Time in a Bottle

AN: There is a story of this same pairing and containing a similar plotline existing on aff dot net by vblum12. This story is not perjured. I suggest you read her fic as well.

Time in a Bottle Chapter 3

Hermione lay in the quiet solitude of her infirmary bed and stared at the smooth white ceiling.

She was trying to recall the events that led her to the 19th century, desperately trying to think of anything significant.

Hermione had been walking down a corridor in Hogwarts thinking about her next lesson, potions, when two brawling Ravenclaws stumbled around the corner. She had gotten shoved into a wall and heard a faint crunching noise. She vaguely remembered a falling sensation.

Then she was waking up to a teenaged Dumbledore ordering her to cover her identity.

Thinking back on it, she wondered why.

She knew the Dumbledore from her time, but she knew very little of the Albus of this time. He had grown to be a great wizard, but what of his teenage years?

She may have just gotten herself into serious trouble.

“Miss Dumbledore,” Headmaster Phineas Nigellus began, his hands folded on the table before him. “You have caused quite a disturbance in our school with your arrival.”

Phineas had thin receding black hair that sharply pointed into a widow’s peak. His thin mustache and small pointed beard twitched around his mouth. Dark brown eyes fixed unblinkingly at her.

“I am sorry sir,” said Hermione in a light French accent. She was planning on losing it quickly. “I obviously did not think things through. I could have died, not to mention disrupting the studies of others.”

She was repeating to herself in her head that her name was Hannah Dumbledore. She had always been home schooled. She was raised in England but moved to France a few years ago, explaining the accent and excusing her abysmal concept of the language.

Aberforth had slipped her a note briefing her on a few details, thankfully. The ink had faded after a day, but it was long enough for her to memorize it.

“Quite,” said Nigellus quirking a thin slick eyebrow. “Your apology is accepted.”

He smiled maliciously and Hermione had the feeling it wasn’t over yet.

“Your father has written to us and you will be staying with us for the rest of the year,” Nigellus smiled thinly. “Perhaps he thinks his coddling has affected your sense of reason.”

Hermione nodded silently. How long was it going to be until someone found her?

“You will have the chance to apologize to the pupils tonight,” Nigellus said, looking slightly amused. “Before the meal.”

She didn’t know anyone in this time besides Dumbledore and he didn’t really know her.

She had to give a speech to the ancestors of her classmates, apologizing for something she hadn’t done.

She only had a prayer that anyone would figure out where she was.

“Yes sir,” Hermione said, her heart sinking.

Hermione made a brief, stammering speech, trying to be as unmemorable as possible. Albus Dumbledore nodded and looked relieved when it was over.

To her surprise, although she should have expected it, the Sorting Hat was brought out.

She sat on the small wooden stool and a tall wizard with burgundy robes and brown hair set the hat on her head.

“Aren’t you early and late all at once?” the Sorting Hat echoed in her head.

“Certainly wasn’t my idea,” Hermione whispered, annoyed. It probably wasn’t often the hat sorted a Seventh Year, though.

“Well then,” the Sorting Hat said. “Gryffindor!”

The hall resounded with applause and Hermione smiled slightly as she made her way to the long wooden table holding her new house mates.

Hermione noticed the Hufflepuffs clapped politely, if at all. The Slytherins smiled and a dark haired boy nodded at her, appraisingly.

She frantically tried to recall anything she had read about the history of interhouse rivalries, but came up blank. At least she was as clueless as she was expected to be. Her false French origins would be a plausible cover for most potentially embarrassing situations.

She hoped.

Aberforth and Albus, she kept repeating to herself, had already saved her a place between them.

Hermione tried not to notice that the other sexes seemed to be segregated. She assumed since she was supposedly family with the boys they would be expected to escort her. This was going to be convenient, yet bothersome.

It wasn’t as if Harry and Ron hadn’t been with her most of the time, but she had some time to herself. Hermione had the feeling her privacy was about to completely disappear.

Hermione bowed her head with the rest of the school as the Fat Friar, the Hufflepuff ghost, blessed the evening meal. She wondered when that had changed. It was probably something so small no one had bothered to mention in Hogwarts: a History.

Hermione picked absentmindedly at her chicken as she let the boys make light conversation so she could get her bearings.

During the meal, Albus passed her a copy of her classes. She blinked twice.

Monday:

History of Magic

(Gentlemen) Quidditch

(Ladies) Household Management

Luncheon

Potions

Tuesday:

Transfiguration

Divination

Luncheon

Arithmancy

Wednesday:

Herbology

(Gentlemen) Quidditch

(Ladies) Household Management

Luncheon

Potions

Thursday:

Transfiguration

Care of Magical Creatures

Luncheon

Arithmancy

Friday:

History of Magic

Herbology

Luncheon

Charms

“Household Management?” Hermione blurted out. A homemaking class?

“You can spend that hour in the library, if you wish,” Albus said. “Contact Madame Church so she can drop you from the roster.”

“It may be informative,” Hermione said weakly. It would give her a great opportunity to find out what was normal in this time period. Hopefully no one would speak to her. “Perhaps I should attend.”

“Not like you have to learn how to manage a household,” snorted Aberforth as he tapped her foot with the pointed toe of his shoe. She mentally noted that the French branch of the Dumbledore family was well off.

“I find Household Management a most interesting hour,” a blonde witch interrupted. She was seated behind them at the Slytherin table between two large blonde boys. They seemed to become even more interested in their dinner, if that were possible.

“You would,” Aberforth said under his breath so only Hermione could hear.

“Hannah,” Albus began neutrally, “this is Rachel Black.”

Hermione hoped her face didn’t register any recognition at the other girls’ surname. Hermione nodded at Rachel.

“As I was saying,” Rachel said, as if the introduction were intrusive on her opinion. “Household Management is quite interesting. It’s not as if your husband will be interested at all in anything that happens in the house he resides in, except that the bed is warm and the food is plenty.”

Rachel glared at the men accusingly. Aberforth rolled his eyes at the ceiling without turning around to face the bossy girl. Household Management might be interesting after all, Hermione thought to herself. Rachel passed Hermione a basket of bread.

“These animals live with you, work a bit, bring home some gold and think their job is done,” Rachel continued loftily. “Our work is never done. We don’t have the pleasure of earning our own wages beyond servitude, leaving for exclusive clubs to shirk our family duties, or pursuing worthwhile activities like sports or scholarly studies.”

“No one is saying you can’t live in the library if you wish,” Albus began, but Rachel didn’t let him get very far.

“But there are still branches of literature people would discourage me from for being a woman!” Rachel jutted her chin out stubbornly.

“Really,” Hermione said interestedly. “What do you plan on studying?”

“Anything she’s told not to,” Aberforth said under his breath.

“I heard that, Aberforth Dumbledore!” Rachel said, annoyed.

“You know, it’s not everyone that can demolish half a charms classroom trying to prove how smart they are,” Aberforth finally turned around to glare at Rachel.

Albus took Hermione’s arm and scooted her closer to him, out of immediate reach of Aberforth or Rachel.

Hermione suddenly realized she was in extremely close proximity to a very good looking boy. He smelled slightly of spices and soap. She shifted her posture so she could be close, without actually touching him.

This was Dumbledore, for Merlin’s sake! Good Lord, Harry was right. She needed to get over Krum and get on with it. She was obviously getting desperate and silly.

The scent had muddled her senses enough to have missed the end of the argument. At least the speaking part.

Rachel had finally clobbered Aberforth on the shoulder and he had responded by throwing a goblet of water in her face. She lunged and the scuffle had begun. The students seemed just as enthusiastic at the prospect of a fight as Hermione’s classmates had been. The noise level rose above them as people climbed onto their benches to get a better look.

Hermione couldn’t help but notice the large blonde boys had not come to their cousin’s rescue, but were watching with mildly amused looks on their faces.

Come to think of it, it didn’t seem like any real blows were being thrown.

“Does this happen often?” Hermione asked Dumbledore over the rising din of cheering students.

“Once a week or so,” Albus said, sighing and turning his back on his brother and Rachel. Hermione followed his lead and tried to look as invisible as possible as Headmaster Nigellus stormed between tables, zapping students out of his path with small sparks of lightning from his wand. “I expect they’ll be announcing their engagement any day now.”

Hermione snorted as she reached for her own goblet of water. She chanced a glance at Dumbledore.

It was still Dumbledore’s long nose, his soft eyes, but goodness that twinkle looked drastically different under that crown of red and above that little intriguing line of freckles that ended-

For crying out loud, it was Dumbledore!

“Dumbledore! Black!” Nigellus roared with a trick that amplified his voice and rattled the walls of the Great Hall. Aberforth and Rachel shot to their feet, straightening their robes.

Hermione noticed a First Year Hufflepuff standing on a bench, quietly accepting coins and nodding at whispers from other students. If the betting pool was this organized, Albus wasn’t kidding.

“Fifteen points each for Gryffindor and Slytherin! Detention for a week! Go to your common rooms immediately!”

Most students groaned, but Hufflepuff laughed. Hermione threw an amazed look in their direction. When did they become such a bunch of jerks?

Aberforth shot Albus and Hermione an apologetic look before gathering his things and trudging out of the hall.

Rachel shot Aberforth a dirty look before gathering her things and storming out, shoving her way past him.

“Uppity,” Hermione heard from behind her in a female voice.

“She’ll grow out of it,” a male voice answered. “Her father indulges her too much.”

Hermione fought back the urge to turn around and give the Victorian students a mind full of modern ideas.

She didn’t realize she was gripping her fork in a death hold until Albus carefully took it away from her and passed her a fingerbowl of strawberries. She also noticed him moving the cutlery out of her reach.

Perhaps strong-willed women weren’t that unheard of after all.

Albus walked Hermione to the Gryffindor common room after the meal. As Hermione followed him through the familiar twists and turns of the Hogwarts corridors she was a bit relieved she had some practical knowledge, like where her room was.

To her surprise, the portrait of the Fat Lady was nowhere to be found where the entrance portal was, instead there was a large painting of a piano. Hermione watched as Dumbledore reached his hand inside and plinked out a few bars of an unfamiliar tune.

Her heart sank. She didn’t know anything about music, or the piano. What on earth was this?

The portal swung open and Hermione breathed in at the sight of the common room.

The stairs were in the same place, as was the fireplace and the Gryffindor banner, although this banner seemed to be a hand woven tapestry.

The furniture was covered in rich red velvet. Gold glinted from everywhere she was used to deep rich wood. A small stream of steam snaked from a tea service in the corner. A small piano sat in a corner.

“Do you play chess?” a young, dark haired boy demanded to know the instant they had entered the common room.

“It’s so nice to see such an impressive use of manners, Williams,” Dumbledore said to the boy.

The boy went slightly pink and bowed to Hermione.

“Pleased to meet your acquaintance, Miss Dumbledore,” the boy said.

“One usually waits for an introduction before he’s acquainted,” Dumbledore gently pointed out.

“Bugger, Albus!” the boy said frustrated. “I’ll never get it right!”

“Of course you will,” Hermione insisted. When the boy got frustrated his voice went from clear, slightly over enunciated speech to a clipped cockney. “And I play chess poorly, I’m afraid.”

“Smashing,” the boy said, looking somewhat cheered.

“May I introduce James Williams,” Albus said with a sigh.

“How do you do,” Hermione said with a bob. She was thankful she had run across an ancient book of etiquette in the library.

“Chess?” the boy asked hopefully.

“Perhaps later,” Albus said with a frown. “Mistress Watson let you slip by with no work at all for this evening?”

“Well,” Williams hesitated. “Perhaps a bit.”

“A bit?” Aberforth spluttered from a small table where books were stacked and rolls of parchment lay unfurled.

Albus quirked an eyebrow at Williams and he scuttled off. Albus shook his head.

“Lower born muggle parents. Couldn’t even read when he got here.”

Hermione’s mind boggled at the idea of print eluding the senses. She felt a shiver course through her.

“Cold?” Albus asked, looking a bit concerned. “Your constitution may not have returned completely. You came a long way. Perhaps we should sit by the fire.”

‘Constitution?’ Hermione choked back a laugh, but followed him to the fire.

He chatted lightly about ‘their’ family affairs in Britain, the muggle High Nobs, and points of interest about Hogwarts and the small town of Hogsmede that had just been founded nearby.

“It’s such an ever so wonderful idea,” a red haired girl interjected. “So our babies can grow away from all the dangers we’re beginning to see.”

‘You ain’t seen nothing yet,’ Hermione thought to herself.

“How so?” is what she really said.

“The streets are getting dangerous and overcrowded,” the girl said seriously. Dark brown eyes absorbed Hermione. “The muggles are discontent. I want my children to grow up in a place where I don’t have to fear for them.”

“I think you’re over exaggerating,” a sandy hair boy said, looking annoyed at the red haired girl.

“Hannah, this is Francis Bulstrode and Christina Weasley,” Albus introduced them.

Hermione lightly shook hands with the pair, because they were obviously a pair.

She remembered Ron telling her all the Weasleys were in Gryffindor. Apparently that changed at eventually when that branch went to the Bulstrode line. It was strange watching history happen. Maybe the Bulstrode switch was fairly recent, by her standards. Somehow, she couldn’t believe Millicent Bulstrode descended from Gryffindor. It was wrong, somehow. Maybe they were cousins.

“It’s not healthy to be terrified of Muggles,” Francis said, patronizingly.

“I’m not terrified,” said Christina. “But if I found out that some of my countrymen and women wielded powers above and beyond any sort of control or regulation I would be a bit nervous and perhaps would not make rational decisions at times.”

“So to avoid reactionary behavior, you’re going to hide yourself away?” Francis argued.

“It’s the best for children not to be exposed to that type of thing,” Christina argued.

Hermione looked at Albus questioningly. The argument made sense, but it’s context was a bit screwy.

“I think you will be fine living at the Bulstrode Estate,” Albus reassured Christina. “Even with the muggle neighbors and family. They are quite kind people.”

“I know,” Christina looked nervous. “I never met muggles before I met Francis. His mother is very pleased at the idea of magical grandchildren.”

“How could she not be?” Hermione interjected. “For a household that has never seen the privileges of magic the idea would be wonderful! Imagine seeing the children develop their talent as they get older, for a muggle grandparent it would be rapture. They will never suffer any of the pains muggles go through.”

Albus nodded behind her.

“It will also benefit them to see that not all people have the privilages they have,” he added. “They won’t take as much for granted.”

“My mother would love to see them grow,” Francis said softly.

Christina’s face softened. “Of course, Francis. I wouldn’t dream of it any other way. We’ll live at the estate.”

“It doesn’t mean we can’t visit the town often,” Francis said, laying a hand on hers.

Hermione noticed the Christina’s cheeks flushed furiously and she pulled her hand away. Francis took her hand and held it.

“We are engaged, I will hold your hand if I feel like it,” Francis declared, his voice rising. Then his voice lowered to nearly a whisper, “Not as if I gave you a solid pat-”

“Francis!” Christina said looking very nearly scandalized if she hadn’t been trying so hard not to laugh.

“I think the last thing you need to worry about is outside your household,” Hermione commented, hoping the reply wasn’t too cheeky for this time.

“No doubt,” Christina snorted. She gave Francis’ hand a light slap and snatched her hand back.

“Ten more months, my love,” Francis reminded her before he scurried off.

“Don’t remind me,” Christina groaned. “I don’t know what my mother was thinking.”

Hermione looked at Albus and laughed as Christina made her way to the girls’ dormitories.

“Has history changed courtship rituals?” he asked interested.

“Not nearly as much as you would imagine,” Hermione snickered.

As the common room emptied out as the hours grew, Aberforth joined them near the fire. Once they had the room to themselves, their conversation didn’t have to be so guarded.

“I can’t play the piano,” Hermione sputtered.

“You’ll find it to be a simple tune,” Aberforth insisted.

“It only took him a month to learn,” Albus said dryly.

“Either way,” Aberforth said, his voice a little high. “You’ll probably be with either of us most of the time.”

“I suppose I will be,” Hermione said lamely. She really hoped these boys liked to read. Perhaps they wouldn’t have a problem with her being alone in the library. There would be the librarian, it wouldn’t be like she was alone, really. Perhaps.

“Our father has sent along some feminine articles,” Albus said. “It will be up in your room, although we had to guess as to size. In the morning a house elf will be up to tailor your clothing before classes start.”

Hermione nodded. This was an era where ‘off the rack’ was a completely foreign concept. She had a feeling that starting SPEW wouldn’t be a good idea, either.

“Thank you,” Hermione said, swallowing dryly. “Your family is most kind.”

“The pleasure is all ours,” said Albus, more than a little relieved.

www dot fortunecity dot com/victorian/conway/286/courting dot html

Time in a Bottle 4

Hermione woke early and stretched. Long white sleeves of a heavy cotton engulfed her arms and her bed covers seemed heavier than she was used to. Her bed was a lot softer than she was used to. She suspected the mattress was stuffed with feathers.

To her surprise she found she was to share a room with half a dozen other girls besides herself and Christina Weasley. The floor her dorm was on wasn’t the same floor she had occupied at Hogwarts in the future. This room was significantly bigger and four beds lined up on each side of a rectangular room. Each girl had a large trunk at the foot of her bed and a wardrobe near her bed. There was also a small stool under her bed and grooming implements on a shelf in her wardrobe.

When she went looking for a night shirt the previous evening she was surprised to find a small selection of dresses alongside her uniforms. Not much clothing by modern standards, but more than four or five changes of clothing in this time were extravagant.

Hermione swung her feet out of bed and winced when her bare skin hit the cold stone floor.

“Poppy will help mistress dress.”

A small voice startled Hermione. She looked around to find an unusually small house elf smiling near the foot of her bed.

“Oh!” Hermione quietly said, flustered. “Thank you.”

“Mistress will stand as I hem?” Poppy the elf said, motioning to the stool and levitating it to an open spot in the room. Hermione moved quietly so she didn’t bother her roommates. She had no idea what time they were used to waking up.

To Hermione’s horror, a screen encircled her and her bed clothing vanished, only to be replaced by bloomers, a long shirt, a corset and petticoats. She bit back a howl of displeasure.

‘The bra isn’t used here,’ she reasoned with herself. ‘This is what you get.’ The petticoats were unnervingly heavy. Hermione couldn’t believe she was expected to lug around this much fabric.

To her relief, the elf wiggled her ears and the corset tightened in a way that wasn’t completely unpleasant. It forced her to stand straight and wasn’t as tight as she expected. It was something she could live with, even if she didn’t like it.

Then the light metal bell appeared around her waist, ending in a hoop above her feet.

“What the hell!” Hermione exclaimed before she could stop herself.

A few of the other girls woke up, including Christina.

One of the girls, a dark haired, pale skinned, big nosed girl, looked offended. Hermione didn’t know if it was from being woken up or her language. Hermione tried not to stare and wonder if Snape had Gryffindor beginnings.

“You do not have to wear it,” Christina said. “I threw mine away.”

“It’s vulgar,” the dark haired girl said with a disapproving look at Christina.

“The trees are vulgar to you, Victoria,” a small, dark skinned girl said. Her long dark hair snaked over her shoulders in tangles. She stretched her skinny arms and smiled at Hermione. “Because they jut at the sky just like a man’s-”

“Charlotte!” Christina said halfway between laughing and sounding shocked.

“Hat,” Charlotte said with a grin.

Victoria looked furious and tore her bedclothes from her body, knocking over a stack of books and waking the rest of the room.

“Already?” a girl yawned. Hermione spied a tuft of light brown hair peeking out of a pile of disorganized bedclothes. “Can’t the fighting wait until breakfast? At least then I’ll have the chance at making a bit of coin for the inconvenience.”

“Games of chance are a tool of the devil,” Victoria sniffed.

“You’re a bloody tool of the devil,” Charlotte muttered as she padded past Hermione on her way to the water closet. Victoria didn’t comment if she heard the remark. Hermione was thoughtful for a moment, knowing about a bit of Professor Snape’s past. She didn’t know Victoria’s family name or if she were eventually related to the Snape line, but the nose and attitude were uncanny.

Poppy the elf dressed Hermione with a wave of her hand and tailored her school robes with a wiggle of her ears. Hermione found them to be shapeless, voluminous, and thick. It was no wonder Christina didn’t bother to wear a bell under her robes, there was no need for one.

Hermione tried not to stare while Victoria dressed in her long shirt and corset, then added several petticoats and proceeded to put a light metal bell followed by an overskirt. Then she attached large puffed sleeves and a put on heavy black dress that buttoned up the front and, finally, her school robes.

Although Victoria didn’t seem to notice, Charlotte seemed amused at Hermione’s expression. Hermione noticed Charlotte threw on 3 petticoats and a long shirt before reaching for her robes, then heard Victoria sniff in disapproval. Charlotte made an ugly face and practically bounced out of the room.

“For once, I’d like to start the day pleasantly,” a soft voice came from behind Hermione. To Hermione’s surprise, she was looking at an exact replica of Victoria, although this twin had a much more pleasant expression on her face.

“I don’t know how you stand her, Winifred,” Victoria said, rounding on her twin. Hermione was slightly glad she was still behind the dressing screen. “If father knew what rabble you associated with-”

“He’d have to deal with it like the stiff, pompous ass that he is,” Winifred said flatly. “He has no power over us here.”

Victoria snorted a most unladylike sound.

“Well, I’m never going home,” Winifred, sounding unimpressed with her sister’s argument. “I’d probably end up testing curses on him.”

“Winifred!” Victoria said, obviously shocked.

“Well, I would,” Winifred snorted, nodding a hello to the brown haired girl who had finally emerged from her bedding with a grouchy look on her face. “Morning, Amanda.”

“If I was your father, I’d be unpleasant too,” Amanda grumbled as she got out of bed and stormed to the water closet. “Poor man probably never got a decent night’s rest.”

Hermione snickered and Winifred smiled at her. “Winifred Moss,” she said introducing herself.

“Hannah Dumbledore,” Hermione said as she stepped off the stool and both the elf and screen disappeared. The use of magic was a bit unnerving in this era.

“Quite a trick you pulled,” Winifred said, looking impressed. She did a thing with her eyebrows that made Hermione sure the Moss line turned into the Snape line at one point. The resemblance was uncanny.

“It certainly wasn’t planned,” Hermione said, blushing slightly.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Victoria said.

Hermione suppressed the urge to slap the sarcastic girl.

“Just ignore her,” Winifred said. “And tell us about Paris!”

“Paris?” Hermione said weakly. Good lord, she would have to grab some fashion magazines fast. She vaguely remembered they were around during this time period.

“Not everyone is interested in indulging the urge to look like a peacock,” Victoria said as she grabbed her school bag and fastened a bonnet on her head.

“Not everyone wants to look like a corpse, either,” an annoyed voice came from an undisturbed bed. A short shock of blonde hair popped out, sticking out in all directions.

Victoria threw a furious look in the blonde girl’s direction. “Better than looking like a man.”

“Anyone who cannot tell a man from a female when properly dressed has far deeper problems than even magic can solve,” the short haired girl said, visibly annoyed.

Victoria sniffed and flounced out of the room.

“Just ignore her,” Amanda said to the blonde girl, as she returned and threw a dirty look after Victoria. “It is not your fault that your family is not magical.”

Hermione looked confused for a moment before realization dawned on her. The Victorian era was pretty filthy if you weren’t highborn. Hogwarts was an exception because it had both magic and a fleet of servants, but most others didn’t have that privilege. The girl’s family probably had a breakout of lice over the summer. Hermione tried not to recoil in horror.

“Could you not use a potion to enhance hair growth,” Hermione said carefully, trying to memorize speech patterns.

“We did attempt that,” the blonde girl said, looking slightly embarrassed.

“It was tragic,” a dark skinned girl said in a clipped Middle Eastern accent as she stepped out from behind a dressing screen. Hermione started. She didn’t know anyone was behind there. This girl was already in her school robes, but a dark red scarf trailed out of the collar. “All of the remaining bits of hair that were on her head fell out. She looked much like Professor O’Brien.”

“Charity Anderson,” said Winifred introducing her to the dark skinned girl. “And Matilda Potter,” she said, gesturing to the blonde girl.

“Charmed,” Charity said, smiling and grabbing a bag full of books. “I will see you soon, if you decide to eat.”

Hermione scrutinized Matilda. If she were a relative of Harry’s, there was no resemblance whatsoever. Potter was a popular name.

“We won’t be long,” Matilda yawned. Hermione smirked as Matilda rolled out of bed and casually waved her wand. Her clothing flung to her, much in the way Charlotte was dressed beneath her robes. She flung her school robes over her under things and grabbed a small cap to cover her head.

“You could take a little care in your dress,” Christina admonished.

“I have better things to do,” Matilda said stubbornly. “Professor Snape is demanding extra work of me.”

Hermione started at the mention of the surname. Then had to force down a laugh as she realized Snapes taunting Potters must be a long standing school tradition. If Matilda’s line had turned magical and Harry was the end result. Hermione felt like kicking herself for her assumptions. She would have killed to have bothered to research her friend’s family lines before she was flung back in time.

“You did cause a bit of a disaster with those bubotubers,” Christina remarked as she buttoned her school robes shut and reached for a black bonnet.

“Not enough to justify fifteen inches of parchment,” Matilda grumbled. She rifled around in the trunk near the foot of her bed and pulled out a roll of parchment with a red ribbon tied around it.

“Your cousins will be waiting,” Christina said to Hermione. “They are always are the first to be prepared for a meal.”

“I am not surprised,” Hermione said as she searched her pockets from the night before for her schedule. Herbology and Household management. Right.

Hermione packed her school bag appropriately and tied a grey bonnet under her chin. She walked with Christina down to the common room.

Hermione saw Francis’ face light up as he spotted Christina. Her heart panged as she thought of Ron and his family.

“We may be late,” Aberforth said, practically dancing in excitement.

“I’m sure they will still have food if we arrive on time,” Albus said from the couch in front of the fireplace. He used a purple ribbon to mark the place in the book he was reading and packed it away in his bag.

Aberforth looked slightly guilty.

The portal swung open and they walked through it, making their way down the staircases and through corridors leading to the Great Hall.

Students were already eating when they got there. Aberforth practically rocketed into a seat and began piling his plate full of food. Hermione was relieved to see familiar plates of fruit, eggs, and breakfast meats.

She ate lightly, talking with the other girls at the table and meeting the rest of the Gryffindor boys in their Seventh Year. There were only six boys, counting Francis and Albus, as opposed to the eight Gryffindor girls. Hermione looked around for the first time and realized how many students there were.

Thomas Hewson and Alfred Barker were cousins, both talkative with sandy blonde hair and golden freckles. Their mothers were sisters and their families had always been magical, as far as they knew.

Patrick Poole was a dark haired quiet boy. Apparently he was something of a prodigy in chess. His family was also old, but no one had seen his parents in years. Their dark, gothic manor was located in a remote location on Scotland.

John Sterling was something of a mystery, even to the other Gryffindors. His mother was rumored to be ‘a woman of negotiable virtue,’ according to Winifred, although his clothing was fine and he always seemed to have gold in his pocket. It was rumored his father was a lord that lavished on the only son he had managed to sire, even if he was illegitimate.

The night before, Hermione had been embarrassed and nervous, not really looking out over the hall as she made her speech and she was sorted. Now that she was relaxed, she looked at her surroundings. Attendance was nearly a third larger than in her time. She was slightly shocked. She had heard about the older wizarding families dying out, but didn’t actually think about what that meant. Did families really start dying out because of their refusal to marry Muggles? Was it the wars to come that wiped them out? She would be spending a great deal of time in the library if she got back.

If she got back.

She glanced at her own table realized Albus was looking at her with a concerned look.

“Is everything to your liking?” Albus asked. “You look slightly pale.”

“I just realized I might not make it home,” Hermione said, her voice almost a whisper.

“Our fathers are working on it,” Albus said quietly. The clank and jingle of other students eating made it easy to speak semi-privately.

“I know,” said Hermione, her voice breaking slightly. Albus finished his breakfast quicker than Hermione would have imagined and packed some biscuits in a cloth napkin.

Albus excused them both from the table and whisked her in the direction of the greenhouses. To Hermione’s surprise, he walked quickly down a corridor and into an unused classroom.

“Are you in need of anything?” Albus asked. “Anything at all?”

“You have been so kind to me already,” Hermione trailed off. She felt tears pooling in her eyes and felt embarrassed that she couldn’t stop them.

“It is not a problem at all,” Albus said, handing her a hankerchief. When she dabbed her eyes lightly, he put an arm around her shoulder. She fell into his arms and began to cry.

Her mind was racing. She was stuck in the past. The only person she knew didn’t know her yet. She had assistance, but who knew how long that was going to last? What professions were available to her in this time? Would she be punished for affecting a timeline? Was she affecting it? How much damage had been done by her presence?

“There, there,” Albus said, stroking her hair. He certainly did know how to hold an upset woman. Perhaps he had a smaller sister. He waited until she had cried herself out before he pulled away and daubed her face with the handkerchief. “You have held up quite well, under the circumstances.”

Hermione nodded miserably.

“You have been very brave,” Albus continued, pointing his wand at her face and bringing down the swelling caused by her crying.

“Thank you,” Hermione said, brushing hair out of her face and tucking it back beneath her bonnet. He smiled slightly.

“You need not thank me,” Albus said. “Aberforth sent the pieces of the Time-Turner to our father. Perhaps it will contain clues to help them progress.”

“But that would change the course of time!” Hermione exploded.

“How do you know this was not your destiny?” Albus asked, confused.

Hermione opened, then closed her mouth.

“Well, I don’t know,” she admitted. “But it seems kind of dodgy.”

“Indeed,” Dumbledore gave her a small smile. “Sometimes things are not what they seem.”

“I suppose not,” Hermione mused. A bell rang through the halls of the school. “Either way, we need to get to Herbology.”

“I suppose we do,” Albus said. “Professor Snape certainly will not wait for us.”

“No,” Hermione said dryly. “I don’t suppose he would.”

AN: Sorry, this was planned out before HBP and has some inaccuracies. Like the history of Snape’s family, JKR’s twitchy handle of maths, and Dumbledore being straight. Oops. So this fic is officially AU.

The kids switch from informal to formal introduction to each other depending on if they are bragging, they feel as if they’re being slighted, if they’re talking about a person of the opposite sex, or if they feel camaraderie with the person they are talking about. It is not me being weird.

Bet you guys thought I was never going to update ;D

TIB5

Hermione and Albus ran through the door of Greenhouse 4 and skidded to a halt in place beside a long wooden table.

“Ten points from Gryffindor!”

Hermione blinked as she took in Professor Snape. He was tall and had a familiar sneer, but that was where the resemblance with the Snape of her time ended. His ice blue eyes and gold hair were completely in contrast with the Snape she knew, not to mention the broad shoulders and handsome face. He wore gold rimmed glasses and brown robes. Hermione felt her cheeks turn pink.

“Must you cause a disruption wherever you go, Miss Dumbledore?” Snape threw her an ugly look.

“I apologize professor.” Hermione said, trying not to sound annoyed.

“You seem to be doing much of that as well. My only hope is that you won’t be as big of a burden as I expect you will be.”

Hermione felt her jaw drop as she stared at him, appalled. Well at least the Snape family temperament was predictable. You would hope that that would have been stomped out in several generations, but apparently that was too much to hope for.

“Since you seem to be so skilled in the construction of portkeys, why don’t you tell us the potions components, how they’re harvested, and how they should be treated in their third moon cycle?”

Hermione stopped herself before blurting out: ‘Are you barking?’

“20 points from-”

“A portkey requires valerian root, fresh dew from a daisy gathered at the full moon, three unicorn hairs, a feather from a griffin, two jasmine blooms, four dried mandrake leaves preserved in a stasis potion for two moons, and three quarts blackberry juice.”

Hermione paused to take a breath. Snape stared at her. She took that as encouragement to continue.

“The only ingredients that have a relevant third moon cycle are the valerian root and jasmine. They should be sprayed down with tears to magnify their potency. The feather must be given, the unicorn hair must be gathered from a juniper bush, the valerian root must be harvested with a silver shovel, the jasmine must be cut with a gold knife, and the blackberry juice should be no more than three hours old. The other ingredients have no harvesting restrictions.”

Snape blinked. Hermione allowed herself a small smile.

“Thirty points from Gryffindor for being a vexatious know it all!” Snape thundered.

Hermione glared at him. Albus’ features seemed carefully controlled. The other students seemed to be giving Hermione appraising looks. Thomas Hewson and Alfred Barker looked as if Christmas had come early. Alfred looked as if he were suppressing the urge to cheer.

Why on earth was he asking questions about potions and the creation of magical items in this class anyway?

Professor Snape began class as if nothing had happened.

After class Hermione found herself face to face with Thomas and Alfred.

“Thirty points well spent!” Thomas declared as he pumped Albus’ hand up and down. Alfred nodded fiercely.

Victoria Moss pushed her way past Hermione, giving her a fierce glare.

“Do not give that creature another thought.” John Sterling approached the other Gryffindors and nodded in the direction of the retreating Victoria. “That was spectacular. Gryffindor will be the talk of the school.”

“I am sorry.” Hermione gave Albus a glance. He was looking at her thoughtfully.

“We will certainly earn more points at the Quidditch game this evening.” Alfred assured her, his head bobbing excitedly. “You have nothing to fear excepting that tyrant’s temper.” He gestured back towards the greenhouse.

“Quidditch this evening?” Hermione looked at Albus.

“Oh, yes!” Christina Weasley exclaimed as she hurried over with Winifred Moss, who seemed to be far more amused than her twin sister. “Against Hufflepuff! It’s sure to be most exciting!”

“Wonderful.” Hermione gave a small smile. She never really liked Quidditch, but after so many unfamiliar things happening to her she was glad for a familiar distraction.

“And speaking of Quidditch, gentlemen, we will soon be late if we do not make haste.” Albus addressed his classmates cordially.

“Quite.” John Sterling snapped his silver pocket watch shut and slipped it into his red brocade waistcoat pocket. He bowed to the young ladies. “I wish you a pleasant next hour, ladies.”

“Just defeat Hufflepuff.” Christina demanded. “I have a galleon riding on the match.”

“Christina!” John looked scandalized. “Games of chance! I am appalled! What would your father say?”

The group of Gryffindors began making their way back in the direction of the castle. Hermione noted the walk was much harder when she was wearing bulky layers of clothing and was expected to carry her books in her arms. Some of the girls seemed to be carrying enchanted baskets. She would have to ask Albus about that later.

“It’s with Timothy Owens. He was saying horrible base things about the state of our team.” Christina looked annoyed. She stumbled a bit, but Albus offered her a hand to steady her and she gave him a look of gratitude. “And Father would understand. Mother would have me murdered in my sleep.”

“So you wagered a galleon?” Albus looked bemused. “Do you even possess a galleon?”

“She does!” Winifred looked at Christina with a smug look. “Saved all her Christmas tokens from her Uncle Reginald since her first year.”

“You’ve managed to save all your pin money?” Alfred looked at her in wonderment. “Do you think you could write correspondence to my sisters as to your secrets?”

“My father gave me a pin allowance, of course.” Christina looked at Alfred as if he were stupid. “I just figured it would be used… best elsewhere.”

“She thought she could save up for something to make her dowry more appealing.” Winifred stated plainly.

Christina looked horrified and turned a bright shade of red.

They passed into the courtyard of the castle. Hermione noted that it looked different, and not just the upkeep of the building. It looked like parts of the castle she was used to seeing were actually added later. She suddenly came to the conclusion that it would be a wise decision to keep a journal. She watched as Francis Bulstrode approached them.

“What could be more appealing than features more pale and bright than the stars in the sky?” John mooned in Christina’s direction.

“Dear Lord.” Christina muttered as she fumbled with her books.

“With a voice so bright and brilliant, the sun doth sing of its virtues!” John went on as if he were in a theatre and there was an audience. “Eyes so beauteous, one’s breath catches at the mere glimpse into such pools of liquid sky.”

“What on earth is that clod trying to convince you into doing for him?” Francis Bulstrode asked as he neared. He was smiling at Christina as if she were the only one approaching him.

“She’s just nervous about your upcoming nuptials.” Hermione quickly said. Francis looked up at Hermione. “You know the fuss that comes from planning weddings.”

“Of course.” Francis beamed down at her. Christina blushed more furiously, if that were possible. “You my dear, could show up wearing a muddied shift and twigs in your hair and still outshine everyone there.”

“You are most gracious.” Christina sniffed at the idea of being wed in a state of disarray.

They wound their way to the castle entrance way through groups of other students. The Gryffindor boys bid the girls a good next hour and they parted ways.

“You will like Madam Church.” Rachel Black sidled up to Hermione as the Gryffindor girls made their way through the bottom floor of the castle. “She has some most interesting ideas about how things should be done in a home.”

A few more Slytherin girls joined their group before they walked out a side door to the castle and Hermione blinked at what she saw in front of her.

There was a squat little blue house with a small red barn near it in a place where Hermione was used to seeing Hagrids hut.

Hermione followed the other girls into the house and blinked in surprise. The first room was much larger than the outside of the house led one to believe was possible.

A series of polished wooden planks hovered in the air in neat rows, chairs lined up behind them for the girls to sit in.

Hermione watched as the other girls looked admiringly at the planks, a few reaching out to push them only to find they were fixed in the air and no amount of pressure was going to move them.

“Take your seats, ladies.” A round, matronly looking woman with iron grey hair whisked into the room. She wore practical dark grey robes and a dark blue apron, her hair was arranged in such a pile of rolls and pins. Hermione thought her head resembled an extravagant, several layered sterling birthday cake. Small pewter wire rimmed glasses perched on the end of her thin nose.

Hermione was relieved to have Madam Church smile at her. At least she hadn’t managed to offend every member of the staff.

“Thirty points to Gryffindor for arriving in a timely fashion!”

The Gryffindor girls looked startled and gave each other glances. Then several began to smirk as Madam Church took the tops off several bushel baskets near the front of the room. A sweet smell that reminded Hermione of soap began to fill the room.

“The lavender patches are outside Greenhouse 4.” Christina murmured to Hermione. “She must have overheard your exchange with Professor Snape. She does not think much of his teaching style.”

Hermione instantly liked this woman.

“If we finish our lesson early we may spend the rest of the period making sachets.” She smiled at them.

Some of the girls oohed and aahed. Hermione was mildly bemused. She would have rather been taking an arithmancy class, but with all that was going on she decided she could do with an arts and crafts hour.

“So Miss Dumbledore…”

Hermione felt her back tense up. This was probably going to happen all week.

“You see the semi-permanent levitation spell in place in front of you. Explain Felar’s Anti-Gravity Theory and how it applies to wood based elements.”

Hermione smiled widely. She was going to do well if all her classes were like this.

“So, how did you find your Household Management class?” Albus peered down at her.

“It was wonderful.” Hermione admitted. She tossed a star shaped sachet at Aberforth who caught it and buried his nose in it.

“Thank you, this is quite lovely.” Aberforth tucked it into his robes and beamed at her.

“She made us all our house points back and earned us ten more!” Christina practically crowed. Several people turned around to glare at her but she continued bobbing excitedly.

“Did you now?” A dark haired Slytherin boy with startling green eyes and dark skin turned and gave her an appraising look. He had been standing near them and his attention had been caught with Christina’s outburst.

“Hannah Dumbledore, may I introduce Michael Long.” Albus said stiffly.

Long bowed slightly and Hermione bobbed.

“I heard about your trick in Herbology. I’m amazed Snape didn’t give you detention for impertinence.” His heavy lidded eyes gave him the impression of being sleepy or bored.

“Perhaps I was just lucky.”

“Perhaps.”

Hermione shifted slightly. This boy seemed to be trying to size her up.

“And then to earn 50 points in Household Management?”

“Thirty of it was for showing up on time.” Hermione stated with an annoyed tone to her voice.

Albus burst out laughing. “She’d heard about Herbology already? Did someone send her an express owl?”

“It seems that she was harvesting lavender for our lovely sachets,” Christina showed Francis a pink heart shaped sachet and he looked at it admiringly, “When she heard Snape discard what little was left of his mind.”

“The Hufflepuffs are completely incorrigible this year.” Long shuddered. “I have no idea why you’d take a class with their head of house, Albus.”

“You know my thoughts on the segregation of students by house.” Albus sighed.

Hermione’s ears pricked up. She had never heard Dumbledore talk about his dislike for the sorting process.

“Just because you think the house system limits us doesn’t explain why you insist on trying to get along with hostile persons.” Long quirked an eyebrow at Albus.

“How do you think the houses limit people?” Hermione asked.

“I think if a person believed they are predestined to act a certain way because the fates have determined it that way, they tend to be narrow minded thinkers that never examine their potential.”

“Also, he thinks the hat should have sorted him into Ravenclaw.” Long smirked.

“If they’re the most intelligent than why do we carry the top marks?” Albus pointed out to Long.

“Because I’m more cunning and you’re not afraid to take risks or guess intelligently.” Long countered.

Albus shrugged. “Perhaps.”

Long snorted in a most undignified way. Some of the other students looked startled.

“Miss Dumbledore, may I hold your books as you walk to the lake?” Michael tried to bow politely as he shot a rude look to Albus.

Hermione panicked a little. What was carrying her books signifying? Would it cause trouble?

“We are going back to the tower briefly.” Christina took Hermione’s arm and steered her away from Long. “We will see all of you in a moment.”

“Shall I count you in for our picnic?” Aberforth asked eagerly.

“That would be lovely, thank you.” Hermione said quickly.

Aberforth bowed slightly and walked in the direction of the Great Hall followed by Michael Long and Albus, who waved goodbye at the young women.

“We will want to change before eating and going to potions.” Christina explained.

“Do we have time?” Hermione was startled. “And why do we have to change?”

“Potions aren’t until three o’clock.” Christina looked confused. “How long of a lunch did you get with your tutors?”

“An hour!” Hermione said, still taken a bit aback.

“I understand things must be quite regimented when you are the sole pupil.” Christina looked as if she felt sorry for her. “And potions can be a foul, messy class. We will want to change into something more practical. The only one that doesn’t is Victoria.”

“Why does that not surprise me?” Hermione giggled.

They made their way down corridors and climbed the stairs to Gryffindor tower. Hermione was pleased to see her clothing had been laid out for her. It did save her a lot of time and embarrassment, even though it still annoyed her to know house elves had done the work.

She stepped behind her changing screen and waved her wand at herself. Her clothing, along with her corset and bell disappeared.

The new dress was empire waisted, so it gathered under her bust and flowed to the floor. It was a pale gray color and felt quite soft next to her skin. As her school robes wrapped around her, Hermione wondered if Charlotte didn’t have the right idea by shunning the uncomfortable, fashionable undergarments altogether. No one could see anything under the voluminous fabric of her robes.

“Well, it’s comfortable, at least!” Christina came out from behind her screen smoothing her robes out. “It makes lunch by the shore more pleasant.”

“Why aren’t these used all the time?” Hermione asked as she swirled her skirts around her ankles.

“Because we’d get used to doing unladylike things because our ability to move isn’t restricted and won’t be used to proper clothing when the time comes to become accepted into society.” Christina sighed. “But, of course Charlotte thinks the whole purpose is stupid, Charity wears foreign dress, and Matilda is just lazy in the morning.”

Hermione chuckled. “No one ever checks?”

“Only if your parents enrolled you into the Young Witches of Society Program.” Christina made a face.

“What’s that?” Hermione would have to ask Albus about their families views of such things later. She didn’t know if she were enrolled yet. “And if that is so why don’t you have to wear a bell like Victoria does?”

“The bell is just fashion.” Christina wrinkled her nose. “I prefer a bustle, but they’re not necessary under robes since they are prone to billowing. Young Witches have an extra mark on our Grading Letter for Society. How we conduct ourselves, if our dress is exemplary, our command of the language, dance, poetry, piety-”

“You’re graded on ‘church?!'” Hermione laughed.

“Their view of piety has more to do with knowledge of bible stories and the ability to carry a tune.” Christina giggled. “Choosing a fashionable bonnet is always a good idea.”

“So there is a service on the grounds?” Hermione asked. “Or is it in Hogsmede?”

“A non-denominational service is in Hogwarts’ Chapel on the north side of the castle. Most of us go to that one because the Friar is quite nice and you have to get up early to catch a carriage to get to outside services.” Christina grinned. “Hogsmede has both a Protestant and Catholic church. You can take a Floo to a flower shop in a nearby Muggle town of you need to find a Church of England. There are members of the faculty in all places so you aren’t limited if you are in the Young Witches Program.”

“How thoughtful,” Hermione said because she didn’t know what else to say.

“There is also a tea once a month where we’re graded on the ability to converse properly with one’s peers or betters.” Christina made another face.

“It sounds as if you don’t appreciate their teachings,” Hermione said.

“Well, Francis and I share a common room, don’t we?” Christina pointed out. “For the Muggles that is the same as living together and that idea is scandalous. His mother was shocked to know we are allowed in close quarters, but when she was assured we are never alone she reluctantly agreed to allow him to continue his schooling. He knows my bad habits, he knows I’m unpleasant in the morning, he’s seen me fuss if my corset slips. I have a fiancée still! I do not see why we must be so inhuman to each other in public.”

“Inhuman?” Hermione asked.

“Well, perhaps that is not the correct word.” Christina pursed her pink lips. She and Hermione started out of the girls’ dorm. “But we are expected to act as if we are not people. Sometimes I think Charlotte has a better life than some of us. She acts as she likes and she’s still embraced by her family. Her people are allowed to be more impulsive and passionate.”

“Well, your family has always been seen as progressive, have they not?” Hermione asked as they walked through the common room and out the portrait portal leading into the castle.

“That is true.” Christina smiled. “They were the first to oppose the Restriction for Muggle Half-Breeds. Some would dare call us blood traitors for it. Some would call me the same for marrying Francis.”

“How vulgar.” Hermione gave a haughty sniff that would make Victoria Moss proud. “Would they have us all chinless and stupid?”

Christina snorted, a decidedly unladylike sound. “No doubt. I do think our world is safer, though. I have heard stories about London and some of the things I have heard are barbaric!”

“No doubt exaggerated a thousand times over before you heard it.” Hermione giggled.

“I have seen how men do that.” Christina admitted. “One poke in the nose turns into a riot by dinnertime.”

“I do not believe much of what I do not see.” Hermione admitted as they wound their way through stairwells and out into the courtyard of the castle.

“I wish I could do the same.” Christina admitted as they followed the path to the lake. “But if I ever saw half of what I have heard I would faint and be left at the mercies of deranged men with tortured souls!”

Hermione remembered what she knew about Victorian London and Jack the Ripper sprang to mind. “Perhaps you are right. But there are other Muggle towns with less terrifying reputations.”

“Francis says he comes from a fine place.” Christina said as they came over a small hill and looked down at the lakeshore. Small tables and chairs decorated the beach. Some students were grouped together under trees, their lunches and persons arranged on blankets of their corresponding house colors. “Country estates and farmers, mostly.”

Hermione spotted the sun shining off Albus’ red hair like a beacon. He was standing next to a table of sitting Slytherin boys. Michael Long was nodding in agreement with whatever Albus was saying and taking a sip of soup from a delicate white porcelain bowl. Hermione didn’t recognize the other boys. Two of them were brown haired and delicate boned. They could be brothers. A blond first year was digging into a piece of steak and kidney pie.

As Hermione and Christina approached them Michael jumped up from his seat and bowed. The other Slytherin boys rose, but kept their eyes on their bowl of soup.

“Don’t let us interrupt your meal.” Christina smiled at the Slytherins and all but Michael nodded graciously and went back to eating.

“Will you be joining us?” Michael asked as he pulled out his wand. “I will transfigure parasols so the sun will not bother your skin.”

“The Gryffindors are feeling primitive today,” Albus said with a smile. “We have a nice tree with a spot for fishing near the lake.

“Well, then I may come see you before I prepare for afternoon classes.” Michael said. “Good afternoon, Albus. Ladies.”

“Good afternoon,” Christina and Hermione echoed politely with bobs before Albus led them away to their spot near the lake.

“I think you have made quite the impression on Mr. Long.” Christina giggled at Hermione.

“He barely knows me.” Hermione said dismissively.

“Good afternoon!” James Williams called out as they approached a small group of trees near the shore. “I have acquired pillows for your bums!”

Hermione burst out laughing.

“James!” Albus said sharply.

“What?” The younger boy looked confused and scratched his head. The mop of unruly black hair on top of his slight, tiny form gave the impression that he was closely related to a chimney brush.

“You have acquired pillows for our comfort, not our bums.” Hermione laughed.

“And never talk about a ladies backside.” Christina added, peering around to see if anyone had heard.

“Why not? Everyone’s got a bum.” James looked at them innocently.

“Even cats have nipples, but they don’t make polite conversation.” Hermione added.

“Hannah!” Christina and Albus exclaimed. Christina started laughing and tried to hide her face behind a fan she had pulled out of her sleeve. Albus shook his head and put his hands on his hips.

“Oh!” James exclaimed. “I see.”

“The only way to get through is to be completely vulgar.” Christina rolled her eyes. “I give up Albus. We’ll just have to take him the way he is.” She smiled at James.

“I’ll get better.” James insisted. “People understand me when I talk now.”

“Indeed they do.” Albus smiled at the younger boy. “We’ll continue working at it.”

“Now let’s go see about these bum cushions.” Hermione smiled and took the younger boy’s arm.

James beamed as he escorted her to their picnic site. He managed to sweep all leaves and fallen debris from the trees away to make a clear path for Hermione to walk. He even transfigured a rocky bit into a series of steps easily maneuvered.

Hermione saw Francis jump up to take Christina’s arm from Albus as they came into view.

“Your bum pillow, Miss.” James said with a deep bow as he pointed to a pile of large gold brocade pillows on a burgundy and gold checkered blanket.

“James!” Winifred Moss cried out from another blanket near a tree where she was sitting with Charity and Amanda, who were wearing modest bonnets and looking appalled.

Hermione started laughing all over again in spite of herself.

“Do not pay them any mind.” Albus waved at her. “Today they have forgotten how to act in the company of decent people.”

Winifred gave a chuckle and reached out for a tiny piece of white cake on a white porcelain platter. The other girls shook their heads and grinned.

Hermione looked over the spread of food laid out for them on a centralized blanket surrounded by groups of students on their own blankets.

There was cold roast beef and plates of different cheeses. Piles of different types of breads arranged in pyramids. Plates of sausages decorated with parsley. Bowls of cold chicken legs. A bowl brimming with different fruits sat in the middle and small bowls of pickled things surrounded it. Potato soup bubbled in a cauldron. Platters of small cakes were at each corner. Piles of plates and silver were ready for students.

“I feel like a Saracen.” Christina said she settled on her pillow near Francis with a small plate of food.

“Quite decadent.” Francis remarked as he popped a pickled onion in his mouth.

“Lemonade?” Aberforth bustled over with a pewter pitcher.

“Yes, please.” Hermione smiled at him. He really reminded her of Neville. She tried to put thoughts of goats out of her head.

Aberforth pulled a ceramic cup out of an enchanted pouch attached to the pitcher and filled it for her.

“Well, you have managed to become the talk of the school.” Aberforth said with a smile as he passed her the cup.

“What?!” Hermione exclaimed.

“You have shown to be proficient in all the classes you have gone to thus far.” Aberforth plopped down next to her on the blanket, using a pillow as a table. “You managed to annoy Professor Snape and impress Madame Church. She is not an easy woman to impress.”

Hermione laid her plate of food in her lap and waved her wand at it, causing it and her cup to levitate so her hands could be free.

“I did my best.” Hermione said simply. “They were just lessons I happen to have learned already. There will be many more that I will not know, I am sure.”

“Undoubtedly.” Albus tucked a napkin across his lap and sipped delicately at a spoonful of soup. “But so far your debut has been a smashing success.” He looked at her over the tops of his glasses and winked at her.

Hermione felt her cheeks redden. “Well, I am glad to have contributed points to our… team?”

“Our House.” Aberforth corrected as he waved a chicken leg. “And the Hufflepuffs are bound to be raging about it.”

“I’m not in any danger, am I?” Hermione thought it best to clear up any question of how far inter house rivalries went in this time.

“Nah!” James waved a hand dismissively. “They wouldn’t dare. You’re a right proper lady. Now, trying to push Dumbles down a flight of stairs so he can’t play tonight, that’s more their style.”

“What?!” Francis abruptly turned his attention to them.

“I am sure it was an accident, Mr. Williams.” Albus said as he sipped at his soup.

“And I’m sure it wasn’t!” James said sharply. “I was watching them. They were all talking in a corner, and then they spread out. When you came through, they all came together around you on the stairs and you fell.”

“But no one touched me James.” Albus sighed. He swirled his soup in the bowl with his spoon. “Unless you saw anyone draw a wand I just tripped.”

“They’re all a bunch of nobblers.” James mumbled as he reached for a cake. “It’d do them well to get you out of the game, Albus. They’ve got you pegged for a pigeon.”

“He is quite right.” Francis said sternly. “You’re not to walk about by yourself until the game.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Francis.” Albus frowned.

“The game is tonight.” Aberforth said with a mouthful of food. “I am sure you can suffer us until then.”

Albus shook his head in resignation. “I suppose there are worse fates.” He chuckled at his brother and Hermione before going back to his soup.

“I think you will survive.” Hermione nodded firmly as she waved her wand and the chicken meat was separated from the bone on her plate. “Did you have any plans for the rest of lunch?”

“I was going to go to the library to study.” Albus said as he watched her. “Now it appears I must play host.”

“Nonsense.” Hermione said firmly as she picked daintily at her chicken. “I would like to go to the library as well and after we will walk to potions together.”

“Of course you are most gracious,” Francis chuckled. “But I was thinking more like the type of protection Mr. Sterling and Mr. Williams can provide.”

James cracked his knuckles and nodded.

“I will have you know I am proficient in dueling and can cast a full patronus,” Hermione said hotly.

“Are you really?” John Sterling perked up. “Would you be interested in joining our dueling club?”

“Don’t be silly,” Christina laughed. “Miss Dumbledore is a lady. Not one of you barbarians.”

“I would like to watch before I decide to participate,” Hermione said, biting back an instinct to join immediately.

“You may decide to stay away after you watch this lot fling spells at each other without rhyme or reason.” Christina snorted.

“I may decide to stay after all.” Hermione smiled sweetly. “I enjoy a good fireworks show and I am also proficient in healing.”

Albus and Aberforth burst out laughing.

“You lot could do with your own nurse!” Aberforth laughed. “Madame Collins would be much happier if she saw less of you!”

“Now, that’s not fair!” Francis protested. “That was an accident that’s not likely to happen again.”

“What happened?” Hermione asked Albus.

“Mr. Hewson sneezed at an inappropriate moment and set off a small explosion.” Francis muttered.

“You know the Hufflepuffs let that cat in the hall.” Thomas interjected from a blanket he was sharing with Alfred and Patrick. “Everyone knows how cats make me sneeze.”

“They’re dangerous, Albus.” Patrick said in a deep accent that sounded vaguely like Scottish that didn’t fit in his mouth properly. “You’d be well to keep the lass near you. Along with a blade or two.”

“I doubt it would come to that, Mr. Poole, but thank you for your concern,” Albus said, annoyed.

“You know how dangerous it is to have distractions when you’re learning to duel.” Alfred said seriously. “Someone could have died. This was not just some silly prank.”

“And you are worried about the dangers of London.” Hermione remarked to Christina as she finished her chicken and summoned a small bun from a decorative pile on the blanket of food.

Christina laughed at Hermione. “Hannah, you are right! No untamed urban sprawl has the dangers one will face in the halls of Hogwarts!”

“No doubt.” Hermione snickered as she bit into her bun.

“What?” Francis asked.

“Nothing, my dear.” Christina patted him on the arm.

Hermione finished her bun off as she watched Dumbledore take a small, tan, enchanted cloth bag out of his pocket. He started stuffing it with much more bread, cheese, and sausages than it appeared to be able to hold.

“If Holdsworth finds you with food in the library we’ll be planning your wake by morning.” James looked at the pouch dubiously.

“I will show great caution, I assure you.” Dumbledore tied the top of the bag with a flourish and offered a hand to Hermione.

“I do hope so. I do not think even you are talented enough to earn us back all the points you would be sure to lose us.” Alfred advised.

Hermione got to her feet and let Dumbledore lead her away from their group. Instead of going up to the castle, however, they walked along the shore of the lake until they came to a small cove, far away from everyone else.

“I was hoping to get to talk to you.” Albus said as he transfigured a fallen log into a couple of stools and a small table. “I know today may be disorienting and I wanted to make sure everything was going fine for you.”

“Am I enrolled in the Young Witches of Society?” Hermione blurted out.

“That would be up to father.” Albus frowned. “And it may not be such a bad idea.”

“You can’t be serious!” Hermione exclaimed. “Being judged continuously?”

“It’s is not as bad as that.” Albus said as he pulled food out of his bag. “You are supposed to have been home schooled and indulged. You would not be expected to know how to do anything besides perhaps some dancing.”

“Dancing?” Hermione said blankly.

“Perhaps not.” Albus said chuckling. “But they will be able to teach you what you’re expected to act like. You should talk to Madam Church if you have any queries about the program.”

“Talk to your father about it first.” Hermione said as she reached out for a piece of cheese. “I’d like to hear his opinion.”

“I will owl him tonight.” Albus said.

“I would appreciate it.” Hermione said. “And… thank you for all you’re doing. I don’t know what would have happened if your brother hadn’t found me.”

“You would be answering a lot of questions at the Ministry and probably be placed within the household of someone influential so they could protect you.” Albus said as he waved his wand and a sausage fell into bite sized pieces.

“Protect me from what?” Hermione asked.

“Anyone gaining knowledge of the future, more than our prophecies tell us.” Albus shrugged. “Anyone wanting to be more magically advanced than we are now. I imagine the discoveries made in the next century are groundbreaking.”

“The next century is an age of magical invention, not of advanced spell casting and reality weaving.” Hermione sighed. “And I’m afraid I’ve never been that mechanical. I wouldn’t be any use to anyone.”

Albus looked at her thoughtfully. “Tell me about Hogwarts.”

“Besides our dress being different, I’d say the students act the same.” Hermione crossed her legs and admired the buttoned up boots she had been given. “Courtship is very different. Arranged marriages have been all but stamped out. A girl could have many suitors before settling down into a household, or not marry at all. Her choices are broader.”

Hermione looked at Albus and he seemed fixated on her boot as well. They were quite nice, Hermione reasoned.

“So a woman may take lovers, not marry, and still maintain her standing?” Albus continued to stare at Hermione’s boot. “What about the bastards?”

Hermione stared at him blankly for a moment. “Oh! The contraceptive potion isn’t going to be developed for another 20 years!”

Suddenly she realized Albus was staring at her ankle and they were having a conversation that was completely improper to be having in 1857. She blushed furiously and flipped her skirts down over her footwear.

“Forgive me!” She said quickly. “It’s just that the boots are so pretty and our skirts are much shorter-”

Albus smiled over his glasses at her and his eyes twinkled. “What a liberating place, indeed.”

“I’m sorry.” Hermione said as she shook her head, her cheeks burning. “I don’t know how much I should really tell you. I probably shouldn’t tell you anything.”

“It is understandable for you to desire a confidant.” Albus said. “If I found myself thrown back to 1717 I think I would be disoriented and would not adapt to the incident as easily as you did.”

“I adapt to strange things well. My best friend is Harry Potter.” Hermione chuckled.

“Harry Potter?” Albus asked. “Who is he?”

“I’ll be sure to tell him you said that.” Hermione smiled at Albus. “He’ll think its hilarious coming from you.”

“Do you know me?” Albus asked, looking surprised. “I am that old? Am I an invalid?”

“Heavens no!” Hermione exclaimed. “And I know that’s probably one of the things I shouldn’t be telling you.”

“Well, you must like me at least. Otherwise you would not trust us so implicitly now.” Albus seemed satisfied with his own explanation.

Hermione just smiled to herself. At least he didn’t seem the type to pry.

There was a crashing in the bushes from behind them and Albus and Hermione whirled around with wands in his hands. Aberforth and James burst through the bushes, saw Albus and Hermione, and immediately put their hands up.

“You scared us.” Hermione said, her heart pounding. “After all your talk I expected an angry mob of Hufflepuffs.” She tucked her wand back up her sleeve.

“She’s quick.” James commented as if Hermione wasn’t even there. “Good.”

“What is going on?” Albus demanded.

“Stunner bomb went off in the library.” Aberforth looked annoyed. He and James walked to the table and helped themselves to the bits of food laid out. “You weren’t among the unconscious. For all we knew you were tied up and stuffed into a trunk somewhere!”

“I do apologize for causing any worry.” Albus said, giving a pat on the shoulder to James. “We are safe and sound.”

“We’re staying with you until your next class. Then stay there until we send some boys along to get you to dinner and back to the tower.” Aberforth looked at Albus sternly. “They would not dare try anything after that because so many people will be present.”

“There were many people in the library, were there not?” Hermione asked. “Were the bombers caught?”

“Some Hufflepuffs are being questioned by the headmaster.” James had a satisfied grin on his face. “Nigellus was last seen looking for the potions mistress.”

Albus winced. “Potions will be a trial if the headmaster is interrupting Professor Marigold’s leisure time for veritaserum.”

“I’m happy we don’t have to deal with her until tomorrow.” James smirked.

“I should go back and tell Francis you are well before he starts beating people for information to your whereabouts.” James grinned.

“And we should get back to the tower to get our things for potions.” Hermione said. She looked at Albus. “You can catch me up on what we are studying so our Professor will not be able to catch me unawares.”

“Doubt that, from what I’ve heard.” James snorted.

“We’ll meet you back in the tower in half an hour, James,” said Albus. “Telling Francis to calm himself would seem to be in everyone’s best interest.”

“Will do!” James said as he crashed back through the bushes.

Aberforth watched as he went, then turned to Hermione. “Has your day been tolerable so far?”

“I’m managing.” Hermione smiled at him. “I was telling your brother it was lucky you found me. It could have been bad if anything else could have happened.”

“It was fortunate indeed.” Aberforth said. “And to keep our good fortune I think it would be best to find our way back to the tower.”

“Fine.” Albus swept the food back into the bag and helped Hermione to her feet. “Back to tower, then.”

Hermione was stunned when she got to the tower after her classes had finished to find received a heavy trunk from France full of clothes. Christina and Winifred ‘oohed’ and ‘aahed’ over the contents of the trunk as she pulled clothing out to put them away in her armoire.

Victoria left in a huff as the girls pulled French items from Hermione’s trunk. Amanda grabbed her cloak and promised to see them at the match while Charlotte seemed to be taking an unusually long time to change her clothing. She seemed to be struggling behind her dressing screen.

“Bloomers!” Winifred screamed in delight and waved the sky blue fabric. “Will you be joining the Quidditch team as well?”

“Certainly not!” Hermione laughed as she snatched them from Winifred. “My flying is frightful.”

She lifted the short skirts that went with the bloomers out of the trunk and a hard black scroll case fell out.

“How to Transfigure Your Own Bicycle.” Christina read off the side, her eyes widening. “There’s a note tied to it!”

Hermione took the case and opened the note.

Darling Daughter,

I hope your naughty adventure has turned out merry and that you have found a kinship with your fellow students.

I have sent along a few things to help you get by until you have an outing to get things for yourself. I am reluctant to send any actual money, so ask Albus how to charge things to the family account whenever you need something.

I know some of the clothing I have sent is old fashioned, but I cannot believe wearing a corset all the time is good for a lady’s health.

I have sent along a bicycle kit. They are becoming quite fashionable and I thought you may like something to do with your spare time besides needlework.

You have been enrolled into the Young Witches Program, but they have been informed about the changes to your wardrobe and that you have permission to have a bicycle and bloomers.

With Love,

Father

“Good Lord, this is like something my grandmother would wear.” Winifred pulled out an empire waisted dress, cut from deep blue silk.

Hermione let out a sigh of relief as she realized, though she had been provided with corset and bell, she had much more comfortable dress options.

“I think I’ll wear that one tonight.” Hermione said as she took the dress from Winifred. “I do not want to attempt to sit in a hoop at the match.”

“That is always good for entertainment.” Christina nodded, small red curls bobbing around her face. “There’s at least one poor girl that ends up flipping it when she tries to sit.”

“Robes weigh it down a little.” Winifred insisted as she sat on her bed and peered into Hermione’s trunk.

“Not enough.” Christina made a face as she picked up a bundle of hair ribbons and tried to match one to the blue dress.

“You could always do what Victoria does.” Winifred snickered and glanced at Hermione.

“What’s that?” Hermione asked as she pulled out a small stack of handkerchiefs and put them away.

“She never goes.” Charlotte stepped out from behind her dressing screen. She was wearing bloomers in a brilliant burgundy and gold. A dark brown leather helmet with a gold rampaging lion on the side was under one arm. Christina hurried over to help her fasten the leather buckles that held her cloak into place more securely. “She goes to the library instead.”

“I thought the library was closed during games?” Hermione asked. She might want to do a bit of studying instead of watching Quidditch one day.

“It is, but Victoria is trying to complete a study about dead languages and the history of magic and she has special permission to be in the library whenever she chooses.” Winifred said. “She even has a key.”

“A key?” Hermione asked. The library was never locked in her time. “It is actually locked up?”

“Oh, yes!” Christina pulled a cream colored hat box out of the trunk. When she opened it she reached in and carefully pulled a deep emerald bonnet out of it “There are some very dangerous books in the library.”

“Heavens,” Hermione said, only because she was biting back her real thoughts: Like what?

“With Albus escorting you everywhere you will see more than enough of the library.” Winifred insisted. She pulled a tiny pink three-cornered hat out of Hermione’s trunk and held it to her head, posing.

“You look like you’ve stolen the hat from a pirate’s monkey.” Charlotte laughed. Winifred made a face at her.

“A fashionable monkey.” Christina laughed as she took off the bonnet and handed it to Hermione.

“Oh, well, since you put it that way…” Hermione snickered and put the hat on a shelf inside her armoire.

“I’ll see you at the game!” Charlotte called as she bounded out of their room.

“Fly well!” Winifred called out.

“Don’t you dare lose!” Christina reminded Charlotte loudly.

Charlotte waved them all off and ran down the stairs to the common room where all the Quidditch players were planning on going out to the field together.

“Is Charlotte the only girl on the Quidditch team?” Hermione asked as she pulled out several books from the trunk and placed them on the bookshelf near her bed.

“In Gryffindor, yes.” Christina said. “Hufflepuff has two girls, Ravenclaw has three, and Slytherin none.”

“There don’t seem to be many girls in Slytherin at all.” Hermione said as she pulled out a pair of dancing slippers from the trunk. Damn. “It does make sense for none to be on their team.”

“Rachel Black used to play for them, but she broke her shoulder last year and her mother forbade her from playing anymore.” Winifred shrugged as she admired a pair of light colored stockings.

“It must be horrible to love something and not be able to participate anymore.” Hermione remarked as she pulled out a small silver box that rattled.

“It was amazing they let her play to begin with.” Christina said as she flipped through a fashion magazine that she had found in the trunk. “It’s different for Charlotte. She’s a Gypsy. Everyone expects her to act crude and untamed.”

“That is not very nice!” Winifred said sharply.

“Well, it’s true.” Christina frowned at a picture of a gaudy yellow bonnet with pink trim. “It’s not fair that she gets to do as she likes and the rest of us are forced to act like ladies of society every bleeding moment we’re awake. The other girls that get to play are either from Muggle families that don’t understand what is going on or lowborn.”

“It is what you get for marrying above your station.” Winifred scolded. “If you were not marrying Mr. Bulstrode this would not even be an issue for you and you could play as well.”

“And what do you think your father’s reaction is going to be for your life plan?” Christina raised an eyebrow at her. “Marrying you off above your station seems to be his goal as well.”

Winifred was silent for a moment. “I don’t care what father thinks. I have an apprenticeship at the Ministry secured and will be able to support myself. I don’t need his inheritance.”

“What is this plan?” Hermione asked, interested. She opened the box to find some cosmetics and a couple crystal bottles of what she assumed were perfume.

Winifred sized up Hermione for a moment. “I do not want to get married and I want to work on experimental potions at the Ministry.” She held up her chin and waited for a reaction.

“That sounds like a sound career choice.” Hermione said as she took out a bottle and unstoppered it. Roses. She put the stopper back in it and placed the bottle on a shelf in her armoire. “You do not want to get married at all?”

“Perhaps later.” Winifred pursed her lips. “But father already has a boy from Durmstrang picked out. We are to meet over the winter holidays. He is Unger Schmid of the Schmids of Berlin. His family is a supplier of wand ingredients.”

“You’ve not even met this guy and you are expected to marry him?” Hermione squeaked and she closed the box. She placed it on a small mirrored dressing table near her bed.

“But I’m not going to.” Winifred said firmly. “When I meet Mr. Schmid over the holidays I will explain to him I have other plans for my life and it would be best if he looked elsewhere for a mate.”

“Winnie, your father will beat you senseless.” Christina’s voice was just above a whisper. “Are you insane?”

“I have looked into it. I can use magic to defend myself if threatened when I am at home. I will simply bind him and let him know what I think of him,” Winifred said simply.

“Your father is a Muggle?” Hermione asked she picked up a small roll of velvet from inside the trunk. When she unrolled it she found a series of hairpins and a scroll of charms meant to tame unruly hair. Several of the charms had proved to be harmful when used over a long time, but that wouldn’t be known for decades.

“And her mother’s a squib.” Christina remarked. “Lucky she’s descended from an influential family or she would be likely to be placed in Hufflepuff.”

“What would that have to do with the sorting?” Hermione asked as she rolled up the pins and put them in a small drawer in her dressing table.

“Quite a bit.” Christina said. “There is expected to be an ingrained civility from the higher houses that only comes from better breeding.”

Hermione visibly flinched. “Higher houses?”

“All the students with the exception of Hufflepuff.” Victoria snorted. “There is a reason the rest of the houses skim from the top and Hufflepuff takes whoever is left.”

“Cannot one be lower born and shrewd, brave, or smart?” Hermione asked crossly.

“Of course they can.” Christina said. “And those with potential for assimilation into proper society are chosen for other houses. Mr. Williams was a street rat before he got his letter. Mr. Sterling is a whore’s son.”

“Suspected whore’s son.” Winifred interjected.

“Victoria and Winifred’s line shows magical weakness,” Christina went on as if Winifred had not spoken. “And my family is working class. The houses just give us a better opportunity to rise socially.”

“Or be kept down.” Hermione frowned as she rummaged through the trunk.

“It is for the Sorting Hat to decide.” Christina insisted. “Not for us to question.”

“That doesn’t seem to be very fair.” Hermione frowned.

“Life is many things,” Victoria said sadly. “Rarely is it ever fair.”

Hermione remembered an older Dumbledore explaining to her that the Sorting Hat learned many things in the headmaster’s office over the years. Maybe it had not learned about equality for all social classes yet. She wondered when the hat would learn. Or what would cause it to learn dividing up classes was a bad idea. She shivered.

“I suppose not.” Hermione said as she pulled a light pink corset out of her trunk and put it in a drawer. She waved her wand and her trunk shrunk to a size she could easily slip under her bed. “I should get ready for the match. The rest can wait until later tonight.”

“We should style your curls before the match.” Christina eyed Hermione. “We have enough time if we go bathe now.”

“I- I suppose so.” Hermione stammered. “My father allowed my hair to do as it wanted. I kept it pinned back.”

“Like a peasant?” Christina laughed. Hermione scowled at her. “That would not be befitting a Gryffindor!”

Hermione never thought she’d find herself biting back a retort about Gryffindors and the way they went about things.

“Perhaps that is why she is a Gryffindor.” Winifred said smiling. “Because she is brave enough to be true to her soul and not the trappings of society and fashion.”

Christina sized up Hermione, who was holding the blue empire waisted dress. “Perhaps.”

Christina showed Hermione where the small baskets lined in gold brocade were stacked in their room. She helped Hermione gather her bath things, a bottle of yellowish water and a bar of sweet soap, and they, along with Winifred, made their way to the Gryffindor 7th Year Girls’ bathing chambers.

They made their way to the ground floor of Hogwarts and Hermione was surprised to see them make their way to the dungeons. When they stopped in front where Professor Snape from Hermione’s time had his classroom, there was a portrait showing a verandah on a sunny spring day. It seemed strange for this cheerful scene to be tucked away in the dungeons. A bunch of vibrant red roses sat on a glass table. Two small white chairs flanked the table.

“Nia?” Winifred said softly at the painting. “Nia?”

The bunch of roses shook and small fairy with a shock of red hair and deep pink wings fluttered out of the bunch of roses. She was dressed in petals.

“Greetings, smelly!” The cheeky fairy made a face at them.

“What nerve!” Christina exclaimed.

“You are here to bathe. You must be smelly.” The fairy hovered in the air over the flowers with her tiny fists on her hips.

Hermione laughed at the small fairy. “Perhaps you are right. Perhaps you are wrong, but we still want in!”

“Sirens,” Winifred said.

The portrait swung open and they stepped through the portal. Golden tubs lined each side of the room. The raised dais on the far side of the room had dressing tables and modesty screens lined up. The floor was still sloped slightly to a drain in the center of the room. Hermione was used to seeing a heavy iron grate in the floor. This drain cover was brass and inlaid with abalone shell. Stained glass windows filtered colored light into the room through scenes of mermaids and the seashore.

The girls pulled curtains around their tub area and disrobed. As soon as Hermione settled into the tub of fragrant bubble filled water there was a loud crack and a house elf appeared near the tub with a long handled brush in one hand.

Hermione shrieked loudly.

The other girls laughed as the little elf apologized profusely.

“Am so sorry, Miss!” The elf squeaked in horror. “Tibby was sent for when you arrived in the bath, miss.”

“They wash our hair!” Christina called out from her spot in the bathroom. “Forgive Miss Dumbledore, Tibby. She is new to the school.”

“I hope Miss will be enjoying our castle.” Tibby said as she pushed Hermione roughly back to a reclining position and poured warm water over her head.

Hermione spluttered and wiped the water from her eyes as she felt her hair being rubbed with something that smelled foul and made her eyes water. She was afraid to sit up for fear it would run into her eyes.

“What is that?!” Hermione asked, a bit scared to hear the answer.

“Water and ammonia, Miss.” Tibby rubbed furiously. “The glycerin will take away the smell in a moment.

Hermione lay still as more water splashed over her head and the bar of soap was rubbed over her hair. Tibby tossed the bar and it landed in the water near her leg. Hermione smelled lavender as Tibby worked it into her hair.

“Would Miss like Tibby to warm up the hair irons for her?” Tibby asked as she poured more water over Hermione’s head and ran her long fingers through the wet tangles of Hermione’s curls.

“Will you be setting my hair as well?” Hermione asked.

“If Miss wishes, Tibby would be pleased to do Misses hair.” Tibby splashed more water over Hermione’s head to rinse the suds out.

“What on earth did you do in France?” Christina’s voice called out. “You act like you have not had house elves preen you before.”

“My father thought such things were indulgent.” Hermione called out, cringing inwardly at the lie. “I only wore a corset since coming to Hogwarts.”

“Your father is so old fashioned!” Winifred said in a surprised tone of voice. “To be so near to Paris and to not have a corset until you are seventeen!”

“But she is allowed to have bloomers.” Hermione heard a lilting Middle Eastern accent comment. “Almost as comfortable as a sari.”

“Good afternoon, Charity!” Winifred called out. “We didn’t hear you come in.”

“I’m here as well!” Matilda called out.

Hermione heard a curtain yanked across a bar. A few moments later she heard a splash, then a pop.

“Hey now! Get off!” Hermione heard Matilda cry out.

“Many apologies, Miss!” Hermione heard a small voice squeak out.

The other girls laughed.

“It’s not natural, having someone else rub you down.” Hermione heard Matilda complain.

“With that attitude, you will never find a husband!” Christina said wickedly as the other girls roared.

Hermione heard water splashing out onto the stone floor and scrubbed her front quickly as Tibby scrubbed her back with the long brush.

It was strange. Normal or not, she wasn’t sure she wanted assisted bathing ever again.

“I will do the rest,” said Hermione. “Thank you.”

“I will prepare a chair for Miss,” Tibby said. “Your towel and robe are on the warmer in the corner.” Tibby gestured to a corner of the curtained off area. Then there was a crack and she was gone.

Hermione pulled the plug to let the water out and when she stood up a pipe with a small silver spout and chain grew up and out of the tub. She pulled the chain and a warm spray of water came out of the spout, rinsing the remaining bubbles off her body.

After drying off and putting the warm robe on, she met Tibby at a dressing table and watched as the elf dried and styled her hair.

“This seems a bit extravagant for just going to a Quidditch match.” Hermione said as Tibby was still working on straightening her hair as the other girls joined them at the dressing tables.

“Tibby will put the curl back in the hair after oiling it,” Tibby said. “Curly hair is more complicated than straight hair.”

Hermione looked wistfully at Charity, who had already had oil applied to her hair and was having it done in a straight braid down her back. She just smiled at Hermione.

“Hannah, you should feel lucky,” Matilda insisted as she scurried to a dressing table. “Curly hair is fetching.”

“Thank you.” Said Hermione as she watched the elf apply sweet smelling oils to her hair. Tibby gestured with her hand and Hermione felt her head heating up slightly. “Tibby, what is that?”

“Drying spell, Miss.” Tibby said simply as she reached out into the air and a few hairpins flew into her hand. With a few more spells and some firmly secured pins Hermione found herself with an elegant style that swept her hair up, but allowed small curls to cascade down her back and around her face.

Winifred combed and braided her long black hair and wound it around her head before putting a burgundy velvet bonnet firmly atop it.

“That looks like a much simpler idea.” Hermione said to Winifred as the small elf attacked her head with pins.

“Then next time you should decide to wear a bonnet with your dress.” Christina chided her. “The dress you have for tonight will go with that silver cloak I saw you pull out of your trunk.”

“Or you could just dress sensibly,” Charity giggled. Christina sniffed at her.

“I will have to charm the dress so it keeps me quite warm.” Hermione mused as the elf gave her head a satisfactory pat.

“I would suggest a spell to counteract wind as well,” Winifred smirked as she tied her bonnet tightly under her chin. “It would be a shame for that tower to go spilling over.”

“It’s not that tall!” Hermione rolled her eyes.

“No, it is not!” Christina said with a sharp look to Winifred, who just laughed.

“Tibby’s pins are secure, Miss,” said Tibby as she secured ivory combs in Hermione’s hair. “But a wind spell would help.”

“I will think upon your advice, thank you.” Hermione rose from the chair and went to the dressing screen that the elf had put her dress over. It was quick for her to dress and she waited while Winifred and Christina fiddled with their own corsets and other under things.

Matilda had the small elf dry her hair and assured the distressed elf that her hair would grow back eventually and it was going to be alright. She quickly dressed behind a screen and afterwards slipped behind Charity’s screen to help her pleat her sari quickly.

When they had finished, Hermione looked over Christina in her pink and layered white lace dress robes and Winifred in her dark burgundy layers, accented with metallic gold trim and wondered if she was underdressed for the game.

After Winifred and Christina put the finishing touches on their persons, they and Hermione hurried back to the tower to drop off their bath things and grab their cloaks.

“We are to escort you to the match.” James Williams announced to Hermione as they made their way to the common room after gathering their cloaks. Aberforth was shuffling his feet behind James. They were both wearing bulky winter robes in Gryffindor colors and had matching gold pointed caps with ear flaps.

“Why, thank you, Mr. Williams,” Christina smiled brightly as James carefully offered his elbow to her. “How very thoughtful of you.”

James beamed and practically strutted off with Christina.

Aberforth offered his elbow in front of Hermione and Winifred.

“Who is that for?” Winifred asked.

“I don’t know.” Aberforth spluttered. “What do I do if there are two ladies?”

“You offer each an elbow in turn,” Winifred sighed. “I’m not sure if it is you or James who is worse.”

Aberforth reddened and Hermione saved him by taking his elbow. “Thank you, dear cousin. We will feel all the much safer with you as an escort.”

If Aberforth turned any redder Hermione suspected that he might start glowing.

“I shall escort myself.” Winifred sniffed. “I won’t have either of you jostling my person about or tripping me down the hill like the Muggle rhyme.”

“What Muggle rhyme?” Aberforth asked.

“Jack and Jill?” Hermione offered.

“Quite.” Winifred sniffed as Hermione giggled.

“I am more than capable of helping a lady to her seat.” Aberforth insisted as he opened the portal for Hermione.

“I feel quite safe on your arm,” Hermione assured Aberforth.

“Thank you.” Aberforth turned to smirk at Winifred and he stepped on Hermione’s cloak. She tripped with the sound of tearing fabric and grabbed onto Aberforth for support. They spilled into the hallway in a jumble of fabric.

“On the other hand, I may be better off walking on my own until we get some practice.” Hermione said as she picked herself up off the stone floor.

I did caution you.” Winifred said as she stepped smartly through the portal and walked past Hermione and Aberforth, who were struggling to their feet.

“Quite the debut.” Hermione heard a deep voice comment. “No doubt people will speak of it for years.”

“How do you do, Mr. Long?” Aberforth brushed himself off and nodded at Michael.

“Quite well, thank you.” Michael said. “I was hoping to escort Miss Dumbledore to the match tonight, but I see she already has an escort.”

“Yes, she does,” Aberforth snapped at Michael.

Hermione blinked.

“And even if she did not, her father would hardly consent to her being escorted by a boy she hardly knows and he does not.” Winifred said in a huff.

“Albus knows me well enough to speak for my character.” Michael pointed out. “My father has known her uncle for years.”

“It is in bad form to seem overeager, Michael,” Christina said softly as she walked back with James, wondering what was taking the others so long.

“Even worse to let an opportunity pass one by.” Michael said, his green eyes leveled on Hermione.

“A Slytherin through and through.” Aberforth shook his head.

“Thank you for the offer,” Hermione said before anyone got into a fight. “But I do have an escort this evening and my dear cousin has offered to counsel me about the state of the teams at Hogwarts.”

“Perhaps another time then.” Michael said with a cordial bow. “I hope to see you in the Great Hall after the game.”

Hermione dipped as he passed and retook Aberforth’s arm. “Let’s try this again, shall we?”

Aberforth smiled at her in relief as he straightened himself and strode off with her on his arm.

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“Splendid!” John crowed as Christina hurried over to some other Gryffindors after the game. She was waving a galleon over her head. A blonde Hufflepuff with wide blue eyes, a scar down his left cheek, and an Appleby Arrows pin attached to his robes fumed as she walked away from him.

“We should go wait by the changing tent for Albus.” Aberforth said excitedly.

To Hermione’s surprise, Hogwarts didn’t have the permanent Quidditch field there was in her time. In the space between the castle and the Household Management building, wicker hoops rose into sky on long poles. Light wooden bleacher seats were reinforced with magic and raised high into the sky; small squares of earth were ripped from the ground and spiraled up to the seats in the sky.

The seats were windy, but with the help of a wind cancellation spell and a warming charm Hermione and Aberforth watched the game in comfort.

The game was exciting and dirty. There was plenty of rule breaking from both sides and Gryffindor only won because Charlotte had slightly less wind resistance than the Hufflepuff seeker. The Hufflepuffs were furious at the catch and many threw rubbish onto the field and at the Gryffindor players at the end of the match.

“Where did those horrible Hufflepuffs find all that rotten food?” Hermione heard a Ravenclaw girl ask her male companion as they passed by Hermione and Aberforth after the game.

“Probably the bits too good to send back home,” the well dressed boy laughed. He had dark hair and a fine grey silk top hat. He seemed to be performing a minor hovering charm on himself so his shoes didn’t come in contact with the muddy grass.

Hermione ground her teeth at the pompous pair. It was no wonder the Hufflepuffs were defensive and unfriendly.

“You’d think they would object to carrying around all that rotten cabbage.” The girl made a face. “The smell alone is atrocious.”

“When you’re used to having that many Irish in one place I’m sure you get used to unpleasant smells.” The boy chuckled at his own joke.

“Cabbage isn’t the only thing that smells around here.” Hermione said loudly. “But better to smell like cabbage than the pile of shite he’s spewing.”

Hermione steered Aberforth in a direction she hoped was the right one.

“Bloody brilliant.” Aberforth muttered as they bumped into a Slytherin girl in a large hoop skirt as they hurried away. “Bartelby Quinn is an arrogant blowhard and the world would be a better place if he just learned to shut it.”

“You don’t believe in separation of the classes.” Hermione said slowly as she looked at Aberforth.

“No, I don’t.” Aberforth said firmly. “I think Albus is right in wanting the houses disbanded. It causes more trouble than it’s worth.”

“But it’s more than that, isn’t it?” Hermione said, gauging the way he reacted.

“Listen,” Aberforth turned her around to face him. “I don’t know how things are in the future, but here things are pretty much written out for you from the time you’re born.”

“Winifred said the same thing.” Hermione insisted as she smoothed down the arms of Aberforth’s robes. “But she had plans for a career outside of her family when she graduates.”

“Winnie is from Muggle family, or as good as.” Aberforth shook his head and looked away. “The Dumbledore’s are powerful. But father is a youngest son and so am I. No one would risk falling out of favor with our family for me. Even the Ministry would only consider putting me in a position my family would approve of.”

Hermione studied his face.

He looked nervous and a little hopeless. “I have no superior skills with magic working like Albus. I have no savings for my own business. The best I can hope for is an allowance from the family estate and a tolerable marriage.”

“Petition the Blacks.” Hermione said flatly. “Rachel would have you. And she’d let you do as you liked with your life.”

“She hates me and I dare say she does annoy me more than she does not.” Aberforth said with a snort.

“Yet every time you have a disagreement she finds a reason to handle your person.” Hermione chuckled.

Aberforth was silent. The students were starting to file back to the castle and the outside grounds were starting to grow quieter.

“She would allow you to be yourself.” Hermione pointed out. “And she would be satisfied with your position. Just think about it.”

“You should not counsel me.” Aberforth said abruptly. “History could be changed.”

“You are right.” Hermione said. She was afraid she had offended him. “I’m sorry.”

Aberforth looked at her face. He really was quite a cute boy. Boisterous and rough around the edges. Many women would find him adorable when he got a little older.

“You sound like Albus.” Aberforth said with a sigh. “We went in the wrong direction. The changing tents were the other way, but to save face I think we can take a short walk to the winter gardens before rejoining the others in the castle.”

“It is the problem with flouncing off in a self-superior huff when one is in unfamiliar surroundings.” Hermione giggled at Aberforth as he walked her off into the direction of what looked like an isolated snowfall.

Hermione blinked as she looked at the small, snow covered garden behind the castle.

“How is this possible?” Hermione asked as her slippers crunched on frozen grass as they got closer to the garden. Small fairy lights lit the garden dimly so they could find their way.

“Localized weather spell gone wrong.” Aberforth smiled. “The Headmaster says it will wear off in a few years, but until then we have a bit of snow year round.”

When they got close to the garden, Hermione reached out with a hand and scooped up some snow. “Amazing.”

“There are some magical plants that only bloom in the snow, of course.” Aberforth gestured to a small sapling with small orange flowers blooming on it. “They decided to make the best of it while the effect still held-

Aberforth let out a loud yelp as a snowball hit the back of his head and ice ran down the back of his collar. He turned quickly with a scowl to see Hermione ducking behind a bush and heard scrabbling, as if someone were frantically scooping up snow.

Hermione looked up as a shadow passed over her and she saw the snow that had been settled on the bush she was hiding behind was now hovering over her head.

“You can’t be bloody serious!” Hermione squeaked as the snow fell with a loud WHUMP and she was coated in light snow that melted quickly under her heat charm, leaving her cold and wet.

Aberforth laughed uproariously as Hermione stormed out from behind the bush, dripping wet curls plastered to her head.

“Oh yea?” Hermione challenged. She waved her wand and the tree with orange flowers bent back away from Aberforth and snapped abruptly back, showering him in an avalanche of snow and petals.

Aberforth cried out as the snow hit him, being too far away from Hermione to be affected by her warming spell.

“What is all this?” A voice laughed merrily from the darkened grounds. Madame Church stepped out of the darkness wearing a dark brown cloak and a small, dark woven basket on her arm. She looked at the tree, now bare of blooms, and crossed her arms at the snow covered pair. “You are going to wreck my beautiful garden!”

“Beg your pardon, madam.” Aberforth bowed deeply. “We forgot ourselves.”

“Help me gather the blooms you have knocked from the tree.” Madame Church set the basket on the ground and knelt to pick the blooms up. “I came to gather them anyway. I was just coming to Accio them from the branches. Now I am afraid they will be damaged from being yanked out of a snowdrift.”

Hermione and Aberforth sheepishly helped their teacher gather the blossoms.

“What on earth were you doing?” Madam Church asked them as the basket began to fill.

“Avoiding Mr. Quinn and his big mouth.” Aberforth said simply. Hermione laughed.

“That is not very gracious, Mr. Dumbledore,” reminded Madame Church.

“What he said was not very gracious, either,” Aberforth complained as he dropped a handful of blooms into the basket. “Even if it was about the Hufflepuffs.”

“What happened?” Madame Church brushed the snow off her hands and straightened up. She watched Hermione and Aberforth gather up the last of the blooms.

Aberforth relayed the story and Madame Church frowned.

“I will talk to Mr. Quinn about how a gentleman conducts himself in public.” Madame Church scowled. “His father would not be pleased to find he is acting like a buffoon.”

“Ha! I had forgotten he was involved in the Young Gentleman’s program!” Aberforth picked up the filled basked and handed it to his teacher. “How fortunate!”

“However, Miss Dumbledore is as well and her language was shocking.” Madame Church raised an eyebrow at Hermione.

“He was acting like a barbarian.” Hermione insisted with a light French accent. She was hoping reminding Madame Church she was a foreigner would help get her off.

“Still, a lady has other ways of voicing her disapproval rather than resorting to vulgarities.” Madame Church raised a steel grey eyebrow at Hermione.

“Yes, Madame Church,” Hermione said.

“And you will take care not to destroy my garden with any more of your antics.” Madame Church rounded on Aberforth.

“Of course, Madame Church.” Aberforth said brightly.

“Now, up to the castle with you.” Madame Church shooed. “Your house mates are sure to be missing you at their party.”

“Thank you, Madame Church!” Aberforth took Hermione by the arm and they ran through the snow filled garden as they made their way to a side entrance of the castle.

“And no more mischief this evening!” Madame Church called after them.

Hermione and Aberforth laughed as their feet crunched through the frozen snow. They were both out of breath when Aberforth pulled the side door open and he and Hermione hurled themselves in.

“We must look a fright!” Hermione laughed as she took in Aberforth’s appearance.

He was drenched. His hair was wet and tousled. His fingers were blue from scrabbling around in the snow for blooms and his cheeks were red from both the cold and the run to the castle.

“I don’t think your hair is supposed to be doing that.” Aberforth tilted his head as he looked at Hermione.

She turned and tried to catch her reflection in the breastplate of a suit of armor. From what she could see her hair was wet, the loose curls were plastered to her head and her gentle tower of curls tilted to one side. Thankfully she hadn’t lost any of her combs in the snow. “Oh my.”

Aberforth and Hermione dried themselves off with drying spells and Aberforth tried unsuccessfully to fix Hermione’s hair.

“Don’t worry,” Hermione assured him. “There were several girls in the stands who had their wind resistance spells fail. I will not be the only one with mussed hair.”

Aberforth and Hermione hurried down corridors until they reached the Great Hall. Aberforth took Hermione by the arm and they straightened their clothing before walking in.

“What on earth has happened to your hair?” Christina bustled up to them quickly. She took Hermione by the arm and quickly pushed her back out into the corridor.

Amanda poked her head out into the hallway to see what all the fuss was about. “Good heavens!”

“It cannot be as bad as all that!” Hermione protested as Amanda hurried into the hallway, her heavy, light blue skirts sweeping the floor. She and Christina pulled their wands out and began working on Hermione’s head.

“What happened?” Christina demanded. “Were you accosted on your way back to the castle? Was it the Hufflepuffs?”

“Snowball fight in the winter gardens with Aberforth.” Hermione muttered as Amanda fussed over the way the ivory combs were arranged in Hermione’s hair.

Christina sighed. “Next time use a shielding spell.”

“I will remember that.” Hermione said as Amanda pulled a black cameo out of her robes and transfigured it into a mirror so Hermione could see her reflection. “Thank you.”

“Now let us not dally any longer while our party is going on!” Amanda said excitedly. “Your cousin is entertaining some of the village girls with tales of the game.”

“Village girls?” Hermione asked as she watched Christina press Aberforth’s robes with her wand, removing all the wrinkles.

“Some of the families that have settled in Hogsmede come to see the game and to let their children mingle with the students.” Amanda smoothed down Aberforth’s hair and gave it a satisfactory pat. “Not everyone goes to Hogwarts.”

“Of course.” Hermione followed the others into the hall and let Aberforth take her arm again.

They walked into the Great Hall and Hermione noticed for the first time that all the decorations were in burgundy and gold. There were streamers and flags from the invisible ceiling. Lace table runners in delicate burgundy and metallic gold threads were draped over the long wooden tables lining the walls. The fine porcelain plates people had food on were decorated with small burgundy flowers with gold centers. Even the small foods and pastries for people to nibble on were decorated in Gryffindor colors.

Hermione spotted Albus in a corner. He smiled confidently at the small crowd before him as he seemingly told them a story. By the way he was moving his hands, Hermione assumed he was describing the match. There were several girls smiling flirtatiously at him. When he swooped one of his hands quickly down as if describing a dive, one of them, a plump blonde girl with overly rouged cheeks, actually swooned and had to be steadied by a tall black haired boy with a large gap in his front teeth and a slightly rumpled black jacket.

Aberforth steered her to a long table covered in food and offered to help her with her plate.

“I can manage,” Hermione assured him as she reached for a plate for herself. She filled it with some small pieces of fruit and finger sized sandwich pieces. She did allow Aberforth to assist her getting punch and help her to a small white table near a window.

After Albus had finished his story and those around him had clapped and fawned appropriately he excused himself and made his way to Hermione and Aberforth, stopping here and there to say hello to other people.

“Does that ever get tiring?” Hermione asked Aberforth before Albus ever got to the table.

“He hates it.” Aberforth said chuckling as he popped a strawberry in his mouth. “But he is the eldest son and is expected to be making alliances. You don’t do that by sitting in the library.”

“I suppose not.” Hermione nibbled at a peach slice as Albus sat down at their table.

“Did you see the Smyth girl?” Albus chuckled. “I’m certainly glad Mr. Landon was there to catch her. I certainly wasn’t going to.”

“That’s not very nice!” Hermione laughed.

“Pretending to faint so one can press their body against an unwilling person is not very nice, either,” Albus complained as he swiped a finger sandwich from his brother’s plate.

A tinkling and sighing of instruments being tuned and warmed up came from a red silk screen in one corner.

“Blast!” Albus swore. “They’re starting the dancing already and I am famished.”

“Then eat.” Hermione pushed a piece of apple at him.

“Thank you.” Albus chewed it quickly. “But I am obligated to give several ladies a turn before I am allowed to have my person to myself again.” He grabbed another sandwich and a couple grapes from Aberforth’s plate as he hopped up from the table. “I will return.” He sprinted off in the direction of a pale girl with dark tight curls and a blood red hoop skirt and bodice, her breasts pushed up so high Hermione wondered how she managed to breathe.

“Good grief.” Hermione exclaimed as she looked at the other girl.

“Indeed,” said Aberforth, who was still looking at his decimated plate. There was a lone shrimp left. He looked up at Hermione. “Sorry, what?”

Hermione nodded at Albus and his dancing partner, who seemed to be leaning forward so Albus could see as much as he possibly could.

“Good heavens!” Aberforth exclaimed. “When did they get here?”

“Who is that?” Hermione asked.

“Madame Poole!” Aberforth exclaimed. “Patrick must be overjoyed! And Albus got her first dance! Excellent!”

“She is Patrick’s mother?” Hermione asked. “She looks our age!”

“She’s much older than that.” Aberforth said as he ate his shrimp. “Our great-grandfather was one of her suitors.”

“Really?” Hermione watched, fascinated.

“Of course, she didn’t look like that back then,” Aberforth went on as he drained his cup of punch. “And the bosoms are new.”

“What?!” Hermione spluttered.

“Forgive my rudeness!” Aberforth apologized hastily. “It was uncalled for-”

“I mean: how?” Hermione asked. Albus seemed to be nodding politely at something Madame Poole was saying.

“Master and Mistress Poole are Summoners.” Aberforth said.

Hermione’s hand jerked and she knocked her cup of punch over. Aberforth quickly waved his wand and cleaned up the spill.

“Summoners?” Hermione whispered in awe. “Are you serious?”

“The last in Europe, from what I understand.” Aberforth remarked. “I suppose you’ve just read about them. It’s a lost art. Patrick wants to work for the Ministry so he’s not likely to continue his family’s work.”

Hermione shivered. She had heard rumors that a few Summoners worked for the Ministry in her time, but no one could ever prove it. No one could even prove they existed anymore. With the decline of religious fanaticism in the UK, there was also a decline in the requirements required to raise demons.

To start, you needed to find a person who was deeply religious, but had committed atrocities. Then you preformed some sort of ritual and a demon came out of the sacrifice, killing them. The years the sacrificed would have lived if their life had not been cut short go to the Summoner to be kept for themselves or given to someone else for healing or to regain their youth.

“But summoning just keeps you young.” Hermione frowned. “You can’t tell me they go through all the preparations required for a summoning just to freshen up their looks.”

“Master Poole has figured out how to take a corpse apart and make it’s pieces live again in another.” Aberforth whispered excitedly. He waved his wand and some sandwiches slipped off the large table and zipped to his plate. An older, dour looking witch all in black frowned at him.

“Are you telling me she’s been pieced together with bits of other people?” Hermione whispered, horrified.

“The good bits!” Aberforth said defensively.

“One could argue that a husband should love his wife and think she is a beauty, even when her youth has faded.” Hermione said testily.

“Makes it a lot easier when she has bosoms the size of pumpkins.” Aberforth said, his eyes glued to Madame Poole as he bit into his sandwich.

Hermione gave Aberforth a dirty look as Albus finished his dance. He bowed to Madame Poole and turned to see an eager looking brown haired girl in layers of pink brocade and wide swaths of lace waiting for the next dance.

Madame Poole seemed to be looking for someone in the crowd and her eyes skimmed over Hermione and Aberforth for a moment. Hermione watched as Madame Poole’s eyes snapped to Hermione’s and she immediately made a beeline for their table. Aberforth looked alarmed.

Madame Poole drew her wand and pointed it at Hermione. “What are you and how did you get here?” She spoke with the same strange dialect Patrick had.

“I beg your pardon?” Hermione said, her voice quavering. To come this far to get killed randomly seemed so unfair.

“You have no aura.” Madame Poole said sharply.

Hermione looked around. No one seemed to have noticed them. Even Albus was unaware, although he looked as if he was having some difficulty of his own. His dancing partner kept pretending to trip so she could mash her chest into him.

“Maybe because I’m not going to be born until 1980 and I have no familial link to channel an aura yet.” Hermione said testily. She was tired and now someone was getting accusing her of… something. “And I’m having a rotten enough time of it as it is without everyone pointing out that I am different.”

Madame Poole looked sharply at Aberforth.

“I would swear it on my grandfather’s grave!” Aberforth said raising his hands. “She’s telling the truth! Don’t curse her!”

Madame Poole poked Aberforth once with her wand. “Your grandfather was a good man. Do not abuse his memory so.”

“Yes, madam,” Aberforth said, embarrassed.

“How did you get here?” Madame Poole demanded as she sat down and placed her wand on the table. She sent Aberforth off for refreshments as she interrogated Hermione.

“I am an advanced student at Hogwarts in my time.” Hermione explained, keeping an eye on Madame Poole’s wand. “We have an invention called a Time Turner that the school had let me use so I may take two or more classes during the same hour. Only a few students have one. There was a fight in the corridor and my Time Turner was broken. When I woke up I was here.”

“Here in the castle?” Madame Poole asked. Hermione noticed the tip of her finger was still on her wand.

“I was found in the forest by a class doing research.” Hermione said. “But technically I shouldn’t have been in the forest. I should have been in the same corridor.” Hermione thought for a moment. “That’s strange.”

“I would say many things are strange about your arrival.” Madame Poole pursed her lips at Hermione.

“And I know, I could disrupt the flow of time and the repercussions could be destructive.” Hermione said miserably. “But I don’t know how to get home and I don’t really see many choices.”

“How many people know about you?” Madame Poole asked, her eyes cold.

“Aberforth, Albus, their father, their uncle, the real Hannah, and, I would imagine, Headmaster Dumbledore from my time.” Hermione babbled. “Unless someone saw me disappear in the hallway.”

“Headmaster Nigellus does not know?” Madame Poole asked.

“He did not inspire my confidence.” Hermione said. From the corner of her eye she saw Aberforth grab Albus after his dance had completed and was whispering frantically into his ear.

“That was probably a wise idea.” Madame Poole seemed to be trying to look through Hermione.

Suddenly Hermione felt as if she were being pulled away by a portkey. Suddenly her life was whirring before her eyes.

Her third birthday where her cousin Randal had turned the sprinklers on while they sat on white plastic chairs in her parents’ small yard, passing cake around. She was seven and sitting in a sandbox: an older boy was trying to make her eat worms, but when he touched her he burned his fingers and started to cry. Meeting Harry and Ron on the train for Hogwarts, how Ron had that ridiculous smudge on his nose that refused to come off. Voldemort. Waking up near the lake during the Tri-Wizarding Tournament. The Yule Ball. Searching for what Horcruxes were. Professor Snape. Catching Ginny snogging Michael Corner in the dungeons. Hearing the twins snore as she tried to sleep on Ginny’s floor at the Weasley’s. Her first patronus at a DA meeting. Kissing Viktor Krum. A fight in the hallway of the school. Something seized onto that memory. Someone was being shoved at her in her memory. Her shoulder smashed into the brickwork and she opened her mouth to cry out… then the stone seemed to yield to her shoulder. She was falling through space.

Suddenly her world stopped spinning and she found herself back at the victory celebration and Albus was standing behind her. She swooned in her seat, disorientated from the sudden stop.

“Fascinating.” Madame Poole said as her eyebrows raised and she tucked her wand into a fold of fabric near her waist. “How do you know about aura construction?”

“It was part of the Transfiguration class I took as a 6th year.” Hermione said, placing a hand on the table to steady herself. “My parents were born in 1959 and 1961. My Grandparents were born in the 20’s and 30’s. I don’t even know where my family line is right now. As far as I know they’re all Muggles.”

“Really?” Madame Poole asked, genuinely surprised. “You were researching quite advanced texts for a peasant child.”

“Peasant?” Hermione said, her eyebrows knitted.

“They call them Muggles now.” Albus said gently.

Aberforth approached the table with a bowl of fruit and several cups of punch trailing behind him through the air as if supported by invisible strings.

“You must be an exceptional study.” Madame Poole said as she selected a strawberry and nibbled it delicately. Aberforth sat in the third chair at the table and began digging into a full plate of food. Albus tried to take a shrimp and Aberforth slapped his hand.

“I do my best.” Hermione said simply as she tried not to huff. For a peasant.

“So what do you do now?” Madame Poole asked her.

“Pray and wait.” Hermione said. “Reason tells me that since the Dumbledore in my time knows where I am I have to wait until he can figure out how to retrieve me.”

“Unless you cannot get back and you end up spending the natural course of your life here.” Madame Poole said. She smiled and nodded politely at a well dressed couple strolled by. “Then what of the real Hannah Dumbledore?”

Hermione and Albus both looked at Aberforth.

“It was the best story I could come up with at such short notice.” Aberforth said, visibly annoyed. “I am not used to creating falsehoods. I am not good at it.”

“Neither am I, I’m afraid,” Albus admitted with a blush to his cheeks.

“Do not apologize.” Madame Poole waved off their excuses. “It is not something one should want to excel at.”

Albus took an orange from the bowl on the table and started unpeeling it.

“Please go get some real food, Mr. Dumbledore,” Madame Poole said. “That was quite an exciting game you played. You must be famished.”

Albus quickly excused himself and hurried over to a table full of food.

“I would like to keep in contact with you.” Madame Poole said to Hermione earnestly. She turned to Aberforth. “I will be contacting your father as well. Perhaps we can be of assistance in his search for a solution.”

“Of course,” Hermione said quickly.

“We are pleased to think you would be interested in any project we have undertaken.” Aberforth inclined his head towards Madame Poole.

“I do not see any other choice.” Madame Poole shook her head. Her dark hair bobbed charmingly. “If the fabric of reality had been damaged in any way it becomes our business quickly. Your father should have thought to contact us.”

“Apologies, Madam,” Aberforth said. “Obviously we were not aware of the seriousness of the situation. With your counsel we can proceed with more forethought.”

“I don’t suppose the man you know as Dumbledore in your time ever hinted at anything like this ever happening to someone? There are no protocols for time travelers?” Madame Poole asked Hermione.

“No, Madame.” Hermione said. “We are usually limited to travel of only a few hours. As far as I know, this is unprecedented.”

“Perhaps it is time for us to draw up something for the Ministry before it is needed.” Madame Poole said speculatively. “It would not be the first time.”

“You have dealt with time travelers before?” Aberforth asked curiously.

“No, we have spoken to demons that have told us of prophecies and promises.” Madame Poole said simply. Aberforth went pale.

Hermione looked at the woman before her. She was the last of her kind, an art and a science would cease to be when her and her husband went. Hermione wanted to capture the memory of her forever.

“You are not afraid of me.” Madame Poole said to Hermione.

“You aren’t pointing a wand at me anymore! As for your career: probably only because of naiveté.” Hermione said. “Summoners practice an ancient science that combined religion, magic, and superstition.” She sounded as if she were quoting a textbook.

“Superstition?!” Madame Poole spluttered.

“But it is known you don’t go after people indiscriminately. Only certain people for certain reasons. What purpose would I serve for you?” Hermione asked as she reached for a bunch of cherries in the bowl.

“One can never have too many Inferi.” Madame Poole chided. Hermione choked. “What else has been reported incorrectly in your time? Bili keeps impeccable records! We are required to with all of the prisoners!”

“I have no idea.” Hermione was bewildered. Why didn’t they have more information? Inferi? Prisoners!? “Perhaps that information is now classified.”

“Perhaps.” Madame Poole thought for a moment. “There is a dark wizard in the future. I can see why they would hide the information away.”

Albus hurried over to the table with a tower of food on a very small plate. Madame Poole jumped up.

“I could not take your seat,” Albus protested as he kicked Aberforth in the shin to get him to relinquish his seat.

“It has been quite informative, talking to you all,” Madame Poole said with a small smile. “But I must get back to my husband and son. They are sure to be wondering where I have been off to. I will be in contact with you.”

“Thank you, Madame.” Albus gave a small bow and a grape plunged from his over stuffed plate and fell to the floor.

“Well, that could have gone worse.” Aberforth let a breath out as Madame Poole floated out into the crowd to search for her family.

“Indeed.” Albus said as he settled into the seat near Hermione and tore into a ham sandwich. He looked at Hermione. “And perhaps the Pooles have insight to what sent you here. Then we can work on getting you back home.”

“So, how was your first day so far?” Aberforth smirked as he snatched a ham sandwich from his brother’s plate.

“Exhausting.” Hermione admitted. “Disorienting. Strange. Your uncle sent me bloomers.”

“What?!” Aberforth exploded. Albus choked.

“And a bicycle transfiguration kit.” Hermione added, flustered.

“Brilliant!” Aberforth laughed. “I want a turn!”

“You can barely stay on a broom!” Albus coughed, tears filling his eyes. “He really sent you bloomers?”

“Yes, and I daresay it will be a scandal by the end of the week.” Hermione huffed.

“What color?” Aberforth asked curiously.

Albus smacked him in the shoulder.

“Blue.” Hermione said. “They’re actually fairly fetching, but the other girls acted like he sent me a can-can outfit.”

“Did you empty the whole trunk?” Aberforth asked. Albus smacked him again. “What? Uncle has a peculiar sense of humor. There could be one in there.”

Albus muttered something about propriety, but seemed defeated as Hermione giggled.

Christina and Amanda bustled up to their table.

“Was that Madame Poole over here?” Christina’s eyes were wide. “She was talking to you?”

“She was once engaged to our great-grandfather.” Albus said with a wave of a cocktail shrimp. “She asked us to give our regard to our fathers for her.”

“Of course she was just Miss Penelope Clocker back then.” Aberforth added as he gestured to the bowl of fruit to the two girls.

“Of course.” Christina smiled uncomfortably.

“Say, Christina, is your dance card full?” Aberforth asked. “I should get in a turn or I’ll never hear the end of it from mother.”

“I am afraid it is,” Christina apologized. “Mr. Long should be seeking me out soon.”

“He is quite handsome.” Amanda remarked with a blush to her cheeks.

“I daresay he would like to ask you for a dance, Hannah, but I think he may have been discouraged by what happened earlier.” Christina teased Hermione.

“Good. I don’t know how to dance.” Hermione said firmly. “Please let him know so he does not ask me and I am not embarrassed.”

“I will make sure to do so!” Christina exclaimed. “You don’t know how to dance? How does that happen?” Amanda pinched Christina hard. “Ow!”

“We will make sure that is remedied quickly.” Amanda reassured Hermione. “Then you will be able to dance with your cousins, at least.”

Across the dance floor Hermione spotted Madame Poole standing next to a bald, stern looking old man with a long white braided beard and black fuzzy eyebrows. He was wearing ancient grey dress robes trimmed in layers of wide white lace and a frown.

His eyes snapped to Hermione and she felt faint. She felt her mind being violated once again.

This time she got a vivid picture of Ron during one of his rare visits to her parents’ house. They had gone to work for the day and Hermione and Ron sat on the worn, comfortable purple loveseat in her sitting room watching a movie. Ron was laughing at theatrical magic and the strange costuming.

He smiled at her.

Then they were kissing. Hermione was peeling off his shirt and reveling in the musky smell of teenage boy. She pushed him to a reclining position and dove for his neck, biting gently as her fingers slipped down his chest.

Hermione suddenly snapped back to herself as Master Poole cut off access to her memories. She paled in realization of what she had just unwittingly shown him, but he just raised an eyebrow at her and gave his wife a curt nod.

Hermione felt her anger begin to rise after she had regained herself. What kind of people went around parties poking about in other people’s heads, anyway? When did the laws about that take effect?

“Good evening, Hannah,” a voice said from behind her. She jumped and turned quickly to see Michael Long.

“Oh!” Hermione started. “Good evening.”

“I’m sorry to have frightened you,” Michael apologized as the others chuckled at her. “I can see how you are still on edge. That was a most exciting game!”

“It was a most exciting game!” Amanda echoed Michael. “We may even have a chance to win this year!”

“Over Slytherin?” Michael smirked. “Hardly likely, though I do appreciate the win, Albus. I won a galleon from that damnable Timothy Owens.”

“You as well?” Christina paled. “How much money did he lose tonight?”

“He deserves it.” Aberforth snorted as he swiped a bit more food off Albus’ plate. “He makes a fortune off all the betting pools he has going.”

“He sends that money to his family, Aberforth.” Amanda said, looking slightly disappointed in him.

“Then he shouldn’t be gambling it away like that,” Aberforth snapped.

“Either way, he isn’t going to be happy about this.” Michael looked decidedly uncomfortable.

“I’ll get in a fight with Miss Black tomorrow at breakfast.” Aberforth said cheerily. “I’ll finally slap her and he will finally win the bet he’s had going since our first year and win all his money back.”

“Aberforth!” Christina laughed.

“What other choice do I have?” Aberforth asked sadly. “If things are to be put to rights it is Miss Black that will have to suffer.”

“You are not slapping Rachel because you have a halfway decent excuse.” Albus said to Aberforth with a sigh.

“Well, then there’s nothing we can do.” Aberforth said resignedly.

“Except stay on our toes and hope Mr. Owens does not blame his misfortune on us.” Christina said nervously.

“What on earth could he do?” Hermione reasoned. “He shouldn’t be gambling money he can’t afford to lose. That is common sense.”

“Accidents seem to happen around people that cross Mr. Owens,” Michael said darkly.

“I see.” Hermione squeaked. “Well, no one crossed him. It was just a regular bet, wasn’t it?”

“That is one way of looking at it.” Amanda said coughing politely.

“One can only hope that is the way he sees it.” Albus said wistfully as he poked at the remnants of food on his plate.

“Well, you two just watch yourselves over the next week.” Aberforth warned.

“We shall take care, especially on the dance floor tonight,” Michael assured him. “Miss?” He offered his arm to Christina.

“Why thank you, sir” Christina smiled prettily at him as she laid one white gloved hand on his arm and allowed him to lead her off.

A third year Ravenclaw came and asked Amanda to dance. She smiled in amusement at him as she allowed him to lead her out onto the floor.

“We had better get you back to the common room before anyone asks you to dance.” Aberforth muttered.

“I think we can solve that problem,” Albus wiped his mouth on a cloth napkin with the Gryffindor crest on it. “You will dance with me once, now, and then will retire with Aberforth.”

“Did you miss the part where she cannot dance?” Aberforth asked, an annoyed tone to his voice.

“I believe if we use a small levitation spell and pick wisely there will not be a problem.” Albus said as he rose to his feet. “This one will do.” He looked around as if he were analyzing the music.

Hermione stood up and felt her feet leave the ground as she took Albus’ arm. He led her to the floor and smiled at her. “Hold on.”

“What?” Hermione asked as he grabbed her.

Albus held Hermione tightly around the waist and whisked her around the dance floor in complicated whirls that changed direction often. She held onto him tightly and tried to look as if she were smiling and not grimacing in fear.

Hermione caught Christina’s eye as she whirled by with Michael. Christina looked down and gave Hermione a slightly alarmed look as Albus gave Hermione a rather enthusiastic twirl that almost caused her to knock into a pair of dancing Ravenclaws.

Thankfully, they managed to finish the dance without any injury and Albus scuttled Hermione off to Aberforth, who had positioned himself near a side door.

“I will be up after a few more dances.” Albus looked weary. “Father wants me to try to get close to the Hardings and the Burns and they both have daughters.”

Aberforth pulled a tarnished brass pocket watch out of his robes and clicked it open. “It is almost eleven. Will we be seeing you before midnight?”

“You will see me within a half hour if I manage it.” Albus said as he pulled a lace handkerchief out of his sleeve and he patted the sweat from his brow. “I would like to get in a decent nights sleep before facing Transfigurations tomorrow.”

“We will start a kettle,” Aberforth assured his brother. “And get a basin going.”

“Thank you.” Albus smiled and bowed shortly to them before turning and trying to seek out the girls he was supposed to dance with.

“What’s the basin for?” Hermione asked Aberforth as they made their way back to the tower.

“His shoes don’t fit right and he’s been putting off going out and getting a new pair.” Aberforth chuckled as they rounded a corner. “He’ll be lucky if he can walk tomorrow.”

“Foolish.” Hermione shook her head. Their feet echoed on the bare stone of the corridor. Small torches helped illuminate the castle at night. “He should know better.”

“For someone who is so smart he does not have much common sense.” Aberforth admitted as they climbed the moving staircases.

Hermione was thankful for wearing the ‘old-fashioned’ dress. She couldn’t imagine trying to do this in a bell shaped skirt. “Some people have to learn things the hard way. He’s lucky he has you to look after him.”

Aberforth blushed and looked sideways at Hermione. “I suppose so.”

A breeze passed over them and Aberforth froze.

“What was that?” Hermione whispered. On the edge of her hearing there seemed to be whispering in the dark.

“With any luck, Peeves.” Aberforth whispered back. He had taken her hand in his and had drawn his wand.

There was only silence and the air was still.

“I think we’d better go quickly.” Hermione suggested as she drew her wand out of her cloak.

“I think you are correct.” Aberforth muttered as they scurried to Gryffindor tower.

Aberforth tinkled out the melody to open the portrait and they climbed into their common room. Hermione wasn’t surprised to see it was empty. Since the match and the party were going on curfew had been extended until half past midnight for all the students.

Aberforth hurried over to a corner and picked up a worn tea kettle. He approached an engraving of a rampaging lion and pushed its paw. Water streamed out of its mouth and Aberforth caught it with the kettle.

“Has that always been there?” Hermione asked, surprised.

“As far as I know,” Aberforth chuckled.

“Huh.” Hermione thought she’d have to look for it if she ever managed to get back. There was no drain in the floor. Perhaps an accident had caused it to be disconnected.

She watched as Aberforth put the kettle on a heavy iron hook in the fireplace and stoked the flames with a few puffs of air from his wand.

“What would your normal evening be like?” Aberforth asked Hermione as he pulled a tin basin out from behind an overstuffed burgundy chair sitting by the fire.

Hermione found herself too tired to care about propriety. “I would normally be studying. Ron would be playing Wizard’s Chess with Ginny, Harry, or Seamus. I have a cat.” Hermione said, her voice catching in her throat. “His name is Crookshanks. He would be lying on my lap. I hope Ginny is seeing to him.”

Hermione felt embarrassed as she felt a tear run down one of her cheeks. She swiped at it in annoyance.

Aberforth hurried to her and took one of her hands. “I am sorry. I could not imagine what it is like for you.”

“It’s just frustrating.” Hermione said as she patted his hand in reassurance.

“Just know, that even if we cannot get you back, we are responsible for this and we will make sure you are taken care of.” Aberforth said as he brought one of her hands to his mouth and kissed it firmly.

Hermione found that this did make her feel a bit better. “Thank you.”

Of course someone was looking after Crookshanks. Even if everyone else was clueless, he would bother Harry once and Harry would take him in out of pity. He really was quite a sweet kitty once you got to know him. Even Sirius enjoyed his company.

“And our lives here are not so bad.” Aberforth stretched out on the couch. Hermione still felt his kiss burning on the back of her hand. Cousins kissing the hand of other cousins was totally acceptable here, wasn’t it? “I think you find our classes challenging, and since the Ministry has started hiring more and more women you need not be dependent on us if you do not want to be. Of course, we will always welcome you.”

“You are very kind.” Hermione smiled at him.

He opened his mouth as if to say something when the portal behind them burst open and the sound of someone wailing filled the room.

Hermione and Aberforth jumped up to see Amanda guiding Christina into the room. Christina had a large chunk of hair missing from the right side of her head and her face and dress were splashed with what looked like thick dark ink.

“Good heavens, what happened?” Aberforth ran to the girls and tried to figure out where to start with Christina.

“We were coming back to the tower when someone jumped out at us!” Amanda said. She was as white as a sheet. “They threw something on Christina and then grabbed some of her hair and cursed it off! It was horrifying!”

“Did you jinx them?” Hermione asked quickly. “Are they still out there?”

“They were away before I was able to get my wand out.” Amanda said guiltily. “It was like they disappeared.”

“Looks like someone’s found a secret passage.” Aberforth said darkly. “Damn burrowers.”

“You don’t know it was the Hufflepuffs.” Hermione said as she looked at Christina who was sobbing her eyes out.

“Who else could it be?” Amanda asked as she tried to wipe some of the ink off Christina’s dress with a delicate white lace handkerchief. She frowned as it smeared around. “Oh! This is awfully sticky!”

“You are not walking down to the dungeons to bathe,” Aberforth said flatly. “We will draw you a bath up here.”

“We already have a kettle on,” Hermione said quickly. “Amanda, are there any towels or washcloths or anything around?”

“We do have some washcloths.” Amanda said. Christina’s sobs had subsided to hiccups.

“Don’t bother with the dress.” Hermione said flatly. She shook her head sadly. “There’s no hope for it. We need to worry about the ink soaking into her skin. Her hair is going to look strange enough tomorrow without her being purple.”

Christina started sobbing again.

“Oh, now,” Aberforth took both her hands in his, not minding that he was getting smeared with black ink. “Do not fret. You won enough money to have the dress fixed and we will fix your person. Francis is going to go absolutely mad.”

“Where is Francis?” Hermione frowned at Amanda. “Why wasn’t he escorting you back?”

“He was congradulating the McGonagalls on the birth of their daughter,” Amanda said. “They are distant cousins and they have not seen each other in quite a while. They were catching up on some family things.”

“He was foolish to let you come back alone,” Aberforth snapped. “It could have been worse. I shall have a talk with him about this.”

By the stern look on his face, Hermione had a feeling she’d better be around for the confrontation. It would be a pity if Francis was so disoriented by a punch in the nose he didn’t understand what was being yelled at him.

The kettle on the fire began to whistle. Aberforth hurried over to get it and Hermione took Christina’s hands.

“Don’t worry. We’ll put more water on and we’ll transfigure the basin big enough for you to bathe in.”

“Thank you.” Christina said in a croaky voice.

“Take her to our room. I’ll finish the basin and bring it up when it’s full.” Hermione told Amanda. “Try to get her dress off without staining everything.”

Amanda helped Christina up the stairs to the girls’ dorm and Hermione went over to Aberforth.

He had transfigured the basin into a tub large enough to bathe in and had poured the small bit of water into it. Then he had made the kettle bigger so he could fill the tub with heated water quicker. Hermione pointed her wand at the kettle as it floated through the air and heated it with magic. Aberforth waved his wand and the steaming water poured out into the tub.

They were on their third pot of water when there was a crack near them and Tibby the House Elf appeared.

“Someone summoned me, Sir and Miss?” Tibby curtseyed.

“Amanda must have done it,” Aberforth said as the pot poured out into the tub.

“Miss Weasley was the victim of an attack and seems to be covered in ink.” Hermione explained to the elf. Tibby’s jaw dropped in shock.

“Her hair was also shorn,” Aberforth added as the kettle refilled under the small spout.

“We need some soap at the very least.” Hermione said to the little elf. “Any potions you can think of that would help will also be appreciated.”

“Tibby will be right back!” Tibby had a determined look on her face as she snapped her fingers and disappeared.

Hermione and Aberforth filled the tub together and Hermione had just levitated it to carry upstairs when Francis and Albus came through the portrait hole, laughing over some shared joke. Albus was carrying his shoes in his hands.

“You picked a marvelous night to let Christina walk back to the tower alone.” Aberforth snapped at Francis.

“He didn’t know about the wager.” Hermione sharply said. “You can’t blame him for this.”

“What happened?” Francis went pale. “Where is Christina?”

He went to run up the stairs to the girls dorms and bellowed in frustration as they tipped and he slid back down to the common room.

“Someone threw ink on her.” Hermione said as she waited for the steps to reset themselves.

“And cut her hair.” Aberforth winced.

“Has her person been harmed?” Francis asked, his voice just above a whisper. “Besides her hair?”

“Besides possibly being purple later, she is just scared.” Hermione assured him. The steps started shifting back to their normal position with the grind of stone on stone.

“Who did this?” Albus asked, his face dark.

“It was dark and they ran.” Hermione shot Aberforth a look before he could say anything.

“We have our suspicions.” Aberforth told Francis and Albus, ignoring Hermione.

“What wager is this?” Francis asked Aberforth sharply.

Hermione excused herself before the water cooled too much and made her way to the dorms.

Christina was sitting on the edge of her bed wearing a heavy linen dressing gown. She had purple streaks on her face and hands. A splash above her eyes had dyed a lock of her pretty red hair a dark, shiny black.

“Francis has gotten back to the tower.” Hermione said to her as the tub of water settled on a well worn burgundy throw rug on the floor. Christina rose and took her dressing gown off.

Hermione’s eyes took in the deep red welts streaking her form. Places where the wire of her underthings had bound and contorted her figure.

Hermione frowned. Proper fitting corseting shouldn’t do this. Her things were purpously being bound too tightly and kept on for too long.

Christina sank into the water and started trying to scrub the ink from her body with a washcloth.

“Just soak for a moment.” Hermione said as she stopped her. Amanda was bustling about, hanging a bit of curtain rope between two beds and hanging a sheet over it so Christina could have a bit of privacy. “You can scrub in a moment. Tibby will be back with soaps and things.”

“I am afraid even if it comes off my skin, it will not come out of my hair.” Christina reached up to pull down the lock of black over her eyes and her other hand went to the shorter hair on the right side of her head. “My hair…”

“Do not fret over it,” Amanda assured her. “We can see what we can do with it when we have calmed down.”

The door to the room flew open with a bang and everyone jumped as Winifred, Matilda, and Charity burst into the room calling out to Christina.

“Over here!” Amanda called from behind the hung sheet.

Winifred whipped back the curtain and Hermione wondered why the sheet was nessisary if everyone was just going to burst in.

Winifred’s face contorted with rage, a face Hermione was familiar with on Professor Snape of her time. “Who did this?”

Tibby trotted in after the girls and proceeded to dump a thick blue liquid in the tub. She waved her long brown fingers and bubbles rose out of the tub and a sweet smell filled the bathing area.

“We did not see.” Amanda admitted.

“Did they steal your galleon?” Matilda asked.

“No.” Christina smiled. “One good thing at least.”

“You can afford to get your hair fixed.” Charity said, trying to sound optimistic. “And I have many head coverings you can borrow, if you wish.”

“The school will contact your parents.” Winifred looked at Christina with wide eyes. “What will you do?”

“Write your father.” Hermione said quickly. “Now. Someone get her a quill while she soaks.” Matilda went to her bed and started rummaging around in the trunk that lay at the foot of it. “Fathers tend to be much more understanding than mothers when it comes to Quidditch wagers as a matter of honor. He can intercept the school owl for you. You are sure to be punished, but you have been through enough.”

“Upon my honor,” Christina vowed as she raised a hand. “I shall never gamble again.”

Christina dictated a letter to Matilda as Tibby started scrubbing. Hermione slipped away as the other girls fussed over Christina.

She heard voices as she slipped down the stone steps to the common room. It had begun to fill up with younger Gryffindors who were considering themselves lucky they made it back to the tower unharmed.

“They’ve gone too far this time, Albus!” Francis rumbled. He was still wearing his Quidditch uniform and he looked like he was in fashionable padded leather armor as he paced the common room. His cape swooshed as he turned.

“You still do not know if it was a Hufflepuff. Christina is a lovely girl. Some could be jealous or harbor petty feelings towards her.” Albus put his hand on Francis’ shoulder. “Professor Watson will be back tomorrow and Alfred and Thomas are running back to the party to find the Headmaster. Since we got here unscathed we can only assume whomever they are, they went back to their common room.”

“There were quite of lot of people in the castle tonight from the village.” Hermione interjected as she stepped into the room. “We don’t know it was even a student.”

“That is a very good point.” Patrick said darkly. “My mother has often remarked about the lax security at Hogwarts during Quidditch gatherings.”

“Your mother runs a prison sanitarium.” Charlotte rolled her eyes from her seat near the fire. The kettle was back on and Hermione saw the tea set had been pulled out and was sitting on a brass wheeled cart near the fire. “I can’t imagine what she considers adequate security.”

Patrick smiled darkly. “You should see the new cross breed she’s working on now. Quite extraordinary.”

Charlotte shuttered and poked at the fire with her wand.

“What do you think, Hannah?” Aberforth asked. “You’ve been up there with her. Has she remembered anything?”

“She’s badly shaken.” Hermione shook her head. “More worried about her hair than anything.”

“Short hair’s getting to be a popular think among Gryffindor women,” James said with a smirk. “She’s just more up on fashion than the other girls.”

“Be sure to tell her that tomorrow.” Hermione told him. “It may make her feel better.”

“What is she supposed to do with her hair the way it is?” Francis fussed. “We are supposed to be married in June.”

“I think she should cut it and dye it black,” Hermione flatly said. Francis’ eyes widened in shock. “Oh, come off it! It’s been hacked to hell and there’s a black streak that isn’t coming out. Best thing to do is pretend she’s taking the Greek fashion revival seriously and piss off whomever did this.”

The men stared open mouthed at her, except for Aberforth and James, who beamed as if Christmas had come early.

“Do all French women speak so plainly?” James asked, his eyes sparkling.

“Only when it’s nearing midnight on a night improperly wasted on frivolity and trauma when it could have otherwise been spent studying.” Hermione said testily.

“Accio broom!” Francis said suddenly and his broom whisked across the common room, causing a third year to squeak in terror and jump out of the way. Francis hopped on his broom and slowly rode above the steps to the girls dormitories.

Shortly after he had floated up and out of sight the screaming started.

“I will see her!” Hermione heard Francis bellow.

“Hasn’t the poor girl been traumatized enough without being burst in on in the bath by a madman?” Charlotte snickered.

The portal opened and Victoria Moss stepped into the common room. Her arms were full of books and her eyes shot around the room, settling on the staircase where the shrieks were coming from.

“What on earth is going on?” She demanded.

“Someone attacked Christina, cut her hair, and doused her with ink.” James ticked off items on his fingers. Victoria looked appalled. “Francis just flew up the staircase on his broom to attend to her.” If it were possible, Victoria looked even more appalled. “And I think he’s about to die.”

Just then, Francis tumbled and bounced down the staircase, which hadn’t made it to slide form quite yet, and landed at the foot of the stairs. His broom bounced down after him and smacked him in the head before clattering to the floor beside him. He scowled over his shoulder as a heavy wooden door slammed shut somewhere up the staircase. Muffled laughter came after that.

“Of all the nerve!” Victoria fumed as she stepped around Francis, ‘accidentally’ kicking him as she passed.

“What did you expect?” James asked with a twinkle in his eye. “Her to greet you with open arms wearing a babble bath and a smile? Don’t you think the poor girl’s been through enough?”

Francis blushed deeply as the other Gryffindors laughed at him. “Of course not.” He picked himself up from the floor and brushed himself off. “I just wanted to rush to her side in her time of need.”

“Of course you did.” Albus quirked a smile at him. “When given some time to think it over I’m sure she will think of you as quite thoughtful and not brutish at all.” He turned and walked up the stairs to the boy’s dorms.

“Come on Francis,” Charlotte called out from near the fire. “Have a cup of tea. I’ll take one up to Christina and convince her to come down to see you.”

Francis nodded reluctantly and sat down near the fire. Charlotte pushed a heavy white cup and saucer into his hands.

There was a heavy knock before the portrait portal swung open and Madame Church climbed into the room.

“The Headmaster sent me to investigate the incident that happened tonight.” She looked around at the concerned faces in the common room. “Where is Miss Weasley now?”

“We drew her a bath and put it up in our room.” Hermione said. “Tibby the house elf is assisting us in trying to remove the stain from her skin.”

Madame Church shook her head and looked at the teacup in Charlotte’s hand.

“I was just taking her a bit of tea,” Charlotte said quickly. “You should come with me.”

“Thank you, Charlotte,” Madame Church said warmly. “I brought a potion with me that might calm her down.” She turned to the Gryffindors milling around the common room. “She is lucky to have so many friends that care about her.”

Madame Church and Charlotte disappeared up the staircase to the girls’ dorms and there was a wave of murmurs through the common room.

“He didn’t even bother to come?” Francis seemed stunned. “Why isn’t the Headmaster here?”

“Perhaps he is in the dungeons catching the perpetrators as we speak!” Alfred suggested excitedly. “Surely the person who did this is being tracked through the castle.”

“That must be it.” Aberforth reassured Francis. “He is probably organizing a search right now.”

Francis looked up at Aberforth for a moment before nodding and taking a sip of his tea.

Albus came back down the stairs with a brown pouch in his hands. He looked up the stairs to the girls’ dorms before making his way to the fireplace. He opened the top of the pouch a little and a small glass spout poked out.

Give me your cup.” Albus motioned to Francis and took the cup of tea from him. He poured a bit of amber liquid into the cup and handed it back to him. “Now, don’t you go thinking I have a lot of that. It is what was left over from the World Cup celebration last summer.”

Francis chuckled appreciatively and drank from his cup. He grimaced. “I think this may be more suited for Christina than with me. This is strong enough to make one forget all their woes.”

“Hannah will go up and convince her to come down soon.” Albus said to Francis soothingly. “Then you can comfort her.”

“Until then,” John Sterling said darkly, “what to do about the Hufflepuffs.”

Chapter 8

Christina Weasley took a deep breath and looked at Hermione.

“Ready to go?” Hermione asked Christina.

They were the last to leave Gryffindor tower, having to fix the last details on their clothing for the day.

Christina nodded and then looked straight ahead, chin pointed up. The door to the Great Hall opened and the girls strode in together.

Hermione and Christina wore cream colored, empire waisted dresses fashioned from fine linen. A Greek pattern edged the neckline and cuffed arms. Christina had shortened her long locks substantially and had dyed her hair raven black.

Heads turned as the girls made their way to the Gryffindor table for their breakfast.

Hermione hazarded a quick glance at the Hufflepuff table. Timothy Owens’ turned around when Hermione saw another student point to them. His face went from a growl to unveiled approval almost instantly when he caught sight of them. He caught Hermione looking at him and he winked at her.

Hermione nearly growled in frustration. If he had anything to do with the attack she’d be surprised.

“Indecent!” Hermione heard a blond Ravenclaw girl whisper to a year mate.

Christina’s footfalls were almost stomps now, but she kept her eyes on Francis and made it to the table without making a scene.

“I think black is quite fetching.” Francis reached up to brush a curl away from Christina’s forehead. “Perhaps I should go dark as well.”

“I think Hogwarts would be a better place if all the girls started wearing those.” James Williams looked positively giddy.

“I doubt they’d get any more work out of you lot if we did.” Hermione snorted.

“So what?” James chuckled.

“I think you ladies both look charming.” Aberforth beamed. “And Francis is right. Christina looks fetching with dark hair. With dark hair she looks prettily flushed and with red she looked…” Aberforth’s voice trailed off when he realized he was better off staying silent.

“Pink.” Christina finished.

“Healthy?” Francis offered.

“A most valiant attempt, Mr. Bulstrode.” Christina teased him as she reached for a small triangle of toast. “But you are not fooling anyone.”

“As I have said many times before.” Francis said grandly as he waved his goblet of pumpkin juice around. “You would look lovely covered in mud with twigs in your hair.”

A steady ringing sound suddenly came from the staff table and the students fell silent and turned their attention to the Headmaster.

“Last night, there was a most vicious, petty, attack on one of our female students.” Headmaster Nigellus spat out the statement as if the words were bitter. “The culprit has been apprehended and expelled. 100 points from Ravenclaw!”

“What?” Aberforth spluttered. “Ravenclaw? Are they joking?”

The name spread like wildfire through the Great Hall as the student’s realized who was missing.

Quinn.

“Quinn?” Albus frowned. “Why Quinn? I heard he had quarreled with you and Aberforth, but that was no reason to go after Miss Weasley.”

“Not Miss Weasley.” A young, dark haired Slytherin boy leaned over to their table. “He broke Allison Bruce’s hand last night.”

“What?” Albus’ face suddenly went dark. “Why?”

“For letting the Snitch slip last night. He lost quite a bit.” The Slytherin boy offered.

“Good grief.” Hermione exclaimed. “The whole bloody world doesn’t revolve around Quidditch, you know.”

“There will always be those who are so fanatical they only see themselves and their desires.” Albus looked disgusted. “Is she alright?”

“Her mother’s come to take her home.” The Slytherin shrugged. “If it was your daughter, wouldn’t you?”

Albus wiped his mouth quickly and threw down his napkin. “I have something to attend to. I beg your leave and will meet you in Transfiguration.”

He quickly got up from his seat and stalked from the Hall.

“What’s got him all in a bother?” Hermione asked Aberforth.

“Miss Bruce should not be going home.” Aberforth explained. “Madame Collins probably fixed it in an instant. Quinn is gone, so he can’t bother her again. There is no reason for her to be punished.”

“Do you think that’s why Christina was attacked?” Francis looked alarmed. “They could not get me alone so they went for her?”

“Outrageous!” Patrick Poole snarled. Hermione could swear she saw something flicker in his dark eyes.

“Unsportsmanlike!” James Williams added.

“There was nothing vaguely clean about last nights game.” Matilda Potter said plainly.

“All right, fine.” James grumbled. “But it’s still underhanded to go after Christina because someone’s got their bloomers in a bunch about Francis.”

“Has anyone seen Charlotte this morning?” Hermione suddenly asked.

The Gryffindors all looked at each other.

John Sterling and Thomas Hewson jumped up from the table. “We’ll take the library!”

Winifred Moss and Amanda Roberts got up as quickly as their clothing would allow. “We’ll check the girls’ bath.”

“We’ve got the infirmary!” Alfred Barker and Patrick Poole quickly gathered their things and went off to search for Charlotte. Patrick moved so fast he was a blur, leaving Alfred no choice but to clatter along behind him.

Hermione felt herself gasp. Patrick had inherited something otherworldly from his parents, although Hermione wasn’t sure what on earth it was.

“Albus!” Aberforth suddenly remembered.

“I’ll go with you to look for Albus.” Francis rose from the table. “The rest of you, stick together until Transfiguration.” He removed a small brass pocket watch from the inside of his robes and opened it. “You have ten minutes of time left at the table. Then a quick trip to the water closet and then we regroup in front of Transfigurations five minutes before class.”

Christina looked amused at his thoroughness. “And what makes you think there was more than one perpetrator?”

“Because when Aberforth and I came back to the common room we heard whispers.” Realization suddenly dawned on Hermione. “No one sits in the dark muttering to themselves.”

“That is not true.” Charity Andersen said, setting down a cup of tea.

“Well, it is certainly not in line with Mr. Quinn’s character.” Christina pointed out.

“That much is true.” Charity pursed her lips in thought. “What about Perpetua Reynolds? She is engaged to Mr. Quinn, is she not?”

“She is.”

Christina looked thoughtful and Hermione snuck a look at the Ravenclaw table. The girl Hermione had seen Quinn talking to the night before pulled a sour, pinched face at her. She was a skinny girl with tight brown curls and large, watery blue eyes.

“I would say that is an intelligent assumption.” Hermione muttered.

“You never know.” Charity sipped daintily from her tea cup. “Weren’t Mr. Bulstrode’s parents also considering Miss Sutter of Ravenclaw and Kensington for their choice of wife?”

“They were.” Christina frowned. “But Miss Sutter is engaged to Mr. Bloom of Slytherin and Bristol.”

“Not any longer.” Victoria Moss said stiffly. Hermione jumped. It was the first thing the girl had said since their grand entrance. Hermione had just assumed Christina’s hair had offended her so badly she had decided to shun the pair. “Mr. Bloom’s father broke off the arrangement Thursday last.”

“What?” Christina blustered. The remaining students at the table started buzzing excitedly. “Why?”

“Miss Sutter’s father has a problem controlling himself at the card tables,” Victoria sniffed haughtily. “Evil pastime.”

“The engagement’s broken just because of cards?” Matilda asked with wide eyes.

“More than that.” Victoria’s eyes sparkled with a vicious glee. “He’s ruined. They’re penniless. They have until the end of the month to move out of the manor before the Ministry seizes it.”

“That’s horrible!” Hermione exclaimed.

“It’s his own fault, acting like a fool!” Victoria snapped. “You reap what you sow!”

“Well, Maddie didn’t sow a damned thing!” Christina exclaimed. “That’s unfair!”

“Most things in our lives are unfair.” A familiar voice drifted over to them.

“What do you think, Miss Black?” Christina inquired.

“I think Miss Sutter is lucky to have found out her future husbands loyalty depended solely on her father’s money.” Rachel said disgustedly.

“You have a point there.” Hermione remarked before anyone else could say anything.

“You’re lucky Francis’ father let him make the choice and he chose you out of respect and affection.” Matilda assured Christina.

“It certainly wasn’t for my father’s money.” Christina chuckled.

“Your family’s better off than mine.” Matilda shrugged. “At least your father has a job.”

“Don’t worry,” Charity assured Matilda as the girls gathered their things for the group trip to the bathrooms. “You’ll be paired off soon enough, like the rest of us.”

“Are you engaged as well?” Hermione asked politely.

The other girls fell uncomfortably silent.

“I… think so. It was not easy for my father to find a suitable mate.” Charity smiled wryly.

Hermione glanced at Christina, but saw Christina was shooting her a warning look. She’d have to ask later.

They made their way to the bathrooms and Hermione waited while the other girls used the facilities, chatting with Christina about what they should wear the rest of the week.

They were getting ready to leave when they ran into Alfred Barker, Patrick Poole, and Charlotte.

“Where were you?” Matilda demanded.

“I slept in the infirmary.” Charlotte yawned widely. “Madame Collins wanted to try to brew a potion to get the ink out of your hair. Took all night and it didn’t work, anyway.”

“Oh my goodness, Charlotte!” Christina exclaimed as her cheeks reddened. “I do feel terrible for coloring it now!”

“Do not think upon it.” Charlotte waved her off. “The color is wonderful on you. They did you a favor.”

“Thank you.” Christina smiled as Victoria threw them a look of disgust.

They all trooped through the halls and met up with the others in front of the Transfiguration classroom. Hermione noticed Francis was there, but Albus was missing.

“Where is Albus?” Christina frowned.

“Headmaster’s office trying to talk to Mrs. Bruce.” Francis shook his head. “Don’t know why he bothers.”

“Because he sees potential in people instead of House placement.” Patrick snapped before turning on his heel and stalking into the classroom.

Hermione gave a quizzical look to Christina but the other girl just rolled her eyes at Hermione.

Mistress Watson ended up being a short, plump, middle aged witch with her brown hair braided and wound around the crown of her head.

She smiled widely when she saw them. After they took their places, and Hermione had found a place behind Christina and Amanda, Mistress Watson went to Charlotte and gave her a tight hug.

“Ten points to our little winner!” Mistress Watson said cheerfully.

Hermione inwardly groaned. Stupid Quidditch. All of this could be avoided by banning the damnable sport for the duration of term.

Albus slipped in halfway through class and sat near Hermione.

She pretended to show him her notes so he could catch up, but at the bottom she had written: How did it go?

Albus quirked his head to the side, picked up a quill, and wrote: I could not promise the girl’s absolute safety. Her mother is hysterical. Her father is upset, but not a little bemused at hearing how fast his daughter was able to go on a broomstick.

Hermione bit the insides of her cheeks to keep from giggling. Did you remind him that if she went home he’d never have a chance to see it?

Albus frowned. I wish I had.

You could always send him an owl later about how her team needs her. He’s a Muggle, right? Mention rugby and football.

Albus seemed to think about this and Hermione was satisfied.

The rest of the class was mostly review, but Mistress Watson hinted at a test the next week and her students let out quiet groans of displeasure.

“Testing your skills is nessisary at this stage in your development.” Mistress Watson went on as if she hadn’t heard the groans. “Especially if we manage to get a representative from the Ministry to visit us before term ends.”

That stopped the groans and the noise of the classroom quickly turned into an excited buzzing.

“That ends our time together.” Mistress Watson said with a satisfied smirk on her face. “Do not neglect your studies over the weekend!”

The students piled into the hallway after the lesson and Francis grabbed Albus by the front of his robes. “I can’t even make a patronus yet! What am I to do?”

“Calm yourself, Francis!” Albus carefully disengaged from Francis’ grip. “We can work on your patronus and even if you’re never able to make it, it will not exclude you from the Animagus program.”

“They do say it is easier if you know what animal you have an affinity for,” Christina said hesitantly.

Hermione said nothing, knowing full well that if one couldn’t tap into their essence far enough to get a patronus, turning into an animagus was near to impossible.

Hermione herself had spoken to Professor McGonagall about the studies and preparation needed to become an animagus. They had decided it was best if Hermione completed her last year at Hogwarts before taking on that venture.

Hermione questioned the usefulness of turning into an otter, but McGonagall had pointed out that the UK was surrounded by water and there were many lakes and streams to explore.

Still, Hermione imagined an otter strolling through the streets of London and had a hard time believing no one would notice.

They discussed different tactics of teaching Francis to make a patronus and Hermione debated whether helping would be changing the course of history or not. They walked through the castle and seemed to be heading towards the same area Household Management was held in.

Hermione thought perhaps they would be going out to the barn. It wasn’t a far fetched idea to keep animals in a barn.

To her surprise, they headed down a well worn path into the Forbidden Forest.

“We’re allowed in the forest?” Hermione asked, her eyes darting around.

“How else are we to study animals if not in the forest?” Christina laughed.

“What about the Centaurs?” Hermione asked. Surely they would have something to say about this.

“The last hunt culled the herd quite a bit.” Francis assured her.

Hermione bit her tongue, but felt completely appalled. No wonder the Centaurs hated and mistrusted wizards so much.

“I know how the French feel about such things,” Christina said soothingly as she patted Hermione’s arm.

Hermione had no idea about the French view of such things at all.

“I know they look a bit like humans and make sounds as if they’re speaking, but they really are just beasts, Hannah.” Francis gave her a winning smile, as if he were patronizing a small, dull child.

“Have you ever tried to speak to one or does that view just come from people that have something to gain from the hunts?” Hermione snapped back.

Instead of the appalled look she expected for being so forward she was met with thoughtful silence.

“I have never hunted myself,” Francis admitted, as if that absolved him from his thoughtless comments.

“He usually only hunts pheasant,” Christina said quickly.

“Have you ever spoken to a Centaur?” Thomas Hewson asked excitedly.

“As a matter of fact, I have.” Hermione said hotly. “He saved me and a friend from a deviant that was chasing us through the woods.”

Winifred covered her mouth and uttered a tiny scream.

“Good heavens!” Albus exclaimed, his eyes roaming over her as if making sure all of her person was still intact.

“You didn’t know about this?” John Sterling looked amused.

“I… thought it best not to tell father.” Hermione said as if she were admitting something.

“Quite right.” Albus frowned. “He would never let you from his sight again.”

“What about the Centaur?” Alfred Barker asked curiously.

“He was very adamant about getting to further safety.” Hermione said. “They have their own form of divination, you know.”

“How long did you talk to the creature?” Winifred asked.

“Just a moment or two.” Hermione said, getting nervous. She despised making up stories.

“And yet you learned about his character and what types of talents they have?” John Sterling looked skeptical.

“He told us the stars predicted discord in the forest.” Hermione said hotly thinking of Firenze. “And that the Centaurs were out on patrols because of this. If not for their precautions one can only imagine what could have happened.”

Hermione had never had a talent for divination the way Professor Trelawny taught the students of Hogwarts, with her crystal balls and decks of cards. When her Arithmancy and Astronomy professors both recommended she take classes with Firenze she was reluctant, but finally caved.

To her surprise, the Centaurian form of divination was more like reading an astronomical code, and although complex it wasn’t impossible to understand.

“Perhaps you found a particularly intelligent Centaur,” Alfred mused.

“Or perhaps there are still things you don’t understand.” Charlotte snorted.

“What do you mean ‘you?'” Victoria Moss narrowed her eyes.

“The Centaurs are intelligent,” Charlotte snapped. “Anyone that’s bothered to pay any attention to them knows that!”

“Genesis 1:28 gives men authority over the creatures of the world!” Victoria said hotly.

“And Genesis 9:2 reminds us to watch over the creatures that serve us!” Charlotte snapped.

Winifred gave her an outraged look and flounced off ahead of the group, into the forest.

“Since when do you read the bible?” Winifred asked Charlotte. Who had her arms crossed and a satisfied look on her face.

“Since it I found how much it bothered that one.” Charlotte nodded in the direction of Victoria.

Hermione chuckled at Charlotte and Charlotte quirked a grin at her.

“Clever,” John Sterling said, giving Charlotte an appraising look.

They rounded a bend in the path and Hermione was startled to see what looked like Hagrid’s hut nestled between two large boulders with a neat stone wall sectioning off a small yard in the front of the house.

Albus reached the iron gate before the rest of them and held it open politely as the others filed into the little yard.

To Hermione’s surprise, they didn’t go into the little hut, but approached one of the boulders. There was a crude carving of a man chasing a stag cut deep into the grey stone.

“Alibi,” John Sterling said to the carving and Hermione gasped as a seam appeared in the rock and a door swung open to reveal a staircase leading down.

Hermione followed John and Alfred down the staircase and listened to the clatter of their shoes on the stone steps as they headed downward.

There was a round classroom, carved roughly out of stone and lit by torches, at the bottom of the stairs. A small, squat man with a horse shoe of silver hair running around the perimeter of his head stood writing on the chalkboard in the front of the room. There were small tables with four chairs around each of them lined up in two rows. Square wooden boxes about the size of a shoebox sat on each table.

Victoria already was sitting in a chair near the front of the classroom. Hermione noticed that no one rushed to sit near her.

She and Albus sat in chairs near the middle of the classroom and were quickly joined by Christina and Francis. Albus tapped the top of the box and the wood turned to glass. Christina shrieked and all but jumped on Francis.

“Good heavens, Miss Weasley,” Professor Jacobsen chuckled without even turning around. “You’re not even handling it yet.”

“She certainly will not!” Francis frowned as Christina swooned in his arms.

“She certainly will, Mr. Bulstrode.” Jacobsen turned and peered at Francis with eyes the dull, brown color of dirt. “They’re quite gentle and their venom is valuable.”

“Venom?” Christina squeaked. She was looking quite pale.

“I’m sure we’ll muddle through class,” Hermione assured her as Francis lowered her to a chair.

Dear Lord, was fear of spiders a genetic trait? Hermione was biting the insides of her cheeks to keep from laughing.

The class was rather simple, Hermione was happy to discover. Their jobs were to milk the spiders of their venom, a task made easier after they had watched Charlotte lift the lid of the box at her table, petrify the spider, and poke it’s fangs through the thin leather lid covering the top of the glass vial they were to collect the venom in.

“I… suppose he really is quite soft,” Christina finally admitted after the spider was milked and returned to his box. She had tentatively reached her hand out to stroke the fuzzy carapace of the spider while he was still petrified.

Francis lifted the charm before Albus closed the box and they all breathed a sigh of relief after the spider was contained.

“She really is quite a sweet thing.” Patrick said behind Hermione and she turned to see one of the huge spiders cuddling up to him and making delicate clicking sounds with it’s mandibles. He picked it delicately up and placed it back in the box. “In you go, sweetheart.”

John Sterling had a screwed up look of repressed disgust and fear, his fingers gripped the tables edge, his knuckles white. His eyes didn’t blink as he watched Patrick fasten the box shut.

“Ten points to Gryffindor for Charlotte’s clever use of the Petrification Charm.” Jacobsen said smiling. “But remember, not all animals can be handled when petrified. In the case of the Blasting Bumblebee, if the valve that controls their venom flow is not open when you petrify them they will be of no use to you. Have a good afternoon!”

Hermione and the others gathered their things and climbed the stone stairs up to the forest floor.

Amanda and Matilda scurried ahead of Hermione, Charlotte, and Christina, talking about the uses of spiders venom in preservation potions.

“I would be quite grateful if we never had to do anything like that again!” Christina shuttered.

“I have a feeling this is just the beginning,” Charlotte remarked as they filed out and the stone door slid shut. “This Professor seems to be a bit more active than the others.”

“He’s new this year?” Hermione asked.

“Oh, yes,” Christina said, an ominous tone to her voice.

“Professor Byron got eaten up by a dragon!” Alfred piped up, ruining the mysterious mood Christina was trying to set.

“You make it sound do vulgar!” Christina complained.

“Well, it’s not like it was pretty.” Thomas snorted.

“Oh…” Hermione gulped and she felt a little faint. “It’s not still… around… is it?”

She knew there was the occasional sighting of dragons during this time, but she didn’t remember any details of an incident near Hogwarts.

“Oh no!” Winifred laughed, looking over at them. “Some brawny wizards from the Ministry came and defeated the beast! It was an exciting thing to see!”

“I can imagine it was!” Hermione said truthfully.

Nothing had frightened her the way the dragons had during the Tri Wizarding Tournament. They were large and fearsome, to be sure, and highly intelligent, but what Hermione had not been prepared for was how fast they were.

They had appeared to be unbeatable by a single person alone and she had been terrified for Harry.

She knew the champions had been quite brave and creative getting past the beasts, but she knew this only from the comments and gasps from the others in the stands. Hermione had screwed her eyes shut, only forcing herself to open them once the cheering had begun signaling the successful completion of the task.

They stepped out of the forest and Albus squinted at the sky. “Lunch indoors today?”

“I think that may be for the best.” Francis admitted. He turned to Christina. “I believe I will have to take you for a stroll some other time, my dear. I fear it may rain in the near future.”

Francis was quite right in that. A fine mist started falling just as they reached the castle, and the girls scurried forward to insure their hair didn’t collapse or turn to frizz from the turn in weather.

They clattered into the castle, quickly casting drying spells on each other. As Hermione reached up and rearranged a curl on Christina’s head Aberforth and James Williams came running around a corner.

“What’s wrong?” John Sterling stiffened defensively.

“There was another attack on a female student!”