The Blur
Hermione Granger was an extraordinary witch. Born and raised in a muggle household. Like many other muggleborn and muggle-raised magic children, Hermione would come to learn of the wizarding world at ten years of age. She would come to learn of the wonderful world and be presented with the chance to attend a school and learn magic.
Hermione was a capable witch, one who had achieved things no other witch, or wizard, could have dreamt of. From her perfected grades to her role in the wizarding war, Hermione had many accomplishments to her name. She was especially renown for her role in the downfall of the Dark Lord Voldemort- which if I think of him now, I find his name quite silly.
When I first met Hermione Granger, I thought she was quite unbearable. I found she was troublesome and quite the nutjob if I were being honest. But she intrigued me like no other. She had piqued my curiousity with her evasive ways. The way she spoke so passionately about what interested her, the light it brought to her eyes, drove me insane in the need to experience such euphoria myself. I could listen to her speak for hours on end.
I feel as if I going off on a bit of a tangent here, so instead I'll show you to the beginning. The very beginning- to where it all started.
• • •
Hermione was currently hunched over her cauldron, glaring daggers at the shimmering purple liquid, her eyes sunken and tired.
Her face looked grim, exhaustion clear within every wrinkle and every shadow on her face.
Hermione had always been quite the bookworm, but since the war ended and Hogwarts was still being rebuilt, Hermione had plenty of time to completely immerse herself with writing. It would be stupid to not abuse such an opportunity.
And Merlin's sake did she find herself surrounded by the most fascinating pieces of writing. She had read up on a wide range on the magical arts. Mostly she dabbled in potion making, as it had proven to be important during experimentation.
A particular theory she had studied, which she was now experimenting on, was by a Wizard that dabbled in the theoretical aspects of magic. His name was Edwin Hammock and his outlook on the relationship between magic and time had captivated her. The concept she was experimenting was fairly simply. Hammock had theorised that time and space were interlinked- something that went further with the space time theorem. He explained that the faster one travelled, the slower time went by for them. Of course as far as this went, Albert Einstein had already come up with as much.
But Hammock went further, to find the relationship between time travel and magic. After all, the wizarding race had already achieved time travel whereas the muggles had yet to overcome that. To explain efficiently, Hammock explained that as the wizarding race had already somewhat overcome this conundrum with apparition. Sure it may not be faster than the speed of light, but it was the fastest already existing answer. He went on to explain that the use of a time turner was hardly required, as the wizarding population would soon be able to time travel freely.
But Einstein's theory only lead her so far, and Hammock only a mere idea further but neither really provided a concrete explanation, and neither had much research to back their claims as fact.
Having fallen down a rabbit hole on exactly what time meant to magic, Hermione was currently running an experiment to help lead her to the current direction.
Hermione sighed, her head was aching as the rancid scent of the potion kept filing down her lungs. Hermione had inhaled so many possibly deadly fumes in the last week alone she was certain she would have caused serious bodily harm had she not been a witch. Perhaps she may have even died. Groaning, Hermione pushed her weight off the table and fell onto her soft couch (she had long replaced her stool with a cushioned couch, since she spent hours working there, everyday- and Merlin did it hurt.)
"Harry!" Hermione yelled tiredly, hoping her friend would hear her from wherever he was upstairs. She was currently lodged at number 12 Grimmauld Place, crashing with her best friend, Harry Potter, and his girlfriend, Ginny Weasley. Although, to be more accurate, she would only work in their basement. She had a place of her own, but she spent much more time here anyway. It was more convenient as she had free access to the Black Family library.
A loud crash came from upstairs, followed by clumsy thumps against the hardwood floor and a muffled string of curses. Hermione rolled her eyes, she could vividly imagine the scene unfolding upstairs. "Coming-" came Harry's muffled scream. Hermione felt a little guilty at his evident hurry. A couple of days prior, Hermione had suffered from a slight accident in the workplace, where during a particularly horrible brew she burnt her hand. Ever since, Harry had been painfully cautious and jumpy, convinced Hermione would not call for him the next time she required assistance too. It was bothersome, but Hermione enjoyed the dishevelled sight of her bestfriend, so she would not be the one to complain.
Seconds later, the door to the basement flew open and Harry peaked down into the clearing. "Hermione?" He called out curiously. Hermione got up from her seat with a sigh.
"Failed, again. Do you think I could get something to eat?" She requested sheepishly. Although she never particularly felt like she was freeloading, as she was both paying for the room and buying the groceries every now and then (both of which Harry had refused profusely until he received a stern lecture from Hermione on valuing his wealth), it still felt a bit awkward. Harry nodded solemly, running back up into the hallway before turning back, with lighter footsteps this time. He swung the door to the basement open once more.
"Hermione," he began, his tone guilty, "this place smells horrid. You wouldn't mind getting rid of the smell, would you?" He called out, shutting the door before Hermione could respond.
Hermione scoffed behind him. Sneering at her cauldron, which had changed from its thin purple sheen to a black tar-like consistency. Hermione scowled at the cauldron, as if it were personally responsible for all of her problems. She waved her wand at it and watched with annoyance as the liquid vanished, before once more waving her wand to dissipate the horrible smell. Hermione kicked off the chair and walked to the bottom of the staircase, stopping abruptly as a wave of dizziness washed over her. She reached out both hands and grabbed onto the nearest wall, digging her nails into the cement visible underneath the chipped paint.
The door swung open once more, Harry popped his head in. "Hermione, you coming?" He asked, eyeing her questioningly. Hermione shook her head to clear up the haze and looked up at him.
"Coming," she rasped, "actually, could you help me? I'm a bit lightheaded." She groaned. Harry nodded feverishly, rushing down the stairs.
He placed a hand on Hermione's waist and draped her arm over his shoulder to support her weight. "Alright, hold tight," he warned as he started walking up the stairs. Hermione chuckled faintly as Harry huffed in exertion. Even once they reached the clearing, Harry did not let go off Hermione, helping her stand upright until they reached the dining room. "Ginny went to go get takeout," he explained.
Hermione nodded, resting her head on the table. White noise filled through her head. Hermione groaned once more. "I feel like shit," she mumbled, the words coming out muffled. Harry hummed, rummaging through a door.
Harry tinkered around with some utensils before slamming something down on the wooden table, startling Hermione. She raised her head to look up at him, her eyes drooping. Hermione eyed the glass of cloudy water he placed onto the table. "Oral saline," Harry explained, prompting her to drink it. Hermione scrunched her face in distaste, but drank it gratefully.
"Thanks, it tasted horrible." Hermione mumbled miserably. Could she have been overworked? Harry chuckled under his breath, walking to the kitchen to bring the china.
Hermione, feeling slightly unhelpful, got off her chair and instead made her way to the kitchen and help Harry.
This next part Hermione had never quite been able to explain. Not the feeling, not the series of events.
As Hermione stood upright in the middle of the room staring at the entrance to the kitchen, everything around her seemed to... blur. Perhaps it was the feeling of being lightheaded washing over her. Maybe it was from the exhaustion, or maybe it was the fumes from her various potions testing. Either way, Hermione did not know. Harry walked into the room, three plates in his hand. He walked around Hermione and placed the plates onto the table before making his way back. Hermione saw the way his lips move as if he were speaking but all she could hear was white noise, and it was becoming progressively louder.
Hermione took in a deep breath, then exhaled. She shut her eyes and continued trying to breathe in a stable manner. After a few seconds of such, the white noise cleared. Feeling her knees give out from underneath her, Hermione fell forward, barely managing to balance herself upright. Hermione opened her eyes, blinking rapidly to clear her sight.
She looked around, blinking stupidly. Tall walls of stone bricks surrounded her. Decorated with portraits, the corridor looked an uncanny amount like that of Hogwarts. From the lack of natural lighting and the dimmed flames, Hermione deduced it was around nighttime.
Her eyes were hazy and when she took the next step forward she walked out into somewhere completely different.
This was Hogwarts, Hermione realised. Except- it wasn't.
Hermione had visited Hogwarts just at the beginning of the week- three days ago. The place was a wreck, and though the repairs had been progressing in a speedy and precise manner, there was still so much left to work through. But where she stood right now, the castle seemed like it had never suffered such damage to begin with. It did not look sparking new like the repaired parts had, but it just looked... natural. Goosebumps erupted across Hermione's skin as she realised what might have happened- she'd achieved it. She suceeded in taking a major leap through time but it was without injesting any potion whatsoever.
Hermione was not sure of how much time had actually passed, but all she knew was it could not simply have been a couple of hours. At the very least, it would be several months ago.
Panicking when she realised what it might mean if she had only travelled several montha back in time, plus the three fundamentals of time travel that she had yet to review, Hermione ran towards the staircase hastily to reach the safety of the Room of Requirement. There were so many unknown factors that made Hermione queasy.
What if time is linear and not cyclical? Hermione's stomach lurched. The lunch she had not even gotten the chance to look at threatened to exit her stomach.
When she did reach the seventh floor, she wasted no time in circling the room to await the doorway. Immediately, a carved wooden door appeared, as if the room could sense the urgency in her stance. Hermione, not one to be ungrateful, pushed open the door and ran inside, quickly shutting it behind her.
A cough came from somewhere behind Hermione, who whipped her head around to eye the origin, barely biting back a shriek. About ten feet away was a four poster bed, atop which sat a handsome boy. He was dressed immaculately in Slytherin robes, a badge gleaming proudly on his chest. Hermione deduced he may have either been a prefect or the Head Boy. He had a mop of curly, but not unruly, black hair. His skin was an untainted alabaster and his face sculpted sharply. He'd basically be the poster boy for any magazine. "Haha, fancy seeing you here." She winked awkwardly, shooting handguns at him. Be normal, she chanted in her head. The boy raised an eyebrow at her, face scrunched with annoyance that he put little to no effort in concealing.
"Who are you?" The boy asked, his voice a deep rasp. Hermione swallowed thickly, not knowing how to answer. Not that he looked particularly interested.
"Come on," she laughed flippantly, throwing her hair off her shoulder in a sassy manner, she eyed the Slytherin patch on his robes, "of course you wouldn't know who I am, since I'm a Gryffindor." She shrugged, as if to say fair game.
The boy frowned, "do not try to fool me, I know the Gryffindors." Hermione scoffed.
"Clearly you thought wrong!" she snapped, acting affronted, "also, you seriously expect me- no, anyone to believe that you know every single Gryffindor?" She would sneak out of here soon anyways. She needed to find out what happened, and before that, she needed to stall.
The boy looked at Hermione oddly, his eyes lighting up with amusement, "you know I can... report you. Correct?" He mocked. Oh, Hermione thought, sure just because you have the upper hand in this situation you have the right to be all cocky!
"You should stop sticking your nose where it does not belong," Hermione huffed. "Not that there is anything to hide here, but I could also report you for being out of bed this late." She smirked, feeling smug.
The boy considered this for a moment and then shrugged, pointing to his sparkling badge, "tough luck, miss." He taunted, his lip curling upwards with the hint of a smile.
Hermione settled into a couch beside the fireplace, not sitting far from the boy. "Aside from your annoying curiousity, what's the date today?" She asked, unable to mask her emotions.
"The 3rd of September." He responded, looking away from her and focusing on his book once more.
"And?" Hermione prodded forward, losing all tact.
"You ask for a lot, as someone who finds curiousity to be baseless and all," He snapped irritably.
Hermione scoffed once more, "I'm simply asking for the date, you are asking about personal information!" She huffed.
The boy snapped his book shut and stared at her, "you are a suspicious person, I am only doing my utmost to service my school." He argued. Hermione guffawed.
"I-I'm suspicious? In what way-"
Tom cut in, "not only are you not an actual student here, but you also lied about being one and you are dressed completely inappropriately." He listed, "shall I continue?" It was as if he was tap dancing on Hermione's nerves.
Hermione looked down to her attire. She was dressed in flared jeans and a tight fitting plain white top. Hermione rolled her eyes, "sure I am. I will leave anyway. Now, the date?" She demanded. The boy rolled his eyes, eyeing her posture.
"1945." He answered finally, staring hard in an obvious attempt to discomfort her. Hermione sat up a bit straighter.
"What year are you in?" She prodded, trying to steer the conversation away from how suspicious she was.
"Seventh." He responded, not moving his eyes from her.
"Okay seventh year why are you not reporting me yet? This could be a break in? Perhaps I could be a murderer." Hermione questioned lightheartedly in a rapid fire manner. Confuse the enemy, she thought with smug satisfaction.
"Ignoring that I have already threatened to, twice, I am rather tired." He scowled.
Hermione nodded, "Well what if I killed yo-"
"Don't make me kill you!" He snapped.
"Alright alright, no need to be so prickly." Hermione raised her hands in mock surrender. She swung her legs off the edge of the couch momentarily. "So, are you not going back to your room?" She asked, not knowing what else to do to fill the awkward silence.
The boy sighed, "Honestly, I am beginning to think you may be interested in me." He jested.
Hermione hummed, "I am beginning to think there may be something wrong with your head. I just threatened to kill you?" He smirked, obviously looking down on her.
"You threatened to, yet I am the one tempted to kill." He rolled his eyes, leaning backwards and shifting his weight onto his arms.
Hermione sighed, "well, why don't you go back to your dorm?" She suggested brightly. Perhaps with too much hope in her eyes.
He diminished it instantly, like a single unsupported drywall being swung at by a bulldozer, "how could I leave behind a lady and head to my dormitory?" He was fairly charming, the same way a wet rat was.
"And here you said I may be interested in you." He rolled his eyes.
"Must you have an ulterior motive to be gentleman?" Hermione snorted in an un-ladylike manner.
"Of course you do not. Do you plan on sleeping here then?" Hermione grinned, wanting to embarass the boy into leaving.
"How could I possibly when there is a stranger in my room unable to shut up for over two minutes?" He questioned rhetorically.
Hermione gasped, clearly affronted, face reddening.
"Alright, point taken." She snapped, turning over to watch the fire instead, wishing midnight would come sooner.
"Who are you?" He chimed in once more. Likely guilt for being a bitch. Hermione felt as if he deserved it, if it were guilt in the first place.
So much for the stranger who isn't able to shut up. Hermione smirked at the fireplace. She pondered over how to answer the boy, weighing her options. The fundamentals, she repeated to herself helplessly. Linear and not cyclical.
She waved the miserable thoughts away, "my name is Hermione." She informed, "what is yours?"
"Tom." Tom said, shortly.
Hermione looked at him expectantly, earning her an eye roll from the boy. "Why would I tell you my last name when you clearly do not plan on telling me yours?" Hermione rolled her eyes. She had information to protect, he was a teenager that everyone in this school likely knew the name of. Not because he's handsome, but because he is the Head Boy, Hermione convinced herself. It was completely irrelevant to her that she, too, was a student in the same year, and also a teenager.
"Well, what are you doing here?" Tom pressed further.
Hermione smirked, "I have accomplished much to get to where I am," she gloated, but not thoughtlessly.
"Most witches just age for eleven years." He replied dryly. You wouldn't be such a smartass if I shoved my foot where the sun doesn't shine.
Hermione, now miffed, continued, "I have been experimenting with different potions, it seems my latest transported me here." Through time.
Tom did not look impressed. His face was rather impassive, as if her feat unfazed him, "that is... nice." He sounded like a man who had just received a hideous 'portrait' from a child and complimented it for the sake of pacifying the child.
Hermione wanted to wrangle his neck, almost fantasising the way his pale skin would redden as he asphyxiated. How dare he downplay her achievements! "Well, obviously I will not be telling a schoolboy about my creations and findings!" She snapped. Again, it was irrelevant that Hermione was a schoolgirl.
"I'm quite smart." Tom shrugged. "Perhaps I could provide you with valuable input. Ah, a fresh perspective." He offered, moving forward to hang his legs off the edge.
Hermione considered this for a moment. Either the man could be daft and unhelpful, or smart and too helpful. There were too many unknown variables in her circumstance.
She smiled uncomfortably, "there are way too many unknown variables, so I can not divulge any of the information. But perhaps if you prove yourself in the future." She added the second part smugly. Of course that was if she ever managed to recreate this exact scene in the first place. It may have just been a freak event.
Tom rolled his eyes, "alright. You best leave now, the Professor's would have completed their rounds by now." He sighed, shutting off. Hermione rose from her seat, glad to take the exit.
She waltzed over to the door, practically over the moon when the feeling of unsteadiness washed over her once more. Hermione grabbed onto the door handle, trying to hold herself upright. The wooden door she was staring at, seemed to lose its definition. The beautiful carving seemed to blur into nonexistence, leaving behind only a smooth and dull surface. Tom's concerned voice reached her, "Hermione-" but before she could listen to what he else had to say, his voice was reduced to white noise. Hermione blinked furiously, trying to clear her head. She turned the door knob and took a step forward, desperate for a breath of fresh air. Hermione swallowed, a cold feeling washing over her as if she were underwater.
I don't even have a wand...
As soon as Hermione placed a step out the door, she felt as if she had been submerged into boiling hot water. Opening her eyes in shock at the sensation, Hermione Granger was shocked to find herself standing on the exact spot she had been in, in number 12, Grimmauld Place.