Chapter 1 : Starting Anew
| ||Rating: Mature||Chapter Reviews: 6|
Background: Font color:
Chapter 1: Starting Anew
Hermione Granger sat twirling her quill in the library. She had a massive assignment due on the time travel for Professor McGonagall and the book she’d found held plenty of information. Hermione glanced around her to make sure no one was watching, before smiling to herself. She had just found the incantation for a spell that was supposed to allow for small leaps backwards in time. It was the same type of spell placed on time turners, but this one allowed for travel of up to five hours backward in time. Mostly she just wanted to test the spell, to make sure that it was correct before including it in her essay.
Murmuring softly Hermione flicked her wand in the same motion indicated on the page in front of her, twitching her wand in a circular motion designed to turn the clock back by two hours. She could feel herself grinning as the world started to go fuzzy around her as it had always done when she used the Time Turner in third year. But that was before her whole body heated up until it felt like she was on fire. That was before fireworks exploded behind her eyes and she heard the sharp resounding crack of an explosion.
That was before everything went black.
The next thing Hermione knew she was slamming into the hard ground on her back, knocking the wind out of her completely. She could hear shouts, but as of yet her brain was far too scrambled to be able to quantify them as being anything more than white noise. As she lay there trying to get her breath back and trying to understand what had gone wrong with the spell Hermione felt a rolling sense of dread. This couldn’t be good. Nothing like this had ever happened when she used the Time Turner.
All over her body she was hurting, aching as though every nerve ending in her body had been attached to an electric current and was receiving low level charges of electricity. It made her feel tingly all over and not in the good way that she felt when Ron hugged her. This was a bad tingle. This was the type of tingle she imagined she would feel were she being stalked by a hungry werewolf. The type of prickling of awareness across one’s nerve endings that made one hyper aware of everything in a most uncomfortable way.
She was aware of her own panting breath and of the way her heart was hammering out an uneven and entirely erratic beat inside her chest. Her clothes felt like they’d been creepy crawlers everywhere they touched her skin because it felt so sensitive and stung so strangely. If she was being honest Hermione felt a little like she did when she’d tried apparating. As though all of her had been squished into the width and length of the world’s longest noodle before being dragged through the very fabric of the universe that made up time and space.
She gasped as the noises she could hear shifted into perfect clarity and she heard voices very close to her. Unfamiliar voices that didn’t sound like anyone she knew, and yet strangely nagged at her memory as though perhaps she did know them, she just didn’t know yet that she knew them. Had her memory been damaged by that rush of searing heat through her body? Had her brain been addled by the blow to the back of the head when she’d landed hard on the ground.
“Who is she?” someone asked in a hushed whisper.
“I’ve never seen her before. Where did she come from?” another person wanted to know.
“She just appeared when that almighty crack sounded,” the owner of the first voice spoke again, seeming perplexed and highly unsettled by her appearance. The idea that she had appeared out of nowhere with a crack like apparition might work in her favour, she supposed. At least she could lie and say she’d apparated there by mistake if she’d landed somewhere she ought not to be.
The voices that spoke were male and she could hear the confusion and wariness in their tones as they whispered to one another. Their words did nothing to quell her slowly mounting panic. If they didn’t know her or have any idea where she came from then something had gone dreadfully wrong.
Sweet Merlin in Tartarus where was she? Had she somehow travelled through space in addition to travelling through time? That had never happened when she’d used her time turner. She had always been in the same place but however many hours she’d turned in the past. If she was outside – as she suspected from the chilly breeze caressing her skin and the tickle of grass on the back of her legs – then she had either travelled so far back in time that the library hadn’t been built yet, or she’d somehow been jerked through space to a different location, in addition to a different time.
Hermione cursed herself without opening her eyes. She’d been warned so many times that awful things happened to witches who meddled with time. She should have known better that to just trust any old spell written in an outdated and debatably reliable textbook. She had learned that lesson just weeks ago when Harry used that awful Sectumsempra spell from the tattered old Potions book he carried everywhere and almost killed Draco Malfoy by accident.
And now look at her. Blasted who knew where and, more importantly, who knew when? She was in pain all over and apparently she’d arrived in a fashion that sounded very much like Apparating. She was apparently in the middle of a place where the people didn’t recognise her and were probably highly suspicious about her inexplicable entry into their midst.
Maybe opening her eyes would help.
Hermione almost screamed when she opened her eyes. There were two black haired boys peering down at her curiously. They wore Gryffindor Quidditch Robes. One wore round spectacles upon his nose and had windswept hair that stood up in a great mess of spikes as though he’d never combed it in his life.
“Harry?” Hermione asked, a flood of relief pouring over her as she recognised the face of one of the boys, temporarily forgetting that they’d mentioned not recognising her.
“Who’s Harry?” the one that didn’t look like Harry murmured to Harry. Hermione turned her attention to that boy as well.
He had lively grey eyes that glittered with curiosity and a playful cast to his handsome face. His hair was longer, falling almost to his shoulders in waves of silken ebony. His jaw was sharp, his cheekbones high and his lips looked like the most kissable lips Hermione had ever seen. In fact, he might very well be the most handsome boy she’d ever laid eyes on in her life.
What had he said? That he didn’t know who Harry was? Hermione wrinkled her brow in confusion looking back at ‘Harry’ and realising that though her looked very much like her best friend, there were some subtle differences.
She would recognise that black hair anywhere. And as she peered more closely at the Harry look alike she realised he didn’t have Harry’s eyes. His eyes were hazel, rather than bottle green like Harry’s. And Hermione knew there could only be one boy who looked that much like Harry without actually being Harry, especially one who had an outstandingly handsome black-haired friend.
James Potter and Sirius Black were the boys peering down at her. They had to be.
There was no other explanation for it. And that meant that instead of being flung back in time by two hours, Hermione had somehow blasted herself back twenty years in time. If they were still wearing Quidditch uniforms it meant they had to still be in school and Hermione knew that James and Sirius had graduated Hogwarts in May of 1978.
Good lord, what had she done?
The two Marauders were still staring down at her warily, though they looked even more confused now. It was clear they had no idea who Harry was and that they were worried by what Hermione imagined must be a truly horrified expression on her face as she mulled over the number of facts assaulting her mind.
“Erm....” Hermione began, testing how much it hurt to lift her head. A lot. The answer was that it hurt a lot. Ceasing her attempts when it made her head ache terribly, Hermione tried to think of a solution to her problem before landing on the answer to very crisis, “I don’t suppose one of you curious gentlemen could help me up and point me in the direction of Professor Albus Dumbledore?”
“You know Dumbledore?” Sirius asked her, seeming even more curious than ever,
“How did you get here, little bird?”
They both bent forward and slid their hands beneath her shoulders, one on either side of her body and hoisted her to her feet even as Sirius questioned her. Hermione smiled gratefully moments before she stumbled precariously to the left and someone’s warm arms scooped her up before she could fall, cradling her against a strong, well-muscled chest, bridal style. Hermione gasped as she realised her face was now only inches away from the face of a teenage Sirius Black. He smiled at her reassuringly and Hermione couldn’t help but admire his face now. It was much less drawn and ravaged by time and grief than the face Hermione had known.
“Ooh that wasn’t fun,” Hermione groaned as her saviour began to walk slowly, cradling her easily in his arms as though she weighed nothing at all and wasn’t an imposition upon his person.
“You alright, love?” Sirius’s voice asked her when the waves of nausea rolled through her at his movement and she let her head fall sideways onto his shoulder. His long black hair tickled her cheeks.
“I’m fine. Just a little woozy, thanks Sirius,” Hermione murmured, closing her eyes as she rested her cheek against his shoulder and tried not to breath in the delicious scent of his skin, “Please, I need to see Dumbledore immediately.”
“How do you know my name? I’m sure I would have remembered meeting you, little bird, and I can honestly say I’ve never seen you before,” Sirius asked her curiously, sounding suspicious.
She’d already slipped up.
Just because she had worked out who these boys were didn’t mean that she should let on that she knew their names. Merlin but she was an idiot. She was twenty years in the past. She hadn’t even been born yet. The last thing she needed to be doing was admitting that she knew who these boys were when they had no clue regarding her identity. She didn’t need inconvenient questions about how she’d gotten there and how she knew them. The first rule of time-travel was to let as few people as possibly know that you were a time-traveller. Those from the past tended to frown upon those from the future and tended to ply the time-traveller with questions about their future they might have to endure, thus altering time and causing a Butterfly effect if they changed anything as a result of what she shared.
Acting on instinct as she panicked, Hermione did the only thing she could think of to avoid his question. She let her entire body go limp as though she had fainted, playing dead-fish and flopping uselessly as though she had lost consciousness.
“I think she fainted,” Hermione heard another boy say and she suspected from the tone that it might be Remus Lupin. Having been taught by him for all of third year and having interacted with him often during the holidays at Headquarters, Hermione knew his voice rather well indeed.
Sirius shook her slightly as though trying to determine that she had actually fainted and wasn’t faking, but Hermione stayed as limp as possible to give the impression that she was out of it. Something she found was not as easy as she’d imagined. It was hard not to tense her neck to keep her head from lolling uncomfortably with the movements Sirius made.
“You’re right Moony. She’s fainted. Prongs run and get Dumbledore would you? She asked for him twice so she must know him and it’s hardly normal for a witch to appear on the grounds like this. She can’t have apparated. The wards don’t allow it. I’ll take her to the Hospital Wing.”
“What about training Padfoot?” James asked him incredulously and were she not pretending to be unconscious and not fearful of what she’d done, Hermione might have laughed at how very much he sounded like Harry over the idea of something interrupting Quiddicth training.
“Get Dumbledore James and forget training for today, you bloody idiot! This could be an emergency. She appeared out of nowhere. And it’s not like I need any more beater practice,” Sirius Black told his friend as he started striding off the Quidditch pitch with Hermione cradled tightly in his arms.
He ignored James’ huff of surprised protest as he headed for the castle with Hermione cradled in her arms and she was pleased to discover that at least he wasn’t a complete idiot, as he’d informed her they had all been during their years at school.
Hermione stayed silent as the young Sirius Black carried her along. Laying limp like this was beginning to hurt her neck but she couldn’t tip him off yet. It would do no good to have him try to question her again, especially since she was clearly a complete idiot and likely to blurt out things like knowing his name when she wasn’t supposed to have ever seen him in her life before today.
Hanging there limply in his arms, Hermione tried to deduce how old the Marauders might be. She remembered all sorts of information that Harry had managed to gather together about his parents and his father’s best friends in an attempt to better know who they’d been.
They had to be above fifth year. Hermione remembered Harry telling her that they hadn’t achieved animagi until their fifth year. And how else would they have figured out their nicknames without knowing their animal forms? Definitely fifth year at the very least, most likely older. Hermione remembered Harry telling her that Sirius and James had both been on the school Quidditch team in their sixth and seventh years while James had been Quidditch captain, so they were either sixth year or above.
“Who are you, little bird?” Sirius murmured to her supposedly unconscious form as he made his way through the entrance hall and up the stairs to the Hospital Wing. Hermione fought not to tense up; surely he didn’t know she was only faking having fainted.
She didn’t have to worry about it for long though.
“MADAME POMFREY!” Sirius hollered loudly as he kicked open the door of the Hospital Wing. Hermione tensed up in his arms in shock at his loud voice. Well now how was she supposed to fake it?
Sirius paused in his striding to peer down at the girl in his arms. She had gone all tense and he smiled reassuringly when she lifted her head and opened her chocolate eyes. Sirius’s grey eyes searched hers as she tightened her grip on his neck and attempted to make herself lighter in his arms.
“Where am I?” she squeaked, faking confusion.
“I brought you to the Hospital wing love, you fainted back there.”
“But I need to see Dumbledore immediately!” she demanded weakly, attempting to wriggle in his arms so that she could stand up on her own.
“Easy there,” Sirius said, tightening his grip on her, “Dumbledore will be on his way in just a minute. You appeared out of nowhere and then fainted. You couldn’t even stand by yourself. Stop wriggling while I put you on the bed, would you?”
Hermione paused her wriggling and considered the boy who had hold of her. He was ridiculously good looking and the smirk on his face said he knew it too. His long black hair hung in a shiny wild tangle to his shoulders. His strong jaw was dusted with five o’clock shadow; his lips looked utterly kissable, he had a cute nose and deep set grey eyes.
Sweet Merlin, she’d known he’d been handsome in his youth, but she hadn’t known he’d been this handsome. She’d never seen anyone who looked as good as he did.
In this time Sirius’s face wasn’t worn and lined with worry and exhaustion and horror. Here his face was smooth and clean and new and utterly handsome. His hair was clean, though messy from flying; it didn’t hang in lank matted strands as it had when Hermione first met him, but fell nicely around his striking face. He was tall, at least six feet, and his body beneath his Quidditch robes looked lithe and strong and well-muscled. Perfectly formed and utterly masculine.
Good lord, he looked like something off the covers of those romance novel covers that her mother liked to read.
“Who are you?” Hermione asked him softly when he had placed her gently on the bed, pretending she didn’t already know he was Sirius Black/Padfoot/Snuffles/James Potter’s Best Friend/ Marauder.
“Sirius Black what in Merlin’s name do you think you are doing?” demanded an angry female voice from off to Hermione’s left, “How dare you come in here shouting like that?! I ought to give you detention!”
“Sorry Madame Pomfrey, but this girl needs your immediate attention,” Sirius told the nurse. Hermione could tell from his smirk that he was less than sincere about having shouted so obnoxiously and that he probably enjoyed upsetting the matron immensely. In fact she had the feeling he enjoyed upsetting all of his teachers. He smirked cheekily at the older woman before shooting a knowing wink at Hermione.
Dear Merlin, it ought to be illegal for Sirius Black to ever wink at anyone of the female persuasion. Were she not panicking over her horrid bout of time-travel, she might’ve been alarmed over the very idea that his wink made her knickers feel damp.
“And who are you, young lady? I’m certain I’ve never seen you in my infirmary before,” demanded a much younger version of Madame Pomfrey, clearly attempting to force the anger out of her voice as she turned to Hermione suspiciously.
“My name is Hermione. I need to see Professor Albus Dumbledore immediately please,” Hermione told her. It seemed unwise to give anyone from this time any more information than that. At least until she spoke to Dumbledore. Hermione glanced quickly at Sirius who was watching her closely. She hated herself a little bit for the way her erratic heart skipped an entire beat at the sight of him.
How had he never given anyone heart failure when he was so heart-breakingly beautiful? How was it fair that he could have such handsome features in addition to what appeared to be perfect hair? Hermione would kill for hair like that.
“It’s alright Poppy, I’ll take it from here I think, unless the young lady requires immediate medical attention.”
Hermione glanced around quickly at the strong, calming voice of the headmaster she knew.
“Oh, thank Merlin,” Hermione muttered gratefully when Dumbledore strode to her bedside. James Potter lingered behind him for a moment before moving to stand next to Sirius.
“Professor I need to speak with you. Privately. It’s very important,” Hermione said, noting the way Dumbledore’s gaze travelled over her, clearly wondering who she was and how she’d come to be on school grounds.
Madam Pomfrey was scanning Hermione with her eyes as well, though much more critically as she searched for signs of injury or illness. Hermione flinched slightly when the nurse tilted Hermione’s face this way and that checking for injury from all angles.
“I’ve never seen this girl before in my life,” she declared when she concluded that Hermione had no life threatening injuries, bumps bruises or ailments. Hermione chose not to mention the way her skin was still tingling painfully from the travel through time. She didn’t want to have to try explaining that one and she sincerely hoped the feeling would go away on its own.
“Please professor. It’s imperative that I speak to you privately. Now,” Hermione said, attempting to keep the panic out of her voice.
Dumbledore was watching her piercingly over the top of his half-moon spectacles.
“Very well, if you have no serious injuries then we will speak privately. Would you prefer to speak here or do you feel confident that you could walk to my office?” Dumbledore asked her.
Hermione glanced at Sirius Black again, who was smirking widely at Dumbledore’s question. She marvelled at the idea that a scant few months ago, she’d attended a funeral alongside Harry and Ron, held for Sirius. Yet there he stood, smirking and looking amused by the idea of her trying to walk after her feigned fainting spell.
“I’m not sure if I can walk very far. The boy over there carried me in here,” Hermione said, feigning ignorance of Sirius’s name.
“Well then my dear perhaps it would be best if we spoke here. Mr Potter, Mr Black thank you for your fast action, twenty points to Gryffindor. Leave us please,” Dumbledore said.
The two Marauders looked like they wanted to protest, but when Dumbledore fixed them a look they closed their mouths and began to turn away.
“Erm.... Thank you for helping me,” Hermione called softly after them. Sirius and James both glanced back at her with a smile and a nod but neither of them said another word.
When everyone had gone Dumbledore waved his wand a moment and Hermione didn’t doubt he was using muffling charms and wards to make sure their conversation would not be overheard. Particularly in the event that James and Sirius had the Invisibility Cloak and used it to sneak back in to find out more about her. Which she didn’t doubt for a second they would attempt to do.
“Now, my dear we have complete privacy. However, while you seem to know me, I feel certain that I have absolutely no idea who you are.”
“I’m sorry for our rather abrupt and insistent meeting Professor Dumbledore. My name is Hermione Granger,” Hermione began, trying to gather her wits and find the words to explain what she believed had occurred. “I needed to see you immediately because I’ve always known you to be the best person to go to during any sort of magical crisis, sir.”
Dumbledore didn’t say anything but the gleam in his blue eyes said he was intensely curious now. That she had sparked his curiosity about what she could possibly need his assistance with as someone of proven usefulness in times of trouble.
“You see sir, I’m in a spot of trouble because, well, my name is Hermione Granger and I was born on the nineteenth of September, 1979,” Hermione told him softly, “Until a few minutes ago I was a sixth year student at Hogwarts in the year 1996.”
Dumbledore eyed her for a long moment, his eyes slowly widening as the reality of what she had said sank in. She didn’t doubt that his first thought matched hers; that it simply couldn’t be possible and that it wasn’t true. The second thought that seemed to occur to him was that she could be invaluably useful to him in the trouble times she imagined were currently
“Merlin! Well then I see why you needed to speak to me. After all this is the year 1976 and as time goes you have yet to be born, but here you are,” Dumbledore said softly, his blue eyes displaying his shock. “How did you come to be in this time then, when you are from twenty years in the future Miss Granger?”
“Well I was in library, working on an essay for Professor McGonagall on time travel. I came across a spell that is supposed to be used in Time Turners. I just wanted to test it and make sure that the spell was correct. I originally intended to go back two hours in time. Something went wrong though. There was a horrible bang and I landed on the Quidditch Pitch twenty years in the past.”
“That something went very wrong is clear, yes. Because my dear I’m afraid I have no idea what a Time Turner is,” Dumbledore told her gently.
Hermione went cold at his words. Of course he didn’t know what a Tim Turner was. She should have known that. She had read just minutes ago that the Time Turner hadn’t been invented until 1981. And until that time no one knew anything about time travel at all. She was stuck here. Her heart began to pound inside her chest and panic started to set in. Hermione closed her eyes slowly, attempting to count to ten, to ground herself in the moment and keep from hyperventilating or fainting.
“Now Miss Granger, I would imagine that if you had done your research correctly you would know that Time Travel has yet to be proven successful in the year 1976. And given the mishap that has landed you here I would hazard a guess that the spell you used would not be the best to try sending you back to your own time. I fear that you may just be stuck here, my dear,” Professor Dumbledore told her gently, patting her hand with a sad smile.
“Oh no,” Hermione moaned, burying her face in her hands. This couldn’t be happening. She couldn’t be stuck twenty years in the past. She just couldn’t. Harry needed her. They had a war to win.
“I’m afraid so Miss Granger. Now then, I’m sure it will take you awhile to adjust to the news, but we must invent a life story for you that does not reveal you as being a victim of time travel gone wrong. Have you told anyone anything about yourself? Mr. Black or Mr. Potter perhaps? I wonder, how was it that you knew upon waking that you were several years in the past?”
“I told Sirius and Madam Pomfrey that my first name was Hermione. And I accidently called James “Harry” and let slip that I already knew Sirius by name,” Hermione said sadly.
She would never see Harry and Ron again. At least not while they were the same age. She supposed that being stuck here long enough she would eventually see them be born into the world once more.
“You knew them?” Dumbledore asked her seriously. Hermione looked at him bewildered.
“Oh, you don’t know all that I know of the future. Of course you don’t because it’s 1976 and the Marauders are still in school. Professor, I accidently called James by Harry’s name because Harry is the name of James Potter’s son, in the future. Sirius is Harry’s godfather. I knew Sirius and liked him a lot. He died last year…. In my time, anyway,” Hermione said sadly.
“I see. Well Miss Granger it would be for the best, I think, if you were to keep that sort of information to yourself. Now, being as you will be stuck here for some time I think it best if we create a new life for you while you are here. You will have to use your first name, as you have told it to Sirius and to Madam Pomfrey. Your last name is one I’ve never heard before?”
“I’m Muggle-born Professor.”
“That explains it then. Well all the same I think it will be best for you to leave the name Granger behind as you will be born in three years into the muggle world and shall eventually attend school with the offspring of people within the school now. You name would appear on the register of students to attend Hogwarts eventually and we can’t have a student of the same name and circumstance appearing twice in our fine school. Someone might figure out who you are and where you have come from. I think it would be best if we give you a surname that others will not question. And we can’t give you a name that students within the school might question your relation to them, otherwise I would choose a pureblood surname for you like Prewett. However that would make you related to far too many students who’ve been through the school, namely Gideon, Fabian and Molly Prewett, though they have graduated, as well as some of the Blacks. Perhaps a lesser known wizarding family…. Oh I have it!”
Dumbledore snapped his fingers suddenly causing Hermione to jump.
“My apologies for startling you, my dear. Now tell me if you think this story a decent one that you would be able to remember the details for. You are Miss Hermione Peverell. You are seventeen, born the same date, except in 1959 instead of 1979 as obviously we have not reached that year yet. You have, until today, been attending Beauxbatons Academy of Magic in France. I don’t suppose you can already speak French by any chance?”
“Actually, I do sir,” Hermione smiled modestly.
“Excellent. Well then in this time you are a direct descendant of the Peverell brothers, Cadmus’s line, I think, will do nicely. Now, that name died out in the male line a good long time ago. Therefore, your mother was a witch who comes from a very long line of women dating all the way back to the last true Peverell’s. All of these witches never married and by strange coincidence the children they birthed out of wedlock were all daughters who followed after their ancestresses and also remained unmarried. You’ve no idea who your father is, though he too is a wizard. Your mother has just died, setting into motion very old magic that transported you directly to me, as I am your godfather. As you have no other known, living relatives, you must now live here in the castle as I do, and you must attend school here as it is unsafe for you to return to France. What do you think?”
Hermione considered Professor Dumbledore’s words. She had never heard of the Peverell brothers. The story allowed explanation for why she had not attended Hogwarts until now, and provided her with a cover so that she didn’t have to go into detail about her life because painful memories of her mother made her sad. Having Dumbledore as her godfather allowed her a guardian though she was already seventeen and provided the perfect excuse as to why she had transferred schools.
“I think I could remember that, sir,” Hermione said quietly.
“Excellent. Now, what house were you placed in during your time?”
“I was a Gryffindor, Professor. I was in my sixth year studying Potions, Transfiguration, Charms, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, Arithmancy, Muggle Studies, History of Magic, Ancient Runes and Astronomy. I’d like to take Care of Magical Creatures instead of Muggle Studies here, if I could?” Hermione said, realising that studying Muggle Studies in the seventies would make it much harder to keep her secret as she was likely to blurt out information about televisions or DVDs something.
“Yes you do seem the Gryffindor type, and Hermione, while you have always known me as your Professor, you should refer to me from now on as Albus, especially to any friends you make in this time. It will lend certain believability to the tale that I am your godfather. Now, I think that it would be best if we have a special dormitory provided for you in the Gryffindor tower. That way you will be able to make friends but not be viewed maliciously by the sixth year girls upon moving into their suite. And as you will have no place to stay during the holidays, your own dormitory will provide you with a space where you can reside year round as I expect you may very well be stuck in this time permanently.”
Hermione had to fight back tears for a moment.
“Professor, if I have been blasted back to this time, what happens to the me that existed in my time?”
“Well my dear, time travel is very difficult. As of now the future you knew no longer exists because you are here now and have not yet been born. I suspect that the life you create for yourself here may greatly impact the future of everyone around you. In fact your presence here now may prevent you from ever being born in the future; though if time works on a continuous loop as I suspect, you probably still will be born then in order to be shot back here to now. The circumstances each time would be different however, shaped by every action you take while you are here. Time, as I understand is more like a fabric than anything else. It can be shaped and changed by the tiniest pull of a thread.”
Hermione gulped audibly at the professor’s explanation.
“Come now my dear, I know it is a lot to take in, but we must get you settled and you must have clothing and books and supplies and other such things. Luckily it is Saturday afternoon. First I must notify the castle of your presence and have a suite provided for you. Then you and I shall take a trip into London and go to Diagon Alley for all your supplies. Can you walk?” Dumbledore asked her.
Very slowly Hermione swung her legs over the edge of the bed and placed her feet on the floor. After a few wobbly moments she regained her balance and was able to walk with as much proficiency as she always had.
“I can… But sir I have no money or anything,” Hermione worried, suddenly realising how truly alone and cut off she was from the world. She couldn’t even support herself in this time since she couldn’t get a job until she finished school.
“I don’t even have a wand anymore,” she added upon sticking her hands into her pockets and discovering it missing. Had the reversal through time somehow seen her lose it? Had she dropped it? Had it ceased to exist because it hadn’t been made yet in this time? Hermione had read something about that. Time-Turners and time-travel spells weren’t to be used to travel more than twenty-four hours into the past because anything material that was newly acquired in that time tended not to travel with the time-traveller. Hermione supposed she ought to be thanking her lucky stars that hadn’t applied to her clothing, though she noticed as she patted herself in search of her belongings, that her clothing was looking singed and rather tattered as though she’d recently survived an inferno.
“My dear Hermione, what else are godfathers for but to provide guidance and assistance?” he said, eyes twinkling.
“Oh Professor, no I just couldn’t. I can make do. I can’t let you spend your money on me,” Hermione protested.
“My dear I understand even from knowing you this short time that you are a particularly proud young witch, but I assure you I have more money than I could ever spend and no one to spend it all on. That is where you come in. I will see to it that you will have everything you need in order to restart your life here when you’ve no one else. We are kindred souls my dear, we’ve both no one. So I will help you by providing for you, and you will help me by graciously accepting the money and gifts I give you the way any beloved goddaughter would. Come along now, my dear, and we will settle you into a life within the seventies,” Albus Dumbledore said firmly, taking her hand and tucking it into the crook of his arm before leading her out of the Hospital Wing.
A/N: Fantastic Chapter Image by visenya. @ TDA. Let me know what you thought of the chapter. Did I get the Marauders right, do yout think? Review and tell me what you think.
Other Similar Stories