Author's Note: I will not be completely loyal to every single event and spoken line from the game in order to better serve the story (including Main Story plot points). Moreover, I will likely proceed with the understanding that my readers have played the game and already know the gist of what's happening without needing to spell out every detail or cover every event...sometimes I want to just "get on with it already."

However, I would like to thank fellow writer Nekolvr11 and her work in process "A Hufflepuff's Guide to Fixing...Well Everything" as a source of inspiration, as well as a resource for me to confirm the timeline and Canon dialogue without having to replay the entire game a third time :) . We both share a similar love and understanding of Ominis Gaunt, so I hope to honor their story while keeping true to my own creative vision. I encourage everyone to give it a read: /s/14201802/1/A-Hufflepuff-s-Guide-to-Fixing-Well-Everything

CHAPTER 2

The following week was filled with a combination of awkwardness and emotion for Hermione. A part of her had almost desperately clung to the belief that Miriam was lying or crazy and she really hadn't been hurled over a hundred years into the past. Until, that is, she saw the latest edition of the Prophet delivered to the Fig family breakfast table and confirmed the date.

Eleazar had been distant, but polite and hospitable. He seemed distracted and scattered, almost eccentric if Hermione hadn't met truly eccentric witches and wizards over her short years in the Wizarding world. He was clearly passionate about his work, which she definitely could respect. She was also wrong-footed when he barely even mentioned her "past," or at least the past his wife had invented for her. He acknowledged her in his home, made sure she was comfortable and had everything she needed, but almost treated her like one of Miriam's friends who was staying for a while, but one that he had no personal interest in. If she was honest with herself, he reminded Hermione exactly like her father. Present in location only. Kind, but detached.

It was for the best he didn't take too keen an interest in her, Hermione reminded herself. She was a terrible liar, and if she didn't need to perform the lines she's practiced over and over in the mirror describing her background, then so much the better.

Escorted by Miriam, she had traveled to Diagon Alley to purchase necessities like a few new sets of robes, undergarments, toiletries, and other odds and ends. Hermione resisted the urge to ask for books, and put off the list of school supplies in an attempt to remain optimistic about her chances. Miriam had pursed her lips again, but not pressed the matter.

Over the rest of June, Miriam had set her down a few times over luncheons or afternoon tea and interviewed her thoroughly. Hermione could tell Mrs. Fig was disappointed by her lack of knowledge on the subject of Ancient Magic, and Hermione being Hermione, she was equally disappointed in herself. For the life of her, she couldn't recall even seeing a single mention of the topic in any of her scholastic reading, but she was determined to try and learn all she could about it and see if it held the key to her safe return to her own time. Mrs. Fig was relentless in her pursuit of any possible grain of information that might prove insightful. During those tea-interrogations, she learned every detail of Hermione's childhood and Muggle school days, her transition and life as a Hogwarts student, as well as the culture and politics of her time. No stone was left unturned, but none of them appeared to produce anything remotely helpful.

Toward the end of Hermione's third week with the Figs, Miriam announced over breakfast that she had finally received the Ministry grant she'd been waiting on to finance her next field investigation. She would be departing the following day and be away for what she hoped would only be a weekend at most. When Hermione offered to accompany her, she declined, citing her safety. Something about dangerous goblins. However, Hermione couldn't help but feel like the real reason was because Miriam had given up on her. Moved on.

The former Hogwarts Prefect, having nothing else to her name or reputation, mustered as much composure as she could and wished Mrs. Fig well in her journey.

Hermione learned the news of Miriam's death before her own husband did.

She had been home alone when a female Auror wearing an unsightly tall top hat Apparated outside the Fig cottage and knocked on the door. The Magical Law Enforcement officer had delivered the tragic announcement with an air of formality, lacking the empathy that Hermione felt should have been present. Shocked and gutted though she was, the girl felt almost grateful Eleazar hadn't been there, and that this official left as abruptly as she arrived. Irresponsible and unprofessional of her not to personally ensure the news reached Miriam's next of kin. But at least now, Hermione would be able to tell him herself with the sort of compassionate understanding he was due.

Hermione had made sure there was plenty of tea prepared when she sat the kindly professor down and broke the news that Miriam had been mysteriously killed on her research trip. It was possibly the hardest thing Hermione had ever done in her life, including trying to console Harry after he came back from the graveyard clutching Cedric's corpse the year prior. Seeing a grown, middle-aged man collapse onto the rug sobbing, and then following him to the floor and holding him close, rocking him back and forth while trying not to think of her own father had aged her mentally and emotionally.

She put Eleazar to bed that night, seeing that he was in no fit condition to care for himself.

She cooked breakfast the following morning, then delivered it to his bedroom when he didn't rise. Professor Fig forced himself to eat robotically, but only managed a few bites. That was enough for Hermione to accept that he wasn't going to die of a broken heart.

She prepared and delivered lunch, dinner...next day's breakfast, lunch, dinner...and the following day's breakfast...along with the mail delivered by owl post. She didn't pry into any letters that arrived, but noted the return addresses and names. Primarily official Ministry communications, a personal letter from someone named George Osric, and a slew of condolence letters and flowers from other professors at Hogwarts and what appeared to be family members. Hermione ensured her presence was known, but otherwise allowed Eleazar to mourn privately.

Eventually, a few days later, he emerged from his rooms. He put a weathered hand on her shoulder for a moment, and then went about his business. She knew that was a deeper display of gratitude from him than she could have received from anyone. Then, he utterly destroyed any words she had that evening when, after a slight hesitation, he passed a light colored wand to her. Hermione knew immediately it was Miriam's.

"You'll be needing a wand," he'd said, almost matter of factly. The moisture in his eyes betrayed his calm voice. "She would've wanted you to use it. At least 'till you get one of your own."

With reverence, and eyes just as wet, Hermione accepted it.

Slowly, they began to adjust. Professor Fig began speaking to her more...including her on the memorial plans, his schedule, what to expect at Hogwarts, and even teaching her basic spells that Hermione pretended not to know. She made certain she displayed her own gratitude by keeping the cottage clean and orderly, and by going to the market and preparing him breakfast and dinner each day. He didn't seem to mind that she only knew how to cook two different meals. The repetition maybe even helped him regain his footing on life a little.

The weeks came, dragged on, and then passed them by.

As August drew to a close, Hermione realized that there was no avoiding the inevitable: With Miriam's forging her existence at the Ministry, she had to go to Hogwarts... Pretend to be a brand new student starting in 5th year. As much as this notion caused her stomach to sink, she was determined to continue Miriam's research on her own by scouring the Restricted Section for any and all mentions of Ancient Magic. It would not only honor her memory, but possibly be the key to finding her way home.

The morning of September 1st arrived unceremoniously, but Hermione had found that her dread and anxiety at returning to Hogwarts had transformed into eager anticipation. Summer life with Professor Fig had been...endearing. But, she was more determined than ever to pick up where his late wife had left off and see what she could learn about this mysterious force that had brought her here and (presumably) gotten a good witch killed.

Her belongings didn't even fill a single trunk. Instead, she stuffed her robes, few books, and shrunken school supplies into a borrowed leather bag. Taking a breath to steady her nerves, the Gryffindor mentally reminded herself to dispel any expectations she may carry into the school with her. This was NOT the same Hogwarts she knew, though it may look the same. New people, new experiences, new everything. Or rather... old everything. Old experiences and old people that she may have only read about in Hogwarts: A History.

Hermione forced her eyes shut as she deliberately took another deep breath. Hopefully a hundred years was enough of a distance to not screw up the timeline too much. Or maybe it was a butterfly effect and the ripples in time she caused now would make her present unrecognizable? Numerous times over the summer, Hermione second-guessed her decision to use her real name and not create a brand new identity. Hopefully with Dumbledore in office, he would understand what occurred. Miriam had shrugged off her concern when she'd brought it up and retorted that with Hermione's crippling inability to lie, she very much doubted she could convince anybody she was anyone other than Hermione Granger. But now that her name exists in the student and government records over a hundred years in the past, how couldn't that affect her future? Just by talking to people she ran the risk of altering everything...

A bubble of panic formed in her chest, and she fought hard to smooth it over.

"Just...try not to stand out too much," she told herself. "Go to classes, keep to yourself, and blend in."

Locking the door to the cottage behind her, Hermione cast a Feather Charm on her bag to make carrying it less of a burden. Mentally, she bid farewell to the Fig family home that had housed her that summer. With luck, she would be back to her true home before the semester was finished.

Stowing Miriam's wand in her sleeve, Hermione picked up the leather bag and Apparated to a secluded alley a couple blocks from where she was to meet Professor Fig. As a staff member, he'd already been staying at Hogwarts a week before the start of term, leaving Hermione alone in the cottage to stew in her anxiety. The day prior, he'd notified her that he needed to meet a friend in London that afternoon, and would escort her to Hogwarts in time for the Sorting Ceremony. He left instructions on where to Floo, but Hermione chose instead to exercise her new ability to Apparate...making sure she appeared where he wouldn't see or hear her arrival in case it provoked questions.

Rounding the corner, Hermione spotted Professor Fig and another, squatter man standing in front of a carriage pulled by thestrals. Her breath caught in her throat as she registered the animals. The last time she'd been close to them, she was riding one that she couldn't even see. Riding it all the way to the Ministry surrounded by her closest friends, about to walk into an ambush that she wouldn't return from. She had to manually reactivate her breathing and act casual.

"It appears we are almost ready to depart," Eleazar remarked in greeting as he took Hermione's leather bag from her hand and lifted it into the luggage compartment on the back of the carriage. "Hermione, this is an old friend George Osric. He was a good friend of Miriam's, too. George, this is my charge Hermione Granger. She's been..." the professor seemed to stop himself before saying something, but resumed almost seamlessly "...very helpful over the summer. Now she's getting ready to start Hogwarts."

The portly gentleman shook her hand politely. "Nice to meet you, young lady!" he boomed cheerfully. "You're a new student? Not a transfer?"

"That's correct, sir. This will be my first time attending a magical school. I'm starting as a fifth year."

"How extraordinary! I've never heard of anyone being admitted to Hogwarts so late. I certainly hope you're up for the challenge!"

Hermione smiled courteously. "I've had a wonderful tutor getting me up to speed."

George smiled in approval. "You're right about that. Professor Fig is an exemplary teacher. You seem a good girl. I'm sure you'll do just fine." He then turned to Eleazar and appeared to resume the conversation Hermione's arrival had interrupted. "As I was saying about my letter, which you apparently didn't receive-"

"Didn't open," Fig corrected, looking a little warily around them in case someone was listening in. "George, why don't you hop in and we'll discuss this on the way to Hogwarts? We've got a Sorting Ceremony to get to, after all."

"Right so, as always. Best not speak of it here so publicly."

Hermione's curiosity piqued, but she managed to stay silent and followed the men into the carriage. Comfortably seated, and with a tap of Eleazar's wand against the ceiling, they lifted off.

"To continue, Eleazar, it was Miriam who alerted me to Ranrock's growing influence."

Professor Fig looked interested despite himself.

"She wrote to me and asked if I knew whether the Ministry was investigating his resistance movement and the activities attributed to him and his followers. But before I could respond, she sent me this with no fanfare or explanation." George reached into his pocket and pulled out a small green and bronze container. Hermione thought it looked like a very ornate, glowing cylinder tellers shot through the tubes in the drive-up banks. "She perished soon after, leading me to believe she needed to rid herself of it quickly for fear of it falling into the wrong hands."

"Sounds like Ranrock might be involved somehow," Fig murmured.

"Quite possibly. Her prior correspondence indicated her research was of similar interest to his loyalists. But whatever wards or locks are keeping this relic sealed are very powerful indeed. I asked some of our best curse breakers at the Ministry to attempt to open it, but no luck."

"Appears to be made of Goblin metal," Professor Fig remarked as he took it from George.

"Does Goblin metal glow like that, Professor?" Hermione interjected, feeling a very odd sensation in her core. She couldn't quite explain the feeling, but it felt like her lower stomach...or rather...lower than that... her womb? was almost humming with a resonance tied to the object next to her.

"Glow, you say?" George asked.

"Not sure what you mean," responded Fig.

"You mean you can't see it?" Hermione wondered aloud. Mesmerized, she reached out and took the capsule in both hands.

Immediately, she felt that thrumming in her core surge upward through her chest and down through her arms and pooling in the palms of both hands. With a whirring sound, she felt the locking mechanism give way, and the cylinder cracked open.

"Merlin's beard..." Fig whispered in wonder. He leaned closer to take a look inside, spotting an intricately crafted silver key tucked inside.

Hermione felt a draw to it, but she resisted the urge to reach in and touch it, knowing not to trust foreign magical objects.

"Professor, we should probably take this to the Ministry and-

SMASH!

One moment they were riding peacefully inside the carriage, the next... their transport had been ripped in half with a deafening roar and crunch. Splinters and shards of wood went flying, embedding them into Hermione's arm as she flung them in front of her face.

She could only watch in horror as the opposite side of the carriage separated from the bench she and Professor Fig shared to reveal it was sitting between the teeth of an enormous dragon.

George had no time to even scream before the jaws of the giant beast snapped shut, crushing him and everything that had once been part of the carriage.

And then they were falling.

Hermione found her own scream died in her throat as she simply gasped for air. Spotting the dragon beating its leathery wings to swoop down at her, she entered fight or flight... at once compartmentalizing her fear and dragging her actual brain, goddammit, back in the driver's seat. The Gryffindor looked up and saw Professor Fig reaching out to grab the mysterious cylinder as it fell next to him. She reached up and grabbed him by the waist, intending to Apparate them both to safety mere moments before the dragon could gobble them up mid-air.

However, before she could focus and spin them away, Professor Fig shouted "Accio key!"

The old silver key that had flown out of the cylinder rushed into Eleazar's outstretched hand, and instantly, Hermione felt the strong pull from her belly button. "A Portkey?" she wondered. And then everything went black.

"You're okay? You're okay. Here, drink this."

Hermione had barely opened her eyes before she felt Fig's hand shaking her by the shoulder. Not quite registering her surroundings - a dank cave by the smell and blurry images - Hermione focused on the green bottle Eleazar had shoved in her face.

"It's Wiggenweld potion. It'll heal most scrapes. Come with me. That key from the cylinder turned out to be a Portkey...a rather unoriginal irony if you ask me, but regardless, it took us here, and now I must know why."

Her whole body ached, and the girl wondered if she'd either been unconscious long, or Professor Fig really was that spry for his age. He seemed utterly unaffected by the entire ordeal. Indeed, he was teeming with excitement. With a groan, she unstoppered the vial and downed the minty contents. Maybe her mentor simply had a vast reserve of Wiggenweld up his sleeves and had shotgunned eight or nine of these before she woke up...

Groaning again, she forced herself first onto her hands and knees, and then finally upright. Eleazar was already ahead of her exploring the cave. He was rambling at her, remarking on the dragon attack, poor George, Miriam's obsession with Ancient Magic, and to keep a lookout for anything out of the ordinary. Hermione bit back a retort about how ALL this was out of the ordinary, and simply limped after him.

As they neared the back of the cave, they came upon a wall of what initially appeared to be reflective obsidian...mirror like, but clearly magical in nature, for it rippled and surged like a liquid. As she got closer, Hermione remarked that she could see a room on the other side.

"Can you really?" Fig remarked in amazement. "Incredible. Perhaps it is a door of some kind...?"

Reaching out her hand almost in spite of herself, Hermione was equally shocked and unsurprised when it touched the surface and then slipped through. Feeling a strong tug from the black material, the girl gasped and grabbed ahold of Eleazar's sleeve. But he was the opposite of helpful, as he eagerly followed her through the portal rather than even attempt to pull her back out.

In they went...

...and appeared in Gringotts? Hermione recognized the bank's interior at once. This whole day was quickly becoming far too mentally exhausting to keep up with.

"I don't believe it," wondered Eleazar. "A private entrance to Gringotts." The man dug in his robe pocket and withdrew the silver key and examined it. "This must open one of the vaults. I do apologize for this unforeseen turn of events Hermione, but I beg your indulgence. I must know why this was in Miriam's possession and what it all means..."

She was going to push back. Insist he at least deliver her to Hogwarts first before this wild goose chase. But... the look on his face was filled with hope and longing. He felt close to his wife by doing this...he felt... alive again. Her features softened as she took in his desperation.

"Of course, Professor. I'm curious too."

His face lit up like a candle.

Together, they turned and approached the welcome podium where a goblin teller was napping on the job.

Professor Fig offered a hand to help Hermione stumble out of the little railcar, but she collapsed to her knees and vomited anyway. The goblin rolled his eyes and made for the vault door.

Eleazar waved his wand and Vanished the pool of sick as his charge apologized profusely for the embarrassment, but he waved it away and gave her a hearty couple pats on the back.

Swallowing (and immediately regretting it due to the lingering taste in her mouth), Hermione shuffled after her mentor and the bank teller, who was already unlocking the massive stone door. He stepped aside and ushered his clients ahead.

"Best of luck!" laughed the goblin as he shut the door behind them, locked them inside the vault. The pair shouted in shocked outrage, but if they were both honest with themselves, very little could have surprised them at this point.

Hermione almost chuckled that her professor thought this was a good time to teach her the Revelio spell. "Give it a try. There must be something here!"

"There," she pointed at the back of the room after she successfully cast it on the first "try."

Eleazar followed her hand but didn't see the glowing door in front of them.

"It's another portal like before. I don't know why I'm the only one who can see it."

"Well, then I'm grateful I have you here with me to discover the secrets of this vault, Miss Granger. Lead the way."

Gripping his hand tightly, Hermione took a breath and placed her other hand against the black rippling doorway. Feeling that humming inside her down to her core, she let the vibrations sync together and suck them both through into the inky blackness.