Going Back

Chapter 2

"Poor girl. She looks sick."

Hermione wasn't sure if she had actually heard the voice, but if she looked sick, she certainly felt it.

"She looks more like a bad waste of good robes if you ask me."

Heat raced up her spine so hot, and fast, that she feared her insides would flow from her mouth as molten liquid.

"Oh, Lucius, don't be so cruel! She doesn't look very old. Perhaps she came from the school. Did they have a Hogsmeade weekend, do you know?"

"How do you suppose I would know, Narcissa? I don't keep the bloody Hogwarts timetable posted on my wall like some kind of pervert. I wouldn't be at all surprised if she does come from the school, the place has gone to hell since Albus Dumbledore took over."

Hermione's eyes snapped open, and she drew a sharp, painful breath.

"Are you alright? You must've had a fall."

She rolled her eyes to take in the owner of the voice and took another sharp lungful of air. Her mouth worked wordlessly open and closed until finally, realising she had no words that could help her, she stopped and simply stared. Where was Harry? Had they killed him? Where was Ron?

"Did you come from the school? I can take you up there if you need me to."

Hermione frowned, her eyes narrowing at the woman kneeling beside her. She was not the person Hermione thought her to be. This could not possibly be Narcissa Malfoy. Narcissa Malfoy would curse her with an Unforgivable; Narcissa Malfoy would not be offering to assist her back to school. And now that she looked at her, this woman was far too young. She was not a great deal older than Hermione. The same age as Fleur perhaps, but certainly no older. She was pretty, in a heavy lidded sort of way, and her pale blonde hair had been curled into immaculate ringlets that fell graciously from beneath a pretty velvet hat adorned with jewels and feathers.

Too young to be Narcissa Malfoy. This was just some poor girl who bore a striking resemblance to Narcissa Malfoy.

"Oh for pity's sake, just leave her there, Cissa! She's lying in a ditch behind the Hog's Head. She probably passed out drunk!"

Hermione looked the man up and down and this time could not deny the identity. This was certainly Lucius Malfoy. He was bigger than his son, broader than him, but Lucius Malfoy looked like his offspring. Those same sharp features, the same grey eyes. But this Lucius Malfoy was young; Hermione placed him somewhere in his mid twenties.

Oh, dear God, how far back have I gone?

"You look as though you've seen a ghost," Narcissa said with concern.

Hermione shook her head, and testing herself, she sat up. "Mrs. Malfoy?" she asked, hoping against hope that she was wrong.

The woman laughed in disbelief and looked up at her companion. "Mrs. Malfoy?" She laughed again. "Did you hear, Lucius? She called me Mrs. Malfoy?" She turned back to Hermione. "Do I know you?" she asked.

"Well, if she does," Lucius drawled, "it can't be well. She doesn't know that the wedding isn't for another six months, and she looks as though she has dragged herself through the hedgerows."

"I'm sure she hasn't," Narcissa said, shocked at his tone. "You said yourself that the robes are good quality!"

Lucius looked astonished at her interpretation of his earlier insult, and he cast a critical eye over Hermione, who was still terribly lost for words.

"We should take her up to the school," Narcissa said. "I think she has hurt her head ... she isn't saying anything."

"I ..." Hermione closed her eyes. Her throat felt raw, and the strange molten feeling in her stomach seemed to bubble its way up through her chest. "I'm fine," she rasped. "What ... what day is it?"

Lucius raised a sceptical eyebrow and looked at Narcissa as though his assessment of Hermione's drunken state had just been confirmed.

"You must've hit your head very hard," Narcissa told her, refusing to be goaded by her husband to be. She seemed to scan Hermione's head for a bump or bruise. "It's Sunday morning."

Hermione bit down on her lip and knew that she was about to sound insane. "What ... what date is it?"

"Oh for pity's sake, Narcissa! She's drunk! Leave her there before she asks for money."

"It's Sunday, the third of December," Narcissa replied, ignoring him completely.

"The year, " Hermione said as urgently as her throat would allow. "Please, what is the year?"

Narcissa finally hesitated. She stood uncertainly, and stepped back towards the safety she perceived in Lucius. "Nineteen seventy-eight" she said, sounding more than a little confused.

1978? How was that possible?

Hermione felt the Time-Turner in her hand for the first time since becoming aware of her surroundings. It felt somehow gritty and hot. She looked to her palm, and found that the gold metal of the device had blackened. The hourglass was broken, and the sand had spilled into her hand; it covered her fingers with black grit. So it had only stopped turning because it had broken. Merlin only knew how far she would have gone had it stayed intact.

Her recollection of what had happened was confused. She could remember that it had started turning. She could also remember Harry calling out her name. Her own arrogance and belief in her abilities had convinced her that she could stop the thing. She would go back a matter of hours and would simply wait until the event took place. Then she would approach Ron and Harry, laughing at her idiocy, and that would be that. But she had not been able to stop the hourglass from turning, and as the world around her began to spin, all became a blur. She had passed out under the pressure of the journey, and here she was, twenty years in the past.

Somehow she did not think she could simply wait this out.

She was alone, with no Harry or Ron to help her. They weren't alive. They hadn't even been thought of yet. Just as Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy had not yet conceived of a son, and Hermione herself had not yet been born. She was not alive yet.

This was not possible.

She had no idea of what to do. All she had was a broken Time-Turner that was less than useless in its current condition. She had no money and nowhere to go. Was Aberforth Dumbledore working at the Hog's Head in 1978? And if he was, could he possibly help her?

She chewed at her thumbnail. Aberforth was hardly reliable, even Dumbledore had doubted his ability to read.

But Albus Dumbledore could read. Albus Dumbledore could do a great many things. And Albus Dumbledore was alive in 1978. Alive and well and Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!

"I fell," Hermione said quickly, ignoring the pain in her body and pushing herself upright. "I was going to the Shrieking Shack – it was a dare – and I fell. I must've hit my head."

"Are you from the school then?" Narcissa asked, still looking at Hermione with some concern.

"Yes ... yes." Hermione gave them what she hoped was a disarmingly helpless smile. "I'm not supposed to be down here. Professor Dumbledore is going to kill me if he finds out."

Lucius snorted in a derogatory way, leaving Hermione in no doubt as to his opinion of the Headmaster. At Narcissa's urging he stepped forward and offered his hand to help Hermione to her feet. Hermione had to fight the urge to shrink away from the hand. She closed her eyes, and placed her hand in his, and was surprised at how cool it was. He steadied her as she stood, and once he was sure she was stable, he retracted his arm and pushed his hand into his pocket.

Narcissa began to make sounds as though she would insist on accompanying Hermione back to the school, and Lucius began to fidget impatiently.

"You are capable of getting yourself back to school, aren't you?" he asked with barely disguised hostility.

"Lucius!" Narcissa cried.

"We have Christmas shopping to do, and lunch ... and she is perfectly well!"

"She's hurt!"

"Merlin's balls, Narcissa! You have to learn that not everyone needs to be saved! She's hardly one of those stray Kneazles that you seem to collect!"

Hermione sucked air in with such shock that she began to cough. "I'm fine, really I am," she said in the face of Narcissa's renewed concern. "I'll just go back to the castle ... I really don't need any help."

"You see, she is perfectly capable of getting herself back to the school."

"Yes. Absolutely. Thank you for your kindness." She looked pointedly at Lucius, who sneered back at her. "Please, have a very merry Christmas."

But Narcissa was not to be dissuaded. She glared at Lucius, and indicated Hermione's hand burnt by the Time-Turner and looking a little raw. "You're hurt," she reasoned, "and we will take you up to the school."

Lucius seemed to realise that he wasn't going to change her mind, and Hermione quickly decided that if Lucius wasn't going to stop Narcissa, then she stood less chance still. She smiled politely and resigned herself to the fact that Narcissa Black was going to help Hermione Granger back to Hogwarts.

**********

The Hogwarts of 1978 appeared very much the same as the Hogwarts of 1998, which Hermione supposed should not surprise her considering it had stood there for over one thousand years. Twenty years was nothing to this place. She could only wish that it was nothing to her. With every step closer she could feel her body rebelling against her. Her heart seemed to race erratically, and she was slowly becoming convinced that her gut had indeed liquefied during the journey back. She found herself sweating uncomfortably, and she almost wished that it was someone other than Lucius Malfoy walking lazily behind her, because she honestly felt she could faint.

She was not going to allow any of this to show, however. She was going to continue to the castle and assure the couple with every step that she was perfectly well.

She found herself grateful that she had dressed herself in the robes that Molly Weasley had left at the pub for her. Had this happened the day before, she would have been dressed in her dirty jeans and jumper, not to mention that filthy jacket with the holes. She was fortunate that the robes covered her scuffed and ruined boots. She doubted that the future Mrs Malfoy would have come anywhere near her in such attire, and Hermione had no doubt that Lucius Malfoy would have cast a hex rather than help her up.

Narcissa had helped her, however, and she was now conscientiously escorting her to Hogwarts. Lucius was trailing along behind them, and Hermione had to resist the urge to turn and look at him. He was better looking than Draco, she decided, not that she had ever really looked at Draco with anything but contempt, and it was hard to think of Lucius Malfoy in terms of handsome or attractive. She could only attribute her thoughts to the fact that the woman walking along beside her was so ridiculously chatty and friendly. Narcissa prattled on, needing little encouragement to conversation. She asked several questions that Hermione answered as best as she could given the circumstances. Narcissa also laughed quite freely at herself when she thought she'd said something foolish. It was a trait that surprised Hermione immensely.

The couple had come to Hogsmeade to purchase Christmas gifts. It was the first Christmas that Narcissa had been invited to spend with her fiancée's family, and she was eager to make a good impression. Hermione guessed that she was a few years younger than Lucius, and she certainly thought highly of him. Every second sentence seemed to involve him somehow.

"I loved Hogwarts when I was here," Narcissa said as they rounded the outer wall, and the castle loomed up over them. "I was in Slytherin, so was Lucius – he was Head Boy, weren't you, Lucius?"

Hermione thought of Percy Weasley and grinned. Lucius grunted something non committal and continued up the hill behind them.

"What House are you in?" Narcissa asked.

"Gryffindor," Hermione replied without thinking, and then she winced. The pleasantries, she feared, could well be at an end.

But Narcissa nodded and surprised Hermione by telling her that she had a number of friends who had been in Gryffindor and who were now quite high in the Ministry. "My cousin's a Gryffindor too," she continued, "but I haven't really spoken to him for years. He's a bit of a Black sheep ..."

"I'm sure she doesn't need to know about the skeletons in your closet, Cissa."

Both girls looked back at Lucius and Narcissa demurred. Then he astonished Hermione by smiling a brilliant smile at his fiancé, so full of genuine affection that she could suddenly understand why the woman was marrying him.

"All the Black family sheep," he drawled.

"Oh, ha ha, Lucius, such a clever pun on my family name," Narcissa retorted sarcastically.

"But you walked so conveniently into it, my dear," he teased in reply.

Voldemort can't have got to them yet. Well, maybe he's gotten to Lucius, but she is still reasonable. Their minds haven't been poisoned yet.

"I trust you can find your own way to the hospital wing?" he asked Hermione, showing none of the humour he was giving Narcissa.

"Oh good grief, Lucius, you are in a mood today!"

"We have plans for lunch," he reasoned, protesting her criticism. "Both our mothers are going to be there, as well as your shrew of a sister ..."

"Bella isn't a shrew!"

"And at this rate we are going to have to run back to the village, and we will arrive looking as though we were raised by gnomes, and I really don't think I could stomach the carry on that our appearance will spark."

And by applying to her fear of criticism, he finally hit his mark. Narcissa's hands flew to her hair and she looked thoroughly panicked, while Lucius pulled out his pocket watch and made a great show of opening it. Hermione wanted to tell her that she looked perfectly coiffed, but she didn't. The truth was that she didn't want to be escorted to the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey would have no idea who she was, and Hermione's thinking had extended only as far as getting to Dumbledore and then getting back to Ron and Harry.

"Please," Hermione said in what she hoped was an airy fashion, "please go. I feel perfectly well, and I would hate for you to be late for lunch."

Narcissa looked torn, but as Lucius hummed over his watch, she looked back to Hermione and pleaded an apology. Hermione bid her farewell, and almost before she was finished speaking, she found herself watching the couple make their way back down the path towards Hogsmeade. They were holding hands, and they quickly fell in step with each other. She watched as Lucius leaned across and said something to his companion that caused her to laugh, and the sound was strange to Hermione's ears. How long had it been since she'd heard such merry laughter? They were so young, so utterly carefree.

She had to turn away. She couldn't look at them without thinking of what they would become. How could they become so evil? How could they raise a child, who would be instrumental in the death of the greatest wizard of their time?

She forced her legs to move again, and now that she was alone, she allowed herself a moment of weakness and groaned softly. She was no fool. She knew that something was terribly wrong, and that it was more than a cracked or broken rib from her fall. But getting to Dumbledore was far more important than how ill she felt. And if it really was serious, she could always go to St Mungo's once she was back. They had waited while Ron recovered, they would wait while she did.

And she could warn Dumbledore. She could tell him now what would happen in his future. She could tell him not to trust Snape.

She walked the stone avenue to the heavy studded doors that marked the front entrance to the castle. She could not recall ever having used them. Students almost always entered from the back, and she had to wonder at why the Malfoys had brought her to the front of the castle. Possibly it was a courtesy due the school. They were no longer students, and so they used the official entrance at the front. She hesitated before the great doors, taking a moment to lean against the stone wall and allowing her stomach to churn uncomfortably before pushing on.

Before she could recover, however, a book plummeted from a window above and landed at her feet with a dull thud. Her eyes widened. The book was thick, and heavy, bound in hard, cracked leather, and had it hit her in the head, it probably would have killed her. From the window above she heard a cackle of laughter.

"Heads up, Snivelly! No magic in the halls!"

She looked up at the window as more laughter followed the comment. Then came the unmistakable sounds of students cheering on a fight. She found herself smiling; it had been too long since she'd seen something so innocuous as a schoolyard brawl.

Reaching for the book, she picked it up as though it was a treasured and long lost friend. It was a textbook. An old one. Probably second hand or passed on from a sibling. It looked very much like the books that Ron had always dragged around the school and whose battered old covers he had taken great care to hide.

Upstairs a teacher was breaking up the fight, and without knowing why, Hermione placed the book gently back on the flagstones. She turned back to the door and pushed it open, deciding it was time to go and find Dumbledore.

Once inside the school, she inhaled the smell of stone, wood, and age. She couldn't help but smile. She did love the school, and she missed it terribly. Coming back this way seemed a shame, but she took time to pause and take in the sight of the Entrance Hall she had crossed any number of times and never really appreciated.

But she didn't really have time to stop, and she should have known it. No sooner had she drawn her first sensory breath before the sound of someone running down the stairs disturbed her. They did not panic her, and upon thinking of it later, she could not believe her own stupidity. She turned and actually watched the young man come down the stairs, not seeking to remove herself from his path at all. He was instantly recognisable to her, but instead of being sensible, and running for the Headmaster's office, she stood transfixed, as if by a vision.

He was tall, good looking, and young. The man ravaged by loss, and years in Azkaban and hiding didn't exist in this time. He had a look of open good humour on his face. His hair was quite long, falling to his shoulders in a haphazard way, and he was smiling as though he was enjoying a private joke.

He stopped, looked Hermione up and down, and the smile instantly transformed into something distinctly sleazy.

"Sirius," Hermione breathed. She could have wept at the sight of him. She had never seen him looking so well and healthy. She could not recall him seeming so happy.

Sirius arched an eyebrow. "Do I know you?" he asked, sounding a little nervous, and Hermione realised that she had said his name aloud.

"I ..." Hermione felt her face burn hot as his expression became one of someone trying to remember a girl he'd had a quick fling with and then promptly forgot. She had a terrible urge to tell him to get such thoughts out of his head. He was old enough to be her father after all! Except that he wasn't. The Sirius Black standing before her couldn't be any older than she was. He was eighteen at the most.

If Sirius was here, it meant that Harry's parents were here also. James and Lily Potter were somewhere in this school, going about their lives without knowing what would happen to them all too soon. So many lives that could be saved with some quick explanations. She needed to speak to Dumbledore. If she started babbling about being from the future, and that they were all going to die, Sirius might just hex her for her insanity.

"No," she stuttered, "you don't know me. I've seen you in Hogsmeade, that's all."

The grin was instantly back on his face.

"I'm here to see Professor Dumbledore," she continued, forcing her curiosity down and her confidence up.

"Would you like me to show you where his office is?" Sirius offered, and Hermione was horrified to note that he looked as though he would show her a lot more than the location of the Headmasters office.

"Oh, no, it's quite alright. I know where it is."

"Oh ..." He gave her a quizzical look, and she winced inwardly. He had never seen her at the school in his life, and yet she knew exactly where she was going.

"I've visited ... a long time ago."

"Oh." He smiled broadly and rocked on his feet. "So what school do you go to?"

"Beaxbatons," she replied, the lie rolling so easily off her tongue that she almost reeled with shock.

"Really?" Sirius was nodding with enthusiasm. The French school was famed for its beautiful students, and Sirius was evidently interested in their comings and goings. "Do you like it there? I've heard it is really amazing."

Hermione chewed at her lip. Having an accident with a Time-Turner and ending up twenty years in the past was unexpected enough; coming face to face with Sirius Black and discussing her attendance at a school she had never seen was testing her resourcefulness. She began to wish that she had listened to Fleur when she had waxed lyrical about her glorious school days. Hermione unfortunately had a tendency to zone out the minute Fleur began to speak, and any useful information she could have imparted was well and truly lost.

"Don't you have a lesson to get to?" Hermione asked in the same tutting way that she would use with Harry and Ron when they hadn't done their homework. She didn't have time to stand and chat with Sirius Black. The overwhelming nausea, held at bay by the surprise of seeing him, began to reassert itself. And she had to see Dumbledore so that she could get back to Harry and Ron, who were no doubt frantic by now.

Sirius looked more than a little surprised at such a dismissal, but the grin was gone only momentarily. "I've just come down to get Snivelly's Transfiguration textbook. Apparently he needs it to function."

"And you were kind enough to come to get it for ... Snivelly? " she asked archly.

"Well," Sirius chuckled, and managed to look deviously charming, "I did throw it out the window."

"Ah, yes, the book that almost killed me." Hermione smiled with amusement. "You felt guilty?"

"I wouldn't say guilty. Professor Slughorn is violently in love with the greasy git." Sirius rolled his eyes dramatically.

And it suddenly all made sense. Snivelly's identity was revealed in the worst possible way. They were all here, the heroes as well as the villains. Snivelly was Snape. She felt herself grow pale and she swayed.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes ... yes, I'm fine." She frowned and bowed her head. "Excuse me. I've got to go and see Dumbledore."

And with that she pushed past him, ignoring the look of confusion on his face as she went to find the Headmaster.

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