Socius Criminis

Chapter 1: Tempus Dormiens

Hermione sighed.

Then she stopped and corrected herself, for she had been sighing far too much recently. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to go to work - on the contrary Hermione couldn’t wait to get back into the laboratory. The problem was that Hermione had never been all that good with mornings, and frankly she just wanted to stay in bed. Unfortunately that was not an option. Instead, she threw off the duvet and tried to sit up.

“Huh?” she muttered on finding that sitting up had suddenly become very hard indeed. Mustering all her will, Hermione pushed up on the mattress with her hands. Now she was in a sitting position, sure, but that did not seem to help matters – now she seemed to be having trouble actually staying up. Hermione was getting rather confused. “Whatever is the matter with me?” she wondered aloud, before jumping slightly at her own voice. It was croaky and ragged. “Oh,” she suddenly realised. “I’ve got the flu, haven’t I.” Hermione mentally slapped herself. “Of course, it’s so obvious,” she cursed, before attempting to move her legs out of the bed and onto the floor.

“Shit,” she grumbled, as a wave of nausea swept over her. Hermione leant forward, putting weight on her legs. “Ohh, not good,” she muttered nervously, and threw an arm out to hold herself up. Through grabbing onto a combination of her wardrobe, the back of a chair and the door frame, Hermione managed to pick up her wand, put on her dressing gown and do all this without waking Crookshanks up. Hermione stumbled through to the lounge and kitchen area, swaying slightly as she tried to get her bearings. “Ginny?” she called out for her flatmate. There was no response. Hermione frowned – it was Thursday and Ginny only worked weekends. It was then that she noticed the parchment on the table.

Herm –

Just popped out to get some more food. Will be back at around 10am.

Gin xxx

Hermione sniffed, and sat shakily down on the sofa. Then she cursed at herself again.

“Don’t sit around snivelling at your own weaknesses, Granger. Get up and make a damned potion to get rid of this stupid illness.”

This was, of course, what Hermione then did, for this is Hermione and of course, illness cannot – nay, must not - get in the way of perusing her work. When Ginny returned home around an hour later, she found Hermione bent over a cauldron, stirring a rather greenish liquid meticulously.

“Hey Herm, whatcha brewing?” Ginny asked, putting the bags on the sideboard. Hermione looked up.

“Flu remedy,” she said quite roughly – her throat was not feeling much better. “Nearly done, then I’ll clear up.” Ginny walked over.

“Herm, you’re really pale,” she said. “I don’t think you should go to work,” she commanded as Hermione put the fire under the cauldron out. Her head snapped up.

“What? I’m going and you’re not stopping me, Ginny Weasley,” Hermione retorted, unusually argumentative for someone so weak with illness. Ginny went and got the vial Hermione needed for the potion.

“No, you are staying here and you’re going to get better. I know you don’t like being away from your work, but if you stay off one day today then it’ll mean you miss less in the long run.” Hermione nodded reluctantly, and filled the vial with the potion.

“Cheers,” she monotoned, and drank the potion. It washed through her like a cool breeze and she smiled. “Perfect,” she whispered under her breath and began to clear up. Ginny began to put the shopping away. They were both just about finished when the post came.

“Aha,” said Ginny, “post.” There were five owls, of varying size. Two flew over to Ginny, handing her two letters and a small package, while the remaining three gave Hermione a letter each. With a flick of her wand Hermione finished clearing up and went over to the sofa to read her mail.

Dear Hermione,

Hope you’re alright. Just a note to tell you that the eagle’s nest might be in danger - from the foxes that managed to get up the mountain. The lion is going to try to stop them, but you know how sneaky they are. Don’t worry though; the lion is aware of how important this nest is.

Love,

H

“Ginny,” Hermione said hurriedly. “It’s from Harry!” Ginny looked up, and ran over to Hermione.

“What is it? Hermione, what’s wrong?” Ginny’s enthusiasm to know what Harry had said dissolved as she saw the worried look on Hermione’s face.

“My laboratory,” she said. “Harry says it’s in danger…Ginny…what if they…what if they get my research?” Hermione jumped up, the flu remedy seeming to have come into action, and ran over to the hat stand where her cloak was hanging.

“I’m coming with you!” Ginny called as Hermione was about to disapparate. Hermione nodded, and once Ginny had her cloak they disapparated.

-

The two women arrived in the corridor of the Ministry compound almost instantaneously. Around them people ran manically, screaming for help and clutching at injuries. They looked through the crowds to try and find the source of the problem, but could not see anything. People pushed against them as they tried desperately to get to the exits – only the top researchers had permission to apparate from the corridors (anyone else who attempted it would be splinched). Hermione grabbed one of the students by the arm.

“What’s happened?” she asked hurriedly, fearing the worst for her research. The student paled.

“Death Eaters,” he whimpered. “In the top-secret department.” The youth then scuttled away towards the nearest exit. Hermione turned to Ginny.

“Go,” she said. “Help everyone get out. I’m going back for my research.” Hermione ran down the corridor before Ginny had time to protest.

“Hermione!” she called, but there was no response. Ginny cast one last glance down the corridor and turned to helping the students and receptionists out.

Hermione ran down the corridor, her green cloak billowing out behind her. These corridors were deserted – they all lead to the top-secret research department, where Hermione worked. Luckily her laboratory was on the edge of the department, so it would not be hard to get to. Hermione rounded a corner and found herself faced by two Death Eaters, who were standing guard at her laboratory door.

“Impedimenta!” she cried, pointing her wand at the left figure. The other shot a curse at her and she blocked it, stumbling slightly with the blow. “Petrificus Totalus!” The body slumped against the wall. She opened the door to her laboratory, unlocking the protection charms, and ran over to the northern wall. In a small portion of the skirting board, unnoticeable to the eye that did not seek it, she had hidden all of her notes on the Instauratio Potion. A few charms, and the portion of the skirting board slid away like a drawer. Within it was a stack of parchment, compacted to fit in the space. Hermione charmed it smaller still and put it in the inside pocket of her robes. She was about to close the compartment when she saw a letter on the inside of it.

Hermione Granger,

Research Department,

Ministry Of Magic,

London

Hermione stuffed this inside her robes as well and turned to go back out. She was met by another Death Eater, who instantly charmed her arms to her sides so that she could not reach for her wand. Smirking, he removed his mask.

“Malfoy,” she hissed. Lucius smiled, a penetrating, eerie smile. Then he raised his wand.

“Peragro Tempus!” he cried. Hermione felt her arms released from her side, and as she reached for her wand there was a blurry rush of light in front of her. She expected everything to go black, but instead the world kept spinning…like when she used the time turner, only more so. Tempus, she thought suddenly. That means time. I’m going back in time. I’m-

Her thoughts were cut off by a sudden jolt in her movement. Hermione fell to her knees, aware that she was kneeling on grass, and vomited on the ground in front of her. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she staggered to her feet and looked up. It was light – she was standing in the middle of a lawn – Hermione turned and looked behind her.

Hogwarts.

Had she really gone back in time? Hermione wandered around, still dizzy from the journey, and stopped as she heard a wave of cheering. It was coming from the Quidditch Pitch.

“Well, if I have gone back in time, it’s certainty very irregular – who plays Quidditch in the boiling heat of mid-summer?” she pondered aloud. Walking over to the pitch, she stood under one of the stands and watched, attempting to recognize some of the players. “Oh,” she said suddenly, “try listening to the commentary, Granger.” Hermione shook her head at her ignorance, and listened.

“And it’s Potter with the Quaffle – he passes to Lupin – back to Potter – HE SCORES! THAT’S FIFTY-NIL TO GRYFFINDOR!”

Hermione stared. If she was where she thought she was…

“…that’s a great bludger hit by Black! Hits Crabbe right in the shoulder – serves him right, the Slytherin bastard…”

“Weasley!”

“Sorry, Professor…”

Suppressing a nervous chuckle, Hermione watched until the game ended (“That’s another fantastic win for Gryffindor!”), before resolving to find a teacher. She turned and went to walk away, but a voice called after her.

“Excuse me?” Hermione turned back around, only to be faced with a younger Dumbledore.

“Professor Dumbledore?” He nodded. She walked forward and held out her hand. “I’m Hermione Granger, and I think I have a slight problem…” He furrowed his eyebrows at her, eyeing her with a somewhat suspicious look.

“Come with me, Miss Granger,” he said cautiously, and lead her to his office. While they walked, she explained her predicament.

“I don’t quite know how to put this, but…well, I’m from the future,” she said. Dumbledore nodded, unfazed. Hermione continued. “I’m from the year 2001, and I’m confused – very confused - as to exactly how I ended up here without a time turner.” Dumbledore looked up at her.

“Without a time turner, you say?” She nodded. “The only other way you could have been transported back in time is with the Peragro Tempus charm.” Hermione’s head snapped up.

“That was it – that was the incarnation!” Dumbledore nodded gravely.

“There is a counter-charm, at least there was – I do not know if it exists anymore.” Hermione sighed. By this time they had reached Dumbledore’s office.

“For now, however, you will need to know about where you have landed, as it were.” Dumbledore motioned for Hermione to have a seat, and she did, albeit nervously. “The year is 1977,” he began, but stopped when he saw the look on Hermione’s face. “Is that a problem?” he asked. Hermione shook her head slightly, and he continued. “Voldemort is on the rise. Lily Evans and James Potter are Head Girl and Boy. Hogwarts is facing a teacher shortage.” Dumbledore sighed at that point. Hermione looked down at the floor. Then suddenly she looked up at Dumbledore, and reached into her pocket for the letter she had found.

“I thought so,” she muttered to herself. The handwriting was Dumbledore’s. She opened it and read the letter.

Tell him (or should I say me) everything. I mean everything, Miss Granger. It is up to you to change the course of the future.

She handed the letter to Dumbledore and took a deep breath.

“My name, as I have said, is Hermione Granger. I am 21 years old and a Researcher in the top-secret department of the Ministry of Magic. I work mainly in combining potions and charms, but at the moment I am – was – working on a project to do with the Instauratio Potion.” Dumbledore’s eyes widened at this. “I am researching this particular potion because Voldemort used it in his rebirth. To explain this I shall start at the beginning.” Hermione took a deep breath and continued. “James and Lily Potter were married in 1979 and had a child, Harold James, in 1981. When Harry was one year old, Voldemort attacked them and murdered Lily and James. They had been in hiding for six months using the Fidelius Charm. Harry survived – Lily’s love for him acted as a barrier and he was left with only a lightning bolt scar on his forehead. Voldemort was gone – so everyone thought. Harry went to live with Vernon and Petunia Dursley, Lily’s sister and brother-in-law. He stayed there until 1991, when he went to Hogwarts. I started at Hogwarts that year also – a Muggle-born. It turned out that Voldemort had not disappeared at all – he made numerous attacks on Harry in our years at Hogwarts.” Hermione paused to think about Harry, Ron and Ginny – what would they think had happened? “In our third year, we encountered Sirius Black, Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew. Sirius was Harry’s Godfather, but also an escaped convict, charged with the murder of thirteen people with a single curse.” Dumbledore gasped, and Hermione continued hurriedly. “But he was innocent! It was Pettigrew that had really done this. See, Sirius was going to be Lily and James’ secret keeper, but they changed at the last minute to Peter. Peter betrayed them, sold them to Voldemort. He killed the people Sirius was convicted of killing. Sirius served all those years in Azkaban for nothing…” Hermione trailed off. “In our fourth year, Voldemort came back to power using the Instauratio Potion. Since then he has been on the rise – deaths have increased, no one is safe anymore. That’s it,” Hermione sighed. Dumbledore paused and absorbed the information.

“Is there anything else I may need to know?” he asked. Hermione pondered this.

“Hmm. Well, I was taught Potions at Hogwarts by Severus Snape, Cornelius Fudge-” she shuddered, “is Minister of Magic, and Lucius Malfoy sent me here using the Peragro Tempus charm.” Dumbledore nodded. “If you don’t mind me saying, Sir,” Hermione said, “you’re taking this all very well.” Dumbledore smiled – one of his smiles that told you some things were better left unsaid. There was a pause.

“How would you like to teach Potions, Miss Granger?” Dumbledore asked. Hermione stared at him bemusedly. “Oh, and call me Albus,” he said. She blinked, before remembering what he had mentioned about teacher shortages.

“Of course!” she cried, her thirst for knowledge getting the better of her, “I mean – that is, if you’d like me to.” Dumbledore smiled.

“Just one thing,” he said. Hermione looked at him. “From the look of this letter I sent you – or am going to send you – you are going to change the future. We will have to tell them-”

“The Potters, you mean?” Hermione clarified. Dumbledore nodded.

“-what will happen to them if they do not accept your help.” Hermione paled. “We are at an agreement, Hermione?” Dumbledore asked. Hermione nodded. “Oh, by the way,” Dumbledore said. “It is the 16^th of October.” Hermione smiled.

“Thank you,” she said, and smiling, shook his hand. He nodded respectfully to her, and then swept around his desk.

“Do come with me,” he said. “I will show you to your chambers.” Hermione smiled in acknowledgement, and followed him out of one of the many doors in the office. After wandering for a moment down a blue-carpeted corridor, they came to another door. This lead them out into what Hermione recognized as the Charms corridor, which lead to Ravenclaw House and eventually down to the stairs to the foyer, near the main hall. Hermione started thinking as they walked through the corridors to her chambers. This was all going awfully fast. Too fast. Almost as if Dumbledore knew she was coming, suspected something. Hermione stopped, and Dumbledore took a few paces forward before turning to face her.

“A problem, Miss Granger?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. Hermione frowned.

“How did you know about me?” she asked. “I mean, how did you know I was coming? You must have known – how else would you have all this prepared?” Dumbledore looked at Hermione, a searching stare.

“Perhaps, in time, you will understand,” he replied cryptically, and waved a hand at a painting of Salazar Slytherin. “Through this painting is your new home,” he smiled, and turned to the painting. “Milk Tray,” he said, and the painting (though rather begrudgingly) moved aside, revealing a stone doorway with only a silver curtain for a door. Hermione stepped through, brushing the material out of the way.

For Hogwarts the room was quite modest – a bed, a desk, a chair…and of course a large bookcase…but it was the view of the Quidditch pitch that caught Hermione’s attention most of all. She looked to Dumbledore for an explanation.

“This room was once occupied by one Rowena Ravenclaw,” he explained. “It was her solitary confinement, if you will – her place to escape from the other founders. She was very fond of Quidditch, Miss Granger,” he said, smiling in memory. Hermione nodded, and touched a hand to her stomach, still feeling a little queasy. Dumbledore noticed. “A little nauseous, my dear? No worry – I shall have Madam Pomfrey fix up some soothing potion for you.” Hermione smiled in thanks, and sat down. “One of the house elves shall bring it up immediately,” he said, and swept out of the room. As he left, he instructed the painting to allow Hermione to change the password. The current one was, after all, a little too…Dumbledore.

Some things never change, Hermione thought to herself, looking out of the window where the spectators were still filing off the Quidditch pitch. There were a few familiar faces – Professor McGonagall, Professor Flitwick, Professor Sprout and a few others. Not many things change at all. Hermione saw Hagrid, and smiled. She sighed after a time.

“You don’t know what you’ve all got ahead of you,” she whispered to no one in particular. “I do. I wish I didn’t…but I do.” Hermione sniffed slightly, and for the first time realised just how bad her predicament was. If they couldn’t find the counter-curse…it would be no use. She would be stuck in 1977, living in reversed roles, eventually coming across her younger self. What would happen then?

Role reversal. Of course. The student becomes the teacher and the teacher becomes the student. Though how does one teach their teacher what their teacher will later teach them? Hermione groaned softly and rubbed at her forehead – the who what where and when of time travel had always proved a laborious point for her, indeed as it would for any witch or wizard, however great. Whatever the case, however, she still had to teach him. Snape. Not just teaching the teacher. Teaching Snape. Tomorrow was a Monday, and that meant Hermione would have to teach classes. Teach classes. Like a proper Hogwarts Professor.

“Miss Granger?” a voice asked timidly, interrupting Hermione’s thoughts. She looked down – a house elf was standing there with a tray. “Master Dumbledore thought Miss Granger might be liking something to eat. He was wondering if Miss Granger would join the Feast this evening, and if Miss Granger does, would she come down straight away as it is about to start.” Hermione smiled.

“I would love to,” she said, and stood up. With a flick of her wand her robes had changed from the dusty blue of Ministry uniform to a navy blue so dark it was almost black. Hermione followed the house elf out of the room. As she exited, she leant over to the portrait and told it the new password. Tempus. A constant reminder of what had bought her here – a warning not to get too attached to this time.

Hermione entered the Great Hall through the teachers’ entrance as she had seen her own teachers do so many times, and took her seat at the end of the table. Hermione twisted her hands together in her lap as she watched the students enter. She took a sharp breath as she saw a group of Gryffindor seventh years enter. They were all younger versions of people she knew - Sirius, Remus, Harry – though this would be James she was seeing…and Pettigrew. Not far behind them was a girl with flowing red hair running to catch up with them. Hermione shuddered slightly as she realised she was looking at her best friend’s dead mother. Dumbledore placed a hand on Hermione’s shoulder and she jumped slightly.

“This won’t be easy, my dear,” he whispered so that only she could hear, and walked over to the centre of the faculty table. “Students and fellow Professors,” Dumbledore said, and the hall was immediately silent. “As you know, Professor Gravis had to leave us earlier this month due to a terrible illness. We have been struggling for some time to find a replacement, and I am pleased to say we have done so. May I present the new Potions Mistress, Professor Hermione Granger.” He turned and motioned to Hermione to stand up. She did, a blank, almost stern look on her face, and nodded to the students, who clapped politely. As Hermione sat down, the applause died away and she relaxed slightly. She had never been a people person, and now was in no way the time to start. “Without further ado,” said Dumbledore, with a smile on his face, “let’s eat.”

“Hear hear!” cried Sirius, and the student body laughed. Hermione didn’t. Her eyes drifted over to the Slytherin table, where a large amount of noise seemed to be emerging. She looked over, and it seemed that a gang were picking on a boy who she couldn’t see very well – someone was standing in the way. Hermione looked to her left as Professor Sprout spoke.

“Go on, your turn,” she said to Hermione. “You’re nearest, after all.” Hermione nodded, and nervously got up and walked over to the Slytherin table. As she reached the table she paled.

“Mr. Crabbe, Mr. Goyle,” she said as authoritatively as was possible, raising herself up to her full height of a not-so-imposing 5’4”. They released the boy they had been holding, throwing him at Hermione’s feet, and snarled. “Would you care to explain what exactly you were doing to this student? A fellow member of your house, as well,” she tutted, noticing the green edging on the boy’s collar.

“What’s it to you?” Goyle retorted. Hermione frowned.

“I will not tolerate rudeness, Mr. Goyle,” she said. “What were your intentions?” Now it was their turn to frown.

“We were beating him up,” Crabbe said. Hermione sighed exasperatedly.

“I could see that,” she said, resisting the urge to tap her foot impatiently. “Why exactly was that?”

“’cause he’s a stupid know-it-all git, of course!” Goyle cried. Hermione glared at him.

“That is enough, Mr. Goyle. Ten points from Slytherin, and don’t let me catch you doing this again or it’ll be fifty.” They sneered at her and sat down. She knelt down to help the boy up. “Are you alright?” she asked as he brushed his robes off, not looking up at her.

“I’m fine,” he muttered, and ran off out of the hall, still not looking at anyone. Hermione turned and walked back to her seat. Sprout sighed as Hermione sat down.

“They’re always picking on him, those too. Poor Severus, he’s such a talented student as well.” Hermione froze. Poor Severus? That…that boy was her potions master?

*

Once back in her chambers, Hermione leant back on her bed and stared at the ceiling. One of the house elves had just bought up her lesson timetable. Tomorrow wasn’t so bad - not as bad as she had been expecting. Double with Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff second years, singles with Slytherin and Ravenclaw fifth years and then Gryffindor and Hufflepuff fifth years…then the seventh years. Slytherin and Gryffindor. She would have to teach them – only they weren’t themselves as Hermione knew them…yet.

Hermione didn’t eat much the next morning; like Harry prior to a Quidditch match, nerves had overtaken her. She pushed a piece of toast around her plate with her fork, staring at the ripples in her pumpkin juice from the other teachers’ movement. It seemed odd to her, sitting there. As if she was in the wrong seat. The wrong responsibility.

“Good luck with your first day,” Sprout called after her as she swept away. Hermione smiled, and closed the door quietly behind her. It seemed like almost directly afterwards that the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs filed noisily into the dungeon. Hermione waited until they were all in their seats before she stepped out from her office. She did so, and the room fell silent.

“Good morning class,” she said, and the lesson began.