1st chapter
She had expected pain. It seemed to be such a pointless way to go if there wasn’t at least a bit of pain. Not that she wanted it but after a year of running and basically constant state of fear and pain, it just seemed unsatisfying. She had expected… well, more, really. Her whole life didn’t flash before her eyes just moments before the killing curse hit her. She just… died. She was dead, wasn’t she?
Really, death was supposed to be different, Hermione thought bitterly. Very different from what was currently happening. Not, of course, that she knew what death was supposed to be like. After all there weren’t any books on it. Although if Hermione remembered correctly (which was highly likely) she had once read a book by some woman called Drusilla Bones (or was it Banes?) who claimed to have died and returned. Allegedly death was supposed to look like some form of train station, which was absolutely ridiculous. The woman probably had sniffed too much pixie-powder or had simply had a very realistic dream.
Hermione was sure death wasn’t like that. However, she was also sure death wasn’t like this, whatever this was.
She felt nothing. Well not nothing, that wasn’t right either.
The air was cleaner than before, and she felt quiet breezes whispering against her skin, making her shiver.
A trail of Goosebumps went up her arm and made her hairs stand. She felt the briskness of the night (the darkness beyond her closed eyelids hinted at it being night) and she could of course hear herself breathing and if she really concentrated she was able to feel her very own, steady and very much not still heartbeat. Something that should by all means be impossible. After all she had just died. Hadn’t she? She shouldn’t have a body anymore, at least that was what she had imagined all her life.
Death was supposed to free it from its flesh prison. Apparently she had been mistake. Another disappointment, as if her life hadn’t had enough of those…
She sucked in a breath of cold air. It tasted like cleanness and approaching winter, which was even stranger. In the last moments of her life Hermione remembered the warmth of the humid air that had made sweat run down her skin and neck. Now that same sweat was chilling her to no end while evaporating into the cold air.
Where was Carrow, was one of the first thought that shot through her mind after her short musing of death and what it entailed? Was the horrid woman still behind her, wand ready to end Hermione’s life… again? A wand that had seen more death in the last year than it should in a life time.
Being the brave Gryffindor she always had been, she slowly opened her eyes, slowly adjusting to the darkness beyond her eyelids. It was so dark but she found she wasn’t blind as she first had thought.
A few seconds ago the air had vibrated with the energy of curse after curse being fired, had been alight with flashes of red, green, gold and all the other colours that existed. The air had been pierced with scream of friend or foe. It didn’t matter, the screams, whomever they had come from, had clenched themselves around Hermione’s heart like a fist. It had made her nauseous. She tasted blood in her mouth. It made her want to throw up.
She was still in Hogwarts, so much was clear, she noted as soon as her eyes were finally able to make out first shapes.
She let her gaze wander over the smooth surfaces of walls, windows that were adorned by iron frames and pointed arches. But everything felt fundamentally different even if they structures seemed familiar enough. Everything was clean, no rubble was littering the ground, and no dust was hanging in thick clouds in the air and clogging her lungs. It was rather peaceful. Something Hermione hadn’t experienced in a very long time. What exactly had happened?
Last thing she could remember was running from the battlefield, chasing death-eaters and being chased.
Alecto Carrow had been following her, throwing curses at her way. She remembered fleeing like a mad woman, fear pounding through her veins and then grinding to an abrupt halt. There had been no way out, there had been a wall in front of her, blocking her way. The few seconds of frantic search until Alecto Carrow had finally caught up with her were still vivid in her mind. The woman’s skin had been a deathly white in the dim light of the night.
Screams had made Hermione clench her teeth. They had come from two corridors down. The red hair of the death eater looked like flames, her dark eyes gleamed with murderous sparkle.
The death eater had been faster, her wand ready and the words flying from her mouth before Hermione had been able to react. Before Hermione could have done or said anything. Avada Kedavra, the words were still ringing in her ears. The icy fear was still pumping through her blood. The curse hadn’t hit her directly though, had it, Hermione realized with a start? No, it had hit the little thing hanging around her neck. Her time turner.
Instinctively Hermione’s hand went to her chest and she clutched the turner, its edges cutting into her skin. It was still whole. She gazed at it, inspecting it closer, noticing the fine cracks running through the golden material. There was a faint green glow to it. Really faint. Could it be… She wasn’t dead. Her time turner had saved her. There was only one logical solution that presented itself. The turner had probably thrown her a bit back in time when it was loaded with the energy of the curse. Maybe a few days? Maybe a week?
Hermione’s mind raced, her breath coming quickly. This was the worst thing that could have happened to her. Well, maybe not the worst. After all, the war had made her quite creative concerning anything bad that could happen.
She would have to hide, she realized if she didn’t want a killing curse to really hit her. She could not go around the castle and get caught. She would have to re-emerge when Alecto will have hit her time turner (she wasn’t too sure which tenses were to be used in these complicated terms). She could do it, she had to. Everything would be fine…
“Who are you, may I ask?” Hermione turned around, wand ready, Adrenalin shooting through her already worn out system. Her plan had been thrown out the window pretty quickly. However, nothing a small Obliviate couldn’t change.
Her fingers curled around the familiar wood, her eyes blazing and the air around her already crackling with her magic but that all seemed to fade into the background as she gazed at the face that was in front of her.
Her heart was beating loudly in her chest and her hair was clinging to her forehead as she looked into eyes that had been dull and lifeless the last time she had seen them.
You are dead, she wanted to scream. She wanted to cry.
“Professor Dumbledore?”, she asked, full of wonder and hope. But that wasn’t Dumbledore, couldn’t be him. Dumbledore was dead. Really dead. Not like her who was… well not dead. The man in front of her didn’t really look like her old headmaster, she realized as she kept gazing at him. He looked like a different version of Dumbledore. Maybe it was his son? The man did look like a younger version of her Dumbledore. Way younger.
His hair and beard was shorter and it wasn’t white. It was a light brown and his blue eyes seemed somehow clearer. Did Dumbledore have son? Maybe. Who knew, that man had always been so private.
“Will you please lower your wand and explain how you came into Hogwarts, Miss…?”
“Granger, Sir. Hermione Granger. And may I ask what day it is?”
“September 15th, Miss Granger.”, the man answered nonplussed.
His eyes flicked down her body, concern shining in the blue eyes. She must look terrible, she realized.
September… It was way worse than Hermione could have imagined. Way worse. She had hoped for a week, two at most. Not a few months. But… something wasn’t right. Who was that man in front of her? Why was everything so clean? From what she had heard about that year at Hogwarts, she’d say it wouldn’t feel so, well, peaceful and quiet. What had Ginny said to her? It basically was a constant battlefield.
“What year, exactly?”, Hermione asked, her voice thin even to her own ears. She knew she wouldn’t like the answer. It dawned on her that it hadn’t been a few weeks or even months.
“Well, 1944 of course.”
It was like a wave crashing on her. Everything was still for a second, but she was already doomed. The water was already pulling her under, taking away her air.
“I take it you really are Professor Dumbledore then?”, Hermione asked, her vision swimming and her hands clenching.
Why her? Why did bad things always happen to her of all people? Dumbledore only nodded. His face, even when guarded, showed his confusion. He probably believed her to be crazy. Understandable, after all she was on the verge of a breakdown, she couldn’t breathe properly anymore, everything seemed too much, just too much... Her clothes must be dirty and tattered.
Her jeans and sweater were worse for the wear. She was covered in dirt and sweat and, she finally noticed, in blood. She had blood on her. Was it her own? Did she even care?
“Are you alright Miss Granger?”, Dumbledore asked, his face again showing true concern.
“I really am not”, Hermione answered, her voice still wavering. “Well, Professor, to cut my story short, I was hit by a death curse. Avada Kedavra, I’m sure you know the one. Well, it didn’t hit me, it hit my time turner and it sent me back in time.”, Hermione paused, before adding “It really doesn’t sound quite impressing this way…”
Dumbledore furrowed his brow and studied her over his small glasses.
“Why, may I ask, was someone trying to kill you?”, he asked.
“I’m afraid I can’t tell you, but I can tell you that I have been thrown fifty years into the past and in my time there is a war going on.”
“Oh dear…”, was all the young Professor said. He seemed to be thinking. Hermione just wanted to sleep. She suddenly felt how tired she was. It must have been the Adrenalin that was ebbing away. Everything felt slow and sluggish. She was so tired.
“I’d say we continue this in my office, this isn’t a conversation that is wise to be overheard by students wondering the corridor. You are quite lucky that I found you and not anyone else.”
Hermione only nodded and followed the Professor. She couldn’t help but notice how youthful his step seemed, how lightly he walked. So different to her Dumbledore. Her own steps were painful, slow and sluggish. She was limping, she realized. She hadn’t felt anything before now. Then again, she had other problems than her leg hurting a bit. Trying to catch up to Dumbledore she pulled her jeans up a bit and saw her skin was tinted black and pulsing. What kind of curse had that been, the academic in her wondered?
“Oh dear”, Dumbledore said and somehow those two words were worse than him screaming in horror. “I think I should know the counter curse, come!”, he seemed to be a bit in a hurry now.
She gazed through the passing windows, still limping, trying to forget the… thing… on her leg.
The dark Hogwarts grounds lay beyond the thin glass. So still and so unblemished. Not how she remembered it. Full of smoke, bodies and creatures that were looking to kill you. There had been so many. Werewolves, with long teeth that were dripping with blood, spiders with hairy legs and fangs… Other things that Hermione didn’t even want to think about. Her hand twitched. She was still in the mind-set to fight. To fight and flee. Everything seemed so wrong. Out of focus. Not like she belonged. She guessed being thrown from one extreme to the next wasn’t the best for her mental stability.
Dumbledore’s office was not, as she had expected, the headmasters office. How stupid, she knew that Albus Dumbledore wasn’t headmaster in this time but it was hard imagining the man in any other setting than in the wide room with a phoenix sitting next to him. His office in this time was much smaller and more cramped.
There was a large table with many papers rolls on it and many odd devices that Hermione hadn’t or only seldom seen in her life. She ignored her curiosity and plopped down on a chair Dumbledore had summoned for her. It was going to be a long night.
“I want to- No, I have to go back to my own time, Professor.”, she said, her voice weak. The man in front of her sighed and only nodded. He had pulled his own wand. If he noticed Hermione flinching at the sight of a wand, he didn’t press it. Dumbledore started casting spells silently, his eyes narrowed in concentration. The pain eased away slowly. The dark pulsing thing in her leg vanished leaving behind no trace.
“Please call me Albus, I think the situation calls for it. Tea, Miss Granger?”, Albus Dumbledore finally said, after righting himself once more and sitting down, too. His eyes went over her skinny form once again, probably to check for other injuries that needed tending to.
“No thank you and you may call me Hermione.”, Hermione answered, her voice still thin. Dumbledore poured himself a steaming cup and put one sugar into it. Hermione watched his movements transfixed, it strangely calmed her. While watching the small teaspoon going round in the delicate cup, Hermione’s mind began to organize itself and her thoughts became less jumbled.
“Well Hermione”, Dumbledore finally started after putting the spoon away “I can assure you that I will search for a way to send you back. In the meanwhile, what do you know about time travel?”
Hermione shrugged. “Not much, Pro-Albus. I once used time travel in third year but only for one or two hour more time for school.”
Albus Dumbledore nodded.
“Well, time is a peculiar thing. I believe Muggles have had quite the breakthrough with it. What is his name? Twostone?”
“Einstein”, Hermione corrected instantly, nearly smiling at her old headmaster. Dumbledore’s eyes glinted over his half-moon glasses.
“Yes, that would be the one. Time always depends on the one who is perceiving it Miss Granger and the everything that had happen, may it be in the so called future, has happened in the past from your point of view. That is why time travel is so extremely dangerous. Nobody really knows what happens when you travel. It could be that your friends will live their life on without knowing what happened to you or it could be that they cease to exist all together. Nobody knows, but time lies in the eye of the beholder. Wizarding society has made some progress, somehow a travel back in time only a few weeks doesn’t hurt reality but it is said that everything longer disturbs the time so much that one does not travel into one owns reality so to say.”
Hermione leaned back in her chair.
“Are you trying to tell me that you can’t send me back?”
“Probably, Hermione.”
“Because my future is not the version that is now my past?”
Dumbledore nodded seemingly impressed. “Very well done, I can see that you are quite intelligent."
“So what? I will have to stay here? Make myself a life in the forties?”
Dumbledore sighed and inclined his head, yes.
“I hate my life.”, Hermione whispered.
“Don’t dwell on what could have been, Hermione, maybe this is a good thing. This is your presence and you can shape your future how you want it to be. Whatever has happened in your time, you can undo it. It maybe won’t save the time-perspective, meaning the reality, that you friends are living but it will save this one.”
Hermione watched Dumbledore. It was clear what he wanted. It was information on the future and how to prevent everything that was about to happen. But what would killing Tom Riddle alas Voldemort help? Maybe someone worse would come, maybe life would be even more miserable.
“If by the end of the school year, Albus, you haven’t found a way, and you must promise to search, then I will work together to prevent a lot of bad things from happening.”
Albus nodded, his lips pulling into a smile.
“In the meanwhile, I will attend the final year of Hogwarts as I never quite got to that, with being on the run from murderous lunatics and so on.”
“As you wish, we will tell the headmaster.”