When the Time Comes

Eyes Shut Tight

4

The flagstone was gone. It would be hard to not notice the difference between that and where Hermione now awoke. Her back was aching mildly, but the softness of the mattress beneath her was a welcome comfort. Come to mention it, so were the warm blankets she could feel under her fingertips.

It had been a dream after all. She was in the Infirmary like she had told herself. Even before she opened her eyes Hermione knew it, from the sheets, to the mattress, to the ever present smell of ointments and sterile bandages, and it brought a weak smile to her face.

Lifting her hands to rub her eyes, she found her muscles were still a bit tight in her left shoulder, so either Madam Pomfrey didn't know about it yet, or she hadn't been there very long. Opening her eyes, Hermione stared at the ruffled white cotton at her wrists. When in the world did Pomfrey get these, she wondered. It was then she went to lift her head more and felt something was on it and reached up to feel some cap on her head bearing the same annoying ruffles.

She was sure Pomfrey had sniffed a few too many bottles of Pepperup Potion now.

Looking around, she found her bed surrounded by curtains on three sides, blocking her view from the owners of the muffled voices coming from the doorway to the Infirmary.

"Madam Pomfrey," she tried to call out, but found that the force of it caused her stomach to do summersaults so when she repeated it, she did so more quietly.

There was a momentary pause in the murmurings before a figure walked around the curtains, and it wasn't whom she expected.

"Ah, you're awake," the strange woman said with a smile as she bustled over to the nightstand by her bed to fetch her a small glass of water. "Here you go."

"Thanks." Hermione took the glass and emptied it, her eyes on the woman, who was dressed almost identically to herself, the whole time. "Where's Madam Pomfrey?"

Taking the empty glass from her, the woman paused and gave her a quizzical look. "Madam who?"

"Pomfrey," Hermione said again, "the medic."

Setting down the glass, the woman didn't look in the least affected. "Well my dear, I'm afraid I'm the medic, and I've never heard of a Pomfrey, other than Wilfred Pomfrey, the Hufflepuff I treated for a broken leg last week. My name is Madam Dillwyn."

Hermione quickly scanned her surroundings and, without a doubt, she was in the Infirmary, but then why was this woman calling herself the medic? Before she could question Madam Dillwyn further, the woman began questioning Hermione.

"Any pain in your chest?" she asked, quietly checking the dressing just below her left collarbone. Seeing it properly healed from the puncture wound it had suffered, she took it off as Hermione told her there was none. "Good. Any headaches, stomachaches?"

"My stomach is a bit queasy. If I speak too loudly, I feel nauseous."

Dillwyn nodded. "Ahh, that may have been expected after all you've been through, though I can't say anyone else has." Sighing, she walked over to the curtains and began pulling them back. "I'll be keeping you at least for the day to give your body time to settle. I doubt you'd be able to stand on your feet, nor am I willing to let you attempt it just yet."

Ready to ask Dillwyn what all she meant by what she had been through, Hermione found her opportunity dashed as the curtains were removed only to reveal a tall, rather creepy looking fellow with long salt and pepper hair, goatee, and whiskers walking towards her bedside. Joining him was a boy about her age, fairly tall himself, with auburn hair just long enough to brush his shoulders and the most amazing blue eyes. The boy had on a strange looking set of trousers and waistcoat peeking out of his robes, which bore the Gryffindor crest on the left breast, along with a Head Boy badge.

And at the sight of it, she felt a chill run through her.

A dream, just another dream... she told herself silently, for if what she was seeing were real, the absolute worst scenario she could think of would pale compared to this.

"Miss..." The man looked over a piece of parchment she could see through the back of well enough in the lamplight to see that it was her schedule that had been in her robe's' pocket still. "Granger, judging by this rather full schedule, I can only assume you're intelligent enough deduce your predicament?" She barely had time to nod her head before the man continued. "I'm Headmaster Torin," he announced with a crooked smile that made her instantly predict she wasn't going to like this man very well.

"You were found in the Entrance Hall about two hours ago. This was found there as well." Torin pulled a small box out of his robes, opened it, and lowered it enough to show her the broken pieces of her Time-Turner, her blood dried on the mostly still intact top half.

Closing her eyes, Hermione braced herself to ask the question she knew had to be asked. "What is the date?"

"September 3^rd, 1862."

She winced. Harry and Draco started their fight on September 15^th, twelve days shy of 135 years. No wonder she felt like she had been on the world's worst roller coaster! There was enough spinning around if you went back only a few hours!

"Miss Granger."

Torin's sharp voice jolted her out of her reverie, causing her to snap her neck towards him so fast it hurt.

"Judging by the evidence before us," he motioned towards the box, her schedule in his other hand, and her clothes which she hadn't noticed in the chair just a few feet away, "you've had an accident with your Time-Turner and are not from this period in time."

Hermione nodded as she rubbed her aching neck. "No sir, I am not. I'm from one hundred and thirty five years into the future actually."

The boy beside Torin blinked but then seemed to relax with this information, as if hearing it put his mind at ease in some way, for he stopped looking at her as if trying to decipher her the moment she spoke. Madam Dillwyn, however, let out a gasp in shock.

"You couldn't possibly..." Dillwyn began to stammer before being interrupted by Torin.

"I find it hard to believe as well, no Time-Turner could..."

"Yes it could," the boy interrupted, casually pointing towards the open box in Torin's hand. "Even with half of it smashed to pieces, it's clear her Time-Turner is nothing like the ones we have."

Torin looked into the box, his face twisting in concentration. "How do you figure that, Mister Dumbledore? It looks normal to me."

As the boy calmly pointed out the difference in the Time-Turner in the box and those just invented that they had been shown from the Ministry at the end of last term, Hermione's mind went numb. Staring at the boy as he spoke, she didn't hear a word that left his lips, her ears were ringing so loudly. Dumbledore. How had she not seen it? Only now that she had heard his name did she recognize that twinkle in his blue eyes as he looked up from the box only a second and caught her gaze. Hermione could feel herself beginning to panic.

Her hands shook, her breathing quickened, and all she could think was, I have to be dreaming, let me be dreaming... I can't be here!

Dillwyn noticed this sudden change and quickly conjured a cool wet rag and placed it on her forehead. "Headmaster, the poor girl's been through a lot and this can't be easy for her, perhaps you should make this short and leave her to rest." Though it was spoken softly, it had a note of finality in it.

"Indeed," was Torin's reply as Hermione diverted her eyes from her Headmaster and fixed them on this strange one. "I have contacted the Minister and with his help, we will work a solution to your problem. In the mean time, you will remain here, in the Infirmary, away from prying eyes. Should word of this get out..." There was a hint of worry in his dark eyes as his words died off and his gaze suddenly fell to the pocket watch he had pulled out of his waistcoat pocket. "Minister Bones is expecting me, I'll return shortly," he added, looking at Madam Dillwyn before giving a slight nod of his head and sweeping out of sight.

Despite the cool rag on her forehead, Hermione felt sick to her stomach. She closed her eyes and willed these visions to disappear, leaving her in her Infirmary with Madam Pomfrey, Harry and Ron at her bedside, not this younger, much younger, version of Dumbledore. Her Time-Turner sending her back over a century, it just wasn't possible, was it? The absurdity of it all.

With her eyes closed, she began to have a glimmer of hope that the silence surrounding her was a sign of her waking dream having dissipated, only to have such hopes dashed.

"Mister Dumbledore," Madam Dillwyn spoke softly as not to disturb the girl, her eyes on the boy causing her to miss the wince cross the face of her patient. "I trust I needn't tell you of the necessity of your discretion in regards to this situation. I'm sure I'm not the only one who has never heard of such a turn of events?"

Hermione could feel her eyes watering. The voice of the strange medic was still there, her hand coming to rest on the cool rag on her forehead, the pressure gently pressing the chill further into her flesh. As a tear slowly escaped her eyelid and rolled down her cheek, Hermione struggled to not let herself be overwhelmed with her situation, and not to open her eyes and see Dumbledore at her bedside. If she did, she'd certainly lose what little composure she had left.

With a nod of his head, Albus lifted his eyes from the single tear running down the girl's cheek to Madam Dillwyn who looked paler then he could ever recall.

"Good. Now... I must ask you to go and fetch Professor Price."

With a shocked look on his face, the boy hesitated. "But Madam Dillwyn, surely Headmaster Torin wouldn't want others..."

Lifting the rag off the girl's forehead as she dipped it in a basin of cool water on the table beside her, Madam Dillwyn interrupted, "Despite whatever hopes the Headmaster has, I fear the girl will be here for quite some time. Those ridiculous Time-Turners took the Ministry ten years to perfect enough as to not splinch people, imagine what that one of hers will take them, if what you said is true."

Having rung out the rag and placed it on the girl's forehead, she looked over at the Head Boy whose face was clearly concerned as he slowly nodded. "I'll get Professor Price," he said, lifting his eyes only long enough to acknowledge her presence before he turned and headed out to fetch his Head of House.

After he left the girl let out a small sob as her lip suddenly quivered. "I'm really here, aren't I?" she asked with a voice that trembled only slightly with the effort she must have been putting forth to keep herself in control, her eyes still being squeezed shut.

"I'm afraid so, child," she heard in response as that hand pressed the rag gently on her forehead again. "For now rest... sleep."

Yes, Hermione thought. Sleep.

Sleep, so I can finally wake up.