Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling.

Revised, split up into chapters, and reposted on 2-3-10

The Dool Tree

Chapter 3

"...And that's really all I know, Professor. Of course Ronald and I know thatHarry was telling the truth about the Dark Lord's return, but we really can't do very much. We were planning to start this group called Dumbledore's Army, which I hope Ron and Harry won't stifle before I get back to them. It'd be a DADA club of sorts, since that...Professor Umbridge won't teach us properly."

After saying this, Hermione unstuck the lemon-drop from the roof of her mouth and continued to roll it on the back of her tongue. (She never chewed her candies on pain of cavities.)

Albus Dumbledore, the greatest wizard of the age, merely nodded, his motion feeble and aloof.

"You've been a great help, Miss Granger," he said, sounding weary. "You have, however inadvertently, proven some of my worst fears about Tom Riddle to be correct."

He sighed heavily, and Hermione fidgeted. Dumbledore had promised to discuss her personal options at the beginning of the conversation, but postponed the brainstorming until after he'd pumped her for information about the future. Now, however, she was eager to get back to her own time.

"I hope I've made things a little easier for you, sir," Hermione replied warmly, and then directed the conversation elsewhere. "Well, Professor, it's been a pleasant visit, sir, but I'd really like to get back to my own time. How can I go about that? I hope it won't be too inconvenient?"

Dumbledore's response was nil, and Hermione suddenly felt very cold.

"It...it isn't all that difficult, is it, sir?"

Solemn eyes met hers, and she blinked.

"Miss Granger...your situation is certainly unique; I've never heard of an instance of this happening before with a broken time-turner. Usually they're enchanted so as to be impervious to damage, at least in theory."

Hermione sat straighter. Dumbledore wasn't saying positively no or yes, but he sounded doubtful. But there was an answer; she was sure of that, and it would be in the library. At least, that's what she hoped.

"Before you think of research, Miss Granger," the perceptive old man said, "I must remind you that this is the magical world." The twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes was unnerving and made her jittery. She looked away, feeling strangely uncomfortable. "Now, as I recollect, there's a certain law of magic that states--correct me if I say it wrongly; as I get older, I'm afraid my memory for word order becomes increasingly wobbly--that there always will be a first time for all occurrences, and there will often be an only time for some of those. But I'm afraid I don't remember the rest."

"That's Fletcher's Law of Magic, Part One," Hermione helped, feeling more at ease when called upon to recite. "Part Two states that Of these anomalies, very few of them are ever recorded--if only because they occurred beyond the reach of literacy or because they haven't occurred yet."

Dumbledore's eyes were alight. "Very good, Miss Granger--very good indeed. You are immensely bright, I can see."

She waited for her validation, for her reward, and was disappointed at the empty space behind his words. No 'Five points to Gryffindor'? But of course, this was not the Dumbledore who had talked to her parents when she'd received her Hogwarts letter, not the Dumbledore who had seen her sorted, and not the Dumbledore would bet his last knut on her getting straight O's on her O.W.L.S. To him, she wasn't even a Gryffindor, not even a student. She wasn't even supposed to exist--she was an anomaly.

This realization began to perplex, annoy, and terrify Hermione. As a result, she fell back upon her favorite mantra: research must be done. "But there surely must be something about this sort of phenomenon, Professor! I mean, the first time-turner was constructed and tested in 1790, as I'm sure you know. After they became available as a luxury item in 1835, they were abused awfully, causing many headaches and much confusion until the Edict of Morgan in 1877, which of course banned their usage save in Ministry-approved situations. Surely within all that time, someone must have had some sort of similar experience to me..."

However, at meeting the impasse of Dumbledore's eyes, her lips stopped moving.

"As impressed as I am by your eidetic memory, Miss Granger, I sadly must inform you that I see no solution. If you wish to search for one on your own, so be it. I admire your persevering spirit and...how should I say it?...your 'can-do' attitude. You said you were a Gryffindor, and I'm certain that you're a credit to the noble house." Behind the compliments, however, Dumbledore's eyes were stern, if not a little sad.

"What are you saying, sir?" Hermione's gut was twisting inside of her, and her throat began to throb. "Are you saying...that I'll be stuck here indefinitely?"

"You must admit, Miss Granger, the likelihood of you returning to your own time isn't very good."

Emotion seized her; it was like a pronouncement of death. She wasn't ever going home. For, how could the almighty Dumbledore be wrong?

"I...for...is that..."

But she couldn't produce a single coherent word. As she bent her head, the crippling of her hope manifest in her miserable pose, she wished ardently for Ronald.

I'm never going to see him again, the realization struck her. Neither him nor Harry nor my parents nor any of my Professors nor my books nor my essays...

Her eyes closed, and she pretended for one moment that Ron...her Ron...was standing beside her with all his inglorious manliness. His nasty beard he'd been trying to grow, his ridiculous lopsided grin, his stupid Chudley Cannons shirt, his terribly intimidating biceps, his hideous red hair...

...Ronald Weasley, you get right out of my mind right now!

Her mind, against her will, began to flip through second-long snapshots of the most confusing person in her life.

How funny he looked at the Yule Ball last year...and how jealous he was of Viktor!...and, oh, how he looked at me that one time when Lavender dragged him off to snog in a broom closet...and how disgustingly he shovels food into his mouth...and how pig-headed he can be...and how stable he is, how unchanging, how manly...

And suddenly she was thinking of earlier, and of Ronald's open mouth as his eyes pried beyond the realms of propriety...which reminded her of whom exactly had encouraged her to climb that old tree, and provided a likely reason why.

Oh! How I hate him!

She began to cry wholeheartedly: mourning Ronald's puerility and her stupidity. She should have refused to climb the tree, she should have sat there and recited facts at them until they came down, she should have left them to get caught by Draco and his stupid Inquisitional Squad.

Of course, the boys never would have left her like that if she'd been the one with the silly idea to climb the tree. They would have joined her without question.

But she was Hermione Granger, and she never had silly ideas. Except...well...maybe the idea that she was as in love with Ron.

That was truly silly. Why should she be in love with such an inconsiderate pig? Especially since they'd never kissed, and he'd never paid her any attentions except as his homework whore, and now they'd never see each other again.

Yes, she was very silly indeed. And she hated herself for it.

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