Chapter 01 Spiral
There was no greater momentum in her
life than the one when Harry fell down, struck by a beam of dooming green
light.
It was the peak, the climax, the
world crushing down in a single instant, wiping everything under its way.
Every person in the field of battle
stilled, staring at the unmoving body with disbelieving eyes. Voldemort
laughed, a hollow, victorious and malicious laugh.
Hermione ran.
She sprinted madly to the safety of
the school, inside her mind was storming. Running wildly in the corridors, she
stupefied every opponent in her path not stopping once.
When you have an urgent need, there
is a place in Hogwarts you’d seek.
Stairs, left, stairs, up, up, up she
ran, more corridors and stairs until she reached a specific part of 7th
floor, wall opposite of a tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy.
One single thought penetrated her
mind of chaos.
I
must save Harry
I
must save Harry
I
must save Harry, rang franticly
Thrice the phrase, thrice a pass
Had she been less distraught, she
might have thought to rephrase her needs. Alas, the state of her mind prevented
it from focusing on anything save for Harry, whom just fell dead on the battle
ground. For example, she did not bid for saving the wizarding world from
Voldemort’s terror, nor did she elaborate on the means, and what Harry be saved
from.
Save Harry from dying in that
instance, save Harry from generally dying by Voldemort’s hand, save him from
the unbearable Dursleys, save him from the sorrow of losing his godfather
save him from losing his parents
save him, from his cruel destiny?
This question might bring light to
some of the events about to take place.
Once inside the Room of Requirement
Hermione shut the door with speed, cutting out the eerie noises of the
corridor. It would not take long for the darkness to find a way to penetrate
the magical walls. Eyeing around her suspiciously, Hermione took note of the
fine sheet of sand filling the floor, starting just shy of her toes. Cautious, she
stepped one foot forward in slow motion, to the soft, whitish sand.
As nothing seemed to happen she moved
the other.
A cold chill ran down her spine.
Something was trying to crawl in from
outside.
Instinctively she ran further across
the sand, having a bad feeling about the darkness just beyond the room. She
didn’t have time to wish for the room to at least bloody well do something
before the sand was already pooling around her, making her sink, deeper and
deeper into sand, same sand that now also poured on top of her flowing down,
there was no floor! Sand flooded everywhere, into her eyes, itching, stinging,
in ears, irritating, mouth, so very dry and fine of build
the room, no the sand, whirled and
whirled
around, round, round
Spinning
like
inside a vortex
of
black
white
and stars
A most distorting experience. Had her
brains not been washed by the sand she would have related the sensation akin to
the one with travel by a Time Turner. Also the sand, while a shade whiter, held
a resemblance too. She could’ve made quick math.
Nevertheless she didn’t, as she was
currently sporting a major headache and a wave of sickness. After bending in
two, vomiting a small pile of stomach acid fluid, still feeling wobbly and
jelly legged, she noticed the odd foreign feel of her body. She moved clumsily.
Glancing at her limbs, her hands.. her hands had been shrunk. Not exactly as in
shrunk.. more like.. younger, smaller hands, not just in size, but with the
form, texture and proportions.
Limbs were shorter and slightly more
shapeless, thin but round – and no breasts. Hips weren’t wide and butt wasn’t
round and mature. Cheeks soft and plump, could belong to a cherub. Very silky.
Hair was a lion’s mane, so she could reach the conclusion that it still was
probably her own. So there were two options, either she was in a child’s body that
wasn’t hers, or it was her younger body, of anything between maybe eight and
eleven. She remembered her state of puberty starting at twelve.
If she was still in the Room of Requirement,
it could conjure her mirror, couldn’t it?
“I need a mirror on the wall”,
Hermione ordered and one appeared. A child Hermione looked back at her in worn,
slightly tattered clothes but sporting no bruises, her body was pristine clean.
She lifted her shirt on an impulse, finding a small birthmark in between her
left rib cage. She felt around her teeth, and a glance at the mirror unfortunately
told her that they were the same large teeth she’d had before the accident with
Malfoy. She picked her wand from her pocket and quietly reduced the size and
length of her front teeth until she was content.
Suddenly she remembered that there
should have been sand. Lots of sand. But not a grain was to be found.
There were no trembles along the
walls, no sign of Death Eaters beyond the room.
Just the quiet, and her slightly
uneven breathing.
Were all the dark troops destroyed?
What had the Room of Requirement done to her?
Hermione drew her courage, opened the
door to the corridor, wand ready.
Empty.
She did not drop down her guard.
Being acutely aware of her
surroundings, she made her way several floors down, until the second floor,
where she heard sudden talking.
It was professor McGonagall and
professor Flitwick, engrossed in a discussion of student timetables.
“Professor!” she shouted.
Her own voice sounded really
childish, high in pitch.
They both turned their heads in the
direction of the voice, surprised. And there was no sign of recognition on
their faces.
“You must be one of our first years,
dear. How on earth did you wander here alone? You should have been sorted along
with your peers minutes ago!” McGonagall chided her with a stern expression,
took her by arm and dragged her along.
“And where is you uniform? All of you
were informed to change on time at the train! Fluctunifors,”
Hermione’s outer garments were transfigured in a flash of red into a trademark
billowing black robe, with a white blouse and black skirt underneath, and her dirty, soggy socks into dashing tiny shoes.
“T-thanks. But don’t you know me
professor?” Hermione asked uncertain.
“Should I know you?” the professor
looked at Hermione, wondering about the child’s sanity.
Weren’t these her professors at all,
disguised by Polyjuice potion? Or could it be that she was eleven all over
again; had she come here to repeat her past – no not repeat – change her past
so Harry would be saved and they’d win against Voldemort with her knowledge of
the future? But how could she, if there were two Hermiones? Or had something
happened to the Hermione in here? Did she not exist anymore?
As she pondered on what to say, how
to act, they had already arrived at the Great Hall, full of merry students and
staff. McGonagall left her with Mr Flitwick and went to have a quiet talk with
headmaster Dumbledore. Dumbledore was still alive so it had to be the past.
Hermione franticly searched for a face of her own in the sea of young
Gryffindors, but found none to her fortune. No, in fact, she could not find any
familiar faces besides Harry’s. Where was Ronald Weasley? Letting her eyes
glade across the other tables as well, she noticed that all the students seemed
off somehow. It wasn’t the same as she remembered it. No, it wasn’t the same. She was startled from
her thoughts when Dumbledore coughed and addressed her.
“Dear, there is no person from the
list of this year’s applicants, whose name wasn’t called yet. Would you tell us
your name?” he said with a look that promised that there would be a talk later
in his office regarding this odd matter.
Would it be wise to give her name, if
this wasn’t her past? She decided against changing it, in front of the whole
school, which had quieted down to listen to their exchange.
“Sir, I am Hermione Granger. Eleven
years of age. I don’t know why I didn’t get an enrolment letter, as I’m able of
performing magic..”
Dumbledore laughed heartily.
“Of course, dear, of course you are
capable of magic as you have gotten here.
Wonderful, a new student! Let us get you sorted”, Dumbledore winked an
eye mischievously.
“Albus..” McGonagall whispered,
concerned.
“The sorting hat is just over there,
sit and put it on”, he advised Hermione.
Lots of whispers circled around the
otherwise silent hall.
“Hermione Granger”, announced the
current Deputy Headmaster, an unknown tall cold eyed man with a rough voice.
Definitely not her past, Hermione thought as she walked over to the chair and
pulled the hat on, feeling a light nostalgia from the strange, leathery and
heavy matter enclosing around her head.
For a long time the Sorting Hat didn’t
say anything. Hermione tried to talk to it in her mind.
-Please, I’d like to get sorted into
Gryffindor or Ravenclaw. Either’s fine, but I prefer Gryffindor.
Silence.
-You will let me go to Gryffindor,
won’t you? My friends, well at least some of them are there you see, and I’m of
a loyal and courageous nature! It’d be a terrible incident if I don’t get
sorted there.
Finally it spoke.
-A mystical thing you are,
extraordinary no doubt
Your whole existence a lie
here by spells ‘t is bound..
Holding a secret, hide and sneak,
a cunning plan, victory you seek
The path ahead has you shivering
indeed, I shall put you to
Slytherin!
-No I belong to Gryffindor!
I belong to Gryffindor!
Hermione screamed inside her head.
“Miss Granger, please remove the hat
from your head,” said the professor from before whom she with sudden clarity of
mind identified as Professor Sullivan, a Defence against Dark Arts teacher
between years 1963 and 1976, from Hogwarts,
a History.
Now that she looked around she could find names and descriptions
for the few odd professors that had at first seemed unfamiliar, and from no
other than her most favourite of books!
Casting a glance at the student
tables again, she took note of a tall Slytherin boy with a curtain of shoulder
length blonde straight hair and striking Malfoy features. Actually, a lot of
the male students sported quite long hair – it had to be fashionable at that
time – and it must be that time –
“Miss Granger, I repeat; please
remove the hat from your head and take a seat at your House Table”, said Mr
Sullivan more insistently.
A young pigtailed girl at the front
of the Hufflepuff table was wildly animating with her hands, mimicking the
motion of taking off a hat.
Hermione opened her mouth, almost
saying something, but thought better of it and quietly took off to the Table of
Slytherin, casting a miserable glance at the Gryffindors, her original House.
Why on earth the Slytherin?
She was a Muggle-born, and of honest
nature.
Already she could sense some
unfriendly stares from her new table.
Granger wasn’t a pureblood family
name and she hadn’t even received a letter – could she be a proper witch at
all?
…Was what must have been on the
surface of their minds.
Dumbledore had everyone applauding
the arrival of a yet new student and continued the feast.
After an uncomfortable silence, one
boy asked her: “Are you a human? You didn’t get the appliance letter, so maybe
you are really a harpy?”
“Uh no, as far as I know I’m a normal
human…”
“Then how come you didn’t get the
letter? Everyone who has magical abilities will get registered as a baby.”
“Maybe my magic grew after I was
born, I don’t know,” Hermione replied weakly, knowing it untrue.
“Impossible!” someone commented.
“I guess they might have made a
mistake,” a curly haired girl wondered.
Lucius Malfoy sat three seats to the
right across her. She tried hard not to be so conscious of him during the
dining, but it was proving hard. Was this boy of sixteen already in the troops
of Voldemort? Weren’t the Slytherins the first ones to join him, and in the
largest quantity?
Wasn’t this the best opportunity to
learn about their doings?
To have your friends close, but your
enemies even closer…
It was a scary thought.
That she had come through time in order
to change the flow of history, so that Harry be saved.
I
must save Harry!
Magic was at the best of times, a
magnificent, wondrous thing.
She learned first the name of the
dark haired boy whom had thought her a harpy, he was Cerell Cresswell. The tiny,
cute doll-like girl in front of her was Alina Flidderick. The curly haired girl
identified herself as Theodora Rosenlew, a boy who ate like no tomorrow managed
to gasp out between chewing “Carl Crabbe”, a boy with dark brown mop adorning
his head was Christian Nott, a light polka cut girl Patricia Rosier, all first
years.
She was at the table with many future
Death Eaters. Malfoy, Avery, Crabbe, Lestrange, Nott, Rosier, Mulciber and
possibly more. Dolohov was also recognisable as a tall 7th year.
There was no way she’d tell them she
was a Muggle-born in the middle of a Slytherin table. Should she invent a cover
story? If she didn’t plan on living there as an unsocial loner, at some point
probably sooner than later she would have to tell her housemates something.
Yes, the Slytherins, her current housemates. She still had yet to get quite
over it.
“So, who were your parents?”
Christian Nott, a snotnosed brat
dropped the cat to the table.
“You wouldn’t know them. We lived in
Australia. My mother researched Charms. I might be able to make wands one day,”
the lies rolled down her tongue, easily, smoothly.
“Seriously? You must be very gifted
then”, said the Rosier girl with slight envy.
“Why from Australia to here? Why didn’t you stay and learn wandmaking, if
you’re so great?” Nott asked.
“My dad was killed when I was a baby,
and mother died in a cave collapse, while she was digging out runes. I didn’t
want to stay so I came here to find Aunt Bathilda Bagshot,”
“-no way, the one that’s nutty as
squirrel poo?-”
“and she kindly told me to get here.
She got me as far as Hogsmeade and from there I walked on foot. That’s
everything in short. But I’m very hungry, so if you’d excuse me for a moment”,
Hermione brought the dangerous discussion to a close and started to fill her
plate with vigour. No more was said to her that night.
But her performance had not ended at
the eating table. When they were gathered, and walked to the Slytherin common
room, she had to feign interest in surroundings, more than in her peers. She
knew the route well enough; they had sneaked there with Harry and Ron a few
times.
As the busy little first years swarmed
out of the great hall, the past, or indeed the future, felt suddenly very far
away. The Slytherins were gathered into a group and Hermione noticed small
Snape among them. He truly was so young that it was hard to recognise in him the
potion master he would later become. In some way, Hermione had half mind to go and strangle him, shout and demand
him how dare he murder professor Dumbledore – but it would be outrageously
absurd. The rational side of Hermione thought that maybe the future of Snape
could also be changed, prevent his involvement with Death Eaters. Because that
was what this all was about, no doubt. Already the fact that the two professors
had seen Hermione on the 2nd floor corridor, meant the change of the
past, as well as the future.
Hermione wasn’t sure as to how this
paradox was possible, but as of still the world hadn’t ceased to exist.
”What are you staring at?” young
Snape asked in a sour tone.
Hermione flinched.
”I didn’t mean to”, she muttered.
It seems the first years had four
rooms altogether, as the girls were divided into two.
When she had bid good night to her
roommates, Alina, Theodora and Patricia, sleep seemed to evade her no matter
how she struggled. The day’s events, the past, everything seemed to be swirling
inside her mind restlessly. Finally she gave up and settled on one particular
subject that annoyed her.
Why had she been sorted in Slytherin?
She had never held them in high contempt, nor had they her.
She seemed to be
the embodiment of everything they stood against. Courage, loyalty, average of
wealth, a sucker for the rules, compassionate towards different magical species
like werewolves, giants, house-elves and on the top of it all: she was a Muggle-born.
While she knew that she hadn’t been the only Muggle-born to grace the
silver-green colours, she realized that it would still be very hard to hide,
and she was already very suspicious a character.
As in any book about Hogwarts, and
also in her beloved book, Hogwarts, A History, it said that Slytherin values
were cunning, resourcefulness and ambition. If she thought about it for a
while, she could admit she had the first traits, especially the second one, and
ambition… she’d always had ambition, hadn’t she? In third year she’d insisted
upon taking all twelve courses, in fourth year she began the House-elf Welfare
campaign, and she had sometimes imagined herself a high career in the Ministry…
And the Sorting Hat had been right;
she was holding a big secret. Feeling a sort of heavy, completely exhausting
weight upon her, she fell at last into a light, restless sleep.
