Meeting with Dumbledore

Chapter 3.

Disclaimer: Please see chapter 1

By the time Hermione found the gargoyle that guarded the entrance to Dumbledore's office, she was more confused than she thought possible. With every turn she expected to run into some ghost of a past that wasn't hers, and as she pushed further into the maze of corridors, her body began its desperate protestation. She was not supposed to come this far back, and with every step her body was determined to let her know it. She had managed to forget that she had fallen prior to her journey back through time, but as her insides seemed to bubble and steam, her ribs joined in with a throbbing ache. Her mind seemed suddenly useless, and what had happened made no sense at all.

She had to stop, and she closed her eyes to draw a comforting breath. She knew this place; she had felt safe there once. She had loved Hogwarts. She loved its smell of stone and wood and dust. She could detect the smell of the polishes that they used on the suits of armour and the ancient oils in the paintings on the walls. Beneath it all she could detect the special scent of parchment, ink, and quills. The library was close by; she could smell the books. She opened her eyes and felt more at ease.

Hermione had elected to leave Hogwarts. She had dismissed all arguments to the contrary and followed Harry. She could still hear Molly Weasley appealing to the three of them and Professor McGonagall sitting across from them at the kitchen table at Grimmauld Place, begging them to see reason. But Harry's mind was set. Dumbledore had left him a task, and he meant to see it done. And where Harry went, so too went Ron and Hermione. They would never abandon him, not while they still drew breath. It seemed ironic that she had never considered being left alone herself. Yet here she was, walking the corridors of Hogwarts, and had never felt more terribly alone.

The gargoyle standing as silent sentinel over the doorway was an ugly thing, and yet Hermione found it a welcome sight. Beyond the gargoyle, Dumbledore was still alive. The dead had been resurrected; the dead had never died.

There was a password to get in. A password that she did not know. How in Merlin's name did Harry always get in there? What about the teachers? Did they always know the password? Hermione stood and stared at the gargoyle and scowled. It was some kind of sweet, she knew that much, but what sweets did Dumbledore enjoy in 1978?

Dear God, how did visitors get in?

"Fizzing Wizzbees," she said in a questioning way, and nothing happened. "Sherbet Lemon? Acid Pops? Cockroach Clusters?"

And still nothing.

"Drooble's Best Blowing Gum."

Nothing.

"I need to see Professor Dumbledore!" she cried plaintively.

The gargoyle sprang to life and jumped aside, scaring her so much that she jumped back in alarm as the wall slid open easily.

Well, so much for the password system.

She mounted the stairs which began to move ever upward the moment she set foot on them. Her first impulse was to charge ahead: she wanted to see Dumbledore; she wanted to see him alive and whole. Yet something held her back. For as much as she wanted to see his face, the circumstances of his death were still a harsh reality for her.

And her body felt weak. She doubted that charging up the stairs was something that she was entirely capable of.

The pain was nothing, however. She could change the future, and Dumbledore would not die. If she imparted what she knew, all would be well.

She was still thinking such thoughts when the stairs stopped moving and she stumbled forward, almost colliding with the highly polished oak door at the top. She drew a breath and knocked, and the door swung open on silent hinges, revealing Dumbledore's office to her. Hesitating only for a moment, she stepped inside.

Hermione immediately found herself paralyzed in wonder. It was as though she were seeing him for the first time, and yet he was so familiar to her that she had to choke back a sob. Dumbledore was sitting behind his heavy, claw-footed desk, surrounded by his noisy little gadgets that whirred and puffed smoke, possibly serving no other purpose than to satisfy his sense of whimsy. The gentle snores of long slumbering headmasters and headmistresses from their portraits on the walls lulled her slightly and added to the sense of sleepy calm that pervaded the room. Even Fawkes, resplendent in his red and orange plumage, was asleep on his perch.

Dumbledore looked up from the pile of parchment on his desk and did not look at all surprised to see her. He sat back in his chair and seemingly took measure of her with his cornflower blue eyes, whilst waiting for her to speak.

It took several moments before she could verbalise anything at all.

"Professor Dumbledore," she began, but faltered as she felt the overwhelming urge to fling herself around his neck and cry.

Perhaps realising her difficulty, Dumbledore smiled and relented in his silence. "Young lady," he said kindly, "you look as though you have come a long way. Perhaps you should sit down."

Hermione had to feel her way to the chair; she couldn't bring herself to look away from Dumbledore's face lest he disappear from the office entirely. As she sank into the welcoming seat, she could only think that she had to somehow stop her racing heart and actually speak coherently enough for him to understand what she was saying.

"Professor Dumbledore..." she began again, and once again she faltered. How did she explain this? How did she tell him everything without sounding like a loon? "Professor, I am going to sound ridiculous..."

"I am sure you won't, my dear, but perhaps you should start at the beginning. Your name, for example, would be an excellent starting point."

Of course it would, she thought miserably, you bloody twit.

Hermione forced a smile and did as he'd suggested. "Professor, my name is Hermione Granger..." She hesitated and watched his expression before pushing on. "I'm here because I've had a bit of an accident."

Bit of an accident? More like a bloody catastrophe!

She quickly fished the broken Time-Turner from her pocket and placed it on the edge of the desk, hoping that the object itself might give him some kind of forewarning of her predicament.

When Dumbledore reached for the Turner, it broke still further in his hand, finally falling apart entirely.

"We didn't mean for it to break," she said. "I know we should have taken better care of it, but with the war and everything else ..." she trailed off. Dumbledore knew nothing of the war, she needed to remember that.

Dumbledore managed a gentle smile. "I'm afraid we've skipped the beginning, Miss Granger," he said, and Hermione fancied that she heard the faintest hint of amusement in his voice. "Now, I take it that you have used your Time-Turner, and you have gone back a little too far?"

"Well, not quite..." She stopped when she realized that she was stuttering, and she composed herself as best she could. "It's broken, as you can see, and it has been broken for a while now. I tripped and fell in Hogsmeade, and when I picked it up it had already begun spinning." She felt like a fool, and she had no doubt that he would think her one too. "I should have dropped it, but I was sure that I could stop it, and then it was just going so fast ... and, and I fainted. "

"And when you woke up you came here?"

"I thought you could help me," she murmured.

"How far back have you come?" Dumbledore asked with interest.

"Well ..." She did a quick calculation in her head. "It was January 27th ..."

"And it is December 10 now," Dumbledore concluded pleasantly.

Hermione felt her mouth fall open. For it to have only been a month or so!

"No! No, Professor, you don't understand!" She was shaking her head so violently that it began to ache. "Professor, it was January 27th, 1999 when it happened!"

Dumbledore stood up so quickly that his heavy oak chair crashed to the floor behind him. There was no hint of amusement in his features now. Indeed, his expression was a strange mixture of astonishment and horror.

"Professor?" Hermione swallowed.

"How do you feel, Miss Granger?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"How do you feel? Are you well?" He began to pace. "Do you feel faint at all?"

"Faint? No ... not really. But I don't feel well either. I hurt myself when I fell, but that isn't what is making me feel ill. We used the Time-Turner often. I know it puts a strain on the body. I ..."

"When were you born?" he interrupted, still pacing and looking increasingly worried.

"Born? September 1980. Why?"

"So you are not due to be born for another two years." He stopped pacing and stared at her as though she could blow up in front of him at any moment. "You have managed to do what the human body – magical or not – is simply not designed to do! You have gone back to time before your own birth!"

Hermione slouched further into the chair. Evidently this was worse than she had thought.

"It is no wonder you feel ill, Miss Granger. Wizards have died abusing the limits of Time-Turners!"

She blinked and thought that she might cry. It wouldn't do to cry. He already thought her a fool; she didn't need to be crying fool on top of it all.

"I need to get back," she said, calming her voice and sounding as direct as she could. "Harry needs me; I can't leave him to do this alone."

Dumbledore would ask who Harry was, and just what she couldn't let him do alone, and she braced herself to give him an answer. He surprised her, however, and went back to something she had said earlier.

"You said that there was a war? We are at war in 1999?"

"We have an enemy," she confirmed. "Lord Voldemort. Once he was resurrected, his powers were stronger than anyone could ever have expected."

"So Tom is powerful then?" Dumbledore retrieved his chair and sank into it with much the same posture as Hermione had adopted. He looked at her and gave her a reassuring smile. "Oh yes, he is strong even now. The Ministry don't consider him much of a threat I'm afraid."

Hermione had never known a time when wizards did not fear to speak Voldemort's name. She had been reluctant to say his name herself, once upon a time. She used it freely enough now. The Dark Lord had been resurrected; calling him "You Know Who" seemed a little foolish.

She met Dumbledore's eye and found her voice again. "Do you consider him a threat?" she asked.

"I believe it best not to underestimate him," Dumbledore replied carefully. "Evidently I have every reason not to." His brow drew itself into a troubled frown and for a moment he didn't look at her, as though he was struggling to grasp just how she had arrived there. "You said he has been resurrected. Had he fallen?"

Hermione open and closed her mouth, and she imagined that she must look a little like a fish that had jumped out of its bowl. Then before she could think of subtlety, she told him everything: from what she knew of the first rise of Voldemort, to Harry's birth and the prophecy that led to his parents' death and Voldemort's fall. Then, unable to stop herself once she had started, she went on to Voldemort's resurrection, the Order of the Phoenix, and the Ministry's mishandling of the new threat. Then, finally, came the Horcruxes and Dumbledore's death at the hands of the treacherous Snape.

When she finished, Dumbledore looked as though she had rested the weight of the world firmly on his shoulders. He sat in stony silence, his hands curled into fists on the desk, so tightly that his knuckles had turned white.

"I'm sorry, Professor." Hermione felt drained herself, as though telling him had emptied her of something. "Now that you know ... you can change it. You can make sure it doesn't happen."

Dumbledore stood slowly, tapping the tips of his fingers with a strange deliberateness on the desktop as he did so. "Terrible things happen to wizards who meddle with time," he said quietly, and still he didn't look at her.

"I know. Professor McGonagall told me that when I was in third year."

"So you are experienced with Time-Turners then?"

"Yes, I used one to get to all of my lessons."

"She must have thought you very responsible."

"She did. She does ..." They both looked at the broken Time-Turner on the desk. "We are at war," she said, "and desperate times call for desperate measures."

"I would not seek to change the future." Dumbledore said suddenly, as though the few words they had spoken about responsibility had been little more than chit chat. "I can't warn these people. I can't do anything to change what is to come."

"What? How can you say that?" Hermione looked at him, wild eyed and horrified. "You have the knowledge to save these people! They are good people; they don't deserve to die like that! How can you say that there is nothing you can do?"

"Yes, they are good people, if a little troublesome. James Potter and Sirius Black are popular and well loved by many people, and Lily Evans is possibly one of the brightest and sweetest girls to have walked though these halls, but I would not seek to change their future."

Hermione could think of nothing to say that would not come out as a barrage of abuse. She had once been appalled when Harry had told her that he had shouted at the Headmaster, yet here she was, unable to think of doing anything else.

"You can't do this!" she cried. "You can warn them, you can stop Snape and Pettigrew! My God, you can find all of his Horcruxes and destroy the evil bastard!"

"All very valid points, Miss Granger."

"Then why dismiss them?" She demanded.

"You must consider the consequences of your actions, Miss Granger. When you travel back in time, you take with you the ability to change the future. Normally, one would only go back a matter of hours; you could only change one event. You have travelled back more than two decades. You have the ability to change the entire future – your own history – of our world."

"And what is so terrible about that? You once sent Harry and I back to save a Hippogriff from the axe and Sirius Black from the Dementors!"

"And I can only hope that I used my judgment and wisdom in such a decision. They were two events, not the entire future."

"How do you know that? How can you tell that you didn't change everything with those two things?"

"I don't," Dumbledore admitted. "It hasn't happened yet, and as I don't know the details, I can't judge the severity of the risk. The situations are very different, Miss Granger. You are looking at a future that is clouded by your emotions. You nobly seek to save young and innocent lives; you want your friend to grow up with a family who loves and values him; you even seek to save me."

"I still don't understand, what is so terrible about that?"

"You must try and think about it, without allowing your emotions to hinder your thoughts. We rush out and inform James Potter and Lily Evans of their impending deaths. We tell them that their friend, Peter Pettigrew will betray them and that Sirius Black will be blamed and will spend most of his adult life locked away in Azkaban at the mercy of Dementors. I take steps to ensure that Severus Snape does not overhear this prophecy told to me by Sybil Trelawney when I interview her for the position of Divination Professor. Each of these things will irrevocably change the future, and then what? What if the news given to James and Lily causes them not to marry and their son is never born? What if they do marry and Tom cannot get to them to mark the boy as his equal? Or worse, Tom goes after the Longbottom boy instead. Can we be sure that Alice Longbottom – who I can assure you is a brave woman – would sacrifice herself for her son the way that Lily would? And even if she does, would Neville Longbottom be a suitable candidate to assist in the destruction of a terrible villain?" Dumbledore paused, as though the enormity of what could happen would overwhelm him. He drew a heavy breath and pushed on, determined to make her understand.

"If Severus Snape does not hear this prophecy, could it possibly mean that Tom does not mark a child as his equal?" Dumbledore asked her, although she knew he expected no answer. "He may not fall at all. Fate has colluded to produce this boy, Harry Potter, and a set of circumstances that, while dreadful, mean that our world has been armed with an all important weapon; one person whom Tom Riddle fears, who is, by your reckoning, cunning and unafraid to confront him. Each and every tragic event has added to his arsenal and made him stronger. Harry Potter does not simply go and fall apart when something goes wrong, he takes it, and uses it, and it makes him stronger. If you seek to change even one of these events, Miss Granger, that boy will not exist as you know him. At worst it could mean that our world is doomed."

"But Harry's life ..." Hermione bowed her head, the weight of his words causing her to sag. "He is more than a weapon. He doesn't deserve to be strong because of this."

"Just as his parents don't deserve to die, nor anyone else that is harmed or killed in this terrible struggle. But occasionally terrible things happen to good people; that is how legends are born."

"And what about you?" Hermione asked bitterly, "Do you plan on dying?"

"Well," he said with a smile that amazed her, "I think that I will have to assess the events leading up to my demise as they occur, but at this point, no, I do not believe that I would do anything to alter my fate."

At this, Hermione fell silent, unable to comprehend how anyone could possibly resign themselves to death without some kind of fight. She could only think that when faced with his own mortality, the old man would change his mind. She hoped that he didn't change it too late to do anything about it. She felt, rather than heard, herself sigh, and when she looked up he was sitting opposite her again, looking every bit as unhappy about the situation as she did.

"I need to get back to Harry and Ron," she said after a short time. "They need me."

"Ah, well, I was hoping that you were not going to say that."

She looked defiant. If he wasn't going to save himself, then she needed to get back and carry on the fight.

"I am sure you are aware that Time-Turners do not go forward."

She felt her cheeks suddenly blaze with colour. "Well, yes, I knew that ... but I hoped ..." she began to chew on her thumbnail.

"You thought I could help you?"

"Yes, Professor."

"Then I'm afraid that we have a little problem, Miss Granger," Dumbledore admitted. "I have no idea how to get you back to your own time."

Hermione's heart sank.

"But, as you have well proved today, nothing is impossible. I am sure that with the help of some very old friends, we may be able to find some kind of solution. It will take some time, however."

Time. Something she suddenly had plenty of. If she could get back to Harry and Ron only moments after she had left them, then she would have lost no time at all.

"There are no guarantees, Hermione," Dumbledore said, as though he had read her thoughts.

"But you think your friends can help?"

"Possibly."

She nodded, as though confirming to herself that he had made some kind of promise. She did not see the look of concern crease his brow; she did not want to see it. She felt sick and she wanted to get back to her friends.

They sat in silence for a time, and then suddenly he began to smile, and did so for such a time without speaking that she began to shuffle in her chair.

"What?" she asked eventually, "What is so funny?"

"Nothing is funny," Dumbledore replied, still looking amused. "I can assure you that after the news of my own demise, I am not finding anything particularly funny. I do, however, have an idea that may be beneficial to all concerned."

Hermione frowned. What kind of idea could he possibly have? Locking her in a tower until they found a solution? That was a good idea.

But locking her away was not in Dumbledore's plans. Quite the contrary, she was about to question the old man's sanity.

"I think it would be beneficial for you to continue your education whilst you are here."

"Pardon?"

"Oh, don't look so worried, Miss Granger. You could easily join our seventh years, and given your predicament, I am sure you would benefit from learning all you can."

Once again she was rendered speechless. Could her news have caused him to take leave of his senses? Continue her education? Here? With these people?

"Impossible," she breathed.

"I don't see why that should be so."

"I couldn't possibly ... I don't have time."

"I can assure you, Miss Granger, that wanting the solution to come faster won't make it so. I could certainly find you a quiet place to wait, but given that a solution could take a long time, what good would a life of solitude do you? It would be far more productive for you to join the student population and improve upon your studies. And with the benefit of having our library at your disposal, you could assist in your own solution."

The library was certainly enticing. Not only to research Time-Turners, but also the Horcruxes that they had found infuriatingly impossible to break.

"But what about the people that I know? I couldn't see them every day and not tell them what is going to happen."

"I would have to insist on your not telling them, of course, but I don't believe that meeting them, or knowing them, would necessarily be such a terrible thing. It may help you to understand their future choices."

"That doesn't make any sense! They didn't choose to die!" She scowled and folded her arms across her chest, refusing to meet his eye. "I cannot go to school with these people. How can I do that and not tell them?"

"You can avoid them, of course. It is a very large school, and aside from some very rudimentary introductions, there is no reason for you to socialize with them." He sighed himself then, betraying his own emotion over their conversation. "Stay in school, Hermione," he said quietly. "At least I will know you are safe and you can focus on something other than your predicament."

She honestly didn't think that going to school with people she knew would die would take her mind off her predicament, but Dumbledore had a way of speaking, a tone to his voice, that was disturbingly convincing. Before long she found herself agreeing to a plan that she was not convinced was sound.

After Dumbledore sent for Professor McGonagall, they set about concocting a story that made her sudden appearance sound plausible. She sat back and listened to him, distracted by her own concerns. What had she gotten herself into? How could this possibly work? She began to wonder just what he was hoping to gain by sending her into the school. There had to be something, she decided, because Dumbledore was no fool, and he must have wanted something to happen. He wouldn't subject her to this otherwise.

She was to be a transfer from Beauxbatons Academy, and as Dumbledore warmed to his role as storyteller, she would also be his niece. He reasoned that it would add a little weight to her position; Hermione thought the very idea implausible, and judging by the look on Professor McGonagall's face as Hermione was introduced, so did the Transfigurations Mistress. Dumbledore was a consummate performer, however. In fact, he seemed to be enjoying his role of uncle immensely. He chuckled, and twinkled, and was so infuriatingly ... Dumbledore ... that any questions were quickly dismissed in the face of his confidence. By the time Hermione found herself following Professor McGonagall to the Gryffindor Tower, she found herself almost willing to believe that the plan could work.

As she walked, she dismissed the nausea welling up inside her and decided that she would not socialize with anyone at all. She could only imagine meeting James and Lily Potter and blurting out, "In three or so years you will be in hiding with your son and you are going to be horribly murdered by Lord Voldemort," or something equally as bad. Or what if she saw Peter Pettigrew and viciously launched herself at him, screaming that he was a traitor who would betray everyone to their deaths? No, it would not do to become friendly with anyone. Isolation would be the key.

To that end, she had convinced Dumbledore to give her a room of her own in the Gryffindor tower. She had reasoned that she could not share a common room with them, or sleep in a room with Lily Evans, so close that she could hear her breathing. Professor McGonagall evidently did not agree with the Headmaster showing his niece such favouritism, and aside from rudimentary directions, she said nothing to Hermione on their walk through the castle.

It wasn't until they reached the door to her new room, that McGonagall finally addressed Hermione directly.

"I'm assuming your uncle explained to you about House Points," she said briskly.

"Yes, of course. Achievements earn you points, wrongdoing loses them. At the end of the year the House with the most points is awarded the House Cup."

"Gryffindor has won the House Cup for the last three years, and thus far we have been doing well this year. Professor Dumbledore has assured me that you will have plenty to contribute."

"I hope so, Professor," Hermione said truthfully. She was unused to Professor McGonagall looking at her with such evident disapproval. She could also not recall the Gryffindor Head of House looking so sprightly. The professor Hermione had met at age eleven had been supplanted by the woman who walked with the aid of a cane and whose face was etched with the pain of loss and war.

Hermione tried to smile, but had to turn away briefly to grimace as the pain inside her stomach intensified. She needed to lie down. She decided a sleep might do her the world of good.

"Lunch is at 12:30. Professor Dumbledore will introduce you to your classmates then," Professor McGonagall said in a crisp, disapproving way.

Hermione didn't have a chance to answer because as she opened her mouth to speak the world began to spin, and for the second time that day, Hermione fainted.

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