Time in a Bottle

TIME IN A BOTTLE

CHAPTER 1

~

If I could save time in a bottle
The first thing that I'd like to do
Is to save every day
Till Eternity passes away
Just to spend them with you

~

The moment it happened he was aware of it. It wasn't that someone had informed him of her absence, more that he felt it.

In one quick, decisive movement, Lord Voldemort whirled about to pace the hard, stone floors, his black robes dramatically billowing out behind him as if they were starving flames hungrily reaching out to devour the world. Why he was so anxious was beyond him. He already knew precisely what was to happen, he'd been there, after all, and he couldn't change it. With a start, he came to a sudden halt. Did he want to change it?

This brought on another wave of conflicting emotions. He didn't like this; this concept of emotion. He was above feeling. Normally, he kept everything he felt hidden, under tight control, but not today. Today, this one simple day, was the catalyst that forever changed his life and molded him into the person that he was at that precise moment in time.

Time; it was a fickle thing. So unsure and unstable. And yet time could make all the difference in the world, as long as it was on a person's side. Time had never been on his side; or maybe it had, depending how one should look at it. But to him, it seemed that his old enemy time had favored her.

He had conveniently overlooked the fact that she was around. Indeed, he had prided himself on not thinking about her; but yet, she was always there, in one form or another. And now she had left the world, that time was more accurate, really. It would change her; it changed him. Time had a tendency to change many things, as he had learned all those years ago.

He knew what would happen then, but what about when she came back? What then?

With a disgusted sigh, Voldemort resumed his pacing. He didn't care what would happen when she came back. He had been successful in remaining indifferent to her up until that very moment, but now everything was out of his hands. He had nothing to do, nothing but to wait.

He stopped his maddening pacing to plop down into a high-backed, velvet green chair, with an uncharacteristic lack of grace. With an eternally weary sigh, Voldemort ran a hand through his thick, black hair, stopping for a moment to sneer at him.

The age-defying potion had been a gift from Severus. It had been the closest thing his Death Eater could come to finding a potion that would prolong his life. In a way, it was exactly what he had needed. What a better way to extend his years than by shaving some off? 'Some' was putting it quite modestly, he admitted. He looked as he once had in his thirties.

His skin was ivory white, a healthy pallor color. His once sickly, thin hair was now a rich, thick black mass piled on the top of his head. He was lean and slim with a broad shoulder frame. His eyes had lost that iridescent red glow and had, much to his annoyance, reverted back to the bright, innocent blue color of his youth.

Probably the most useful part of his transformation was his ability to walk amongst the masses without a soul recognizing him as the Dark Lord. But no matter the difference in his appearance, one thing remained forever constant. He was still surrounded by that aura of power that everyone, Wizard and Muggle alike, unconsciously picked up on. Wherever it was he went, everyone treated him with respect.

A sneer crossed his handsome face. As they should, he approved.

His thoughts abruptly turned from himself to her. The wheels had been set into motion and it was only a matter of time now, quite literally. In the end, it was always a matter of time. He would see her when she got back, but he had yet to decide what he'd do with her.

He could kill her, of course, but that idea seemed too terribly clichéd for him. A smirk touched his lips; he could do anything he wanted with her.

Leaning back into his chair, his mind bean to conjure up all sorts of ideas for their reunion. As his eyes bored intently into the flickering flames, he was all too aware that he was playing the role of the brooding, evil villain.

A wicked smile touched his handsome features; at least he made evil look good.

~*~*~

She had to take bigger steps to keep up with them these days. Her legs weren't as long as theirs now. Harry and Ron, both respectively, were dangerously closing in on six feet, and in Ron's case, had surpassed that goal.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione balanced her tower of books to the side and lengthened her stride in order to keep up with her two best friends. She really hated the need for the rush, but they were running terribly late, something she hated being. It was Ron's fault, she silently cursed him. He had overslept, thus making them all miss breakfast. They had opted for a quick visit to the kitchens, since breakfast was the most important meal of the day; but when they asked for a light snack, the House Elves had brought a feast of a breakfast fit for a king.

They had only two minutes to make it to Transfigurations now, or face the wrath of Professor McGonagall.

Harry and Ron were walking briskly up the staircase, practically taking the stairs two at a time. Hermione's side was starting to cramp as she mounted the stairs almost at a run.

"Harry, Ron, wait up! My legs aren't as long as yours!" she pleaded, halfway up the massive staircase while Ron and Harry were taking the last two steps.

Once at the top, Harry and Ron grinned at each other. "Hermione, you know we don't have all day," Ron, perhaps unwisely, joked to her.

Their growing height and her lack of anything that could, in good conscience, be called height had become a running joke between the three of them.

Muttering something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like 'I swear, bloody half giants, the both of you,' Hermione picked up the pace. As she raised her foot to take the last step, however, the staircase gave a sudden, violent lurch.

A shriek escaped her lips as Hermione balanced precariously on the edge of the swinging staircase, furiously clutching her precious books.

"Hermione!" Harry shouted, taking a step forward as if to help her, but inwardly knowing he was helpless to do anything but pray that she wouldn't lose her stability.

His prayer went unanswered, however, and Hermione dropped the mountain of books over the edge of the moving staircase, following right after them. She toppled endlessly forward at an alarmingly fast rate.

Pure terror filled her as she remembered something; the time turner. With frantic hands, Hermione tugged the gold chain around her neck, attempting to steady it so it would not turn; this only made matters far worse. The golden links broke and Hermione watched in fascinated horror as it crashed into the stone floor, the pure white sand spilling out.

Closing her eyes, Hermione waited for that same solid impact for her, but it never came.

When Hermione braved to crack open her eyes, she found that she was no longer falling, but was in fact standing up straight.

With a frown, Hermione studied her surroundings. She was at Hogwarts, she could discern that much. She was in an empty classroom littered with desks and stools. It looked vaguely like her Transfigurations room, but it couldn't have been since there were no students sitting behind those desks. Dread filled her as her eyes dashed across the room, trying to figure out how she had come to be there and why, if there was supposed to be a lesson in progress, was she was the only student there.

"Excuse me, but how did you get here?" A kind, concerned voice came from behind her.

Twirling around, Hermione found herself face to face with...

"Professor Dumbledore?" she asked uncertainly, confusion furrowing her brow.

It was him, she was sure of it, but he looked younger. His beard stopped towards the center of his chest and was streaked with dignified wisps of silver. He had auburn hair that was only beginning to grey, but his eyes. His eyes were a dead give away because only Albus Dumbledore could have those eyes that looked entirely gullible, and yet extremely wise both at once.

"Yes, and you are?" he replied, apparently unfazed by a strange student appearing out of thin air before him.

"Hermione Granger," she replied distractedly, still taking in the younger form of her Headmaster.

"Well, Miss Granger, could you please tell me how you managed to materialize from the air itself? Apparating is not possible on Hogwarts grounds, you know?" he asked with a kind smile.

Hermione had the most distinct feeling that he already knew how, but she obliged.

"I, well, I was running late for Transfigurations and as I was mounting a staircase, it changed. I couldn't keep my balance because of the weight of my books and I fell over. My ti- oh," Suddenly it all made sense.

Closing her eyes as if fearing the answer, Hermione asked, "What year is it?"

Albus Dumbledore nodded approvingly at her appropriate question. "The year is 1944."

Hermione gulped. She didn't think she could've fallen that far back into the past.

Dumbledore came up to put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "I take it that's quite a stretch from your time," he offered.

Hermione nodded absently. Taking deep, calming breaths she tried to will her head to stop spinning.

"When are you from?" asked Dumbledore.

"I'm from 1997. Oh my, that's 53 years difference." Hermione really did have a talent for pointing out the obvious.

Worry creased Dumbledore's brow. "Perhaps you should come with me, Miss Granger," he bid.

Without waiting for her response, the younger Dumbledore exited the room and took off down the halls. Falling into step behind him, Hermione remained quiet, asking no questions.

Walking down the halls of a 53 year-younger Hogwarts, Hermione was only all too aware that she did not fit in. People stared at the pair out of the corners of their eyes and whispered to each other from behind their hands. Hermione took in their attire and then hers. And then she came to the resolute decision to visit the Gladrags in Hogsmeade for more appropriate attire. That was considering, of course, that Gladrags was there.

That thought forced a few tears to prick at her eyes, but she resolutely pushed them away. There'd be enough time for that later.

As they made their way down the Charms corridor, a classroom door swung open with what had to be seventh year students filing out. They looked at her with open curiosity and Hermione only stared back blankly.

A pair of bright, blue eyes caught hers amongst the older students. She almost froze to the spot with the intensity of which he held her gaze. Frowning to herself, Hermione thought that those eyes looked entirely too innocent. Dropping her gaze to the house sign on his robes, Hermione snorted to herself. Figured only a Slytherin could look that innocent and harmless.

Snapping back into the present- well, the past present, Hermione dismissed the mass of seventh years from her mind, focusing instead on the back of Dumbledore's head. She was so engrossed with her new task that she failed to notice those shockingly blue eyes following her with unmasked interest and curiosity until she disappeared.

Up two flights of stairs, down three different corridors, through five trick walls and at an indeterminate time later, Hermione found herself standing before a stone gargoyle. Finally, something she could recognize.

"Licorice whip," Professor Dumbledore announced, causing the gargoyle to come to life and spring aside to admit the two.

Frowning to herself and mouthing 'Licorice whip' in confusion (did they even have those then? she wondered vaguely), Hermione climbed up the moving stairs.

After a brief, polite knock, Hermione found herself admitted into the Headmaster's office. It was very much the way she remembered it to be, only without a few 'Dumbledore' homey touches.

Pictures of Headmasters and Headmistresses past gazed at her. A portrait of a woman wearing shockingly green robes that clashed terribly with her vivid red hair raised a brow at her attire. Personally, Hermione felt that she was in no position to criticize.

"Hello Albus, may I help you?" asked a politely inquisitive aging man from behind the massive oak desk, drawing her attention away from the moving pictures.

"Not me, Headmaster Dippet, but Miss Granger here is in need of some assistance."

The Headmaster turned his gaze over to acknowledge Hermione and to take in her current dress.

"I see," he began, and Hermione really did believe that he 'saw' the dilemma. "How may I be of service child," he asked nicely enough with a wave of his hand to the seats in front of him.

Stiffly taking the chair, Hermione wrapped her arms about her instinctively. "I'm from the future," she blurted out.

Oh that was smooth, Granger. Now the man will think you're crazy, that's exactly what you need right now, Hermione berated her bluntness.

Professor Dippet, however, only nodded as if this made complete sense. "What year are you from?" he asked, completely unfazed.

With a relieved sigh, Hermione answered, "1997."

Again, that knowing nod. "I take it you are currently enrolled at Hogwarts." It wasn't really a question.

She nodded in affirmative.

"What year are you?" he asked.

"Seventh year, sir," she answered obediently. This really wasn't so hard.

"Mm-hm, so that would make you seventeen, yes?"

She spoke too soon. "No, sir. I'm nineteen."

Professor Dippet blinked at her. "Then you started late?"

Hermione sighed. "No, sir, I started at age eleven."

A slight frown crossed his features. "Then how..."

"You see, sir," Hermione began awkwardly. "I really couldn't decide which classes to take and which ones not to, so I opted for most of them, except for two or three. In order to attend all of these classes my Headmaster," here she shot a quick, uneasy look to the man at her right, "Professor Dumbledore allowed me the use of a time turner. Because of the time I acquired, I gained an extra year." Sighing, Hermione sat back into her seat.

Professor Dippet nodded. "I see, and I assume that it is also because of this time turner that you now find yourself here. Correct, Miss Granger?"

Hermione offered a small apologetic smile. "Correct. I was climbing up one of the staircases when it suddenly lurched to change. I lost my balance and fell over. The last thing I recall was my time turner crashing to the floor, the white sand spilling out."

With a deep sigh, Professor Dippet responded, "Well, I can say with all honesty that I have not once ever heard of a 'time turner'."

Hermione's eyes widened as she recalled something from her background reading before her time turner had arrived. It hadn't been invented until 1961.

"Please, Miss Granger, do not fret. I am sure we can find another means with which to send you home. But, until we come across this means, you must masquerade here as a student from our time. What house are you, dear?"

Hermione didn't quite share his optimism, but her respect for authority figures prompted her to comply, "Gryffindor, sir."

"Well, Professor Dumbledore here is the head of Gryffindor house, so he can take you up to their Common Room and explain that you are a transfer student. Please, child, if you need any assistance whatsoever, feel free to come to my office. I assume you know the password?"

Hermione nodded once again, only vaguely aware of what he was saying.

"Alright then, no one will know that you are from the future and, listen up, child, because this is extremely important," he leaned forward in his desk, gathering up an air of significance. Suddenly, Hermione couldn't focus her attention on anything but him. "Try your best not to upset the environment around you and tell no one of when you come from. A simple sentence, perhaps even a word about the future can disrupt it, possibly for the worst. Do you understand?"

Hermione, wide-eyed with the shock that she had the power to upset the future with a simple word, nodded her understanding.

Quite suddenly, the aging man sat back in his chair, making it groan comfortably. His eyes were kind once again as he stated, "Do not worry, Miss Granger, you will be back home soon enough."

Dumbledore rose from his chair and beckoned Hermione to follow him, the conversation apparently at an end. Hermione sighed dejectedly and pushed herself to her feet, following closely behind her Professor as they made their exit.

Once again out in the halls, Hermione found herself observing her school as it once had been. Beside the fact that the walls, paintings and everything else were 53 years younger, everything still looked blissfully the same. Suits of armor were less rusted, but still gave unsuspecting first years a solid thump on the behind as they turned corners. The paintings had less filth on them, but were as lively as ever and still eager to gossip.

Hermione found that the staircases, while still giving the occasional groan of old age, moved slower and less suddenly, much to her delight.

Soon enough, Hermione found herself face to face with the familiar Fat Lady, so to speak.

"Lemon tear drops," Dumbledore proclaimed, the portrait swinging open to admit the two.

'Lemon tear drops,' Hermione mouthed in amusement with an arched brow. That seemed a tad melodramatic, in her opinion. Following the Professor into the Gryffindor Common Room, all thoughts of melodramatic passwords promptly vacated her mind.

Hermione found herself standing in awe in the very same Common Room as in her time. It was the spitting image of what it was when she would attend. The chairs were in their precise spots by the fireplace, the tables were positioned against the wall by the windows. Nothing had changed. Not a chair had been added nor taken away. It was as if she were walking back into the year 1997. It was quite unsettling, to say the very least.

The only notable difference was the people. She didn't see Harry or Ron playing chess, but instead saw two boys that were no older than the age 15 sitting by the board. It wasn't Neville she saw struggling to complete a Potions paper by the fire, but a girl around her own age. Everyone was different, and everyone was staring at her.

Professor Dumbledore cleared his throat to gain the attention he already had. "Excuse me students, but may I please have your attention?" The room, which had already been dissonantly quiet, seemed to freeze.

Whether Professor Dumbledore noticed this or not was unknown for he only continued mildly as if he were chatting over a spot of tea, "Yes, thank you. We have a new student that has transferred here from Moraga Hills, a small, private wizarding school. This here," he gestured to a still Hermione, "is Hermione Granger. She has been sorted into Gryffindor and I hope you will all treat her nicely."

A few people smiled at her, mostly guys, and even more people stared at her in open curiosity. She felt pinned to the very spot under their scrutinizing assessments and did not like it one bit. Hermione refused to let herself be intimidated by her current situation.

Mustering up the courage, Hermione stood straighter and raised her chin in defiance. She met the gazes of the students openly and without fear. This, she would later realize, was what had helped them to accept her. Her courage had impressed them as it would later impress others in that time.

"Miss McGonagall," Dumbledore now spoke, breaking the unwavering stare between her and others.

A tall, confident girl rose from one of the chairs by the fire and approached them. "Yes, Professor?"

Dumbledore turned to Hermione. "Miss Granger, this is Minerva McGonagall. She is a seventh year like yourself, and is Head Girl here at Hogwarts."

Then he turned to Minerva. "Miss McGonagall, I am leaving Hermione in your capable hands and I expect you to answer any questions she might have."

Hermione offered a timid smile to the girl that would later become her head of house, Transfigurations teacher, and then role model. Surprisingly enough, she smiled back.

"That is all. Miss Granger, if you encounter any problems, please feel free to visit me. You'll find that your things have already been brought up."

He left before Hermione could think of asking him about 'her things.' Silence followed his exit. It was a thick, awkward silence that was mercifully broken by Minerva.

"Hermione, why don't I show you up to the seventh year girls' dorm and help you get settled in?" she asked in a calm, casual voice as if she were commenting about the weather.

Hermione smiled. She liked her already. "Sure."

Before Hermione could stop herself, she went right up the stairs and straight to the correct dorm out of habit, leaving Minerva still standing in the Common Room with an arched brow in shock.

Hermione realized the mistake too late and blushed furiously when Minerva caught up with her. "Err, lucky guess?" she offered.

Minerva eyed her suspiciously, but held back any comments she would normally have said. After all, it couldn't be easy being new at a school such as Hogwarts. She instead proceeded to follow this strange new character into the dorm.

"This is your bed," Minerva motioned to the four-poster bed closest to the window. "I have my own rooms since I'm Head Girl, but there are two other girls in our year." Hermione could have sworn she saw a frown of disapproval at the mention of these other girls, but wisely said nothing.

"You'll receive your time table tomorrow at breakfast, I imagine. In the meantime, if you need anything, just let me know."

Hermione smiled at the young, pleasant black haired witch before her. "Thank you, Minerva."

Again, she gave Hermione that very unusual smile. "Please, call me Min. All my friends do." And then she left.

Hermione sighed deeply and made her way to her bed. Oddly enough, it was the same bed she had occupied in her time until she had become Head Girl. Sitting down, Hermione was only vaguely interested in the trunk at the foot of the bed, courtesy of Professor Dumbledore, no doubt.

Sighing dolefully, Hermione fell back onto her bed, the full implication of what had happened to her finally setting in. She was lost in time and had no idea if she would ever make it back. She was on a first name basis with her Transfigurations professor and she would now be learning the art of Transfiguration from Albus Dumbledore himself.

Fiddling around with her bed coverings, Hermione faintly wondered if Harry and Ron knew what had happened. Would her parents be informed? What about Crooshanks? Who would feed him for her while she was gone, for who knew how long? Would she ever make it back to her time?

Hermione's worries were only faintly dissuaded with the knowledge that at least Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall knew what had happened to her. With any luck, they'd figure out a way to bring her back.

Crawling under the covers without bothering to change, Hermione suddenly frowned. What if they didn't, though? What if there was no way to make it back? How could she make a new life for herself in the past?

And as these depressing thoughts flew across her mind, Hermione began to cry silently in a new fear. She felt so alone in this time; she would never fit in. She was, in all aspects, wholly homesick. She quite literally felt like retching when she thought of all that had happened to her that day.

Unbidden thoughts of worry began to plague her mind. Her whole body was racked with sobs that would not stop. Her mind, too, refused to settle. While she was physically and emotionally drained, Hermione was mentally wide awake. She was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

And throughout the night Hermione continued to cry, for she could do nothing else for herself or her situation. It was spineless, and weak, she knew; but even a Gryffindor's courage had its limits.

When her tears had finally been exhausted, Hermione fell into a very deep sleep curled up in a childlike ball, her last thoughts having been ones of absolute certainty that both the future and the past would never be the same again.

And they weren't.

~*~