Note from Kia: Won't be able to update on Friday, so this week's chapter is early. I know I've neglected this story, and perhaps lost most of my readers, but some feedback from you would help me keep me updating regularly.

Chapter 7

1998-1978

Hermione stares at her former Transfiguration Professor as if she's suddenly grown two heads. She is stunned, but her potions-sharpened mind races.

Sirius's last year. Lily and James were alive. I wasn't born.

"But… but why? And how?"

For the first time ever Professor McGonagall looks as if she doesn't have the answer to every question in the universe. She still smiles, though.

"Hermione, I'm not really sure, but I can tell you what I know."

"At last," Remus says, leaning against the wall outside the library. "I've waited twenty years for this."

Professor McGonagall gives him a sharp look before she turns back to Hermione.

"In 1978 I was the newly appointed Transfiguration Professor here. Albus had been headmaster for at least ten years and had started to worry about the dark forces we heard had started to form some kind of organisation. We later discovered their leader was Albus's former student Tom Riddle. Maybe Albus knew already. Or suspected. Anyway, one day, May 2, a girl appeared just here outside the library. I was on my way to see Madame Pince about an overdue loan, when she, the girl, materialised out of thin air. It was you."

Hermione gasps.

"Me?"

"Well, at the time, she… you… she was a totally unknown girl. Too skinny, beaten up, exhausted. She told me the most horrifying tale about a war. A terrible war, but a war that our side had won. I didn't understand how she could know that I was on her side, this was before even the first war, mind you, there weren't any 'sides' yet, even though Albus had started to talk in his usual cryptic way about it. But this girl knew me. You knew me and when I asked you the date and year you gave me today, which was then twenty years into the future."

"But why would I…"

"And you told me that I, older I, the Minerva of 1998, had told you to go back. And you gave me this."

Professor McGonagall hands Hermione a piece of rolled up parchment.

"Open it."

With shaking fingers Hermione does so.

To whom it may concern, if Minerva McGonagall is unavailable,

This girl came to me 20 years ago. She is a Time Traveller and she has an important mission. A certain boy, of whom Sibyll Trelawney will make a prophesy in 1980, will save our world in the future. Twenty years ago I didn't know the nature of this girl's mission, but I've come to realise that it is to make sure this boy is even born. She will not do this by magic but with friendship and courage.

I suggest you place her in Gryffindor House and let her take the final exam with the other students. She is well prepared for it. 20 years ago I introduced her as my goddaughter, who found the curriculum at the Askrigg school in Yorkshire too casual and too focused on Ancient Runes, and the students and staff never questioned it.

"Harry," Hermione concluded.

"Yes. I'm sorry, dear, this is not what I wanted for you on this day of victory, but in another time line, you came to me this day, twenty years ago, and on three occasions you were… there. If you hadn't been Harry wouldn't…" Professor McGonagall makes a weak little gesture Hermione has never seen before.

"What do I do? Or what did I do?"

She's on autopilot now.

Harry. Always Harry. Damn Harry. I'll do anything for you.

"I can't tell you, because I don't know myself, I just know that you will be there."

Hermione almost rolls her eyes at the older woman. She feels patronized and kept in the dark. Why do they never tell her the whole truth? Dumbledore, Remus, Sibyll Trelawney, even Sirius for that matter, none of them has ever been totally straight forward with her.

"How can you know if you don't know how?"

Professor McGonagall takes a step closer to her and looks Hermione straight in the eye.

"Because Lily Evans told me. Lily said she had you to thank for her son in so many ways, and that you had saved him before he was even born. Harry was just a baby when Lily told me that it had been the third time you saved him. You were her very best friend. She'd mostly been with Remus since he was as bright as she, and then she got James, Sirius and Peter into the bargain."

The wish to roll her eyes and curse leaves Hermione in an instant. She feels goose bumps all over her skin and cold sweat break out at the back of her neck.

When do I leave?

"But how? How do you send me back in time?"

The look Professor McGonagall gives Hermione tells her that the unreturned Time Turner from Hermione's third year has never slipped her professor's mind. Her dry fingers caress Hermione's cheek and wander down to her neck. Hermione reaches for the gold chain around her neck and pulls it out in the light.

"But you said I only could use it in my own time line. I wasn't even born in 1978."

Professor McGonagall shrugs.

"I lied. Well, in a way. With the Time Turner you've got you can't travel outside your own time line. You know, Time Turners were an invention of an ancestor of mine, Roderick McGonagall. They are brilliant contraptions, but dangerous. When my great-great-great grandfather invented them he nearly caused havoc in Magic Britain. When people time travel years instead of hours, the risk of changing history is too large. The wings of a butterfly that cause a hurricane on the other side of the Earth and all that. Several people went back and made sure they weren't ever born. Others were careless, encountered their younger selves and killed themselves. One of them killed the other, but it was the same person. So, before Roderick McGonagall took out a patent on his invention and started to produce the Time Turners on a larger scale, he put in some magical precautions. No more than 48 hours time travel, and never without being informed about the danger of being seen. As I told you five years ago. And you only travelled hours, didn't you? May I borrow your Time Turner, Hermione?"

Hermione slips it off and gives it to her former professor. The older witch holds it in her left hand and points at it with her wand. She mutters in an unknown language and the golden, small hourglass glows for a second.

Hermione hesitates when Professor McGonagall gives the small device back to her.

"Hermione, dear. What you told me 20 years ago is what has made it possible for me to fight through two wars. You appearing out of nowhere and telling me more than you actually should have done has kept me going, fighting and believing. But we wouldn't stand here as winners today if it hadn't been for Harry. And he wouldn't even have been born if it wasn't for you."

Hermione sighs and Professor McGonagall adds:

"But from what I saw 20 years ago, you were not unhappy."

The thin gold chain is cold but warms up against her skin when Hermione returns it to where she's kept it for five years.

"I'll go. How?"

"Earlier, the number of times you turned the hourglass corresponded to the number of hours and minutes you went back, or forth. Now it's years and months. When you feel you mission is completed and you are ready to return, you need to turn the hourglass back the same number of times minus the time you spent in the past."

Hermione shivers and looks at the two others. She trusts them. She will miss them.

"I want you to give the letter to my younger self, Hermione. I just want to add something first."

Professor McGonagall scribbles something at the bottom of the parchment before she rolls it up and returns it to Hermione.

Remus clears his throat and the two women turn to him expectantly.

"There is something about you, Hermione, that isn't quite the same as when I met you 20 years ago. You weren't at Hogwarts long enough to get to know everyone, but you met a few whom you've met in your timeline too. Horace Slughorn, for instance."

Oh, so that was why he was so weird at the Christmas party.

"And Severus. I don't know if they recognised you like I did."

"When did you recognise me, Remus?"

"Before I even talked to you," he smiles. "On the Hogwarts Express before your third year. Harry or Ron said your name and when you answered I recognised your voice." Remus snaps his fingers. "You had glasses 20 years ago. I remember I always thought they suited you. Made you look really clever and bookish when we discussed something we studied. Which you were, and are, of course," he finishes softly.

"Oh, no. Not those hideous, over sized 70s glasses," Hermione sighs.

"No, not at all. More like 1950's French intellectuals."

Professor McGonagall mutters a charm with the word "occulus" in it, and a pair of horn-rimmed glasses appears in her hand.

"Like these?"

"Exactly," Remus says. "How did you know?"

"These are the only model I can conjure up. It's an exact replica of my own first pair."

Hermione tries them on and looks at her reflection in a dark windowpane. The glasses suit her. She looks intellectual, composed and confident.

"And her hair," Remus says.

"What about her hair?" Professor McGonagall asks.

"It was… eh, smaller. Not shorter, but less…"

"Frizzy," Hermione suggests.

"Maybe," he says with a half smile.

Professor McGonagall touches her hair and whispers a charm. Hermione's hair suddenly feels a notch heavier and hangs a little lower down her shoulders. She finds her reflection flattering. The glasses and her shiny hair make her look more grown up. Less like an exhausted girl and more like a young woman. She would like a shower and a change of clothes, but what she is about to do feels more important and urgent.

Remus pulls her close and kisses her cheek. His voice is hoarse when he speaks.

"Perfect. Sometimes we thought we had dreamed you. Come and see me when you get there. Minerva and I will tell Harry, Ron and the others what they need to know about your going away."

Hermione daren't look Remus in the eyes, and asks in a whisper against his skin.

"How long?"

She feels him flinch and draw a deep breath before he answers.

"Long. We knew each other well. I thought you would be with us forever, but I've come to understand that you have been as important in this time line as in the one where I first met you. Without you Harry wouldn't have… in any of the time lines. But you were happy, love. So happy. I've never seen you so happy since."

Remus voice is sad.

I've so often thought that this… these seven years since I've met Harry, the prophesy, the war, the horcrux hunt and now, today, the battle, have been Harry's cause, his war, his task. Maybe now, this is mine.

With one last look at her two former professors and the ruins of Hogwarts library, Hermione pulls out the stopper and starts to turn the inner ring that holds the golden hourglass.

One, two, three, four…

When she stops turning and locks the small stopper of the Time Turner, everything looks normal. The soft light of the library leaking out into the dark corridor, the tapestries slowly moving by the constant draft across the floor, students in school robes. Ties, scarves or badges in house colours. Hermione hasn't worn the Gryffindor gold and dark red since Dumbledore's memorial. She misses her thick striped scarf.

But everything is normal. Did I do something wrong?

She hesitates between going into the library or walking away and has just decided for the latter when a voice behind her addresses her.

"Excuse me, miss? Can I help you? You look a little lost. And you are not a student, are you?"

Professor McGonagall. The younger Professor McGonagall looks at her with curiosity, a hint of suspicion, and not a trace of recognition. Suddenly time and reality catch up with Hermione, and she realises what she has done. She has left everyone she knows. She has gone to a past she is not allowed to change. She has to prove herself once more, as she's tried to do, more or less, every day since she got her Hogwarts acceptance letter at the age of eleven. And the illusion that everything looks normal is the past, what it used to look like. No damages from the battle, no rows upon rows of dead in the Great Hall, no inconsolable George Weasley or stoic but grieving Remus Lupin. She can't speak and she can feel tears streaming down her face. Professor McGonagall looks concerned and takes Hermione by the arm. It's her left arm where the word "Mudblood" never heals, no matter how she cleans it. She can't hold back a cry of pain and the older witch releases her immediately.

"Miss? Please, try to calm down. I won't hurt you and I won't throw you out. Will you please come with me and explain who you are and what you are doing here? If you follow me to my rooms I can make you a cup if tea and… Are you seriously hurt, miss? You're bleeding. Right… here." Professor McGonagall doesn't touch her, but indicates her left temple.

"No, no, I'm fine. It's nothing," Hermione manages to say through the fog of tears and panic. "And I would very much like a cup of tea. I have a letter for you, Professor McGonagall."

The older witch's eyes widen when Hermione uses her name, but she doesn't ask anything and leads the way to her rooms.

Hermione had never known where the Gryffindor Head of House had her private rooms. It turns out to be on the first floor of Gryffindor Tower, two or three floors below the students' common room, depending on the moving stairs. Professor McGonagall ushers Hermione inside. Soon a fire is roaring in the fireplace and a tray with teacups and biscuits stands on a small table between two armchairs. Hermione stands rooted on the spot, unable to move.

"Miss? My name is Minerva McGonagall, and for some reason you already seem to know this. I don't know yours, though. Please, come and sit here by the fire and tell me your name."

Hermione shuffles towards the fire and sinks down in the empty chair.

"My name is Hermione Granger, and I come from… another time. Ten minutes ago I spoke to you in that other time, and on your advice I came here, to this time." Professor McGonagall looks more surprised than Hermione has ever seen her. "And I was to give you this." She hands over the rolled up piece of parchment and watches while the other witch reads it.

The 20 years younger Minerva McGonagall is as tall and thin as her older self. Her face is smoother and less worried, and there is an openness to it that Hermione has never seen.

What gave you that constant frown of suspicion and hardness, Professor? Was it when you found out about poor, orphaned Tom Riddle who Dumbledore took pity on, raised, and educated?

Professor McGonagall reads the letter out loud. The last lines surprise Hermione, they must have been what were added just before she left.

"Apparently this girl will be a good friend of Remus Lupin later, and since he is in his last year I would suggest you introduce her to Remus and his friends first. I know they will take good care of her."

Professor McGonagall pours Hermione a cup of tea and gives her a friendly smile.

"Remus Lupin, indeed. But according to this you are almost twenty years younger than him in your time line."

"He was our teacher. Here at Hogwarts."

This makes Professor McGonagall smile.

"I'm glad to hear that. Now, how can I help you? What happens in 20 years that made me send you this far back?"

In 20 years. It hasn't happened yet. Fred is alive, and Sirius and Tonks. Dumbledore and Snape.

A new wave of grief engulfs Hermione. She is too tired to think about what she should or shouldn't say. On the other hand she is with a woman she has trusted for as long as they've known each other, and who again and again has surprised everyone with her loyalty and sense of duty. All of it gushes out of her, in choked gasps between words. It's horrifying when the story of the second rise of Lord Voldemort and the Second Wizarding War is compressed into half an hour. The tea is cold when Hermione has finished and her hostess is stunned.

"So this is what lays ahead of us. You shouldn't really…"

"…tell you all this. I know," says Hermione. "But, to me, you have always been the most trustworthy professor at Hogwarts and…"

The other woman holds up her hand.

"No, don't tell me any more. What you've told me is more than enough. It will strengthen me and help me make many right decisions. But you are not here to change your past; you are here to repeat it, as I understand. As it was done by yourself in an earlier time line. Am I right?"

Hermione sighs.

"Yes, I think so."

"Well then. I will do what I can to help you. But before we do anything, can you tell me what is wrong with your left arm? You are obviously in pain."

She is. The bursts of adrenaline during the last weeks have dulled the pain, but now the cut Bellatrix Lestrange carved into her skin aches as badly as when it was done. Reluctantly Hermione takes off her denim jacket and her pink hoodie and pulls up the sleeve of her t-shirt. She doesn't look at either her wound or Professor McGonagall when she stretches out her arm for the other woman's inspection. She hears a gasp of horror.

"I know," she whispers. "It's awful. Can it ever heal?"

"But haven't we got any medical care in 20 years?"

"We've just been to war. The knife came from the Lestrange family. I don't know how heavily it was cursed. I've treated it with Dittany and Star Grass. Sometimes it heals a bit, but then it breaks open again."

"Let me see what I can do. I will ask Madame Pomfrey to come and look at it. She is our nurse."

"I know," Hermione says.

"How do you know? Oh, yes, of course…"

A few minutes later a very young Madame Pomfrey sits opposite Hermione in front of the fire. She holds Hermione's arm softly as she inspects the cut. Professor McGonagall tells the medi-witch briefly that Hermione is a time-traveller and will be introduced as Professor McGonagall's goddaughter and as a transfer from Askrigg. The young medi-witch flinches when she learns Hermione is a time-traveller, but takes Professor McGonagall's word for it. Hermione's head spins from the pain in the exposed cut. She has actively not thought about the pain for two months, refused to feel it, topped it with other pains, physical as well as emotional. She has found that a double dose of thinking about Sirius and what could have happened between them in the future if he'd been alive dulls the pain quite effectively by a completely different kind of pain.

"Lestrange, you say? Rodolphus or Rabastan?"

Hermione looks blankly at the medi-witch.

Of course. Bellatrix hasn't married him yet. Is this information safe to share?

"His wife. Rodolphus's wife."

Madame Pomfrey's eyebrows rise in surprise.

"So he will find someone who… well, someone who tolerates… sorry, loves him for what he is."

"Oh, yes," Hermione sighs. "A perfect match."

Professor McGonagall frowns.

"He used to torture the house elves and animals he could trap at the border of the forbidden forest. Once we actually considered expelling him when there was a really nasty incident with two first year students, but neither would witness properly. Perhaps they couldn't. Hagrid, our gamekeeper, had seen it, but his witness was deemed unreliable."

Hermione shrugs. She can't tell them more about the future.

"I'll treat this wound with more Dittany, a very concentrated form, and a counter-curse I believe is needed," Madame Pomfrey says, when it's clear that Hermione won't enlighten them with any more information about Rodolphus Lestrange's future wife. "The counter-curse is aimed at most curses cast on objects to give them magical abilities. I suspect the knife used here is imbued with an ever-bleeding curse, so pure potion and salve treatment will never heal it properly. It will hurt."

Hermione nods, not really fearing any physical pain.

It just can't be worse than what I've already been through.

And the pain of the treatment isn't worse than anything before, even though it's bordering. It's more painful than when Bellatrix cut her, but Hermione feels safer in the hands of Hogwarts staff and grits her teeth through the pain. Madame Pomfrey strokes her thumb over Hermione's skin, and the cut is closed. It still burns, but there is no visible blood. Hermione hasn't looked at her arm while she was treated, but looks closely at the new scar tissue now.

Mudblood. Her own scar tissue has formed the word 'mudblood.' She remembers when she first came across the xenophobic word, it must have been in her first year at Hogwarts, when she read a really old edition of Hogwarts – A History. When Draco Malfoy called her a mudblood in her second year she was almost destroyed. She had only been in the Magical world for little more than a year, and she had hoped that her new world would be less bigoted than the Muggle world.

"I'm sorry," Madame Pomfrey whispers. "I can't change that. It's the original form of the cut, isn't it?"

Hermione nods.

"A man like that can't be allowed to… marry or spread his dreadful opinions or genes, or even to breathe," the medi-witch snaps. She turns to Professor McGonagall. "Isn't there any way we could, Albus could… Now that we know, I mean."

"No," Hermione says firmly before the older woman has a chance to answer. "No, I am not allowed to change the past. Professor, you know that. Your great-great-whatever ancestor came to understand that. You were very clear on this before I left."

Professor McGonagall nods.

"No, we can't use information about the future to change the past, no matter how much we want to. The risks are too high. The circumstances have to be extreme to be worth the risk. If you were to take a person who was about to die in a war and take him or her with you to the future, everybody's memories of that person dying in the war would make it almost impossible for that person to convince his or her friends and family that he or she is real, and not an impostor. And if he or she then came clean and admitted illegal, or at least law-bending or inappropriate use of time travel, everyone would want their deceased loved ones back. Immediately. And there would be true chaos. No, we can't. We have one chance at present, and we must do our best with that." She looks at Hermione with so much empathy Hermione has to look away. "But sometimes, someone gets a second chance at doing their very best with the present. Thank you, Poppy. And remember, no gossiping about Miss Granger here. I know I can trust you." The last sentence has a hint of a question in its intonation.

"Of course, Minerva. You know that. I've taken an oath to Albus and his Order. I would never…"

"Oh, I'm sorry, Poppy. I'm just suspicious of… I don't know, everyone except myself. Of course I trust you."

Madame Pomfrey smiles to both of them.

"I need to go back to the Medical Wing. I have open clinic in ten minutes. Welcome Miss Granger. You can always come to me if you need my help with what you are about to accomplish here."

When the medi-witch closes the door, Hermione turns to Professor McGonagall.

"You can trust her. She performed miracles in the Second War. She stayed at Hogwarts when no one…"

"No, don't. Thank you for strengthening my trust in her, but please don't tell me any more. We have an agenda to follow now, don't we?"

Hermione looks bewildered.

"I mean your agenda, Miss Granger. Your mission. Everything is already decided in that letter. I wouldn't dream of contradicting myself. I will place you in Gryffindor House, as a transfer from Askrigg, and you will take the final exams with the other 7th years. The final exams begin in three weeks, on May 22. You will be here as my goddaughter. Let's say your parents live in the south of England."

Hermione just nods, her mind buzzing with the new information.

"But first I should do what I will suggest in 20 years."

"What?"

"Introduce you to Remus Lupin and his friends."

Please drop me a line and tell me what you think about my story. I'd be forever grateful. Love from Kia.