Chapter 3 - Going Incognito

Instructing the Professor

Chapter 3 – Going Incognito

The sudden appearance of Hermione Granger at the staff room, with her steadiness in concealing its cause, filled the mind and raised the immediate wonder of a very old, kindly looking wizard. Hermione ran through the list of Hogwarts' teaching staff and realised that she was unacquainted with him. For a moment, she panicked as her relief at remaining in Hogwarts after the time turner accident faded. She speculated that she must have travelled back in time rather than forward by virtue of the fact that the furniture in the staff room looked newer than she remembered. As she stared politely at the strange old wizard before her, she wondered how far back in time she had travelled. She was safe and in one whole piece and somewhat shaken by the experience.

"Who are you, my child? And what are you doing here? Do you want to frighten me to death?" questioned the strange figure gently.

Hermione's eyes flitted from the surroundings to the wizard; she sank into a chair, white from shock, still choosing to say nothing. She silently appraised the man as he called on the house elves for some tea. As he offered her a cup, she decided that he had an easy elegant air about him. He smiled lightly at her, his dazzling emerald eyes with their tiny flecks of gold dancing in distress at her sudden collapse into the chair. It was evident to Hermione that he had been very handsome in his youth. His squarish spectacles added a certain distinction to his retroussé nose; his lips were thin and kind. Though his long silvery hair was neatly braided and his moustache trimmed, his hoary beard was untidy. Despite that, he appeared neat, genial, tall and very spry in his long moss coloured robe. "Better, my child?" he asked gently as Hermione accepted the teacup. "Now dear, tell me how did you manage to defeat the protective wards in apparating here?"

Still tightly clutching the teacup and its saucer, Hermione only shook her head firmly.

"I don't bite you know," chuckled the strange old wizard.

She cocked her head to one side, studying his gestures. "Does this have Veritaserum?" she asked, biting her lips when the man gave her an amused quizzical look. "I'm sorry, sir," she said quietly, recovering herself. The older man cast her a casual sideways glance, encouraging her to continue. "I would like to speak to the Headmaster, please."

The wizard laughed heartily at the request, infuriating Hermione, who found her question utterly reasonable. He looked at her with a lively interest as he wondered the reason for the young lady's appearance. He was certain there must be some kind of distress that only the Headmaster could solve. "Something very melancholy must be the matter," said he, suppressing his boisterous laughter. "Poor Albus! I wonder why he is so pursued by the ladies. You must be the youngest so far. I am afraid you might have to take a queue number."

He stopped his raillery when he saw that Hermione was trembling and gravely pale. "Dear me," he sighed. You youngsters take yourselves far too seriously for my liking. Are your circumstances truly bad? Is that why you want to see Albus?"

She turned her large chocolate eyes to him and inwardly remarked that he was very well preserved for his age and had very few wrinkles. She curled her lips into a twisted unnatural smile in a bid to compose herself. She thought she had heard the name 'Albus'. She knew only one Albus and prayed that this wizard referred to the same Headmaster. "Do you mean Albus Dumbledore is still the Headmaster?" she questioned in one breath, her tone incredulous. Her heart thrashed wildly as she watched the older wizard's eyes widen in mild amusement.

"Of course he is!" declared the wizard, his emerald eyes dancing merrily. "Who were you expecting? Phineas Nigellus?" Hermione blushed and reiterated her earlier request. "Oh, all right, dear," he agreed at last with an indulgent smile.

He opened a tin near the fireplace and took a handful of its contents. Throwing it into the hearth, he commanded, "Headmaster's office!" To Hermione's relief, she soon saw Dumbledore's head in the magical fire.

"Still there, Nicolas? I was under the impression that you'd left," joked Dumbledore.

"You know very well Perenelle insists on picking me up," the wizard beside Hermione answered with a snort and dismissive wave of the hand. "If you must know, old boy, there's a young lady here to see you. Almost apparated here, I would say"

The Headmaster in the flames scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Is that her?"

He nodded. "Shall I send her up? The lady refuses to tell me anything," said the wizard whom Hermione now identified as Nicolas Flamel.

Dumbledore was about to reply when she gasped, "You're Professor Flamel! The only known creator of the philosopher's stone!"

The wizard in moss green bowed elaborately with a wide grin before turning to Dumbledore. "As you can see, she knows who we are but refuses to enlighten us as to her identity. Most vexing indeed!"

Dumbledore laughed aloud at his old friend's joke. "You must gain the ladies' trust before they reveal anything to you," he chuckled. "Send her up!"

Flamel gestured Hermione to go through the floo network with a gentle smile. "I do hope he's able to help you, my child," he said, shaking her hand. "You must be quite a witch to get past the anti-apparation wards!"

She thanked him and chose not to disabuse him. Then, straightening herself, she proceeded to step into the grate to Dumbledore's office.

"So, you're the young lady," said Dumbledore with perfect ease as she cast a cleansing spell over herself.

"Professor Dumbledore, you should get these fireplaces cleaned, being covered in soot is not fashionable by most people's standards," she said crossly. She looked around his office, taking in the sight. Amazing – everything was more or less the same. "Remarkable," she murmured as she saw the phoenix burst into flames and collapsing into ashes. "Oh!" she exclaimed, ignoring Dumbledore's bemused look as she approached his desk where the phoenix's gold perch stood. As the tiny wrinkled newborn bird poked its head out of the smouldering ashes, it looked balefully at her. She gasped, "Fawkes is cute like that. Harry's told me, of course, but I never imagined watching a rebirth would be so fascinating. He does not do justice to the creature!"

Dumbledore stared at her with a weak smile. "Just who are you and what are you doing here?" he asked.

Hermione coloured in embarrassment at making a fool of herself. Dumbledore's penetrating pale blue stare brought her back to her present reality. "Well, sir," she began slowly, folding her arms and standing erect before him. "You must wonder how I know so much about you." She paused, frowning slightly in dissatisfaction at her explanation. "May I sit, Professor Dumbledore?"

Upon receiving his assent, she related her history and the accident, omitting no detail in her narration.

He looked sombrely at her, digesting her words. "My dear Miss Granger," he said thoughtfully whilst sucking a murray mint. "Would you mind dropping your memory into the pensieve for me? I would like to examine it so as to establish the reason for this time turner accident."

"Not at all," answered Hermione in a clipped tone. She knew exactly why Dumbledore wanted the memory – he wanted to verify her story before deciding his next course of action. She heaved a sigh of relief releasing the breath she had been unconsciously holding when she saw that Dumbledore was still the disarming fox she has always known. He gestured her towards the pensieve where she hastened to oblige him. She was eager to unravel this mystery. She grew increasingly uncomfortable at the thought of her prospective arithmancy students and sincerely hoped that Dumbledore would be able to help her to return to whence she came. After a tense indeterminable lapse of time during which the Headmaster sombrely examined Hermione's memory and Fawkes curiously studied her expressions, the air of the office seemed to still.

At last, Dumbledore looked up at her with a mixture of gentleness and sadness that Hermione believed he was almost on the verge of tears. "Are you convinced as to the veracity of my story? Or shall you have to perform legilimency on me?" she asked testily, impatient with his long silence.

"It would not be necessary, my dear," he said with a little smile. "I'm glad to see Severus turning out so well. He is a bit of a handful now."

"Professor Snape is here?" she gasped, her chocolate pools dilating in surprise.

"It's his last year, rather, it will be his last year here. He has always been a conscientious student, his personal proclivities, however, have tended to use his keen mind cruelly," sighed Dumbledore, closely watching Hermione's look of forced calm. "It will take some time before we figure out a way of transporting you back. Have you any opinion as to what you would do during this time?"

Hermione bit her lower lip in consternation. Was Dumbledore throwing her out of Hogwarts? What would she do? Where would she go? How could she return to her own time? What about her parents and friends – would she ever see them again? Fighting back these questions and meeting Dumbledore's twinkling eyes, she held her breath and muttered, "I do not know."

He chuckled and offered her a murray mint, which she hesitated to accept. "It's not poison you know," he said with a laugh as she finally popped it into her mouth. "I cannot offer you the arithmancy chair as we've just hired Diotima Vector. However, I can offer you the potions position; Nicolas is retiring, as you know. It would save me the trouble of teaching that subject. I am so terribly rusty at alchemy these days."

"I would like that very much," Hermione answered with a smile. "When do I start?"

"The students will be here tomorrow. Oh, and my dear, have you considered what is to be done? I cannot impress upon you how important this is – you must not effect any changes to the schema of things yet to come," said Dumbledore as he stroked Fawkes' wrinkled pate with his finger.

Hermione twisted her monogrammed handkerchief in her hands and grimaced at herself for failing to factor the future in her present predicament. Rubbing her forehead for a while, she mentally reviewed her duties and the students whom she expected to teach. All of a sudden, she leaned forward in her chair, her eyes dancing with animation. "Just tell them that I've transferred from a Beauxbatons affiliated institution." She beamed and continued conspiratorially in a flawless French accent, "Call me Herigone Grenarm."

Dumbledore laughed, clearly tickled with the hilarity of the necessary deception. "I doubt any of your students would remember you even if they meet you in the future." Pouring a few murray mints into her hand, he added, "You might want to head to Diagon Alley to order some clothes, charge them to my Gringotts vault number 128 and I'll have Mr Filch prepare your second floor classroom for you."

She glared incredulously at him and resisting the impulse to curl her lips in annoyance, she lowly said, "I want to move my lessons and living quarters to the dungeons."

"If you so wish, my dear," he acceded with a shrug. After reminding Hermione to keep to her adopted persona, he dismissed her with a worried smile.