The Lost Time

“That’s actually pretty neat.” Hermione said out loud, fidgeting with the little collar Professor McGonagall gave her some days ago, taking great care in not turning it. “All of it.”

“Ain’t that right?.” Her same voice answered to herself, only that it did not come from her mouth. This fact scared her not. “A world full of chances you wouldn’t even think of normally.”

The one talking to her was none other than herself, only a few years older. A Ministry-working Hermione decided her life was becoming too dull, hence her decision on coming back to talk to herself for just some time. As the years passed, she came to learn some facts about the Time Turner McGonagall hadn’t told her before.

First, the Time Turner wasn’t lasting forever. True, if she went for a few hours in the past, she wouldn’t be back to her exact time, but if she went a week or two into the past, she’d be there for some of that time and get back to where she was before, although she still didn’t quite had the amount taking into consideration.

Second, the fear McGonagall installed in her about being seen by her own self was nothing but lies. The year after the war, she turned the Time Turner enough times for it to cause an accident. Alas, it did not. Instead of the destruction of the universe she was expecting, she found herself chatting with another Hermione Granger, getting new ideas from the conversation before being launched into the future once again.

Third, she could travel to the past from already in the past. Say, she went five days into the past, then she went two more. It works like muggle maths, pretty much. She is now seven days into the past. She’ll spend those two extra days she went through, then return to the five days she travelled first, then to her original time.

And fourth, all the times she has travelled to the past have helped her in her future, so it is not really a problem whenever she does. It means that every single time she decides to go for fun, it’ll actually help her and was meant to happen.

“Wait until we go save the great hippogriff.” She grinned to her younger self. “It’ll be amazing.”

“Hagrid’s, right?” Young-Hermione questioned. “Buckbeak. What was it again? A homicide?”

Older-Hermione looked up, as if trying to remember what exactly had happened five years ago. In the end, she gave up on it.

“I’m pretty sure it was not that, although you can’t blame me for not remembering it.” Older-Hermione took her cup, filled with hot chocolate and some marshmallows. Ever since little that beverage has been her absolute favourite. Magic is amazing, but nothing will ever win over hot chocolate. “I think it has something to do with Draco.”

“I hope it is homicide.” Younger-Hermione said almost immediately, drinking her own hot chocolate. Truth to be told, Hermione liked very well that chocolate from the future.

“I swear, you sound a lot like Harry.”

“Oh no. I’ll end up naming my children after my abusers.”

“That’s Harry for you.”

McGonagall warned Hermione about the encounters with her past self, but that warning quickly flew over her head (with quickly meaning two years into the future from this time). And with that, Hermione got to know that future knowledge didn’t quite affect her because of her past personality, hence why she could freely talk with herself about the future.

“I mean, ” Young-Hermione started, “at least he didn’t name his child after Tom.”

Yeah, Older-Hermione thought to herself, but he was so close to doing so because of how amusing it would be. She decided that wasn’t important enough to be a part of their conversation.

Before any of them could continue, Older-Hermione’s Time Turner made a small beeping sound. It was a sign that she would return soon to her own present. With a handwave she said goodbye to her younger self and disappeared right in front of her eyes.

Hermione, now alone in the common room, took out a small diary she kept hidden right where the Gryffindor books were at. There was no real reason as to worry about putting it there, having everybody mostly head to the library if they wanted to read something. All the books in Gryffindor’s common room talked about the exact same thing, only with a few different words. It tired her from the second one yet read until the last one. No one would check them, she was sure of it.

Either way, she opened the diary into a blank page to the right, the left one having a record of the last time she had visited herself, it being from sixth year. Ever since these visits started, Hermione decided to document them in case she would need them in the future (she probably would) and by any chance she forgot them (she probably would). She was not taking any chances.

At the moment she was putting the diary back into the bookshelf, her friends started coming down from their dorms. Ron, as always, looked like he made no effort in looking good but somehow managed to look good. Harry, otherwise, tried combing his hair, which made it look awful. She mentally laughed at him and physically made a taunting smile.

“We heard you talking.” Ron started, rubbing his eyes with his palms.

“I was talking to myself.” She shrugged, knowing full well that, if they heard her talking, they recognized her voice from her future self as her own voice. “Why are you down here so early, though?” She changed the topic.

“Harry’s scar hurt him and we decided to go to the kitchen.” Ron paused before continuing. “We don’t know where it is.”
“Close to the Hufflepuff’s place. There is a painting of a bowl with fruit. You just tickle the pear and a door handle will appear.” Sixth year Hermione told her that a week ago. Ever since, she has gone there to have a nice chat with the house elves and to get hot chocolate with them.

Both boys eyed her, as if doubting her knowledge of the castle, before shrugging it off and thanking her for the help. As soon as they came, they went away. Hermione was all alone again.

She sat down on the floor, thinking about the knowledge her future selves have told her. Twenty-year-old-Hermione told her to befriend Luna. She doesn’t know who she is but she’ll try to. From what that Hermione told her, Luna is a pretty weird girl, in the whimsical sense of everything. She also told her to believe what she said about the fantastic creatures she talked about, no matter how delusional they might sound. As for the last thing, she told her to subscribe to The Quibbler. That she already had done.

Hermione let her thoughts wander, jumping from one place to the other until she felt tired. Before her body could drop onto the floor and hurt her for the third time, she got up and walked towards her own dormitory, throwing herself to the bed. She was met with the most comfortable hug coming from it and she soon let her mind rest.

Hermione always concentrated in Transfiguration. Not for nothing she had such good grades in it. But this day certainly was not hers. Yesterday’s conversation with herself lasted for so long she couldn’t help but doze off every now and then, and that wasn’t all. She had been chatting with older versions of herself for a month now, growing more tired and tired every single day. Harry, being the kind soul he is, asked her why she was tired.

“It's nothing.” She replied to him, making sure to flash a smile. “I just stayed up too late yesterday.”

“Alright.”

That had been the end of the conversation between them, although he eyed her with worry every now and then.

Ron, unlike Harry, pestered her about the most mundane things in the world. He talked about what he would do on Christmas break, how much History of Magic made him fall asleep (which gave her the fantastic idea to fall asleep in said class. She might thank him later), or just about what he’d like to have at the Halloween’s fest. Every word that came out of his mouth let her mind rest a bit.

“I mean, think of it.” Ron started once again, this time his subject being their DADA’s teacher and a possible birthday party for him. “We have until March. I’m pretty sure everybody would participate on doing a party for Professor Lupin. You could even do the decoration charms!”

Hermione laughed, rolling her eyes.

“You’re insufferable.”

“And an amazing student.”

Hermione remembered all the small interactions through the day, them giving her enough strength to not fall on the floor and sleep right there and then. That and the pieces of chocolate Ron sneaked to her.

It was something hard to talk about with anybody else, but talking with herself was the best thing, especially referring to Ron. When a seventh grade Hermione with eighteen years popped up, the third-grade-Hermione decided that would be the best time to talk to herself about it, being already a legal adult and whatnot.

“I’ve just been wondering…” She started, fidgeting with the Time Turner as she had grown used to. “About, well, you know.”

Apparently her older self changed so much, because, instead of an understanding nod, she was met with a taunting grin.

“No, I don’t know. Would you care telling me?”

In the end, Hermione had to say out loud her thoughts. It was only after she finished when her older self laughed so loud she could wake up the whole castle.

“You’ve got no idea what you’re getting into.” She replied to the younger one. “I’ll tell you this; you will cherish Ron in a way you don’t even imagine right now. And he will cherish you back in the same way.”

That talk happened weeks ago, but it left her with so much to think that she barely went to the library that time. The initial shock passed away quickly, now being met with the knowledge of her thoughts. She might fancy Ronald Weasley, her best friend along with Harry since they entered Hogwarts.

Back to the present, Hermione munched on one of the chocolates Ron gave her while they were in Transfiguration. For all the time she had been in third year, she could not remember when each class took place. First Monday, she was sure it happened in the afternoon, second Monday, it was the first class, third Monday, she wondered why the hell she was having Transfiguration at midnight. By the fourth Monday, Hermione decided to give up on remembering the schedule, instead following her friends wherever they went.

A loud thud distracted McGonagall from her explanation, turning to see where the noise originated from. All the other students did the same. Hermione didn’t do the same. She was the source. With her face flushed, she asked McGonagall if she could go to the restroom. Once she was granted permission, she rushed outside the classroom and started making her way to the restroom.

A hand landed on her shoulder, making her stop. Before she turned around, she quite expected for it to be Ron’s, but was disappointed to see Harry there. Then she felt angry with herself for feeling that way. The emotions happened in a split second, leaving her looking weird, something she thought.

“Hermione, are you sure you’re okay?”

She nodded.

“Yeah. I just need to go to the restroom and wash my face. Then I’ll be back as new.”

Before Harry could block her path with more insistent questions, she made her way to the second-floor bathroom, not that Harry knew she’d be going there. For all he knew, she was going to the bathroom on that same floor.

“You look horrible!” Moaning Myrtle’s voice met her. When she looked at her, the ghost had a grin on her face.

“I know.” With that, Hermione let herself fall on the floor, closing her eyes for a brief moment. She inhaled and exhaled, permitting some rest to overcome her.

Moaning Myrtle flew down to her level, making the appearance of sitting besides her. One hand rested on Hermione’s forehead as a way to mockingly take her temperature. It made her feel so cold she moved her head away from the contact.

“I’m not in the mood for your jokes, Myrtle.” She sighed. “Do you think I could stay here and sleep?”

Thirty-four-year-old-Hermione told her to be more kind with the ghosts, especially with Myrtle. Hermione wondered why, but she decided to do as her future self told her to. Almost instantly every ghost treated her with respect and sneaked some knowledge about the castle and gossip here and there. With Myrtle, the girl became this sort of nuisance, the one you could get from a family member. Like a sibling, more like it.

“Alright.” Myrtle puffed, letting herself get to the ceiling once again. “You’re lucky that ginger boy and his girlfriend don’t come back to snog here.”

Hermione answered with a hum, her eyes already closing and her hand clutching her Time Turner tight. At last, she would get some sleep.

Once Hermione woke up, she expected to see the girl floating around her, chatting to herself about how charming Harry is and how much she wished they both were either real people (with here staying fourteen years old), or both ghosts, a creepy monologue, Hermione thought the first time she heard her. But no. She was met with silence.

“Fair enough.” She said to herself. Myrtle probably went to the lake so she could have a ‘girl’s time’, how she said it.

Hermione got up, removing the dust from her uniform by roughly passing her hands through it. She was about to fix her tie when she noticed she left it at the Gryffindor’s common room. Not like it’d matter, though. Every teacher was already used to students not wearing the only clothing that actually made it noticeable from what house they were in. If she was asked about it, she’d just say Gryffindor and keep walking.

She stretched as she walked through the corridors, which were eerily empty. Just a lot of classes, she thought to herself, and she kept walking.

For some reason she could not phantom, the castle didn’t make any sense to her, which already made some sense because it is a magical castle, but either way she should understand at least where the damn Transfiguration classroom is.

As she mindlessly roamed through the place, her mind becoming more and more anxious, she bumped into someone. She quickly apologized and moved to keep walking.

“Hey, wait!” The person she bumped into yelled, quickly catching up to her rapid walking. From the voice she could tell the person was a boy. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Hermione nodded, looking to a wall. “I just need to go to the infirmary.”

With this, Hermione hoped the boy would let her be. But he didn’t. Instead, he offered to take her there.

“You look disoriented. I think it’d be best if I go with you.”

Hermione was about to shake her head and deny his help when she finally looked at him. A boy her age, she could tell from the beginning. The boy was taller than her, only by a few centimeters. He had dark and groomed hair. It was fixed in a way that would make Hermione laugh because of its seriousness, yet could not do so in her current situation. His eyes were a dark shade of brown, standing out if you compared them to his pale skin. His appearance confused her even more.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I have seen you before?”

The boy shrugged.

“Neither have I seen you.” Hermione felt him grip her arm. He gripped her arm hard enough to cause a sting. “Hey, no, don’t faint. Don’t faint, the infirmary is kilometers away.”

Once Hermione noticed her own self, she was already down on the floor, a frantic boy shaking her arm. Last thing she saw before passing out was his tie. A Slytherin.