Both Alike in Dignity
August 27th, 1977
After more lemon drops than her parents would have been proud of and a bit of quiet (she hoped) hyperventilating in the chair across from Dumbledore; Hermione finally passed the time turner across the desk and admitted to herself that she was well and truly stuck in 1977.
“May I ask when you’re from?” He asked as he studied the time turner. “I don’t believe I remember seeing your name in the Book of Admittance.”
“1996,” she replied with a frown. “I won’t even be born until next year.”
He nodded, casting a few spells over the time turner. “It should be easy for you to avoid the other version of yourself then. That’s been known to cause trouble.” His eyes twinkled with mischief that implied he’d probably caused that sort of trouble before, but Hermione couldn’t find it in her to care.
What was one supposed to say to their headmaster after they’d been sent back in time nineteen years? There was so much to tell him about the future, so many small details that could very possibly save lives. Save Harry’s parents.
“Professor, I think you should know that the war—”
Dumbledore cut her off, “No, I rather think I shouldn’t.” At her astonishment, his expression softened into a smile. “Time is a tricky thing, you might tell me how to end the war only to find out that in doing so an even worse evil was created.”
“Yes, but—”
“Do we win the war Miss Granger?” He asked with a raised eyebrow.
She frowned, clutching her books tighter to her chest. “Yes, but—”
“Good then,” he nodded. “That’s all I need to know about what the future holds.”
Hermione was getting rather tired of him interrupting her, so she spoke quickly and without pausing to breathe,“People are going to die sir! Good people, and I could stop it from happening at all.”
“People die in wars.” The shimmering runes he’d conjured around the time turner stopped and he set it neatly on the desk. “What matters is that we win, and those of us who survive do so in order to ensure a brighter future in honor of those who we lost.” He put up a hand to stop her arguing. “The more important matter at hand, Miss Granger, is that I am unable to send you back. Or, rather, forward.”
It was as if the whole world came crashing down around her. He couldn’t get her home, she was never going to see Harry or Ron again or her parents. She was stuck in 1977. As a muggle-born. During the First Wizarding War.
“Why not?” She asked, because that was the sensible thing to do. “Even when I’m from, time turners are restricted to five hour jumps. Are you telling me that someone built a true time turner, left it in an attic where it went off the minute I touched it, and didn’t think to make it go forwards in time?” Somewhere in her she knew her voice was becoming what some might call “shrill”, but there was not a single part of her that cared.
With a smile that made her want to hex something, he pushed it across the desk to her. “Yes, Miss Granger, that’s exactly what I’m saying.”
Hermione inhaled slowly, counted to eight, and then let it out. Getting angry at Dumbledore wasn’t going to solve anything. Scooping the time turner off the desk she asked, “What do I do then?” She was stuck in the past, and there was nothing she could do about it.
The Headmaster pushed up his glasses and leaned back in his chair. “Seeing as you have not yet completed your sixth or seventh years at Hogwarts, I would suggest you do so. Make a life for yourself here, as there’s no going back.”
“But sir,” she sighed. It was so difficult conversing with the man when he didn’t know her at all. “I’m a muggleborn, and we’re at war. Won’t it be rather suspicious if I suddenly start attending Hogwarts?”
At that, his smile somehow managed to grow without changing at all. “You mentioned headquarters early? Can I ask what you were referring to?”
How Harry managed to put up with Dumbledore without losing it, she wasn’t quite sure. “The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, sir.”
He nodded, a bit grimmer now, and she felt a bit pleased at the fact that she’d managed to tell him something about the future. If he wouldn’t let her tell him directly, at least she could tell him in this roundabout sort of way. “We will tell people that you’re a cousin of Mr. Frank Longbottom who was schooled at home due to a nasty recurring case of Dragon Pox which you only recently managed to be cured of. The safest place you can be is in the home of a pureblood family.”
Neville’s dad. Hermione frowned at the image of the Longbottoms in their room in the Janus Thickley ward, but nodded nonetheless. It was a decent plan, she’d heard of cases of Dragon Pox that were resistant to the cure, so it wasn’t entirely implausible.
“Are you sure they’ll be willing to take me in, sir?”
Dumbledore gave her a short nod and stood. “Yes Miss Granger, the Order protects those in need. Augusta will be more than happy to take you in.”
Merlin, she hadn’t even considered the fact that she’d be living with Augusta Longbottom. From what Neville had told her, and the rather brief interaction she’d had with her at St. Mungos, she wasn’t sure that would be very enjoyable. But what was her other option? She wouldn’t be of age for another month, she had no money, no idea where she’d go, and there was a war going on.
The Headmaster tossed a handful of floo powder into the fireplace and then stuck his head in. Hermione merely watched as he had some conversation with whomever was on the other end, too overwhelmed to continue catastrophizing.
Instead she turned her attention to the two books in her arms. The Diary of R.A.B. and Secrets of the Darkest Arts. The only things she’d brought into the past with her, other than her clothes and her wand. A book on Dark Magic and some probably dead wizard’s diary. Lovely.
After a few minutes Dumbledore pulled his head from the Floo and gestured her over. “Augusta has agreed.” He offered her the vase of floo powder. “I will see you at the start of term Miss Longbottom.” He emphasized the name with a pointed look. “Try to make a life for yourself here. The future will come to pass with or without your meddling.”
Hermione nodded, unsure of what to say to that. This was a lot, all at once, and she thought she was handling it well at the very least. She hadn’t broken down in tears, which was about the most restraint she could manage.
She tossed the floo powder into the fireplace. “Longbottom Hall!”
☆★☆
Hermione spilled out of the fireplace, instinctively moving to brush the ash off her clothes only to find that there was none. The fireplace was remarkably clean which was a feat in and of itself.
A stern middle-aged woman greeted her as she stepped out. Augusta looked much younger than she had when Hermione had first met her. Her style was also much more subdued with no vulture hat in sight, simply neat navy robes and a hat made of what looked like pigeon feathers.
“You must be Hermione.” Augusta gave her an appraising look, grimacing at her tight jeans. “Well, if you want to start looking like a pureblood we’re going to need to get rid of those awful muggle trousers.”
“I—” Hermione went to defend her clothes, but thought better of it. This woman was taking her in during a war, with little knowledge of who she was or why she needed protection. She could excuse the slight. “Yes I am, thank you for taking me in Mrs. Longbottom.”
Her politeness seemed to mollify the older woman who offered her a brief smile. “Augusta is fine dear. Now, you should meet Frank if you’re to be joining our family.” With that she turned and began marching through the house.
Hermione followed behind, attempting to get her bearings. Longbottom Hall was easily twice the size of Grimmauld Place, but lacked the dour decorations and bad mood of Grimmauld. Instead, everything was decorated in various neutral colors with splashes of Gryffindor red. It felt like a home.
“Frank!” Augusta shouted before continuing her march.
They ended up in a small sitting room that looked as if it had been taken over by plants. The chairs and couch were thankfully clear, but every other flat surface in the room was covered with pots filled with various magical plants.
In the center of the chaos sat a boy, about her age, with messy blonde hair talking gently to a large purple flower. When he looked up, Hermione was caught off guard by his resemblance to Neville.
“Hi Mum,” he greeted with a charming smile that was definitely unlike Neville. Frank seemed far more charismatic and self-assured. “Who’s this?”
“Your cousin Hermione,” Augusta said with little emotion. “She’s been ill with dragon pox for the past five years and has been unable to attend Hogwarts. She’ll be staying with us from now on.”
He frowned, and yes, there it was, it looked just like when Neville got called on in a class that wasn’t Herbology. “I don’t have a cousin, Hermione though.” When he caught her staring at him, he winced. “No offense.”
Augusta let out a long suffering sigh. “Dumbledore says you do, so now you do.” She waved a dismissive hand and turned to leave the room. “Show her to one of the guest rooms and give her some of Alice’s spare night things that you most certainly do not have.”
Frank flushed red at the implication but stood up and offered his hand to her. “Nice to meet you Hermione, I’m Frank.”
And just like that, Hermione Jean Granger became Hermione Jean Longbottom.