"Wrong Entrance"

The war had been over for five years, but sometimes it felt like only five days. Today was one of those days. Unfortunately, despite the fact that Voldemort had been defeated, with considerable losses to both sides, there were still rogue Death Eaters and Dark Lord supporters, and battles were being fought on an almost regular. This was part of the reason Hermione Granger found herself working at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries six days a week. It was supposed to be her day off today, but no. Something just had to go wrong.

"Oh, shut it, Hermione," she muttered to herself as she made sure that she had her bag before Apparating from Grimmauld Place, where she still lived with the Order. "They're just doing their job to look after all of us." She was referring to the Aurors, Order of the Phoenix, and various former Hogwarts students who were hunting down the last of the Death Eaters.

She went straight to St. Mungo's. She immediately felt as though someone was watching her, and looked around. It was certainly quieter than it usually was after a small battle was fought. Maybe people were just used to it by now. Took them long enough.

Hermione shrugged, and glanced around once more. No Muggles. She looked up at the dummy in the window of the fake department store, supposedly closed for renovations, and greeted the manikin. She then stepped up and into the window.

It felt different. She couldn't have explained it if she tried. The sensation of going through the magical window seemed to take longer than usual, and funny lights went off around her. She stiffened when she thought that she heard laughter, and words that sounded like 'Repulsa aetas'; but brushed it off when she found that she was perfectly fine—and in St. Mungo's—when she emerged from the other end. With a relieved sigh, she hurried forward, seeing the utter chaos that accompanied a rogue battle. Wearing her white robes with the hospital's logo on the breast pocket, she blended in as just another medi-witch.

"Here!" someone said, thrusting a chart into her arms, and leading her over to one trolley. It was a young man—about her age—with reddish hair; but Hermione knew that it wasn't Ron. Even if it looked like him, there wasn't the screaming Lavender Brown that usually came with Ron being admitted, no matter how recent the injury. She cast a diagnostic spell, not even bothering to study the chart yet, and glanced down at his leg.

"Follow me!" she commanded to the trolley, which obediently followed her to a place where she could keep him under better observation. She missed the frown on the patient's face as she took him to a secluded room.

"My leg…" he began weakly, and she shook her head.

"I can fix that," she said, and his eyebrows shot up in amazement. With a flick of her wand, he was instead in a hospital gown. She grimaced at the sight of the leg, but knew that it could indeed be healed. More than two years ago, it would have had to be amputated. But, with a new spell that she had discovered herself, it could heal itself part of the way, and a salve need only be applied for a week for the cure to be complete. It had been too late for people like Mad-Eye Moody, who had saved her life during the 'Final Battle'. Voldemort had sent a Killing Curse her way, and Moody had blocked it with his body.

Final Battle. Ha. They hadn't anticipated the following years' troubles, had they?

She hadn't stopped crying for three days. She and Moody had become sort-of friends when planning Voldemort's demise with the Order, and she had used him as her inspiration for the healing spell and salve.

"How?" the patient asked, and she smiled at him briefly, before returning her attention to the chart. Her spells had confirmed that it was only the leg that needed work.

"Medere funditus," she said, using a flick and twirl motion over the injured part of his leg, just below the knee. As the redhead winced, she Summoned a pain relieving potion, and gave it to him. He nodded at her gratefully, and tipped the whole thing down his throat immediately. She took back the vial as he drifted out of consciousness. She nodded shortly, attached the chart to the end of the bed, and went to see if any of the salve was in stock.


"Nothing!" she all but shouted, seeing that they were completely out. With a frustrated huff, she flooed straight to the laboratory, and went to work brewing.

It took her three-quarters of an hour, and she knew that the pain relief potion would be worn off by now, or almost worn off. She bottled some of the salve, leaving the rest on Stasis so that she could return for it later. Someone else may need it, after all, and she'd hate to waste ingredients.

She returned to the room to see that her patient had woken.

"Has anyone come for me?" she asked, and he shook his head, frowning. He looked her up and down. "What's wrong?"

"You're wearing a different uniform from the other Healers," he said, tilting his head. Then his gaze snapped to her face, and she saw suspicion there. She fought the urge to roll her eyes at his obvious paranoia.

"I've brought you this," she said, and she held up the container of salve. "You won't need much of it. Just apply some to the injury each day for one week, and your leg will be cured. It won't have to be amputated."

"Never heard of that spell before," he remarked. "Or this ointment."

"Really? Fascinating. They're not known outside of the Healing profession, funnily enough."

He let out a gruff chuckle, and she smiled back at him. She handed over the potion, and he accepted it, thanking her quietly.

"So what's your name?" he asked, and he peered at her badge before she drew back. "Granger? Well, Healer Granger, you'll probably want my records?"

"This isn't your first time here?" she asked, and he shook his head. "Well, I suppose we've neither of us seen the other here before, so it's a silly question. Oh, by the way. That salve heals all scars as well. Physical scars. Afraid I can't do anything for… internal scars."

"Thanks. I'll bear that in mind."

"I'll send someone in to get your details. I'll be back soon, all right? Unless I'm needed elsewhere, in which case we'll see each other eventually."

"I know how hospitals work, Healer Granger."


Hermione went to the Healers' station, not noticing that it looked differently. She sent someone to get her patient's details as promised, and then flooed to the lab again, where she bottled up the rest of the salve. Once done, she returned to the station, put away the new batch of salve, and went to find out if she was needed elsewhere.

"Anyone need any help with other patients?" she asked someone else who was in a Healer's uniform.

When he turned around, she saw that he was a stranger.

"Who are you?" they both asked, and looked at each other suspiciously.

"I'm Healer Granger," Hermione said. "Who are you?"

"Healer Malkins."

Hermione had heard of Madame Malkins having had a brother in the Healing profession, and frowned. He certainly didn't work at St. Mungo's. For one thing, he had been dead for fourteen years. She looked around, and realised that nobody wore the same style of robes as her. In fact, the whole place looked as though it had been redecorated. She glanced at the calendar on the wall.

1973? That couldn't be right. It definitely couldn't be the twenty-third of February, thirty years ago.

Could it? Of course it couldn't.

"W-what's going on?" she asked quietly, and she saw several St. Mungo's workers look at her strangely. She frowned, and cast a Tempus charm.

Oh dear.


Mm-hmm. So, this is a new Hermoody story. What do you think so far? By the way, in case no one realised it, her patient was Alastor Moody. That technically isn't supposed to be made clear until the next chapter, but I'm feeling generous as I write this. And I'm listening to 'Freestyler' as I write the author note. Merlin, that takes me back to primary school…