Peremo

Hermione sighed into her hands.

"—honestly Miss, Black started it, all I did was defend myself."

"Tripe, Miss."

"It's true, I was sitting under the willow tree with Judith minding my own business, and the next thing I know, there's a curse flying towards us!"

"Imagining things again, are you Eddie?"

There was a brief pause, and then, "You cursed me and you know it, you pompous twa—"

"Stop." Hermione interrupted sternly, stepping between the two boys. "I don't care who started what. Edward, throwing rocks at your classmates is against the rules, you know that. And Cygnus, I have seen you here three times this week, and to be frank, I believe you just as much as I believe that the giant squid has grown itself a pair of wings." She sighed again, though this time it was more of a huff. "Edward, you'll have detention on Friday with Professor Jigger—"

"Aw, but Miss—"

"No. Friday detention with Professor Jigger, and that's final," she snapped. "And Cygnus, that'll be a month's detention—"

"What? That's not fair—"

"No," Hermione snapped over him, "what's not fair is the amount of time I've had to spend caring for the other students who you've decided to practice your offensive charms with." She huffed. "A month's detentions, and you'll be serving them with Professor Kettleburn."

"Oh, come on Miss! You wouldn't give a dog detention with Kettle—"

"Ten points from Slytherin for speaking ill of your professors, and if you keep arguing with me Cygnus, it'll be another five."

Cygnus' lips puckered, contorting as if he was trying very hard to keep himself quiet.

A moment passed.

"All right," said Hermione when it seemed Cygnus was in fact capable of containing himself. "Now Edward, unless you want the swelling to come back, make sure you don't forget to take the second potion I gave you at this time tomorrow."

"Yes, Miss."

"This exact time. Late by so much as half an hour, and you'll be redder than Professor Slughorn after one too many firewhiskys."

"Yes, Miss."

"Good. Now, other than in the case of an absolute emergency, I don't want to see you—either of you—back here again. Understood?"

"Yes, Miss," Edward grumbled.

Cygnus glared before he too uttered to his shoes, "'s Miss."

Hermione gave them one last unimpressed glare before she said, "all right. Off with you." She made a shooing motion with her hands, and with their heads down, the boys scurried off back to their classes.

Once they were out of sight and the echo of their footsteps had faded, Hermione lowered herself down to sit on the edge of one of the spare infirmary beds.

She exhaled through her nose. It'd been a long day, and it was only four o'clock.

Cygnus, she knew from the conversations she'd overheard in the staff's chambers, was a right pain in all of the professor's backsides. He didn't put any effort into his studies, talked back at every opportunity, and was constantly terrorising the other students.

He was an entitled bully, and while she hated seeing it, Hermione couldn't actually do much about it other than assign him detentions. As Bellatrix's father, Cygnus might very well be, unfortunately, too important to the timeline. Anything more severe than a detention might be enough to throw him off his course, and so, Hermione had to let him be.

And then there was Edward—bless him. Lanky and pigeon-toed, he frequented the infirmary more than any other student in the entire school. Something about him must've screamed 'easy target' to the other students. She suspected it had something to do with his second-hand robes.

Now that they'd left, Hermione was left, for all intents and purposes, alone. The other inhabitant of the infirmary, Clarence Biggins, had been unconscious for two days now, thanks to quite a severe miscalculation in third-year potions. Meanwhile, the matron, Madam Spindle, had an awful habit of drifting off to sleep in the infirmary office for hours at a time, leaving Hermione to hold down the fort.

But that wasn't to say Hermione didn't like working in the infirmary. In fact, she quite liked helping the young students back to full health, and she liked the freedom she had in the position. No one was ever breathing down her neck. But still, it was... sometimes quite... boring. Tedious.

Yet, Hermione craved the security of the castle, and she was too young to teach, Dippet and Dumbledore had both told her so. The only thing they'd been able to offer was an assisting job to Madam Spindle, and she hadn't been in any position to reject it.

And so, she'd enthusiastically taken up their offer.

...that had been two years ago.

For two years now she'd been living in the fifties, and if she was honest, she hated it. Here, decades away from her own time, she had no friends, no social life. As an assistant without formal qualifications, her prospects for a career were slim to none, and as a single young woman, she was restricted in what she was allowed to do, what she wore, what she owned, how she carried herself.

It was suffocating, and it would easily be enough to wear down the spirits of even the most content of people, and so, seeing Madam Spindle's elderly form starting to stir in the office, Hermione got up off the bed, and grabbed her bag. Then, without a word of goodbye, she hurried out and headed off to where she went every Friday afternoon.

To go and get a drink.

Hermione swirled her glass, watching as the alcohol in the wine formed distinct patterns as it pooled back to the bottom after each swish.

She glanced up, briefly catching the eyes of an elderly man down the other end of the bar. He gave her a subtle nod.

Hermione sighed. Being recognised by the Hog's Head's regulars was surely a sign she was drinking too much.

Oh well.

She took another sip.

It was then, as she swallowed her wine and put down her glass, that she heard a loud round of laughter and noticed a small group of men over toward the back corner of the pub. All robed in black, they were rowdily surrounding a small round table, steadily making their way through their three jugs of butterbeer.

They sounded like they were having a good time.

Hermione watched them as subtly as she could, feeling a wave of jealousy. She hadn't had anyone to have a good time with in more than two years.

It was her own fault—well. That wasn't exactly true. Yes, she'd volunteered to make the journey back through time, and yes, she'd isolated herself once it was clear she'd reached the wrong decade, but a large part of the fault was, undoubtedly, Dumbledore's. He was the one who sent her into the wrong time. He was the one who'd convinced her to go on such a foolhardy journey with no way back in the first place.

She took another sip and watched as one of the men from the group left the others and approached the bar, resting his foot on one of the empty stools.

He was tall. Nice looking. Warm features, sandy hair, lanky limbs. He reminded her of Ron.

The bartender was busy chatting with the old man she'd caught looking at her earlier at the other end of the bar. The man from the group would surely be waiting for a while before he was served.

Hermione bit into her lip.

She shouldn't.

She knew she shouldn't, but—

Hermione stood up before she could properly think about it. She didn't know what had gotten into her, but she was going to it. This was her life now. She was allowed a bit of fun. She was allowed to make friends. As long as she didn't stop anyone she knew from being born... all was fair, wasn't it?

She brushed her hair behind her ear and smoothed her dress as she approached the man from the group, before she took up a place leaning on the bar next to him. "Hi."

The man turned to her, his eyebrows showing his surprise, and looked her down and up. Her dress was grey and dull, and her hair wasn't brushed, but she couldn't have looked too bad, because he still smiled sideways and drawled, "hey there."

Hermione returned his smile. "Are you having a bit of a party over there?" She gestured with her chin to toward the table of his friends.

"Something like that."

"Could I-" she hesitated, but forced herself through it, "um, I'm sorry if it's a bit forward, but would you mind if... could I join you?"

The man blinked. He glanced over his shoulder toward his friends and then back at her.

Hermione cleared her throat. "Of course, I understand if it's a private get together and you don't want-"

"No, no," he interrupted quickly. "No, um, it's fine. Yes. I mean—yes—you should join us. I'm sure they won't mind."

"Great," she beamed, relieved. "I'm Hermione."

"I'm Avery," he said. The barman was heading in their direction now, and Avery gestured toward him with a nod of his head. "Can I get you a drink?"

Hermione really didn't know what had gotten into her, but she pressed her lips together and said, far too boldly, "I'll have whatever you're having."

"You got it." He winked.

A bit of a thrill coursed through her. The only wink she'd been on the receiving end of in the last two years had been from a younger Dumbledore.

While Avery ordered another two jugs of butterbeer and an extra glass, Hermione finished off her wine and again smoothed her hair down.

Once the barman had spelled the jugs back at the table full, Avery turned to give her his full attention and handed her the glass.

"Um. My friends can be a bit—if they're too—if you need me to tell them to shove it, at any time, feel free to—"

A laugh escaped her. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Okay. Okay, good,” he said. He seemed nervous. “I’ll, um—this way.”

Avery led the way over to the others, glancing back at her several times in the process as if he thought she might change her mind.

She didn’t, though.

"Hey," Avery greeted when they reached the others, and though she saw his hand reach back behind her, she didn't feel him actually touch her. "This is my new friend, Hermione." Her new friend turned to her. "And Hermione, this is Percy, Evander, and Felix."

Evander, the blond in the middle, smiled and nodded of his head. Percy and Felix, on the other hand, gave her tight smiles. They didn't seem as friendly as they had from across the pub.

Hermione cleared her throat. "Pleasure," she said somewhat awkwardly, gratefully accepting when Avery offered to fill her glass. "Um. So, what brings you all out?"

"Our—uh—another friend of ours just got a job up at Hogwarts. We're helping him celebrate," Avery explained. "He's just stepped out though."

"Oh!" At the prospect of meeting a new staff member at Hogwarts, one her own age, Hermione felt her spirits lifting. Maybe her recklessness actually would lead her to a friend. Surely one friend wouldn't hurt the timeline too much. "I'm up at Hogwarts, too."

"Yeah?" Evander asked, and Hermione suddenly felt herself flushing with them all looking at her at once. "What do you do?"

"I'm just assisting in the infirmary," she said.

"Spindle still there, the old bat?" Percy asked.

"She certainly is."

Percy snorted. "Miracle she's still hanging on. Gotta be in her hundreds, surely."

"She was at Hogwarts when my father was there," Felix provided.

"See? Ancient," Percy declared, and the men all laughed.

Hermione laughed with them as though she understood the joke and sipped at her butterbeer.

It was then that she noticed another man heading over toward them—he must've been the other friend Avery'd mentioned. He was tall; taller than Avery, but not quite as tall as Felix. He had slender, fitting robes that looked nice enough to be described as formal, and his hair was neatly brushed back. He looked as if he might've come straight from his interview.

Of all of the men, he was probably the most attractive.

When he looked in her direction, Hermione quickly glanced away, not wishing to be caught staring.

"All sorted then?" Avery asked the newcomer, handing him a glass of butterbeer.

"Yes. Just a... misunderstanding."

Again, all of the men around the table laughed. Hermione didn't get that joke either, so she took another sip of her drink.

"I don't believe we've met?"

Hermione glanced up. The newcomer was looking at her. Now that he was closer, she felt a little uncomfortable. She wasn't sure why.

"Oh, this is Hermione. She works up at Hogwarts, too," Avery chimed in from beside her. "Hermione, this is our friend we were telling you about, Tom."

Hermione blinked.

Tom.

Over her last two years in the fifties, Hermione had met precisely three other Toms. And each time, she'd panicked, wondering if she were meeting the future Dark Lord.

This Tom, seemed, outwardly at least, like a pretty solid candidate. Tall, pale, handsome, posse of friends gathered at the Hog's Head. By her math, he even seemed to be about the right age.

Could he be—

No.

No, couldn't be.

Just like her meetings with the other Toms, Hermione quickly brushed her budding panic aside. Tom Riddle never managed to get a position at Hogwarts. Dippet had already rejected him, Dumbledore never allowed it, and at this point of the fifties, she knew him to be happily working at Borgin and Burke's.

No, this Tom must've just been another standard, everyday Tom.

He certainly didn't seem like anything special.

"Oh, um, Avery mentioned you've just gotten a job up at the castle? What will you be doing?"

"Teaching. History of Magic."

Ah.

Ah, yes.

One of the very few changes to the timeline she had allowed herself to make. Allowing a ghost to teach at Hogwarts in the original timeline had been careless, and irresponsible, and it was just something she simply couldn't allow Dippet or Dumbledore to do to this new one. By convincing Dumbledore to take on a new, live teacher, she would save hundreds of students from suffering in classes the way she had.

It was simply a necessary change, and future Harry and Ron would surely thank her for it.

"That's wonderful!" Hermione gushed, and she meant it. He looked young. Her age. A young face would bring a whole new feel to History of Magic. "Congratulations! It was such a shame about Cuthbert, but I'm sure you'll bring a whole new... life to history at Hogwarts."

Tom smiled and politely said, "thank you." He didn't seem to get her joke—not that she expected him to. "And yourself? What do you teach?"

"Oh, no, no, I don't teach," she corrected him. "I'm just an assistant in the infirmary. It's not much, but it's—"

Tom tilted his head. There was recognition in his eyes. "Hermione Granger," he said, pointing a finger.

"—really quite—oh. Um. Yes. Yeah, that's me, how did you—"

"I read your article. The piece in the prophet the other month, ‘Modern Day Oppression of Centaur Rights’."

Hermione's skin heated by several degrees.

Oh.

Oh dear.

Someone had actually read her article. And he remembered her name! She must've made a good impression, then.

"Oh! Wow, I haven't—" she cleared her throat and tried to stifle her grin. She didn't want to seem too enthused. "I, uh, thank you! I didn't think there would be much interest."

Tom laughed lightly. It sounded nice. "Yes, well. It's just, it's all a bit ridiculous, don't you think?"

Hermione's smile slowly fell. "Pardon?"

"Centaurs aren't at all oppressed," he stated. "You can’t honestly believe that they are. They're free to do as they wish, and if what they wish is to seclude themselves in herds and gallop around in forests, then who are we to deny them?"

Hermione blinked, affronted. "That's not what—my article was— to this day, they're still classified as beasts."

"Yes. They are,” Tom agreed, “by their own choosing."

"But that doesn't mean it's right!"

"It's what they want. Surely true oppression would be through not allowing them free will to choose how they live and are classified."

"That's rubbish," Hermione snapped, her brows settling into a glare. "Their classification with the Ministry as beasts prevents them from owning land, prevents them the right to work, prevents the right to vote."

"They don't want those things."

"Oh, pardon me, I didn't realise you'd asked them," she snapped, unable to help herself.

To that, Tom didn't immediately reply, and it was then, in the moment of quiet, that Hermione noticed that the rest of their party had gone silent.

She glanced around the table. Avery had his goblet to his face and seemed to be taking a rather long swig. Evander looked to be holding in a laugh, Percy almost looked scared, and Felix was staring rather intensely down at the table.

...perhaps her tone had been a bit harsh.

Hermione cleared her throat. "What I'm trying to say, is that that sort of backward thinking is what's keeping us in the nineteenth century while the rest of the world is preparing itself for the twenty-first. Only with true unity and equality of magical beings, can we as a community progress."

"Equality of magical beings," Tom parroted, the amusement plain in his voice. "I suppose you'd next have a seat on the Wizengamot for the giants, too? And then perhaps a tank for a mermaid, and a raised seat for a house elf?"

Tom and his friends laughed at that, and Hermione felt her cheeks heating. It wasn't from the alcohol.

"Laugh as much as you like, but they know magic that we couldn't even begin to understand—"

"How to remove even the most stubborn of stains from one’s clothing?"

The men snorted around their drinks, and Hermione felt her eyelid twitching.

"All right then," she stated, trying her hardest for the words to sound even. "Explain to me, how is it that house elves are able to apparate in and out of Hogwarts as they please? Or how centaurs are able to predict significant events years and years ahead of their occurrence, far exceeding any human form of divination? How the bodies of vampires are immune from the effects of age?"

He laughed, but there was an edge of a scoff to it. "Please. You speak of them as though you admire them."

Hermione lifted her chin. "I admire all who have something valuable to teach me."

Tom watched her then, his mouth shut and eyes scrutinising. As if he didn't believe her, and he was analysing her, looking for some sort of confirmation.

"Bet I could teach you a thing or two," Felix laughed from the other side of the table, his words slightly slurred.

While Evander and Percy snorted with laughter at Felix's comment, Avery nudged him and said, "shut the hell up."

Felix shoved Avery off. "Come back to my room after this, and I'll show you," Felix went on, and then, he winked at her.

"Ugh." Hermione raised her glass and downed what was left of her drink. "I’m sorry. Excuse me," she said, and then she got up and left.

Between Felix and Tom, she'd seen enough.

Outside the safety of the Hog’s Head, the wind in the main street was harsh against her skin, but Hermione didn't mind it. It was sobering.

What had she been thinking? Approaching a random group of men—they could've been anybody! Even the slightest of missteps on her part could have irreversibly swayed the timeline, and not for the better!

So really, she told herself, it was lucky they'd been awful. Approaching them had been a selfish and short-sighted thing to do, and it wasn't as if she needed any friends anyway.

Who needed friends? Certainly not her, she was doing just fine on her own—

"Hey! Wait up!"

Hermione jumped slightly and turned back to the way she'd come. Avery's lanky form was easy to make out, even in the dark, jogging in her direction. The bouncing of his hair looked ridiculous in the lamplight.

"Sorry," Avery panted once he reached her, resting his hands against his knees. Clearly cardio wasn't his strong suit. "Sorry a-about them. Felix is an arse, and Tom can be... a bit difficult sometimes."

"Oh really?" Hermione crossed her arms, raised her chin. "Hadn't noticed."

Avery winced. "What he said about your article was really rude. I'm sure it was a really well written piece, and I'm sure you made a very valid argument."

"Stop it," she mumbled. She didn't need his pity.

But Avery wasn't one to be deterred. "What issue was it in?" he pressed. "I'll go back and find it at the library, and take a look at it."

Hermione scoffed. "That's sweet of you, but you don't have to."

"No, I know. I want to, though.” Avery smiled. It was warm and unlike the ones his friends had given her, it seemed genuine. “Hermione Granger, that’s your full name, right?”

Hermione rolled her eyes, but she was having a hard time fighting off a smile of her own. There was something about him. He was like a puppy. "Look, I… I know you're just trying to be polite, and I appreciate that. But I know that neither you nor your friends could give a toss about centaurs or their rights,” she said. “Thanks for giving me some company, but it's getting late, and I really should be going." She glanced up the hill toward the silhouette of the castle. "It was nice meeting you though, even though you have shitty friends."

Avery laughed. It was an awkward sort of laugh, the sort where a snort creeps in.

"They're not normally—" Avery paused, before he scratched the back of his head. "Yeah, okay, they're a bit shit, aren't they?"

Hermione nodded with vigour. "Have a good night," she said.

Then, Hermione turned and walked back in the direction of the castle.

“You have a good night too, Hermione!” he called after her.

Hermione glanced back, just quickly enough to see him waving after her.

“I know where you live! I’ll write to you!”

She laughed at that, but she didn’t turn back again, even though there was a small part of her that wanted it.

Because it felt like the first time in two years that she’d properly laughed.