First day of school

Chapter 4

Hermione woke in a bed in the hospital wing of Hogwarts and blinked as she heard the sounds of Minerva McGonagall telling Albus Dumbledore exactly what she thought of him and his ridiculous story regarding Hermione's sudden appearance at the school.

"Twenty years, Albus! Twenty years! The poor girl could have died at my feet, and I was talking to her as if she was the spoilt niece of the Headmaster!" McGonagall paused before turning on him again. "I knew you didn't have a niece! Whose daughter would she be? Aberforth's? It's a dreadful lie, no one will believe it!"

"Minerva, calm yourself. No one has questioned my story of who she is, and they have no reason not to believe me. You must understand the need for deception."

"It was hardly necessary to go that far. You could have just said that she was a transfer student. Why add that she's related to you?"

"To explain the preferential treatment that sees her having her own chambers, of course."

McGonagall seemed to be seeking out something else to say. Even from her position in the bed, Hermione could feel the anger coming off the Transfigurations professor in waves.

"How could you have not sent her to the hospital wing immediately? Merlin only knows what kind of injuries she has suffered!"

"I must confess that I did not think of it," Dumbledore admitted, for the first time sounding a little regretful. "After listening to what she had to say, the possibility of her being ill was the furthest thing from my mind. I thought that she had come a long way and that some rest would do her good."

"Come a long way? Oh, Albus, if ever you have made an understatement!" McGonagall looked to Hermione, who quickly feigned sleep. "What are we going to do with her?"

"I am hoping to send her back, Minerva."

"And how is that possible? Time-Turners don't go forward, Albus! No one has ever ..."

"Yes, yes. But no one has ever come back this far either. I have contacted some people who may be able to help, and they are coming here to try to find a solution."

"And what if they can't? What happens then?"

"To be honest, Minerva, it is not something that I want to contemplate. If she is forced to live her life in this time, she could well run to madness."

"Surely nothing so terrible as that!"

"We don't know what her misuse of the Time-Turner has done to her mind. It has certainly harmed her physically; we don't know whether it has harmed her mentally. She has the burden of our futures preying on her: she knows what is to come and she can't breathe a word of it. Imagine how that will separate her from others. Imagine the solitude in which she will be forced to live her life."

"And has she ..." McGonagall hesitated uncomfortably. "Has she revealed anything to you? Anything that we should know?"

"She has revealed nothing that I would care to repeat."

"Yet enough to earn her a private chamber away from the student populace?"

"Twenty years is a long time."

McGonagall began to pace. "So it's bad then?"

"I didn't say that, Minerva."

"You didn't have to." She fell quiet again and then resumed her pacing. "Do you think it wise to give her her own room? It might look suspicious to the other students, and as you know, we have students here whose suspicions live to be aroused."

"She has reasons not to be included in the dormitory, Minerva, and as I believe Miss Granger to be well and truly awake, we shall leave it at that."

Hermione's eyes snapped open, and she shuffled up the bed, trying to cover the fact that she had been caught eavesdropping.

"I trust you are feeling better, Hermione?" Dumbledore asked, ignoring McGonagall's curious look.

Indeed she was feeling better. In fact, she was feeling better than she had in months, no doubt due to the careful ministrations of Madam Pomfrey. Her arm ached a little, however, and upon looking, she found a nasty looking bruise and a tiny puncture wound in the crook of her arm. She folded her hand carefully over the mark and frowned. It was rare for a magical healer to resort to such things as needles; she must have given them quite a scare if she had driven Madam Pomfrey to inject something into her veins.

"I owe you an apology, Hermione," Dumbledore said as he approached her bed. "I should have brought you straight here, rather than detaining you with conversation. I do hope that you will forgive me, I am an old man, and my memory ..."

McGonagall snorted in disbelief as Dumbledore, sharp as a tack, feigned a faulty memory.

Determined to prove that her own mind was a picture of health, Hermione brightened considerably and smiled. "I'm fine, Professor, honestly. I should have made more of an issue of it."

McGonagall began to make a fuss over Hermione, ensuring she was comfortable. It was evident that she thought Dumbledore the one in the wrong, and she perhaps sought to make amends for some kind of slight she felt she'd done her. It wasn't the case, of course, but at that moment Hermione felt like something of an abnormality, especially since both Dumbledore and McGonagall kept looking at her as though she might explode.

"Do you feel well enough to go to your room, or would you prefer to spend the night here?" McGonagall asked. "Madam Pomfrey would prefer you stay here, but it would be better for you to be comfortable. I've put together some clothes for you. Uniform, nightdress and a few casual things ... they might be a little old fashioned. Albus has ensured that you have text books and supplies for classes."

Hermione felt perfectly well, and acquainting herself with her chambers was tempting. She looked around at the familiar corners of the ward, and she had to wonder how many hours she had spent there. Harry's visits had become so regular that Madam Pomfrey kept the bed by the window reserved for him, and Hermione herself had spent considerable time under the care of the Mediwitch. Looking around now, she couldn't help but notice that it was an unchanging place. Even the curtained screens that Madam Pomfrey was currently pulling around her did not look twenty years fresher.

"Miss Granger will spend the night here," Madam Pomfrey said, ending all speculation on the subject as she pulled the screens into place. "She needs a good night's rest and time to recover! You can't expect her to be gallivanting all over the school after such a... fall. "

Hermione's eyes widened. They had told Madam Pomfrey that she'd had a fall? Professor McGonagall was glaring at Dumbledore, who smiled serenely. Madam Pomfrey seemed utterly disbelieving, but chose to say nothing of it. Instead she produced a goblet full of a steaming potion and tried to shoo the professors away.

"What is this?" Hermione asked, eyeing the goblet suspiciously.

"It's a mixture of Nephalium and Stag horn root, amongst other things. Your fall has caused some damage to your vital organs, and I am trying to strengthen them."

Hermione wondered just how far Dumbledore had said that she'd fallen.

"You also had two broken ribs."

That had certainly been caused by her fall, but it seemed strange that the events of the day had caused her to forget all about them.

She wondered what Harry and Ron were doing. Were they frantic? Was Harry blaming himself? She sagged against the bed head, fatigue coming more from emotional trauma than any physical malaise.

Madam Pomfrey ejected the concerned professors from the room and began bustling about, demanding Hermione drink her potion and rest.

"It has been a long day," the Mediwitch said. "You need to rest tonight. There's plenty of time tomorrow for meeting people and going to classes." She gave Hermione a quizzical look. "Professor Dumbledore says that you transferred from Beauxbatons, and that you are his niece?"

"Err... yes."

"He also said that it wasn't necessary to contact your parents."

"No... They're abroad."

"France?"

"No." She had no idea where Dumbledore would have said her parents were. Her own parents were married in 1978. In December they were preparing for their first Christmas together. They went skiing. "Austria," she said quietly, "it's been so long since they had a holiday, I'd hate to worry them."

Madam Pomfrey demurred, not believing her, but deciding not to push the issue. "Drink your potion, dear, and try to get some rest."

**********

Hermione dreamed that she was falling through some endless, swirling vortex from which she could not escape or land. She woke disorientated, convinced that she was in some shabby room at a fifth rate hostel, somewhere in Muggle London, or huddled in a back alley, wrapped in Harry and Ron's limbs, trying to stay warm. Instead she found herself in the hospital wing at Hogwarts, and she was filled with a momentary sense of dread. Her first thoughts were that something had happened. Where were Harry and Ron? Such confusion was fleeting, however, and the reality of her predicament dawned quickly on her. Something had happened, but it was not Harry or Ron who was in trouble. Her dream was real, and it was her who was in trouble.

A neat pile of clothes had been left at the end of the hospital bed, along with some toiletries so that she could wash, tend her hair and brush her teeth. She did these things with unusual slowness, almost hoping that she would faint again. It was not to be. She dressed, feeling in the best of health and wondering how Madam Pomfrey could be so terribly good at what she did. She wished something could be done for her mental state, however: there was no time she could recall when she had felt so nervous about the coming day.

Her journey to the Great Hall was oddly quiet. No one rushed past her in the halls. There were no sounds of chatter or dispute. She realised that she must be very late. Everyone was already in the Great Hall, eating their breakfast and preparing for their day. They were blissfully unaware that a war was coming and that their lives would change forever. Hermione walked the corridor, feeling very much like a portent of doom.

She slipped into the Great Hall and was overwhelmed by the sudden noise that welled up around her. Here were the voices missing from the corridors, and she found herself staring at a familiar backdrop and familiar uniforms, and yet the faces were those of strangers. It was disorientating, and she found herself swaying in her confusion.

Her eyes flitted from table to table, seeking out anything that she could use to ground herself. At the head table, Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore appeared to be looking around the hall in search of her. She saw tiny Professor Flitwick sitting beside Professor Binns, who she noticed was well and truly alive. She smiled at the bulk of Hagrid, who looked very much as he ever did. Beside Hagrid sat a man she did not recognise, but further along the table she saw Professor Slughorn picking delicately at something from a heavily laden tray of food.

The House tables appeared to be in the same places that she remembered them to be. She instinctively sought out Gryffindor, and ran her eye along the unfamiliar assortment of people until she found her mark. Sirius Black, more handsome in his youth than in later years, was leaning across the table to reach for something that she could not see. He had a smile on his face, and as he reached across, he said something that caused those around him to burst into laughter.

Then he sat down, and Hermione's heart skipped a beat.

It was Harry. It had to be Harry. He had the same lean build, the narrow nose and pronounced cheekbones. The unruly black hair could never be mistaken. Even the way his glasses slid down his nose was the same. But this wasn't Harry, and upon staring at him, she knew he could not possibly be. Aside from the year, this Harry was laughing, and her Harry hadn't laughed in months. Hermione watched him and knew, even without meeting him that this Harry was brimming with a confidence that her Harry would never possess. No, this wasn't Harry. This was Harry's father, James Potter.

Hermione took a step back. If she turned now, she could flee the Great Hall and go to the chambers that Dumbledore had given her. There she could stay until this mess was sorted out. If she turned now she could avoid all of them. How could they all be sitting there, looking so carefree and unaware that they wouldn't see another five years? James would be dead and in his grave, and Sirius would be rotting away in Azkaban. She did turn then, desperate to get away from them, but she didn't get far. Turning brought her eye to the Slytherin table, and the solitary figure sitting at the end of it.

Severus Snape was suitably alone, a book propped up against his jug of pumpkin juice and his breakfast utterly untouched. He was tall already; she could tell that despite him sitting down. His uniform looked too short. She was close enough to him to note that the cuffs and hem had been let down and were still not performing their office. He must have had a recent growth spurt. He was pale already too, as though he rarely stirred out of doors, and although the robes were too short, they still managed to hang off him in such a way as to belie how slender the frame beneath them was.

So there he was, a skinny kid with lank greasy hair and a nose that he hadn't quite grown into yet. And she could kill him. It would be an easy matter of pulling out her wand and doing away with him right then and there. How many lives would be saved? She could remove him from history, and no one would ever speak of him again – except to note how he had been killed at breakfast one morning. He could go and join Moaning Myrtle in the bathroom, and she could grow old in Azkaban.

"Miss Granger!"

Hermione jumped and spun on her heel to face Dumbledore, who confronted her with a pleasant, if somewhat warning, smile.

"I am pleased to see you up and about, Hermione," he said, looking at her intently. "I trust you are feeling better."

Hermione fumbled over Dumbledore's name for a good minute before being able to say it, realising that she had been caught thinking some truly terrible thoughts. Dumbledore looked away from her for a moment, and she realised that his gaze had been drawn to the unsuspecting Snape. She couldn't help but wonder what thoughts ran through his head as he looked at his one day murderer. Could it be possible that he would think such thoughts as she?

"I'm sorry, Professor," Hermione rasped harshly. "He just looks so ..."

"Young?" Dumbledore offered, still looking at the lank-haired Snape.

"He is going to do terrible things."

"Yes, well, he hasn't done them yet, Hermione." Dumbledore gathered her to him with an arm around her shoulders and forcibly guided her into the Hall. "If you cannot control yourself, you will have to avoid him," he said lightly. "Professor Slughorn has informed me that he is becoming quite a proficient Legilimens, and we really don't need your thoughts scaring him half to death with thoughts of murder."

"You teach Legilimency here?"

"No," Dumbledore admitted, "but many students enjoy learning as much as they can."

"And what does that mean?"

"It means he taught himself the skill."

Hermione snorted with derision and then coloured instantly. She could hardly look down on someone for learning something in their free time.

Dumbledore pressed on, delivering more bad news when he was sure they were far enough into the Great Hall to render fleeing impossible.

"Now, Hermione, my dear niece, I am going to have to introduce you to Lily Evans."

"What?"

"Miss Evans is Head Girl, and she also in your house, so it would seem very odd if I didn't hand you over to her."

"Hand me over to her?"

"To show you around the school, explain the rules, that sort of thing."

"But I already know my way around the school ... and I know the rules. I don't need Lily Evans showing me around!"

"Yes, I know all that, but no one else knows that. The Head Girl is responsible for showing new female students the school, and I am sure you will think of some way to deter a friendship with her if you feel you must."

"If I feel I must?" Hermione had stopped in her tracks, utterly gobsmacked at his logic. "Professor, this is going to be a disaster! I'd rather go back to my room and forget all about doing this."

The smile finally managed to slip from Dumbledore's face, something she did not expect there in the Great Hall. For some absurd reason she thought his tolerance to be infinite, and it quite obviously was not. Then again, he had probably never been in such a situation before. Hermione had tramped her way into the school and given him the name of his assassin and the date of his death; she supposed that the saintly demeanour should be allowed to slip in front of her.

"I am aware that this is hard for you, Hermione, but do you really think that I am asking you to do this for my own amusement or to torture you in some way?"

"No, Professor, but ..."

"There are no buts about it, Hermione. You do not belong in this time, it is true, but here you are. Your journey here has caused untold damage to you, and whilst you are a student here, I can keep an eye on you. Madam Pomfrey can attend you when necessary, and you can take the opportunity to learn as much as you can before you go back. Now, I must introduce you to Miss Evans, and you are welcome to be as obnoxious to her as you choose, but for the moment please meet her with some kind of grace and no more objections."

"I'm not going to be obnoxious to her!" Hermione protested. "I just keep thinking about Harry."

"You won't do him any favours by changing his future now."

Hermione didn't believe it, but she managed a smile so miserable that it caused Dumbledore to chuckle.

"Come now," he said, smiling again now that he'd said his piece, "we all play a part at some time or other. Let us hope that yours will be of short duration."

Dumbledore walked her the short distance to the Gryffindor table where Hermione observed the back of a young woman with long russet red hair. Once again she felt the desire to flee. Dumbledore's wishes be damned, it just seemed wrong to be meeting Harry's mother when Harry himself hadn't really ever had the privilege.

"Miss Evans," Dumbledore said jovially, and the redhead turned around, causing Hermione to wish herself miles away.

It was true, what everyone said. Harry did look like his father except for his eyes. The eyes came from this woman alone. Brilliantly green and expressive, it seemed strange seeing them devoid of glasses and in someone else's face. Lily Evans looked surprisingly like Ginny Weasley: she had the same delicate complexion and wonderfully luxurious hair, even her nose had a similar narrowness, and there was that open look of curiosity that Ginny possessed. Hermione had to wonder whether Harry realised just how similar his mother was in appearance to the girl he was in love with. Ginny's eyes were brown, however, and as much as Hermione liked Ginny, her eyes were nothing to the girl in front of her. The green eyes seemed to enhance everything, making her skin finer, her hair richer, and her lips pinker. Lily Evans was really quite stunning.

Hermione attempted to smooth her own unruly curls in a self conscious way.

"This is Hermione Granger, Miss Evans," Dumbledore said, sounding suitably proud considering who she was supposed to be. "Hermione is my niece, and I am pleased to say that she has transferred to Hogwarts from Beauxbatons Academy."

Lily's green eyes lit up at the mention of the French school and her apparent relationship to the Headmaster. When Dumbledore went on to explain that she was also a Gryffindor, Lily appeared quite enraptured.

"I'm very pleased to meet you, Hermione," Lily said, and she offered her hand in welcome. Hermione looked at it and knew that she couldn't take that hand without breaking down. She instinctively shrunk away from it, and Lily's smile faded a little as she withdrew the proffered hand. "It must have been wonderful going to school in France," she said, but the pleasure in her voice had, like her smile, faded a little.

"Yes," Hermione replied stiffly, aware that Dumbledore's hand on her shoulder had tightened significantly. "It was very... nice." She felt her cheeks colour. She had been to France once in her life on holiday, and she had no idea what going to school there would possibly be like. "I'm sure Hogwarts will be just as good," she finished lamely.

"I am sure you will make Hermione feel welcome," Dumbledore said, ignoring the awkwardness between them. To Hermione he then added, "I will leave you in Lily's capable hands now, Hermione. You know where to find me if you need me."

Hermione could have thrown herself around his feet and clung to the hem of his robes as he walked away. She didn't want to be left in the capable hands of the future dead Mrs. Potter. She had no idea what to say. She offered an awkward smile to Lily who in turn began ushering people up the bench to make room for Hermione to sit down.

Hermione took the space nervously, wondering if it would be better if she ended up like the loathsome Snape, sitting at the end of the table alone. Opposite sat two girls who looked her up and down with interest, and after a round of introductions, she learned that their names were Rosa and Florence, and they were Lily's best friends. After some rudimentary questions about Beauxbatons, France and Hermione's famous uncle – all of which she deterred with vague and uncooperative answers – they went back to the conversation they were having before Dumbledore's interruption.

"He's cute," Florence said, reaching for some toast, "and there is nothing wrong with going to Hogsmeade with him."

"It's not as though he wants to go to Hogsmeade for tea and cake, Florence!" Lily replied scornfully. She leaned forward and looked a little desperate. "You know exactly what he wants, a couple of drinks at the Hog's Head, and a quick grope out the back!"

"He's been after you for years," Florence reasoned. "I really don't think he's after a quick grope."

Rosa rolled her eyes. "Good God, Lily, how many times have we had this conversation? Just go to Hogsmeade with him!"

All three turned to stare at James Potter, who took the opportunity to ruffle his hair so that it stood out in all directions and wave at Lily who smiled in spite of herself.

"He's a bloody big-headed git," Lily said with more than a hint of affection.

"Now if it was Sirius..." Rosa said, and she and Florence exchanged knowing looks.

"If it was Sirius, we wouldn't even be discussing it," Lily said crisply. "At least James would only want a grope!"

"Oh good grief, Lily!" Rosa was shaking her head, exasperated by what was obviously an oft had discussion. "It's not as though he's hideous or anything. He obviously likes you, and, believe it or not, you like him too! Just go to bloody Hogsmeade with him! If he takes you anywhere near the Hog's Head, you can slap him and leave."

Lily rolled her eyes heavenward and gave them the answer that Hermione suspected she'd wanted to give all along, "Alright, I'll go."

And then Florence and Rosa looked so excited at the impending date that it could have been them going instead of Lily. Hermione looked away from the girls and was suddenly glad that her best friends were two boys who were remarkably thick when it came to romance. She seemed to remember Ron bemoaning Lavender's neediness, and Harry once admitting that Ginny made his stomach ache, but such comments were generally followed by some rather pathetic displays of masculinity and much punching of shoulders. Harry and Ron did not squeal with delight or start yabbering about how they should wear their hair in a week's time.

"He is a bit of a pig though," Rosa said with sudden negativity. "I mean, he's always hexing some unsuspecting first year."

"But it's all in fun!" Florence protested.

"And he has improved in the last year or so," Lily added.

"And he wouldn't hurt anyone!"

"And he's mellowed a lot," Lily cried, again coming to her would-be-groper's defence. "He hasn't hexed anyone this year that I know of!"

"Snivellus," Rosa and Florence said in unison.

They all, Hermione included, craned to stare at the end of the Slytherin table.

"Well, yes..." Lily turned back to her plate uncomfortably. "But he... Severus gives as good as he gets."

"And I suppose he doesn't really classify as an innocent first year," Rosa mused. "Actually, he doesn't really classify as anything at all."

At this Florence burst into laughter, and Rosa soon joined in, declaring herself very naughty for saying such a thing. Hermione noticed that Lily, while smiling at her friends, did not join in the laughter. She glanced back at the Slytherin table and shook her head, as though there was nothing that could be done for it.

"Oh, come on, Lily," Rosa said in a robust way. "Don't get all missish and affronted. You know exactly what he thinks of you, so why feel sorry for him?" She nodded in Snape's direction with a sniff. "Gods, look at him. A face only a mother could love and a personality that's worse."

Hermione snorted with laughter, so sharp and sudden that Lily looked suddenly stricken.

"Oh, come on, he's not that bad."

"He's not that good either," Rosa retorted.

"Or have we found a possible new match, Miss Evans?" Florence teased. "Do I hear the pitter patter of tiny Snapes in your future?"

Hermione almost choked on her pumpkin juice, and Lily looked mortified at the very idea. Then suddenly the three of them burst into hysterical laughter at their own idiocy, and thankfully they changed the subject.

Florence was failing Divination, and Lily reasoned that with such appalling second sight it was little wonder. Rosa had a crush on Sirius, but his reputation for womanising was well known, and she didn't want to be another notch on what, from all accounts, was a heavily whittled bed post.

Hermione turned her attention back to her breakfast, wishing that she could relate in some way to the girls around her. They were so happy. Their worries were of boys and failing grades. Hermione had been entrenched in a darker world from her first year at the school. In recent months, love had become something more desperate than innocent, something to try and extract some kind of comfort from when the horrors of the war became too great. She remembered the stolen kisses with Ron in the darkness of damp alley ways. They were nothing more than brief moments when their situation could be forgotten and they could pretend that all was well in the world.

These girls would discover that world soon enough. Hermione would never know what happened to Florence and Rosa, but Lily was going to die in a handful of years. She would die knowing that her husband was already dead somewhere in their house and desperately hoping that she had saved her son with her sacrifice.

Hermione looked down the table to where James was trying not to look interested in what the girls were talking about. She wanted to say something. Something like, "No Lily, he's not after a quick grope, he loves you and he's going to give you the most wonderful son. And then you'll both die."

She closed her eyes. She had to put what was going to happen out of her mind.

"Do you have your timetable yet?"

Lily had to repeat the question twice before Hermione realised that she was talking to her.

"What? Oh, sorry!" she blushed in the face of Lily's questioning expression. They no doubt thought her an idiot. "I was miles away..."

"Don't worry," Lily reassured her. "Starting a new school must be hard. Leaving all your friends behind, you must miss them."

"Yes," Hermione said truthfully, "I do."

"Will you see your friends over the Christmas break?"

"No, I'll be staying here for Christmas."

"Oh, of course! Professor Dumbledore is your uncle! It must be amazing having such a powerful wizard in the family... I never knew he had a sister."

"Um, yes, well, she's a lot younger than he is ..."

Lily smiled in a reassuring way. "So, do you have your timetable yet?"

"Oh, err, yes." Hermione hoisted her bag up from the floor and pulled out the roll of parchment with her timetable on it. Lily quickly smoothed it out on the table for them all to pore over, and Hermione cringed as they began to dissect her choice of subjects.

"Wow, you really believe in filling up your day, don't you?" Florence said.

"I like to keep myself busy," Hermione replied, but her eyes widened as she looked at just what Dumbledore had crammed into it. She could not recall giving him her class preferences, yet he had everything there. Not enough to warrant a Time-Turner though, she noted with some bleak humour.

"Hmm, well, you have Charms first, I can take you there. Rosa can take you to Arithmancy, and that's just down the hall from Ancient Runes. We have a break then, so I can show you around the grounds, and then you can come to Defence Against the Dark Arts with me, then there's Transfiguration – I think you'll like Professor McGonagall, she's pretty amazing. Then there's lunch, and double Potions to finish. I can take you there too."

"It's in the dungeons, right?" Hermione said quickly. The prospect of spending the entire day attached to Lily Evans was not a good one, not if she planned on keeping any information about Lily's future to herself. Although just how she would broach the subject of the girl's death, she had no idea. "I'm sure that I'll be able to find my way around."

Lily gave her an odd look, one that was repeated on the faces of her two friends. After a moment, Lily managed to shrug. "Well then, that's fine. I can still show you around the school at break and ..."

"Oh, no, it's not necessary. I have a map, and I'm sure that will be perfectly adequate." Another lie, but a reasonable one.

Lily looked thoroughly confused, as though the idea that someone might not want to know her was utterly unheard of, and she could only manage a thin "oh" by way of reply.

Hermione stuffed the timetable back into her bag and got up from the table. "If you'll excuse me," she said bluntly, and she walked away from the girls, fully aware of what they must be thinking as she left.

She was not there to make friends, so the fact that she distinctly heard Rosa's voice referring to her as a bitch should not mean anything to her. But of course it did. Hermione had to put it out of her mind and concentrate on getting back to Harry and Ron.

She went from breakfast to Charms, wandering the halls for a while before the class started and enjoying the fact that she was there again. While there was no one about, she could pretend that she had never left. She had missed the school, and while she wandered, it felt good to be there.

Charms brought back the feeling of unease, however. Lily, as it turned out, was quite brilliant at Charms. So good that Hermione found herself feeling distinctly threatened. She was used to being the best and the brightest in the class, and the prospect of being outdone by the redhead caused panic to well in her. It was entirely ridiculous of course. She did not need to excel, she didn't really need to do anything at all, but she was used to working hard. She was also used to being the best when it came to magic. She had never realised that she was so competitive. Harry and Ron had told her as much, but she had never really believed them.

The rest of her morning passed with relative ease. She refrained from putting her hand in the air as best she could, desperate as she was to blend into the background. She found Snape in her Arithmancy and Ancient Runes classes, but as with breakfast, he kept to himself. Hermione could not help but watch him, noticing that he often pushed his face so far into his books that she suspected he may need glasses. At recess Lily renewed her offer of a tour around the grounds, and Hermione rounded on her so unkindly that she had cause to doubt her own sanity.

"Look, I am sure you are a lovely person, but I really don't need your help. I am perfectly capable of finding my own way around the school!"

"I didn't mean to suggest that you ..."

"It's fine, really it is. Now why don't you go and find your friends? I'll get myself to classes on my own I assure you."

Lily took a step back, and her features finally hardened. "If that's the way you want it," she said coldly.

"Yes, that's the way I want it," Hermione replied.

"I'll just let you know, not everyone will be impressed by you being Professor Dumbledore's niece ..."

"That's fine. It's not as if he and I are close. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to get something to eat."

Lily turned on her heel and walked away, without bothering to reply.

Hermione watched her go and hated herself. Dear God, she had just been a miserable bitch to her best friend's mother. It made her ache to think that in some strange way, Lily would disapprove of her and Harry being friends. She wanted to run after her and explain, begging for some kind of pardon for her behaviour. But of course, she did nothing of the sort. She let Lily walk away, telling herself that it was for the best.

Defence Against the Dark Arts was immediately after lunch, and Hermione found her nightmare made real inside that classroom. They were all there, all of them. The room had been arranged in a semi-circular fashion that reminded Hermione of pictures she had once seen of the Coloseum in Rome. They all looked down on the professor who stood before them all with great humour. Professor Hinton was the latest in the Defence Against the Dark Arts position. He seemed an excellent teacher upon first impressions. He was in turns serious and witty and was able to keep the class enthralled throughout his lessons.

Towards the end of the class, he disappointed them all, however, but Hermione was astonished at how well he handled them.

"Some of you will be pleased to know that we will no longer be finishing our classes with a duelling lesson," he said, and at the many groans of disappointment, he nodded and grinned. "Yes, well, we don't want a repeat of Friday's misadventure, and I personally don't want to spend my lunch hour scraping Mr. Potter and Mr. Snape off the walls... again."

"It wouldn't be so bad if Snivelly could block worth a..."

"Thank you, Mr. Black," Hinton said, settling them down. "I am sure we are all aware of your opinion; however, I might remind you of just who ended up in the hospital wing."

Sirius shot Snape a look of pure venom while James Potter looked distinctly uncomfortable at the memory. Across the room, Snape was looking quite self satisfied.

Instead of duelling, they made a start on Patronus Charms which they would be studying for the remainder of the week. Hermione was well aware of how to conjure one, but had never studied the theory behind them.

"So, who can tell me what the Patronus Charm is used for?" the Professor asked, and a number of hands shot into the air. "Yes, Mr. Lupin?"

"They are used to ward off Dementors," Lupin said from his position behind James.

"Excellent, that is exactly right. Dementors seek to live off the happiness and ultimately the souls of other living beings. As wizards, we have the Patronus Charm to aid in our defence against these creatures. The Patronus is a silvery phantom-like shape, usually that of an animal, which is the embodiment of the positive thoughts of the one casting the charm. The incantation itself is Expecto Patronum from the medieval Patronus, meaning a patron saint, a patron or assistant, and Expecto, from the Latin meaning to expel from the chest – that is to send forth from oneself." The Professor stopped, and a small frown creased his brow as a pale hand rose into the air from the class before him. "Yes, Mr. Snape?"

"What about using them as messengers?"

It was the first time Hermione had heard him speak since she'd reached that time, but judging from the stifled giggles around the class, and the sudden strained look on the face of their Professor, it wasn't the first time he'd said something in that room.

"Messengers?" Hinton asked dubiously, as though he knew something more was coming.

"They can be used to convey messages across distances, and as each one is unique to the caster, no one can mistake who the message is from."

"No," Hinton said, but it was an uneasy no. "Using a Patronus to send a message would not work. They are attached to their owners and are silent, they couldn't travel distances without their owners being nearby, attempting to use them as messengers would be a useless exercise."

"You're wrong," Snape said bluntly.

Hinton looked incredulous at the statement. "Severus, the Patronus Charm has been conjured for well over a thousand years, and there has never been a shred of document evidence to support your theory."

"Which means that it hasn't been written down, not that it can't be done."

"Give it up, Snivellus," someone called from the other side of the room, "it's all bollocks!"

Hinton smiled in spite of his position, and turned to stare at the greasy little odd-ball he had for a student. "I think you'll have to give that theory away, Severus," he said, "It isn't workable."

Snape scowled from behind the greasy curtains of hair. "Dumbledore versus Grindelwald," he said quietly.

"This isn't a history lesson, Severus."

"It doesn't have to be," Snape insisted, determined to make his point. "When Dumbledore was cornered by Grindelwald, a silver Phoenix was seen flying across the highland moors where he was trapped. It disappeared into thin air, and moments later reinforcements arrived and the battle was won. The Phoenix was his Patronus. It alerted Dumbledore's followers to his predicament and they came to his aid."

"That is a stretch, Mr. Snape."

Another ripple of laughter ran through the room, and Hermione sat back with some dismay. The Professor may well have been good, but he had no vision, and the idea he was dismissing was not only plausible, it was accurate. The Order of the Phoenix used the Patronus Charm to communicate with each other on a regular basis. Of course, it was one of Dumbledore's brilliant ideas, and not something that was commonly known by those who were not in the Order. That Snape had been able to work it out was quite astounding.

"Miss Granger," Professor Hinton said, snapping her attention back to the room. "You are Professor Dumbledore's niece. Perhaps you can shed some light on Mr. Snape's theory."

Hermione shifted uncomfortably. She could lie. She didn't want to side with Snape, and yet she knew that to lie would misinform students who would soon need every weapon they could possibly get in the fight against Voldemort. To tell them such blatant untruths would be unforgivable.

"There is no reason why the Patronus Charm couldn't be used to send a message," she said carefully. "Using a Patronus has many advantages. The Patronus is an anti-dark arts device, and as such it is able to resist the work of many dark wizards. Also, it is uninhibited by physical boundaries, and a wizard needs nothing more than a wand to cast it."

Once again Hinton was looking incredulous, and Hermione was well aware that all eyes were suddenly on her.

"And how do you suggest the Patronus is sent?" Hinton asked, sounding a little hostile. "How would one overcome the issue of distance, given that what Mr. Snape is suggesting means that the Patronus would need to be sent instantaneously?"

Hermione stared evenly at the Professor and decided that she really didn't like the man, given that he wasn't open to discussion and was now attempting to ridicule her in front of the class.

"Oh, I don't know," she replied with a hint of sarcasm. "Given that we can Apparate owls and parchment messages all over the Ministry of Magic, perhaps it wouldn't be so difficult to do the same with a Patronus?" She demurred then and raised an eyebrow. "But of course, you're the Professor, and I'm sure you'd know a great deal more about these matters than I would."

Hinton stared at her strangely, and the silence in the classroom became quickly uncomfortable. Hermione didn't shrink from it however; she had something that none of these people didn't; practical experience in a war. She could possibly have led the class with as much success as the Professor at that point.

The bell sounded throughout the school, signalling the end of class and all speculation on the subject for that day at least. They were told to read up on the Patronus Charm and the following day they would learn how to cast them. As Hermione was already able to cast her Patronus, she wondered if she could miss the next day's lesson.

She didn't make it to the door of the classroom before Hinton stopped her, and the look on his face was stern.

"It's an interesting theory," he said.

"It's more than a theory," she replied evenly.

"Don't get the wrong idea, Miss Granger, I welcome an exchange of ideas in my classroom, but I don't want to encourage the likes of Mr. Snape to think that things are possible when they quite plainly aren't. He is very dedicated and very bright, but he has some strange ideas of what constitutes Dark Arts and the defence of them, and he has little belief in the extent of his power. You don't need to encourage him to make a fool out of himself just so that you can become popular with the other students."

"I wasn't doing anything of the sort!" Hermione protested. "He made a valid point and you dismissed it. Perhaps his problem isn't the extent of his power, but your desire to limit it."

Professor Hinton was surprised at being addressed in such a way, and Hermione had to wonder what was happening to the respectful student she had once been. She was, she realised, beginning to sound like Harry when he didn't agree with a teacher. It was hardly conducive to making herself invisible, but this man was the one person who could prepare these people for what was to come and she felt that she had to do something to make him take action.

"Will we be learning cloaking spells?" she asked. "Protection spells? Shields at the very least?"

Hinton actually laughed at her then. "Miss Granger, you sound as though you want us to prepare for war!"

It was exactly what she wanted; she just wished she could tell him that.

********

"I can't do this," Hermione declared as she paced Dumbledore's office. It was officially her lunch break, and she had already been offered sandwiches and tea, both of which were sitting on the Headmaster's desk uneaten. "They're everywhere! It's like they are trying to ambush me every five minutes, and Lily Evans is some kind of fucking saint!"

Dumbledore's eyes widened at her language, but he said nothing, allowing her rant to continue.

"She's so bloody nice! And she's smart and beautiful..." Hermione turned to the Headmaster, stopping her pacing briefly. "Can't she have some kind of flaw? She has everything going for her, it's just a bloody ... tragedy!"

"You are letting what you know of her to cloud your judgement, Hermione," Dumbledore replied seriously. "You know that Lily Evans will become Lily Potter and that she will not only become the mother of your best friend, but that she will sacrifice herself to save his life. You are looking at Miss Evans with eyes tainted by this knowledge. She seems a saint to you because you already believe that she is."

"Don't try to out logic me!" she snapped and resumed her pacing with vigour. She half expected him to remind her of just who she was talking to, but he did not.

"Hermione," he said gently, "I cannot force you to attend the school. We have already discussed this. In your own time you chose not to return to school..."

"I didn't choose not to return! My God, you died and left us with some half-arsed clues about Horcruxes! I've spent the last nine months fighting and sleeping wherever could afford enough shelter to keep us dry. You think I chose that?"

"I am sorry, Hermione, that your childhood was cut so terribly short." Dumbledore paused, obviously expecting her to continue, but when she said nothing at all, he sat back in his chair. "Sit down, Hermione," he said, "and drink your tea."

She shook her head vigorously, but sat down and stared at her knees until they became little more than fabric covered blurs. When he placed a steaming cup of tea into her hands, she accepted it without question.

"Crying is not necessarily an evil thing."

"If I start, I might not stop," she whispered.

"I can assure you that you'd stop." He chuckled softly. "I think we all have moments when we believe that we could cry forever, but we stop eventually, and then we do what we must to get by. You are still fighting a war that is yet to happen, and the sad fact is that you have nothing to fight against. You can hate Peter Pettigrew, and you can plot Severus Snape's demise, but at this moment, in this time, they are still boys and are still innocent of any crime. Whatever they may do in the future, they are innocent now."

"I know," she said in a small voice, "but I don't know what to do."

"I can lock you away, if that is what you truly want, but I can only warn you against it. I have some very clever friends who are convinced that they can create a Time-Turner that can take you back to your own time, but clever or not, it will take time. It could be months."

"Months?" Her voice sounded hollow to her own ears, and she felt her stomach drop. "It can't take that long."

"Alas, Hermione, it is more than likely that it will take that long. And how would you prefer to spend that time? Locked away from the world, or taking the opportunity to learn everything you can?"

"It isn't the same without Harry and Ron." It sounded foolish and she knew it, but it was the truth. She wanted to be a student, she had certainly missed it, but she wanted Ron and Harry there too. "And what happens next? I stay here and I act like a normal eighteen-year-old for months on end, and then what? I go back to all that darkness and horror. What if I can't stand it?"

And there it was, the thing she feared the most. What if she became comfortable in the safety that Hogwarts provided and didn't want to go back? Could she possibly be so mercenary as to choose safety over her friends and responsibilities?

It was useless to think about it. This place would not stay safe for long; they would soon be at war anyway.

As though reading her thoughts, Dumbledore gave her a sad smile. "Voldemort is gathering strength even now," he said. "The Knights of Walpurgis, who include some of the most influential families in our world, have earned a reputation of late for their views and opinions regarding the Muggle Protection Act, as well as a few other issues that the Ministry are dealing with. From what I have heard, Voldemort has become prolific with the organisation, going so far as to becoming their head. Now the organisation has gone underground, which is odd considering it was respected for more than a century."

"I don't understand, who are the Knights of Walpurgis?"

"I believe that they are to become what you call Death Eaters. The Knights of Walpurgis have existed in our world for a very long time. They have an annual meeting in the Harz mountains on Walpurgis night. Their membership is notoriously strict: only pure-bloods allowed."

"But Voldemort isn't a pure-blood," Hermione said. "He's a half-blood. He's preaching purity of blood to a group of halfwits who think he's right! Maybe if someone takes the time to point out his own bloodline, they might turn away from him."

"Do you really think that will help, Hermione?" Dumbledore asked. "In our world we have a habit of dismissing things that we find unpleasant. Tom Riddle – Voldemort – is telling these people exactly what they want to hear, he is preaching to the converted if you like. Voldemort panders to the beliefs of those who he wishes to seduce, and it is not only the purebloods who are listening. Our bloodlines are dying out, and whilst there are those who refuse to marry anything other than pure – resulting in some admittedly half-witted offspring – the majority are not so foolish. They will marry a half-blood if necessary."

"So they'll marry down rather than marry a sister?" Hermione asked sarcastically. "And what about Lucius Malfoy? If pure-bloods are so hard to find, what threw him and Narcissa Black together?"

"As I said, we have a habit of dismissing things that we find unpleasant. The Malfoys and the Blacks are both very proud families, and it is very easy to wipe an undesirable name from the family tree."

"So you're saying they're not pure-bloods?"

"I'm saying that they are as pure as you'll find in this day and age. The Black family less so than the Malfoys."

"And does Lucius Malfoy know that?"

"I dare say he does."

"So why is he marrying her?"

"Is it so far fetched to believe that he might love her?"

Hermione coughed out an incredulous laugh.

"The Malfoys have a bad reputation, and Lucius Malfoy is as proud as any of them, but he is hardly devoid of all human emotion. He is very capable of falling in love."

"And what would his master think of that? Doesn't Voldemort demand total devotion?"

Dumbledore laughed and shook his head. "At the moment he is seducing them. The devotion comes later, Hermione. Most of the old families have fallen into various levels of poverty, only those who are clever in business, or who understand how to earn a living in these modern times, are able to live the life that they believe they deserve."

Hermione glanced around the ancient room. "These modern times?" she asked with a wry smile.

"Well," Dumbledore admitted, "modern for Wizards. Many of these families hadn't worked before this century. They had servants, money, and power, and the ability to obtain more should they need it. Muggle-borns, on the other hand, came from families to whom the concept of working for a living is perfectly common. They are often more logical and industrious than those who have grown up surrounded by magic. Around the turn of the century the half-bloods and Muggle-borns revolutionised the Ministry of Magic. They instigated the Muggle Protection Act, and they made it illegal to use magic to fill one's vaults at Gringotts. The rule of the pure-blood was over, and so too went a way of life that had existed for a millennia. There has been bitterness and resentment ever since, and now along comes a man who says he's the heir of Slytherin and who is promising to return their power and glory. It is rhetoric to be sure, but rhetoric that they like the sound of."

"And the half-bloods? What's their excuse?"

For an ambitious half-blood, Voldemort's ideas are enticing. He is promising them equal footing with pure-bloods, and you must never underestimate some half-bloods' desire to be pure. As frightening as it seems, the half-bloods are often the most racist. They want so much to be pure that they despise half of what they are. Could you imagine a more terrible fate?"

Hermione honestly could, but she doubted that Dumbledore asked the question to receive an answer. "Why would someone hate their family so much?"

"Perhaps their families don't give them much reason to think anything else. Muggles..." Dumbledore paused for a moment, and he looked troubled by his thoughts. "There are a surprising number of Muggles who think that our kind are disgusting creatures, freaks of nature that have no right to exist. And equally unfortunate is the number of our kind who take a Muggle spouse and fail to tell them what they are. Sometimes they wait until after the marriage, and sometimes they wait until after their child is born and starts displaying their powers. The Muggle parent resents their child and their partner, and that resentment mars the child's life forever. They are often neglected or abused, and by the time the child reaches adulthood, their hatred for that parent has grown into a hatred for all Muggles. And Voldemort knows how to take that hatred and use it to his best advantage."

"And is that Snape's story?" Hermione asked bitterly.

"Perhaps, but I admit I know little of his family life."

"His father is a Muggle, his mother's maiden name was Prince, and he called himself 'The Half-Blood Prince.' He wanted to obliterate the part of him that is Snape. "

"And yet he is still known as Severus Snape in your time. He doesn't seek to make the change permanent."

"Maybe it wouldn't stick; maybe no one believed the Prince bit."

Hermione closed her eyes. Her head had begun to ache, a dull throb at the back that threatened to become a raging pain to plague her every waking moment.

"I think I offended Professor Hinton," she said quietly.

"No doubt he'll be in later to tell me about it."

"And I have Potions after lunch."

"I believe Professor Slughorn's class is very advanced."

"I've had him as a teacher before," she reminded him, and she scowled at the pain in her head.

"You don't sound particularly impressed," Dumbledore said, once again amused.

"I didn't find him very fair. If you weren't one of his favourites, then you didn't exist."

"You will find him much the same now, Hermione. But never fear, with such illustrious connections as myself, you can't fail to make his list."

"I suppose that should make me happy," she said miserably.

"Eat your lunch, Hermione, and enjoy your Potions class as best you can."

**************

note: thanks Ellie for betaing