Chapter 4: Hermione Dumbledore Nefertari

Wednesday, June 2, 1998

12:26 P.M.

"Comfortable clothing wardrobe?"

"Check. Can't very well survive without that, can we? Have you seen what those forties styles were like? Hermione, those blokes wore tight trousers!"

"Yes, thank Merlin we're taking a twenty years supply of forties and fifties clothing modified to feel like the clothes of today, I don't think I could stand seeing you in that sort of pain. Or hear you whining about it every time you were out of uniform, take your pick. The Dumbledore Ancestral Library?"

"Erm, check... Hermione, how'd you get that in there?"

"Packing skills, Ron. It you paid a bit more attention to your Mum at the Burrow, you might have been able to get some, too. Now, 1944 sixth and seventh year textbooks so we won't have to make a trip to Diagon Alley?"

"Check, unfortunately. I cannot believe we're repeating Seventh Year. Did I say that I can't believe I agreed to do this? Hermione, do you realise, we've just graduated? We've already suffered though the advanced classes, the utterly useless homework, those NEWTS... Bloody hell, Hermione, we have to take the NEWTS again."

"Ron, I honestly hope you didn't just figure that out. Um, Malagan's Magically Sealing Condo—RONALD WEASLEY! What in Merlin's name are these?"

After spending many a week at the Weasley household, Hermione had all but perfected Mrs. Weasley's angry screech, and Ron cringed instinctively, leaping away from the coffee table as if it was contaminated.

Digging furiously into the giant group supply trunk, Hermione re-emerged brandishing a large pack of magicised rubber. "Good Merlin, I cannot believe you!" she fumed in disappointed disbelief. "Haven't you ever heard about waiting to get married, Ronald? And to think I had actually considered going out with -"

She quickly stopped before she could incriminate herself, but Ron typically hadn't noticed. Instead, he finally seemed to remember that he was a good six inches taller than her, and he gallantly drew himself up to his full height. "Well, you know what, Hermione, you're not the one having to worry about having safe sex in the first place, so give them back!" On "back", he lunged toward the pack of condoms, but Hermione danced out of his reach, holding up the box. "Stop it, Ronald!"

"Children, children", Draco's voice chided out of nowhere, and he strode gracefully into the Room of Requirement wearing a very antique-looking wizard robe. "Dumbledore's going to be here any minute to send us back fifty years in time to save the world. Do you think a scene of you two acting like first years is going to reassure him?"

"No!" Hermione exclaimed with a final, pointed look at Ron. Ignoring Draco's comment, she tossed the box up into the air. As it sailed through the air, he coiled down like a spring, but a second before he leapt up and grabbed it, she whipped out her wand and shot a well-aimed fireball into the ill-fated package.

"Hermione!" Ron wailed as wisps of charred paper rained down around the barren Room of Requirement. The smell of burned rubber permeated the air. "You kill me, Hermione, d'you realise that? You kill me!"

Draco gave Hermione one of his trademark winks. "Trust me, Weasley, in thirty years, you'll be thanking her," he assured irritated Ron. Hermione grinned and started to laugh when Ron scowled and sent a well-aimed kick in the general direction of Draco's backside. At the last minute, Draco scooted out of the way and took off across the Room of Requirement with an annoyed Ron in hot pursuit, Ron yelling, "Oy, you! Whose side are you on?"

The thought struck Hermione quite abruptly. Watching Draco and Ron run laps around the Room, all in good fun (at least for Draco—Ron looked like he wouldn't have any problem doing some serious damage to his old arch enemy), Hermione suddenly realised how beautiful her life really was. What was she doing?

Honestly, what was she thinking leaving behind this perfect world where there were new magical research breakthroughs almost every week and utterly comfortable black stretch jeans were acceptable for girls to wear and women had more independence in general?

But then she remembered. Visions of the horror of their first encounter with Voldemort in their first year; Ginny's possession in the second year and the terror that the Chamber of Secrets incident had brought about; Pettigrew's return to the Dark Lord in the third; the Dark Mark fiasco at the World Cup; the resurrection of Voldemort; the death of Cedric Diggory in the fourth. Little did she or anyone else expect that his death would be only the first of many, many to come in the years that followed.

The destruction of the Ministry of Magic at the end of their fifth year, but Sirius' death at that disaster was nothing when compared to Voldemort's total assault on Diagon Alley in the sixth, and before the Order of the Phoenix could catch its breath, all of magical London had been completely and utterly destroyed.

But then the war had really hit home, and hit home hard, when Death Eaters attacked Hogsmeade on a Saturday Hogwarts visit near the end of her seventh year. Every student in Hogsmeade, from the smallest first year to the most powerful seventh year, had fought with so much bravery, so much selflessness, that the very memory of their courage sent chills down Hermione's spine...

Despite everything they had done, by the time a team of Aurors arrived, eighty-one students had died in that assault. Over a third of them had been in Gryffindor.

And then there had been her parents.

Hermione had hardly dwelled on the thought when white, burning anger pulsed through her veins. She swore then, swore on her parents, swore on all of her beloved books and everything that she believed in that she would do everything in her power to ensure that that evilness would never, ever have the chance to make a name for itself. And she would go at it with everything she had.

Yes, she decided resolutely, no matter what happened, even the mere idea of Lord Voldemort would cease to exist after 1944. She had no idea how, or even who would end up doing what needed to be done in the end – though a part of her logically assumed it would be Harry – but, oh yes, it would be done.

Lord Voldemort, she thought darkly to the man's 1944 counterpart, You haven't got the slightest idea of what's about to hit you... but believe me, it's going to hit you so hard that you will never be the same again.

Strangely, her mind hardly felt reassured by this profound declaration of very justified purpose, but before she could dwell on it, Dumbledore entered the Room with Harry close at his side, probably talking tactics. Ginny strolled in beside Harry, her hand casually interlaced with his, the white knuckles of her hand the only giveaway to her true anxiety. Lavender followed closely behind, busily slipping her shrunken trunk and other baggage into a deep pocket of 1940s robes that she had gleaned out of Professor Sprout (and had subsequently needed to shrink significantly).

Everyone seemed uncomfortable and more than ill at ease, even the usually carefree Lavender. Hermione's heart almost stopped with the nervous anticipation of it. It was almost time. She reached a hand back to shove her hair back from her face, and her fingers instead connected with a cold sweat beading on her forehead. This is insane, her mind began to chant rather frantically. This is completely and utterly insane...

"Ah... If I could have your attention now, please". Dumbledore's calm and, to his credit, still collected voice was doing nothing to reassure her now. The old man himself looked weary and aged, as if he had passed his breaking point ten years ago. Anyone could see, from Dumbledore's face alone, that the Light forces were hanging onto life by a thin, worn thread.

A rock dropped into Hermione's stomach and did not leave. What if we really are the last chance?

"Yes, I see you that are wearing the forties uniform robes the Professors provided. Very good, very good", Dumbledore noted, attempting a weary smile at their attire. "Now, as is typical with spells of high difficulty like Impartus Infinitivum, pinpointing an exact date of destination is an extremely complicated and advanced magical technique, but I believe I have managed to fine-tune the spell to the extent that you will travel back to September 29th, 1944. To you, that means the first day of classes and the day that the Hogwarts Express will arrive."

"September 29th?" Lavender repeated with a delighted grin. "Slacking, erm ... slacking off a bit on that starting date, are they, Headmaster?" "School won't let out until June 30th, Miss Brown", Dumbledore informed her, a trace of humour in his voice.

Hermione held up the old, worn knapsack that Dumbledore had given her five days earlier. "Excuse me, Headmaster. What's this for?"

Dumbledore's eyes took on an unexpected twinkle, and he glanced from the bag to Hermione. "Well, if the bag will become what I hope it will become... You shall only find out if your purpose is fulfilled, Miss Granger". He locked his piercing gaze on hers. "I assume you do have a very specific purpose in mind for this task, do you not?"

"Erm..." Bugger, another one of his cryptic answers. Hermione quickly thought back to her earlier resolution. "Yes, sir, I believe I do," she answered cautiously.

"Very good". He continued without touching anymore on the subject, to a frustrated Hermione's chagrin. "When you arrive in 1944, you'll need to contact me immediately," he said briskly, reaching into his robes and pulling out an extremely large, thick envelope, "and give me this."

He held the package out to Hermione. Quickly, her eyes travelled down his arm to land on the package, surprised. Slowly, she reached out and took it, sending the Headmaster an inquisitive expression. "May I ask what this is, sir?"

Dumbledore patted it almost fondly. "That, my dear, is an indispensable packet that explains, to my past self, the conditions and relative circumstances of your unexpected arrival: That you are all time travellers with a required task to complete, no questions asked, as well as your previous school records. I highly recommend you share this information with no one, and I repeat no one else. I have also enclosed a smaller envelope, addressed to Headmaster Dippet, outlining the details of your transfer from the Wizarding Academy of the Sun."

A wave of enlightenment abruptly swept ever Hermione, and, with Dumbledore's final sentence, she felt nearly every remaining piece of their puzzle falling smoothly into place. "The Wizarding Academy of the Sun?" she eagerly repeated with a smile. "You don't mean to say, sir, the legendary Egyptian magical institute that would have been the oldest in the world, had it been real, dating back more than 6,000 years to the ancient Egyptian civilisations? The one that the magical world believed actually did exist, somewhere, until the theory was disproved in 1981?" Which, of course, will not be a problem in 1944, her mind concluded triumphantly.

When Dumbledore gave a hint of a smile and nodded, Hermione sucked in a respectful breath. She quickly worked out all the kinks in her mind, and a devious, concurring half-grin spreading across her face. This could work. They really might be able to pull this off. "Headmaster, you are good." "The best," Dumbledore agreed, his eyes twinkling.

"And modest, too", Lavender muttered. She giggled and dodged a tickling charm that he quickly sent her way. "Headmaster, how could you?" she exclaimed indignantly, straightening her robes with a huff. "This is serious business!"

Hermione choked and probably would have laughed at the irony of Lavender's declaration had she not been so tense herself. "So that's our story, then?" Harry asked, shifting his wand into his back pocket and crossing his arms. "That we went to this school until now? Don't you think the fact that none of us even speak Egyptian might prove to be a bit of a problem there?"

Hermione had already given this some thought, and she jumped in before Dumbledore could reply. "No, actually", she said. "We won't... Well, I have a really fantastic idea for that; I'll tell you when we get there". The moment the words left her mouth, she almost smiled. Almost. She had subconsciously moved from 'IF we get there' to 'WHEN we get there.' At this point, any kind of progress was worth it!

Dumbledore nodded. He seemed to be crossing off lines on a mental checklist. "And you all have taken the names I recommended? Ginny, Ron, it would not be wise to keep the name Weasley, your grandfather is a fifth year. You will be taking on the surname West, yes? Harry, you previously expressed your desire to change your name to Harry Evans; that's a common wizarding surname as well as a Muggle one, good, good... And Draco, you clearly cannot keep the name Malfoy, Abraxas is going to be a seventh year as well..."

"Du Lac", Draco said instantly, idly studying his hands. "Draco du Lac."

"Du Lac?" the elder man echoed, nodding thoughtfully to himself. "Yes, an old French magical family name; that will suit you well, although I do recommend learning a few lines of French before you get there... Lavender, Brown is such a common surname, you shouldn't encounter a problem with it..." Finally, his eyes landed on the former Head Girl. "And you, Hermione?"

Hermione quickly sketched out the reasoning she had come up with at two in the morning the night before. "I was planning on keeping the name Granger, Headmaster. Since I'm a first generation witch, my name shouldn't be a source of interference with anyone else in the magical world."

Oh, that look. Hermione did not like the calculating gaze Dumbledore rested upon her then. "No, Miss Granger, I actually have a slightly different plan for you", he said slowly, as if still considering what he was about to tell her. Wonderful, she thought as he continued, "I would feel infinitely more comforted if none of you travelled back to the volatile time as evident Muggle-borns."

Evident Muggle-borns...? Totally lost, Hermione jerked her head forward slightly, her right ear cocked toward the Headmaster. And Hermione did not relish being totally lost. "But Headmaster", she said uncertainly, "I am a Muggle-born."

"I do realise that Miss Granger", Dumbledore said with a small smile and a shake of his head. "With a surname like Granger, however, I fear you would become an obvious target should things not work out in the way we hope they will. As such, I have taken the liberty of fashioning a full name which I think would be best you adopted..." The elderly man paused for breath before dropping the bomb. "Hermione Dumbledore Nefertari. That's right, Miss Granger", he added, smiling more fully when Hermione's mouth fell open in utter astonishment. "I am making you my niece."

His niece? He wanted her to claim relation to the greatest wizard of the twentieth century? Again, Hermione found herself distantly wondering if the old man was insane. Giant, dark spots clouded her vision of the Headmaster before her, and she nearly felt faint... "And 'Nefertari?' " she finally managed to choke out.

"One of the oldest wizarding names in the world, Miss Granger", Dumbledore explained, "running through the ancient Egyptian crown itself until the civilisation collapsed several millenniums ago. I also took the liberty of putting proof of your new bloodline in your trunk before you closed it."

Hermione's hand automatically jumped to her pocket, fingering the shrunken trunk. And I won't even ask what that proof consists of, she thought, her mind still whirling in shock at the honour that Dumbledore had, for some reason, decided to bestow upon her. Sweet Merlin... Hermione Dumbledore Nefertari... Dumbledore Nefertari... One of the oldest wizarding names in the world...

Draco shook his head at the irony of it all. "For someone who takes pride in being a Muggle-born, Granger," he drawled helpfully, "you should probably be aware that, not only is our Headmaster making you his niece, he's basically making you about as pure-blooded as they come."

Dumbledore chuckled. Wordlessly, still in a partial shock and wondering what exactly she had done to warrant this extraordinary treatment, Hermione nodded in acceptance. "All... All right. I'll take it," she answered faintly.

"Very good. And now that that little matter has been settled..." The Headmaster's clear blue eyes suddenly became sorrowful again. Hermione vaguely understood his feeling of loss... to say that she, Harry, Ron, Ginny, Lavender, and Draco would be greatly missed would be a severe understatement. Their exit would only be six more funerals Dumbledore and the remaining professors would have to attend, not to mention the remainder of their families...

His voice weighed down with the lives of hundreds, Dumbledore uttered gravely, "It is time."