blue blouse, he finally spoke.

"Alright. One performance exam, one verbal exam, and one potion."

She let out her breath, allowing her fingers to relax from their right fist. Relief. He winced a little as the words came out, Hermione noticed. Maybe he was regretting it?

He should.

But... would he keep his word? Hermione could take whatever he threw at her, but would he allow her to stay? "Headmaster, I don't want to seem disrespectful by any means. It's just that..." She sat down and flattened her skirt against her knees. "You have an amazing school and I would do anything to attend it. Even if it's just for a year."

His expression looked as though he would scoff at any moment, but he didn't. He looked down at his paper. "I understand, and you are right to feel this way."

She almost rolled her eyes at him.

Unbelievable.

"We will begin immediately with your exams."

"Um, Professor. Again, I do not want to be impolite, and-and I'm not suggesting that you are not a man of his word, but... how will I know you'll keep your promise if I pass your tests?" She fiddled with a loose thread.

He looked taken aback. "Miss Graves, I will not perform the Unbreakable Vow, if that is what you're proposing."

She held her hand up instantly. "No! No, no. That's not it. There's... a simpler spell. A promise spell. It will just make it difficult to steer from your word." She spoke slowly and without much confidence, now wondering if she had pushed this too far.

He exhaled sharply. "I am a man of my word, Miss Graves. I assure you."

Hermione smiled softly. "I don't doubt that, sir. Then the spell shouldn't be a problem for you, right?"

His gaze was scrutinizing. She felt as though she was being judged and plotted against as she spoke.

Dippet's stare was unfaltering and his breathing had sped up. The parchment underneath his bony had was crumpling with the pressure of his fingers digging into the desk. He lifted his wand. "Promitto."

Hermione gasped as a wisp of pale light swirled around her torso, up over her head, then over around Dippet's body.

"If you're quite pleased, I would like to continue with the examinations," he snapped.

She swallowed, but her throat felt dry. Hermione nodded.

"What is the purpose of Waddiwasi?"

"It forces your opponent to dance."

"Where do ashwinders raise their young?"

"They don't. They turn into dust after they lay their eggs."

He huffed. "How might one take wood from a bowtruckle?"

"They like wood lice and fairy eggs. They'll often trade with you."

"Name the witch that is the eldest daughter of the last Celtic Druid of Ireland?"

Hermione remembered reading all about her. They called her the 'Goddess of Beauty'. "Cliodna."

"What creature was released in the Triwizard Tournament that injured three school heads?"

She thought hard on this one, not quite remembering. She saw him almost smirk. And then it hit her. "A cockatrice."

"What year?"

"1792."

After over thirty more questions like those, ranging in difficulty, Hermione had passed the verbal exam. The performance was not quite as simple. Dippet had made her perform nine spells, three curses, seven charms, four hexes, and a jinx. She nearly stumbled over her densaugeo, but she had only tried it once before, and it was just out of curiosity. Who would ever use a tooth-growing hex anyway? It seemed like Dippet was trying to get her to make an error by choosing such obscurities like densaugeo.

Finally, the potion portion of the 'entrance exam' came around and, despite Hermione's anxiety, she noticed that Dippet actually looked rather impressed. "I must say, Miss Graves, you are exceedingly bright. You know much of the material."

Much? Try all!

"For your final test, I would like you to make an Alihotsy Draught." Then he grinned, the twinkle in his eyes reminding her very much of Dumbledore. "But be careful." With that, he walked across the room and sat at his desk.

Hermione took a breath. Alright. Alihotsy Draught. If not careful with it, it causes hysteria. And it was of reasonable difficulty. But she would not give up just yet.

Dippet watched her. He was proud of the witch. While he had not intended on letting her into the school, she proved worthy of a Hogwarts background, and extremely intelligent as well. Her spirit was strong, her mind was fortified, and her determination was admirable. This potion was challenging, but he found that he did not doubt her.

By the end of the examination, Hermione had completed the potion and done well. Dippet smiled at her worried expression. "Congratulations, Miss Graves. You are Hogwarts' first transfer student. Make us proud."

Hermione's heart jumped in place. Finally. She had done it. She had persuaded Dumbledore and Dippet!

"Now we must get you sorted." The hat was in for a challenge. He's never had to sort a seventh year before. Hermione followed him to where they kept it. As they removed the enchanted hat from its box and placed it on her head, she heard it hum in confusion.

"This is strange. Very strange." But there was no hesitation after that. "Gryffindor!"

Hermione grinned. She felt her stomach turn pleasantly as she remembered her first sorting. She had been so proud to be a Gryffindor. And she still was, that had not changed.

After putting the hat back in its place and with a wave of his wand, Dippet materialized a list of supplies she would need as well as a schedule for her classes. "I don't expect you to have your materials by tomorrow, but please do attend your classes. I will regret letting you attend Hogwarts if you appear to be negligent."

Hermione nodded fervently. "I will, sir. Thank you! Very much." She grinned and started toward the door, but his voice stopped her. "Miss Graves," She turned to him.

"Professor Dumbledore will show you to your dormitory."

She smiled broadly. "Of course." And she stepped out of the portrait hole.

The night before had been uneventful. Hermione walked with Dumbledore to her dorms, but they didn't speak much. He just congratulated her. She assumed he was feeling strange about her past- or rather, her future. His future. Then they had said good night and she walked into the Gryffindor living area. It was dark, but the fire burned. And it was warm and smelled the same. How funny it was that the scent of warmth and safety remained after all those years. It even looked identical to her future dorm. It was almost as if she had woken up from this dream and Ron and Harry would run down the stairs to tell her some pointless story.

What she wouldn't give to hear another one of their pointless stories.

Saddened now, she walked up to the girls' room, finding three empty beds at the end. Taking the one closest to the far wall and furthest from the other sleeping girls, she climbed under the covers and tried to sleep.

That morning, she had woken up an hour before the other girls, cleaned herself up with her wand, changed into the school robes that somehow awaited her at the foot of her bed, and left for a walk around the castle. The uniform was similar, but the skirt was longer and the style of the shirt seemed very old-fashioned. But then again, her life was now old-fashioned.

Hermione had woken up in a sour mood, probably upset from a night of sleeplessness and thoughts about her friends. The walk would do her good.

After making it down past Hagrid's Hut-or where it would have been had Hagrid been there-and around the lake, she headed back inside. Finding her way around proved difficult, for the classes were definitely not arranged the same way. With the help of a second year, as ashamed as she was to admit it, Hermione finally found it. She took a step into the Potions class and took a moment to look around. It was odd seeing the potions class so... bright was not the word for it, but it certainly was not as gloomy. The walls remained the same, but there were more candles and far less spooky decorations like the ones in Snape's class. The desks were different too, she noted.

Standing there in the doorway, she took a shaky breath. It was not easy being brave and optimistic when your entire world was brand new. Looking at her fellow students, she realized that out of the hundreds of witches and wizards that attended Hogwarts, she knew no one. Not a soul. It definitely dampened her spirits, but she would make it work. She straightened her back, lifted her chin, and patted her robes flat with her palms. If she was going to live and die in this time period, she was going to do with all the effort she could muster.

"Pardon me," someone behind her drawled.

Hermione jumped, turning to face the boy that had walked up behind her. This was her first interaction with a member of the past and her heart was thumping loudly in her chest. She wasn't sure what to say.

He laughed. "I didn't mean to startle you." The blonde boy looked up at the doorframe with a small grin on his face and raised his eyebrows. "You're just standing in the doorway and a few of us are stuck in the corridor wondering if we'll have to resort to observing the class from outside."

Something glinted in his eyes, but Hermione wasn't sure what it was. She blushed heavily. "I-I'm..." Her eyes flashed from his amused ones to the three students behind him. One was blonde, much like him but lighter, very pale, with sharp features. Another was improbably tall with black hair and a large nose. He scowled at her. The third was rather decent-looking, with dark hair and kind eyes. She could almost see a soft smile pulling at his mouth before she looked back at the person that confronted her.

"You're what?" He smirked. "Going to stand there all hour?"

While she was quite embarrassed and genuinely felt bad for blocking the way, she also felt irritated with him for mocking her in front of the rest of the class. Her brows tightened together. "In my opinion, you might as well just stay in the hall. I'm sure you'd probably do just as poorly as you would sitting in class."

He raised an eyebrow, tightening his lips. That took him by surprise, he had to admit. It wasn't like a woman to talk down to a man as swiftly as she did. And it was annoying. He opened his mouth to retort, but he was interrupted.

"Ah, Mr. Avery, I see you've met our new student. I assume you've introduced yourselves?" The question was not only directed at the two of them, but at the boys behind Avery. Slughorn smiled expectantly, nodding at them in urge to continue.

Hermione studied his face. It was so much more youthful. She could barely find her voice. She swallowed and looked back at the blonde bastard. "Hermione... Graves."

Slughorn nodded approvingly and looked at the boy.

Avery sighed, aggravated. "Durant Avery." He politely extended a hand toward her, which she hesitated before taking.

"Boys?"

Hermione watched as the kind-eyed boy stepped forward and also extended his hand. "Alphard Black. Pleasure."

Her ears felt hot. Black? As in Sirius? Was this Sirius's father? No, if she recalled correctly, his father was Orion, who married the dreadful Walburga. Then... was this an uncle? Regardless, he was probably his family. Her stomach flipped and she grabbed his hand, surprised at the pleasant warmth. "It's nice to meet you," her voice came out in a whisper, but she honestly meant it.

"I'm Abraxas Malfoy and this is Walden Macnair. Might we enter the room now? The introductions are taking far too long," declared the fair-haired boy in the hallway as he pushed through the small crowd of his friends and into the Potions class.

Slughorn looked displeased at his attitude, but he smiled at Hermione and asked her to take a seat. With one last glance at Durant Avery, noticing his glower, she sat herself down at a desk in the front row while the other boys huddled in the back corner.

It was a Slytherin-Gryffindor class. Marvelous.

The professor stepped to the front of the class and cleared his throat, setting his belongings on the desk. His fingers fumbled gracelessly over the empty vials sitting on his desk. Two fell from their stands and rolled off of the table, shattering on the stone ground. His ears reddened as he cleared his throat, peeking up at his students in embarrassment. Hermione watched Slughorn curiously, then took the time to survey the students in her row. It was almost two weeks into the school year; was he always this nervous? Judging by the blank, bored expressions by almost everyone, she would guess 'yes'. She turned her attention back to the professor as he introduced their lesson for the day.

"I'm afraid I'm not feeling very well today, so I've chosen a rather common potion to study. Could any one of you bright young witches and wizards explain to the class what Murtlap Essence is?" Slughorn's eyes glimmered in excitement as they skimmed the room of faces for a volunteer.

Hermione's hand shot up while the other clenched her quill in anticipation. Just as he let out a short, happy sound and prepared to call her name, a voice interrupted.

"Murtlap Essence relieves pain and heals cuts and scratches. It's made from strained and pickled murtlap tentacles and used often in the infirmary. Sir." came a low, almost bored voice from the back of the room nearby the door.

Hermione turned around, huffing at whoever it was that spoke out of turn. Wasn't it still common courtesy in this time period to wait until you were called on? She examined him. The boy was pale, but not sickly, with dark hair and dark eyes. He sat slightly hunched over his notebook, fingering the grey barbs of his quill. As she continued to glare from the front row, his gaze locked with hers momentarily and he seemed to question her with his eyes. She felt her cheeks warm, but as quickly as those eyes had landed on her, they had returned to Slughorn, who was positively beaming.

"Ahh, yes, yes. Excellent! Ten points to Slytherin, Mr. Riddle."

He nodded respectfully, a small, smug smile in place, and looked back down at his notebook without another word.

Her quill snapped in her hand.

Sooo... In the next few chapters, you'll see that some of the people in Tom's "group" weren't necessarily classmates of his in the books. Some attended Hogwarts a before him, other a little after, but I really wanted to include as many families as possible in this, so you'll just have to sit tight and bear with me. I promise it'll all work out.

Please review! :)