A/N: Thanks again to those who have taken the time to review - it really is nice. Constructive criticism is welcomed too, of course.

~oOo~

The ground beneath her was spongy, and also damp, judging by the cold feeling seeping through to her back. She opened her eyes with difficulty and fought past the giant stabbing headache to observe her environment. Where am I?

As the location registered, she jumped to her feet – it was the clearing in the forbidden forest. Desperately she looked to the left and right, up and down, scanning for movement. For better or worse, only a squirrel high up in the branches caught her eye. There was no sound but for the background rustling of leaves and the twittering of various birds.

With her immediate survival guaranteed, Hermione began to pat her pockets in search of her wand – any wand, in fact. The search was fruitless, but did reveal that she was wearing unfamiliar clothes. Something was terribly wrong, but it was hard to put her finger on exactly what. An expression of concentration came over her face as she looked down at herself, her front teeth worrying her bottom lip out of old habit.

Oh. My. God.

Hermione's hand flew to her face and she patted her teeth with morbid fascination. They were definitely protruding, like they used to. Why?!

Wandless charms were not something she had had a lot of time to practice previously, but she waved her hand at the nearest tree trunk hopefully.

"S-speculum."

The magic hummed down her fingers and did, pleasingly, cause part of the tree to become reflective. Unfortunately, her surprise at the success of the spell was rapidly eclipsed by her surprise at the image now before her.

It must have been a full minute that passed, unnoticed, as she gaped in horror at her younger self. Eleven? Twelve? If only this was just a dream. If only I could wake up, in the tent even, with Ron and Harry…

She could not continue to think, as the ache in her heart was as noticeable as the throbbing of her head. It became difficult to breathe and she sank back to the ground, curled up and trembling. A tide of panic was rising in her chest and she fought hard to clear her mind. Breathe in, breathe out.

As soon as the logical part of her brain was able to function again, she realised that her hand had come to rest on something papery. It was an envelope, now rather muddy and creased, with 'Hermione' inked on the front in an ornate script. By comparison to other recent events, this did not even register as odd at all. She cracked open the unmarked wax seal and withdrew a letter written in the same hand.

"I hope you will not think me rude for the abrupt nature of your departure. Rest assured that all the arrangements have been made here, and you have only to report to the Headmaster. You will find that your possessions, including a new wand, have already been brought inside.

I will meet you at King's Cross after the summer term, though you will not see me."

There was no signature, not that one was necessary. Did Death think that through the letter he had answered any of her questions, or eased her mind? He was utterly mental! Irritated, she did not even appreciate the ease with which she wandlessly shrunk the letter to fit it into her small skirt pocket.

A breeze was starting to pick up and Hermione shivered since her sweater was thin as well as damp. There was nothing for it; she was going to have to go inside. What other plan could there possibly be? She had no way of predicting Death's reaction if she refused him, and no way of knowing the scale of his omnipotence. Only too pleased to be leaving the horrid clearing, she practically ran in the general direction of the castle.

~oOo~

Death leant against the same tree he had been leaning against yesterday, though it was sixty years younger now. It was a good vantage point and would have made him inconspicuous even if he hadn't been invisible already.

"Rennervate," he whispered. The light hit the sleeping girl and she began to stir.

He had stunned her on her arrival so that he could transfigure her clothes appropriately, and leave her the letter, but it would not serve his purpose for her to know he was here now. However, that didn't mean he didn't want to see the expression on her face when she realised what he had done!

Given all she had been through recently, Death was pleasantly surprised with the speed of her reactions. Her lack of confidence in wandless magic would have to be addressed, but there would be time for that later. Why was she so obsessed with her teeth? Strange girl.

He supposed the panic attack was inevitable, though tedious to observe. He filled the time by unwrapping a newly-purchased frog. How long have they been making these things? Why did I not know about it the first time round? Just as well, perhaps – I think I'm already getting fatter. The card was that bumbling idiot Dippet, still alive in the present. He remembered collecting the old soul, remembered wondering how it could have evaded him so long with apparently no concerted effort to do so.

Looking up, Death saw that Hermione was beginning to control her breathing, and that could only be a promising sign. Eventually, she noticed the envelope. It was tricky to suppress his laughter as she read his letter, and far too tempting to slip into her thoughts afterwards. Oh Gryffindors, you are so amusing! How quaint that you think you could understand my motives. You are so young, you will learn. Meanwhile, everything is going perfectly.

Hermione stood, smoothed down her clothing, tucked the shrunken letter into her pocket and began to walk away. She had arrived unharmed – the stage was set – so his work here was done. It was time to go home and face the music.

~oOo~

Judging by the golden hue of the sunlight and the chill in the air, it was coming up to evening. Though the forest was very dense here, enough light was filtering down to show the way far better than when she had made the trip in the opposite direction, the patronus-glow shining eerily off the cobwebs.

Cobwebs.

Where are the cobwebs?!

Hermione entertained the notion that she was not in the part of the forest that she had previously thought – but surely that was impossible. Every detail of the clearing had been imprinted on her brain, and it was only… yesterday? … earlier? … that she had been there previously. Perhaps she had just taken a different path, or was looking from a different angle?

She had unconsciously halted, turning around to make absolutely sure. Not a single wisp of silver web caught her eye, though she stared and stared. Suddenly Death's words drifted across her mind.

If Tom Riddle had never made a horcrux… I am sending you back…

Dread was churning in her stomach once again and she might have felt nauseous if she could remember when she had last eaten. I was asking the wrong question. Not where am I, but when am I?

Though she had a terrible feeling that she could roughly guess, there was only one way to be sure. Breathing deeply and squaring her shoulders, she set off again. Death had not lied, of course, for he had told her almost nothing at all. Typical! It was comical how her fondness for authority figures had evaporated over the last year or so.

The trees were thinning out, eventually giving way to the grassy lawn leading to the castle. Candlelight flickered in many of the windows in recognition of the impending evening, and she was reminded of the September night she had first laid eyes on the place. Hogwarts was just as magical tonight, though the girl she had once been was unrecognisable to her now.

Was she really doomed to go through it all again? There was no knowing how; nothing in her past could possibly have prepared her for the emotional upheaval of leaving everything behind. For a fleeting moment, the notion of ending it all floated tantalisingly across her mind. Then she laughed aloud. Great thinking, Granger – kill yourself to get out of a situation created by Death. Flawless.

Whatever was to come, she must act her part today, for who could possibly believe the truth? What could they do about it anyway? She had no idea how to attempt time travel in the forward direction, even if she had a plan. Death had made her his chess piece, for reasons which were entirely unclear, and until the situation became plainer she could think of no other course of action than to play along.

Reaching the oak front doors, she nervously smoothed over her clothes and hair again. What do eleven year olds think about? I've forgotten. Shyness should cover up most things. A final deep breath and she slipped inside.

The entrance hall, complete with points hourglasses, looked exactly as she remembered. The bottom half of all four stood empty, giving her a clue as to the date if not the year. There was no more time to look around, for she began to hear footsteps on stone from somewhere above. A lurch of fear went through her, although she could not have said exactly why.

A witch had appeared on the marble staircase now, and she must have been about the age of Professor McGonagall – though that was where the visual similarity ended. Instead of the strict expression most often seen on her former Head of House, this woman was smiling serenely, and appeared to be humming. Her midnight blue robe was elegantly cut, flaring out as she walked. Her hair, although white, had been kept long and was arranged into a neat plait. Clearly the woman was a teacher, but she did not recognise her at all.

Having made these initial observations, Hermione lowered her head and pretended to study the pattern in the floor. After a few moments, the humming stopped rather abruptly.

"Oh! Hello dear – you must be Miss Granger." Trying not to let her surprise show, Hermione simply nodded and tried to smile politely.

"Did you come here by yourself? Where is Ogg?" The wheels were spinning in her mind, trying to find an acceptable answer. They had been expecting her, and so, they had sent someone to accompany her?

"I- I was told to find the Headmaster," she said. Ambiguity was the only means at her disposal. The woman was looking at her slightly oddly, but soon recovered.

"Certainly! I'll take you to the Headmaster's office now. My name is Professor Merrythought – Defence against the Dark Arts." She gestured for Hermione to follow her back up the staircase.

"Thank you, Professor." There was a moment of silence, in which Hermione remembered she was supposed to be seeing everything for the first time. As they reached the top of the marble staircase, the moving sets above came into view, and she made a small gasp. Professor Merrythought turned around and smiled.

"More than forty years I've worked here," she said, conspiratorially, "and there are things about Hogwarts that still surprise me. That's the beauty of it. There's always more to explore."

Hermione smiled back, and found it to be genuine – for a moment, the simple joy of speaking with another human was enough to lift the darkness.

"It's wonderful," was all she said.

They continued up two more flights of stairs and along the corridor until they reached the gargoyle guarding the Headmaster's office. Hermione's heart was beating fast, having so little idea of the part she was supposed to be acting.

"Osiris," said Professor Merrythought, and the gargoyle stepped aside respectfully. The revolving staircase was just as she remembered, and she still found it moderately disconcerting.

Inside the circular office, a frail man of great age sat behind the same desk that Dumbledore had always used. The portraits of previous headmasters still hung on the wall and the shelves were filled with books and magical artefacts, but Dumbledore's whirring silver knick-knacks were nowhere to be seen, and somehow the place had a comparatively impersonal feel.

"Headmaster Dippet? I found Miss Granger in the entrance hall," said Professor Merrythought, by way of attracting the old man's attention. He looked up, and recognition crossed his features.

"Ah, Miss Granger – yes. Not to worry, there's usually somebody who misses the train."

There was a solemn expression on the old man's face, and she had only a fraction of a second to wonder why before he sighed and continued. "Do accept my condolences, child, it was such a pity about your parents. Let me assure you that you'll be quite safe here at Hogwarts. I have spoken to your uncle, of course, and we've agreed that it will be best for you to stay here until the summer, to give him time to make arrangements for your care. I do hope you settle in well."

"Yes, sir," she said – and it was not hard to convey an appropriate air of desolation. My uncle? Riight. I wonder if anyone else ever had Death for an uncle? The Headmaster did not seem to have anything further to say, so there was an awkward moment in which everyone seemed to be waiting for everyone else to speak.

"R-right then," Dippet finally managed, "The other students should be here in about an hour. Professor Merrythought, could you see that Miss Granger gets ready for the feast? I must be getting along." If the witch was annoyed by the imposition on her time, she did not show it.

"Certainly, Headmaster," she said. Turning to Hermione, she added, "Come along dear. I'll have your things brought to my office and you can put your robes on in there."

Murmuring her thanks to Dippet, Hermione trotted to catch up with the defence professor. They descended back down one flight of stairs to the same classroom, and office, which had housed such a variety of teachers in the 1990s. Currently it most closely resembled how Remus had equipped it, though without the grindylow. There were more bookshelves than she remembered, too, giving the place a cosy feel.

Professor Merrythought waved her hand to light the fire, and motioned for Hermione to sit down.

"Rosie?" It was a mere fraction of a second before an elf appeared by the fireplace with a crack. Her Hogwarts tea towel was immaculately clean and her large ears were alert.

"Professor called Rosie?" The small creature bowed with an elegance that could only be called surprising, given her species.

"Yes, hello dear." Professor Merrythought smiled, and Hermione was overjoyed to see the kindness in her expression as she looked at the elf. "Rosie, this is Miss Granger. She missed the train and her belongings have been brought in separately. Do you think you could fetch them here?"

The words had barely been said before Hermione heard two more cracks, and when she looked down again there was a trunk lying beside the fireplace.

"Thank you," she stuttered out, and the elf looked pleased.

"Rosie is pleased to be meeting Miss Granger," she said, bowing again. "Will the Professor be needing anything else? Tea, perhaps?"

The older witch must have caught sight of Hermione's longing expression at the word 'tea', for she smiled and said,

"Tea would be lovely, thank you, Rosie."

The elf vanished and the rumbling of Hermione's stomach was embarrassingly audible in the following silence. A tray soon appeared on the desk between them, loaded not only with tea but small sandwiches, and Hermione had never been happier to see food.

"Tuck in dear, you look starving, but don't forget to save room for the feast!" Professor Merrythought gave the teapot a stir and proceeded to pour the tea into two china cups. Hermione took her cup gratefully, uttering her thanks, and cradled it reverently between both hands. Her mother had always used to say that there was no problem a good cup of tea couldn't help, and while she didn't imagine her mother had ever had her current situation in mind, it was nevertheless comforting.

Three cups of tea and two egg sandwiches later, she really did feel a lot better. Hogwarts was safe, the fire was warm; in fact, she had been properly dozing off by the time the Professor spoke again.

"I must run a couple of errands before the feast, I'm afraid," she said, "but I will return here at ten to eight to take you down to the Great Hall. If you could put your black robes and hat on, that would be lovely." Hermione glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece – it had just passed seven thirty.

"Yes, Professor. Thank you for the tea." Professor Merrythought got up to leave, but just as she was passing Hermione's side of the desk, she paused for a moment and seemed to consider her words.

"You'll be fine, you know, at Hogwarts. We're all a big family here." The briefest touch of a hand on her shoulder, the sound of the door closing, and she was gone.

Perhaps it was down to being an only child, or because she had not had many friends growing up, but Hermione had never liked being on her own. Of course, it was nice to have time to think, and nice to study in peace – but not alone. Especially after this last year; her thoughts could not focus, instead obsessing over every tiny unfamiliar noise and the flickering shadows formed by the firelight. Harry, Ron… I was brave for you, wasn't I? Now I have none left for me. Some Gryffindor I am.

Forcing herself to move, she examined the unfamiliar trunk carefully. It was sturdy, wooden, and brown in colour, all of which was unremarkable. Although she found it harder to sense magic without a wand, there did not seem to be any wards around it. Taking the risk, she reached out and touched it and – when that occurred without incident – opened it.

The contents of the trunk were roughly as she imagined the rest of the first years' would be. All her textbooks appeared to be there, along with a satchel holding parchment, ink and quills. There were some clothes, which she merely glanced at in order to remove the correct robes. Now was clearly not the time for a thorough appraisal of every item in her possession.

At this point, she examined her current attire in more detail, out of some vain hope that her beaded purse might be sequestered in a pocket she had overlooked – it wasn't. She was wearing a plain navy pleated skirt that reached to mid-calf, stockings and black leather shoes. Sensible shoes, her mum would have called them. They were reasonably comfortable for something that wasn't trainers. On top, her sweater was soft and probably woollen, grey in colour. There was a white blouse underneath which felt pretty similar to the ones she had worn at Hogwarts before. The damp patch from the forest floor had by now mostly dried, so she shrugged the robe on over the top indifferently. It was a fair approximation of the right size, and she was grateful not to have to attempt any wandless alterations.

Oh! Wand!

It was lying in a holster attached to the inside of the trunk's lid, and she had not noticed it at first. Her outstretched fingers trembled slightly as she reached for it. What if it did not accept her?

That thought was swept away even before her fingers had made contact with the wood. A surge of power shot towards her and she felt her own magic respond and mingle readily, creating an almost pleasurable feeling. She grasped the wand tightly – stared at it – committed it lovingly to memory. The wood was darker than her vine wand, but there was no telltale patterning on the handle to give her any clues. It was entirely plain, unassuming, long and slender. Out of some sort of childish delight, she waved the wand much like she had done long ago in Ollivander's shop.

The result was instantaneous and breathtaking. Where the Professor's desk had once stood, a luminous sapling was sprouting from the wooden floor, its slender branches spreading and stretching until they reached as high as the ceiling and nearly as far out as each wall. Before her eyes, bright blossoms opened, swaying gently in an imaginary breeze, until they began to fall down in clouds, leaving the floor carpeted in pink and white petals. Soon the tree was covered with leaves and the fruits swelled and ripened, bending the branches down under the weight.

The sound of the classroom door opening startled Hermione out of her rapt admiration of the cherry tree, and she had just enough time to mutter Finite Incantatem before Professor Merrythought was sweeping back into the office.

"Got your robe on? Ah, yes – well done! Just your hat then, dear." Hermione shoved her wand into the pocket of her robes, grabbed the hat from inside the trunk and shut the lid.

"Shall I leave this here, Professor?" she asked, indicating the trunk.

"Of course, dear. I'll have Rosie send it up to your dormitory after you're Sorted."

For some reason, Hermione had not really been considering the upcoming event of her (re-) sorting, and she must have looked apprehensive, for she felt a hand on her shoulder again.

"It's nothing to worry about, you'll see. It's not a test, and wherever you're placed, you'll find plenty of friends."

Hermione managed to nod in response, but as she followed the kindly Professor back towards the staircases, she could not shake off the notion of walking to the gallows.

~oOo~