17 year old Hermione Granger was sitting in potions class listening intently to Professor Slughorn. She was grateful for the distraction from everything else going on in her life, most of it revolving around the boy who was sitting at the other end of the long wooden table. She paused in her note taking for a moment to stretch out her wrist, her eyes briefly falling to the table covered in burns, stains and words carved out by students before her, before resuming copying down what the professor was saying.
"The instructions are on the board," Hermione glanced back up to see the elderly man waved his wand and writing appeared on the blackboard behind him. Looking back on her notes, she felt Ron and Harry get out of their seats. She sighed and started to get up when she felt a jerking motion the potions classroom disappearing before her very eyes. There was a rush of sound and color and then a sharp shooting pain in the back of her neck before everything went black.
When she awoke Hermione was by herself, but she wasn't sure where she was. Certainly not Hogwarts, much less the potions classroom. The 17 year was slightly surprised to find herself lying on the hard cold ground, she tentatively stood before surveying her surroundings. King's cross?
"What are you doing, you need to wake up!" Hermione turned, confused to see a
girl about her age. Wake up? She was awake, wasn't she? She squinted at the girl. She couldn't quite make out the girl's features. It was almost as if Hermione developed a need for glasses, or as if the girl herself were blurry the latter part of that thought confused Hermione.
"What are you doing?" the girl demanded again.
"I- I don't know. Where am I?" Hermione asked, blinking hard to try to bring the girl into focus, and failing. The girl opened her mouth to respond, but something behind the girl caught Hermione's eye.
"Harry?" Hermione's gaze fell on the familiar looking boy a distance away. He
was conversing with, Hermione squinted, Dumbledore? The girl turned to look back at the figures.
"They are none of your concern at the moment," she snapped turning around to face Hermione again. Hermione's gaze refocused on her.
"Who are you?" she asked, by now accepting it was the girl herself who was blurry. Accepting this as fact did not ease the headache that was forming behind Hermione's eyes however.
"I don't have a name. I am nobody. Yet." The girl said. Hermione's eyebrows
"I don't exist yet," the girl explained further, her voice softer now.
"What do you mean?" Hermione swallowed. There was something not quite right here. She glanced again at the two familiar figures down a ways. The girl's eyes followed hers, and she smirked as if she knew something Hermione didn't, which was probably true.
"This is where souls go on their way elsewhere." She said amusement in her
"On their way…" Hermione's voice trailed off as the girl's blurry features shifted, and she thought she saw a glimpse of red.
"They're dead," the girl spoke the words confirming what Hermione did not want
to hear and yet had suspected.
"And I have not been born. Yet. Which is why I need you to wake up!" The girl's
voice was insistent and loud.
Hermione jerked up causing pain to shoot through her head. Her hand shot up from where it lay at her side and gently touched the side of her head, her fingers feeling the coarse bandages that had been put there to heal the wound she didn't remember receiving. Her eyes slowly adjusting, she saw the white of the hospital wing. Somewhere nearby a clock was ticking. The quietness and darkness revealed the hour before her eyes found the clock. 3. AM she was assuming. Hermione's hands felt the hospital gown she was clothed in. What had happened? The events slowly filtered into her head. She vaguely remembered being in Potions class and then…? There was a shooting pain, most presumably the reason for the bandage. But why? A jerking motion, had she fallen over? Hit her head? That must have been it. There was something about Kings Cross. Hermione squinted into the darkness that ended at the white curtains around her bed. An unconscious dream perhaps. Most likely. Hermione pulled the blanket off, before putting her bare feet to the cold floor. Someone must have removed her shoes and socks too. The 17 year old girl frowned as the thought crossed her head that hopefully the clothes switch was with a wave of a wand and not the muggle way. Hermione put her hand to the curtain to pull it back. Looking around the rest of the hospital wing Hermione noted two other curtains pulled around their occupants. Her stomach plummeted. She hoped it wasn't Harry and Ron. Maybe she hadn't fallen over. Maybe there was an accident that injured all three of them. She glanced at the door that led to Madam Pomfrey's office hesitating. The Gryffindor squared her shoulders and moved toward the closed curtains of one of the beds. She had to know. Pulling back one of the curtains she saw the shape of a boy. Her stomach relaxed as she noted the dark skin. Not that she was relieved that the boy was hurt. Just that it wasn't Ron. Or Harry. Which sounded almost selfish, Hermione frowned at herself. She glanced back at the boy. He seemed to be breathing okay and didn't look too badly injured. She let the curtain fall concealing him from view.
"You're awake." Hermione spun so fast that she lost her balance. An arm shot out to steady her. She dimly noted the ring on the feminine hand before looking up. This was not Madame Pomfrey despite the garb of the school healer. The young woman in front of Hermione was well… young. Early to mid twenties Hermione estimated. The young woman smiled at Hermione revealing white even teeth.
"How are you feeling Hermione?" Hermione just stared at her. Something about her was familiar. The woman reminded her of … jealousy and Viktor?
"Hermione?" The young woman asked again moving closer. The candlelight fell onto the blond hair. Fleur Delacour…. The name came into Hermione's head. Now that it had she could see the resemblance between the two.
"Who are you?" Hermione choked out. The young woman hesitated looking nervously around before looking back at her patient. "Come with me" she commanded. Hermione followed the young healer into Madame Pomfrey's office. Or what had been Madame Pomfrey's office. If this young woman was going to hurt her, she probably would have done so while she was unconscious Hermione reasoned to herself. Hermione frowned as she sat in the seat indicated by the young woman. What was going on? The young woman hesitated again, looking at Hermione.
"Well you see, err, Hermione you were found two days ago in the dungeons
unconscious with a head wound." The woman stopped looking uncertain.
"And I've been in the hospital wing ever since." Hermione supplied for her.
"Well, yes. What do you last remember before waking up?" The blond asked
abruptly. Hermione paused.
"I- I remember being in Potions with Harry and Ron," she frowned at the latter name remembering why it was she wasn't too keen on the redhead. Or who…
"Hermione, what year are you in?"
"Sixth," Hermione answered softly. The young woman nodded softly, her thoughts flickering behind her eyes.
"And the date?" the young healer persisted.
"The d-date? December 5th." Hermione answered. The woman waited,
Hermione's stomach sank as she answered the woman's unspoken question.
The woman looked at Hermione as if this was the answer she was expecting, but
if she knew who Hermione was then… Hermione's brow furrowed.
"What is the date here?" The 17 year old asked. Smiling the Healer answered.
"December 7th, 2022."
"So I'm in the future," Hermione said softly mostly to herself her mind trying to wrap itself around this fact.
"Yes," her companion said simply watching her carefully.
"Who are you? You look like Fleur Delacour," Hermione blurted out.
"She is my mother," came the soft answer, "I am the new healer at Hogwarts, Pomfrey retired last year, after I worked with her for two years. You may call me Vicky, although the students call me Healer Weasley."
"Weasley," the name reverberated through Hermione's head. If Fleur was Vicky's mother, then Bill Weasley…Ron's niece!
"Bill Weasley is your father," Hermione stated emotionlessly staring at the woman who was Ron's future niece.
"That would be correct," Vicky smiled at Hermione.
"That's how she knows who I am. I'm her Uncle's…." Hermione's sentence
stopped in her head. Her Uncle's what? Bookworm friend who stopped talking to him 6th year, because of his girlfriend. His girlfriend. Lavender. A panicky feeling came over Hermione. What if… Ron was married to her? It was 2022. Ron was 42 years old, 43 in a few months. He was probably married, with kids. Hermione suppressed an urge to gag. Lavender's kids. Hermione looked at Vicky. Beautiful, blond Vicky, Ron's niece and cousin to his children. She would know. But did Hermione want to know? What if Ron wasn't married? What if he had died at the hands of the death eaters? What if she was in Voldemort's world now? Wouldn't they have killed her? Unless, Vicky who was a Weasley was hiding her somehow. Hermione looked at the 22 year old. She opened her mouth still unsure of what she was going to say when a knock came at the door.
Victoire Weasley smiled at the time traveler before slipping outside her office to
see a familiar face.
"She's awake then?"
"Yes, a little while ago. She remember being in potions class with Harry and Ron in 1996." Victoire answered.
"What does she know?" the man asked, the answer to this question crucial. Hermione couldn't be allowed to know too much.
"She knows its 2022, and that I'm Bill and Fleur's daughter Vicky." Victoire answered before adding,"And I found her looking at the boys in the other room."
"Both of them? Or…"
"Just Fred as far as I can tell." Victoire interrupted.
"So she doesn't know the outcome of the war," he mused.
"She doesn't even know my real name's Victoire," the young woman responded.
"Either way, we'd have to erase her memory before sending her back," the man said thinking out loud, fingers tracing over an old scar.
Victoire looked at him intently. She had known this man since she was born, and was very comfortable with him.
"Does that mean we should tell her?" The man hesitated.
"Not everything but either way we will have to make her forget. Unless…, no, we will have to make her forget," the man frowned.
"So what should we do with her in the meantime?" Victoire asked softly