December 7th, 1976
"Do you let Prewett touch you like this?" Sirius sneered, his grip on her waist tightening. His grey eyes, usually full of mischief, now blazed with something primal. Hermione's breath caught in her throat. This wasn't the Sirius she knew—this was something wilder, more dangerous.
His lips, so close and invitingly soft, made her heart race. Godric, he was devastatingly handsome when he was angry. The scent of leather and pine enveloped her, clouding her thoughts.
Alarm suddenly seeped through Hermione's haze of attraction. She took a step back, attempting to free herself from Black's grasp. This wasn't right. She wasn't supposed to feel this way about Sirius Black! She wasn't even supposed to be in this time. The weight of her mission pressed down on her, a stark reminder of everything at stake.
Yet as Sirius's eyes bore into hers, full of questions and barely restrained passion, Hermione couldn't help but wonder if changing the future meant changing her own heart as well.
"Sirius, I..." Hermione started, her voice trembling. But before she could finish, his lips crashed into hers again, hungry and demanding.
The kiss earlier in the broom closet had been tentative, exploratory. This was something else entirely. Sirius kissed her like a man starved, his hands roaming her body with a desperation that made her knees weak. Hermione found herself responding with equal fervor, her fingers tangling in his dark locks.
When they finally broke apart, both panting heavily, Hermione felt dizzy with desire. Sirius rested his forehead against hers, his breath hot on her face.
"Tell me you don't want this," he whispered hoarsely. "Tell me to stop, and I will."
Hermione knew she should push him away, should remember her mission and the future she was trying to save. But in that moment, with Sirius's arms around her and his heart beating wildly against her chest, the future seemed very far away indeed."
Chapter One:
The air was thick with acrid smoke as Hermione Granger stumbled through the dark corridors of the Department of Mysteries. At twenty-one, she had faced numerous challenges, but nothing compared to the disaster unfolding around her. An explosion from one of the chambers had sent debris flying, and she could feel the weight of danger pressing down on her.
"Keep moving!" she shouted to her fellow Unspeakables, ducking under a fallen beam. Panic surged through her as she navigated the chaos. Suddenly, a loud crash reverberated through the hall, and an hourglass-like device shattered on the floor, sending shards flying. In that instant, a blinding light enveloped her, and Hermione felt herself being pulled apart at the seams.
When Hermione opened her eyes again, she found herself in a familiar yet foreign place. The circular office was adorned with strange artifacts and portraits that seemed to watch her every move. She could feel the remnants of pain coursing through her body; bruises marred her skin, and exhaustion weighed heavily on her limbs.
"Miss?" A gentle voice broke through her blinked rapidly, struggling to focus.
Albus Dumbledore stood before her, his blue eyes filled with curiosity and concern. He looked younger than she remembered—more vibrant and less burdened by time.
"Professor Dumbledore?" she croaked, trying to sit up but wincing at the sharp pain in her side.
"Indeed," he replied, studying her closely. "Might I inquire as to what year you've come from?"
Hermione's heart raced. "2000," she whispered, fear creeping into her voice.
Dumbledore's eyebrows rose slightly. "I see. Your injuries seem quite extensive. Perhaps it would be best if you rested in the infirmary for now."
As Hermione opened her mouth to question him further, Dumbledore smiled enigmatically. "The castle and its headmaster share many secrets, my dear. For now, let's focus on your recovery."
With Dumbledore's assistance, Hermione was gently guided out of his office and down a series of winding corridors illuminated by floating candles. The walls were adorned with portraits of former headmasters and witches who seemed to whisper among themselves as they passed by. The atmosphere felt both comforting and surreal.
When they arrived at the infirmary, Hermione was taken aback by its warm ambiance. The room was spacious and filled with rows of neatly made beds draped in soft white linens. The scent of healing herbs wafted through the air, mingling with the faint aroma of potion ingredients simmering in cauldrons nearby. Madam Pomfrey bustled about, organizing the potions pantry and sorting the various items in her healer's kit.
"Madam Pomfrey," Dumbledore called softly as he led Hermione inside.
"Headmaster!" she replied briskly, turning to face them with a look of concern etched on her face. "What happened to this young lady?"
"She requires immediate attention," Dumbledore said gently as he helped Hermione onto one of the hospital beds.
As Madam Pomfrey began assessing Hermione's injuries, she felt a wave of vulnerability wash over her.
"I need to go back," she murmured weakly. "There was an explosion..."
Two days later, Hermione found herself face-to-face with Dumbledore once more in the infirmary.
He cast a muting spell before speaking.
"Miss Granger," he began carefully, "I understand you were an Unspeakable. How did you come to be here?"
Hermione shook her head, frustration evident in her voice. "I don't know, Professor. There was an accident in the Department of Mysteries."
Dumbledore's expression grew serious.
"With the war brewing and disappearances on the rise, your arrival—a 21-year-old witch from the future—could draw unwanted attention. It's best you remain at Hogwarts for your safety."
"But how long will it take to send me back?" Hermione asked anxiously.
"Finding a way may take years," he admitted softly. Her heart sank at his words, distress clear in her eyes.
"Years? But... what am I supposed to do here? Be a professor?"
"I'm afraid you're far too young for that role," Dumbledore said gently.
"Instead, you'll need to become a student once more."
"A student?" Hermione exclaimed incredulously. "I'm 21!"
Dumbledore produced a small vial filled with a shimmering liquid from his robes.
"This is a de-aging potion," he explained. "It will return you to the age of 15; you can't be older since you would need OWLs to enter sixth or seventh year."
Hermione's mind reeled at the implications. "But... won't it hurt?"
"It will take a couple of nights and be quite painful," Dumbledore admitted solemnly.
"Madam Pomfrey won't know the details but trusts me; she'll monitor your condition."After weighing her options and feeling utterly defeated by her circumstances, Hermione nodded slowly. "I... I accept, Professor."As Dumbledore handed her the vial,
As Dumbledore handed her the vial of de-aging potion, Hermione's mind raced with the implications of her choice. The weight of history pressed down upon her shoulders, far heavier than any textbook she had ever carried.
"Professor," she began, her voice barely above a whisper, "in 1975... the first war with Voldemort is just beginning, isn't it?"
Dumbledore's blue eyes clouded with concern. "Indeed, Miss Granger. Dark times lie ahead."
Hermione's breath hitched as she thought of the friends she had left behind—or rather, those who had not yet been born. Harry, destined to be orphaned before he could know his parents; Ron, who would lose uncles he'd never meet; Neville, whose parents would be tortured into madness. The weight of their fates pressed heavily on her heart. And then there was Sirius—still alive in this time, young and vibrant, stirring memories of her teenage crush. The thought of him brought a rush of longing and sadness, a bittersweet reminder of the countless lives that would be irrevocably changed by the coming storm.
"If I'm here," she said, her voice trembling, "maybe I could change things. Save lives." Her eyes met Dumbledore's, a flicker of desperate hope shining through. Harry's parents...
The headmaster's expression grew grave. "The consequences of altering time are unpredictable and often dangerous, Miss Granger. We must tread carefully."
Hermione nodded, feeling the full weight of her decision. By accepting this potion, she wasn't just agreeing to become a student again—she was potentially holding the fate of the wizarding world in her hands. The enormity of it all threatened to overwhelm her."I understand," she said finally, her voice steadier than she felt. "But if there's even a small chance that I can make a difference..."
Dumbledore placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Your heart is in the right place, Miss Granger. But remember, the road ahead will be fraught with difficult choices."
With that thought lingering in the air, Dumbledore waved his wand and murmured an incantation. A soft glow enveloped Hermione for a moment before fading away.
"What was that?" she asked, suddenly feeling an odd sensation in her mouth.
"Just a small adjustment," Dumbledore replied with a twinkle in his eye. "You'll need to adopt a new persona while you're here—a Muggle-born witch from America whose parents perished in an attack."
Hermione frowned slightly as she spoke again, testing out the new accent that felt strange on her tongue. "A Muggle-born witch from America? This feels... funny."
"It will take some getting used to," Dumbledore assured her, suppressing a chuckle at her bewildered expression. "But it should help you blend in more easily."
Hermione shook her head in disbelief but couldn't help but smile at the absurdity of it all.
"So I'm going to be pretending to be someone else? A teenage witch from America?"
"Precisely," Dumbledore said gently. "And during summers, you'll stay at a group home for orphans in London."
"But Professor," Hermione protested, "won't people ask questions? How will we explain my knowledge of Hogwarts and British wizarding customs?"
Dumbledore smiled knowingly. "We'll say your parents had extensive knowledge of magical schools worldwide and prepared you for potentially attending Hogwarts. Your natural intelligence and studiousness will explain any additional knowledge you possess."
Taking a deep breath, Hermione felt both excitement and dread at what lay ahead. With this new identity and accent—however strange it felt—she was about to step into a world that could change everything.
As she raised the potion to her lips, Hermione silently vowed to do whatever it took to change the future—even if it meant sacrificing her own happiness in the one last look at Dumbledore, she drank the potion, sealing her fate and setting in motion a chain of events that would alter the course of history—and perhaps save lives—forever.