It was very early morning on a Sunday in December when Madame Pomphrey declared Clara well enough to see the Headmaster in his office. She had been in the hospital wing for well over a month at that point and she was excited at the idea of finally leaving it, even if it meant facing the reality of her current situation again. It was easy to forget about the time conundrum she had fallen into when she was locked away with Madame Pomphrey, resting and healing. A visit with Dumbledore would dash all those sentiments away.

Madame Pomphrey had given her a loose, long sleeved gown and a set of faded black school robes to wear. She transfigured a strip of fabric into a thin pair of flats, apologizing at the quality; Clara didn't mind, though. The fabric of the cotton dress felt irritating against her skin but it felt good to have on layers again. She wore the hood of her robe up, feeling too vulnerable without hair.

They walked through the deserted corridors in comfortable silence, only the sounds of their footsteps echoing off the stone walls. Madame Pomphrey seemed extra cheerful, remarking that she was thrilled that Clara had improved so much, so quickly. Clara, however, was a ball of anxiety; She felt like she was limping into an unknown future because she was. If she stayed at Hogwarts or if she left, there was no future for her that wasn't hard to swallow.

She had only been in the Headmaster's office twice in all her time at Hogwarts; Once, when she caused a minor infraction during her first year and again when she and Harry Potter got into an altercation during her fifth year and his sixth. Both times involved some kind of academic misconduct and a long-winded lecture from the Headmaster. Technically, she supposed, there had been a third time—but it was when that's toad of a woman, Umbridge, was Headmistress so it hardly counted.

But this time was different, for obvious reasons, and it made her skin crawl.

It looked the same as it did in her vague memories. Bright and airy and littered with clutters of antiques. Portraits of past Headmaster's lined every square inch of the walls; the frames' inhabitants all eyed her as she sat alongside Madame Pomphrey in armchairs before the Headmaster's desk. Dumbledore informed them they were awaiting the arrival of the Deputy Headmistress and was appraising Clara through his wiry, half-moon glasses.

"Well, Ms. Galen, it appears leaving you in the care of Madame Pomphrey was the correct choice." He said conversationally. "You look much improved. I trust you feel improved?"

"Yes, sir…" She replied, lamely. She was too anxious for small talk. She wanted to know what was going to happen to her.

Before long, the door clanged open and Deputy Headmistress McGonagall bustled through the door in her familiar teaching robes; Clara started a little at the sight of her, but she wasn't entirely surprised by the Head of Gryffindor's presence. She had worked at the school for longer than most other professors, after all. Regardless, a twinge of surprise passed through her when McGonagall looked at her without an ounce of familiarity in her eyes.

"Ah, Professor McGonagall!" Dumbledore began, "This is Ms. Clara Galen. She has come to us under most…curious circumstances."

"Curious circumstances?" McGonogal repeated, raising a hand to her chest in a show of anxiety.

"Yes, you see, Ms. Galen was quite recently accosted by Death Eaters here at Hogwarts—"

"At Hogwarts you say?" Minerva interrupted, incredulously. "Do you mean to say there's been some kind of breech? You mustn't be serious, I certainly would have heard—"

Dumbledore raised both his hands, palms facing outward in a display of surrender and calm. "I say recent in that she has arrived to us recently injured—but the attack itself…will not occur for another 22 years."

McGonagall looked properly offended for a moment, as though she perceived herself to be the butt of some crude joke by her associates. But it must have dawned on her that this type of morbid joke was far beyond Dumbledore's quirky sense of humor. Clara had to remind herself that in this timeline the war had only just begun. The Deputy Headmistress had likely heard about unfortunate incidents involving students and staff almost daily by this point—but Clara's peculiar circumstances were far outside the norm.

"22 years…in the future?" A of abject horror came across McGonagall's face. She looked at Clara with wide eyes for a long moment before she gave Madame Pomphrey a stern look, "And you can attest to this, Poppy?"

"Oh, yes, Minerva." Madame Pomphrey nodded solemnly, "She's been in my care for over a month now—I can confirm she is who she claims to be."

Clara's heart swelled hearing this. Her world had been abruptly turned upside down in the blink of an eye and she had spent a lot of time with the nurse having emotional fits and medical conflicts; She certainly left a lot to be desired as far as being a tolerable patient. It was nice to feel trusted.

Professor McGonagall shifted her stern gaze again to Clara, giving the younger girl a glimpse of the mistrust in her eyes. Clara felt the meaning behind the look; McGonagall believed her associates—but that wasn't enough for her to let her guard down during the throughs of war.

"I am researching ways to potentially send Ms. Galen back from when she came, however, it may take quite some time. Until then, she is in need of our protection. We cannot have word of her extraordinary circumstances getting out." He paused a moment and looked at each of them levelly, emphasizing his words.

"I think the safest course of action is keeping her here at Hogwarts, under the watchful eye of the Order, until we can return her." His voice gave no room for argument and Clara's heart dropped to her stomach. A sad look crossed his face, "Ms. Galen, I understand this is hard for you in more ways than one. There are things you know that would be quite dangerous in the wrong hands. We must see to it that nothing like that happens, you understand?"

Clara nodded numbly. He certainly wasn't saying anything she didn't already know but somehow hearing it aloud made it particularly nauseating.

"You said you hadn't completed your O. W. L.'s?" He confirmed, waiting for her nod of approval. "Not to worry, we'll slip you in with the fifth years and should you still be with us come June, you will have an opportunity to complete them then."

Clara balked, "Sir, you mean for me to resume classes? Like nothing has happened?"

"Yes, Ms. Galen, that is precisely my intention. I see no reason to let your circumstances interfere with your studies anymore than they already have. The syllabi might not be exactly as you remember it but 22 years in the Wizarding World is hardly anytime at all. Term break begins next week—any gossip about your sudden arrival will settle over the Holidays, so it's quite simple: All you need to do is blend in with your peers until we can send you back."

"Headmaster, I just—I don't think I'm…" She trailed off, unsure of how to insult herself delicately. "I'm not great with words. And I have a wicked temper—really, your future self would shudder to think that I, personally, would be placed in such a precarious position."

"Ms. Galen, I shudder to think of any of my students being put into this position." He corrected, "I have upmost confidence that you will surprise yourself. Just focus on your studies and we will focus on your safe return home."

Dumbledore stood up and walked around his desk and toward one of the cabinets against the wall. He deftly opened the cabinet and retrieved a brown mass which Clara instantly recognized to be the Sorting Hat.

"The Sorting Hat? I've already been sorted, I'm a—"

Dumbledore silenced her with a wave of his hand, "Ah, ah, ah." He tutted softly, "You aren't the same version of yourself that you were in your past—or future, if you will. The Sorting Hat should be consulted, of course."

Clara frowned deeply and twisted her hands together. She remembered when she was first sorted—the uneasy feeling of uncertainty but immense excitement. The unease she felt the second time around stemmed from something darker and infinitely more dangerous. But she reluctantly nodded, and sat straight up in her chair as Dumbledore came closer and promptly placed the hat onto her head.

"Hmm…" It whispered, a croaky and cranky sound. "How is it that you're both late and early at the same time, girl?"

She let out a choked giggle in reply.

"My, but you're a flighty one…" The hat chastised, "All these thoughts and so little organization. You'd make for a poor Ravenclaw, girl, even if you've the intelligence. Hmm…great power, cunning wit—No, I think I was quite right when I last sorted you. I see no reason to—"

Will I be safe there? In this time?

The hat seemed to consider her thought—it was silent for a long moment before he grumbled slightly. "Safety is an illusion, girl. It cannot be guaranteed, regardless of your house."

I need anonymity. Somewhere my shortcomings won't stand out so much—they certainly did the first time around.

"Mmm, tricky, tricky. You need somewhere where you'll be overlooked—somewhere your shortcomings will be seen as an asset…" The hat deliberated for a moment before he let out a withered cackle that sent a shiver down Clara's spine. "I know…it's got to be—HUFFLEPUFF!"

When Clara and Madame Pomphrey returned to the Hospital Wing, the elder remarked she had a surprise for her companion. She left Clara at her cot to retrieve it and returned with a small box. The pair sat on the cot as she opened it to reveal its contents.

A small brown leather messenger bag and an assortment of school supplies filled the box and Clara smiled broadly at the thoughtful gesture. Truthfully, she hadn't even considered supplies and she certainly hadn't the funds for them. She suddenly wanted to cry again—grateful for Madame Pomphrey's support but sad she had to rely on it.

"Thank you, Madame Pomphrey." She sniffled, "Really, it's too kind of you."

"Nonsense. Can't have you begin term without so much of a scrap of paper to your name." Madame Pomphrey replied. "And I have this for you…"

She pulled out a small jar from her apron, a kind of potion that Clara didn't recognize. She examined the label and gasped aloud, having almost forgotten about it.

"It'll grow you hair overnight. So you can start school feeling a bit more like yourself."

Start school…She was experiencing the strangest feeling of deja vu; Having to act like she had never attended the only school she had ever attended—everything was boggled all around. She was overcome with emotions as she held the small potion in her hands and gazed at it.

"Thank you for being so kind to me, Madam Pomphrey…" She said eventually.

"Of course, dearie." The older woman said softly. "We're all here to help."

Clara shook her head, "No, I know that. But you've always been extra kind to me. Even before I came here…"


A/N: I don't want to reveal which house Clara originally comes from, yet.

Hope y'all like it so far!