Chapter Text
The hall was vibrating with the sound of hundreds of voices and the rustle of hundreds of cloaks. Sitting at one of the small round tables of the Pumkin Pub, Hermione Granger watched silhouettes of wizards emerging from the fireplace. On this Christmas Eve night, only a few wizards had the day off. She drank the last sip of her gillywater et raised her eyes to the big grandfather clock decorated with thick golden garlands. A quarter after one.
Ron was supposed to meet her at noon.
It was useless to wait any longer, he was not coming. Hermione felt her eyes sting and swallowed; it was also useless to cry. Might as well save herself from the indiscreet questions of the gossiping ladies of the welcoming desk. Vicious tongues, as much as they were probably graduates from Slytherin. After that thought, Hermione chastised herself inwardly: Slytherins already suffered enough from the after war, no need to keep ramming the cauldron on their heads.
Yes, she had to face the facts: either Ron forgot about her, or he did not bother to warn her that he could not come. Since Mrs. Weasley had been hospitalized, Hermione felt like he was trying to avoid her. They should have move in together in January in a studio in the middle of London; Ron changed his mind last week. Hermione accepted it. They should have gone to Hermione’s parents’ the day after Christmas; Ron cancelled. Hermione accepted it.
Ron claimed to visit his mother every night. She was whining, bored and cried a lot. Mr. Weasley sent her to St Mungo’s where she was diagnosed with a great emotional choc, probably linked to her son’s death. It was on the insistence of an exhausted husband that she was kept under observation at the hospital for a few weeks. Last night, Hermione had wanted to visit Mrs. Weasley; she was told that the patient slept early and now refused all visits after half past seven.
It seems Ron had omitted to tell her he stayed at home several evenings in a row.
Hermione knew Ron since their first year at Hogwarts. She knew that he had love her, as surely that she was feeling him pulling away from her now. Ron was not the solid man of which she had always dreamed of. In their relationship, Hermione had always been the one supporting him. In the end, she had been happy with it. But what would happen if Ron refused Hermione’s support? With a sudden gesture of anger, she brought her glass to the counter and dropped six knuts for the bill. Wasn’t he supposed to have matured in the last two years? Was she dating a man or a boy?
--- 000 ---
An aroma of iodine and pumpkin soup wafted through the winter air. The Burrow’s roof and the surrounding hills were covered in a sparkling white coat and, when she apparated, Hermione’s feet sank into a pool of slush. She grumbled before stepping cautiously onto the icy dirt path that snaked up to the front door. The Weasley had hung up on it a Christmas strap decorated with large cherubs whose eyes followed her until she knocked three times.
The sound of a latch was heard from behind the door before it opened on Ginny.
“Hermione,” she noted. “How are you?”
“Better if I could resolve a few things with your brother,” answered Hermione on the most amicable tone she could muster after a day of rehashing her anger.
Ginny lowered her head and bent her finders nervously on the door handle.
“Listen, Ron is very touchy these days,” she murmured. “I don’t know what happened between you two, but try to understand him, please. You know how he is.”
“I can understand a great number of things, Ginny,” replied Hermione. “I can cancel invitation for him, pay alone costs we are supposed to share, but what I hate most of all is the lack of respect! We were supposed to meet for lunch, I extended my break for him, and he didn’t show.”
“Maybe it was revenge for your refusal to see him in the last few days.”
“What?” choked Hermione.
“Ginny?” called Ron’s voice from the upper floors. “Who is it?”
“It’s Hermione,” she answered to her brother, turning her head inwards the house. “You should get down.”
Silence.
“Ron?” insisted Ginny.
“I’m coming!” he answered.
Ginny signed Hermione to come in. Footsteps resonated on the stairs. Hermione was gritting her teeth. Third floor. Second floor. Ron’s room was just under the attic and Hermione had always appreciated that it was, consequently, the quietest room (if you ignore the goul’s presence of course). This day though, she would have preferred a closer room and for Ron to arrive faster. First floor. Ron’s red head appeared at the top of the stairs. Hermione felt tears stinging her eyes again and fought them back.
Ron came down jumping the stairs, a false smile on his face. When he met Hemione’s glare, the false smile disappeared.
“I’m sorry for today Mione,” he started. “George needed me at the store, one of his employees hurt himself with the Bombapus spell and since there’s no antidote, he had to be sent to St Mungo’s.”
“I waited more than an hour for you,” answered Hermione. “Could you not have warned me?”
“How would I have warned you?” asked Ron with compassion.
On any other day, that might have worked, thought Hermione.
“Oh, I don’t know,” said mockingly. “Maybe by sending me an owl. Or a message with your patronus, I showed you how, didn’t I? You managed it just well. But you’re right, I should have known you’d forget so soon.”
Ron’s ears turned scarlet red.
“Don’t start…”
“Being a pretentious know-it-all?” she finished in a louder voice. “Even if you didn’t know how, you could have come to my place to apologize! But no, I have to come here, and then I learn that you’re telling lies about me to your family behind my back!”
“What are you talk…”
“You told Ginny,” she cut in, “that I refused to see you, while in truth I go out of my way to spend just an hour with you! Ginny,” she continued turning toward the witch, “it was Ron who cancelled Christmas with my parent, and it was also Ron who doesn’t want to move in together! He hasn’t told you otherwise, has he?”
Ginny, whose mouth was opened since Hermione straighten the facts, closed it immediately.
“My mum is sick!” Ron finally snapped. “Isn’t it something you should understand?”
“Stop hiding behind your mother, Ron!” yelled Hemione. “She’s sick, fine, but I don’t see how that pushed you to pretend that I avoided you, when it’s the exact opposite! But outside of that, Ron, it’s up to your dad and the healers to take care of her, what more could you do? Stop hiding behind that excuse!”
“You don’t get to judge me!” said Ron. “I’d be better off if you didn’t nag me all the time! You should ask yourself some questions, Miss know-it-all-who-doesn’t-know-anything!
Hermione took a breath. She wanted to hit him, to throw everything she had in her bag in his face. Even the books.
“You’ve got huge, huge issues,” she concluded. “As for me, those issues, I’d rather stay far away from them.”
She turned on her heels, opened the door and was slapped by the cold wind. As she was walking away, she heard footsteps crunching the snow behind her. It was Ginny.
“I don’t want to see him anymore, Ginny. I can’t be with him like thins. It hurts too much, you understand? Ron refuses to question himself and grow. I’m not doing this for him, I do it for me.”
Ginny seemed about to say something but change her mind. She was shivering in the cold.
“You should get inside,” murmured Hermione.
She turned her back again, crossed the front gate and apparated. The sadness that had waited all day to make itself known finally did. Tears blurred her vision, preventing her from seeing the two white eyes that had opened as she had passed.
--- 000 ---
Hogsmeade.
She sniffed and rubbed her eyes with her hands. She was under the porch of a house next to the post office, right in front of Honeydukes. Although snow was falling in swirls on Main Street, many wizards and witches were wandering the streets and stopping in front of shop windows. Some were coming out of shops with arms full of packages. Hermione’s gaze fell on three children wearing Hogwarts’ uniforms, two boys with laughing eyes and a brown headed girl that looked strangely like her. It reminded her too much of Ron. Another apparition.
Paddington Station.
Hermione appeared in the middle of such a crowd of people that she was jostled several times before managing to take shelter against a wall. Muggles hurried along the quays, laden with suitcases on wheels that creaked on the ground. On her right, a waiter was fidgeting under a neon sign. “Hamburger Restaurant”. It was where she had eaten before taking the Hogwarts Express for the very first time. She had seen Hagrid buy Harry a hamburger and had been scared by Hagrid’s size. And then she had met Ron…
Charing Cross Road.
It was the street in muggle London on which you could access the Leaky Cauldron. Harry stayed here before Third year. On the day before starting school, she had bought Crookshanks. Ron complained…
Falmouth. Quidditch Team. Ron.
Cabourg, France. Holidays with Ron.
Wigtown Bay. Discussion with Ron.
Hermione knew it was dangerous to apparate this fast. She remembered the rules of the three D’s. But what was the point to follow that rule right now? Her discipline and good grades did not teach her how to keep the love of her life. It was not her first fight with Ron, why break up with him? She had certainly felt the desire to pull away from him since the beginning but had not understood why and, thus, had fight against it. For two years, Hermione questioned herself and had suffered.
And now… she suffered even more. A part of her wanted to go back to the Burrow and beg Ron to forgive her. Another part of her wanted to get as far as possible from the Burrow and never see that immature imbecile that hurt her so much. When she started Hogwarts, Hermione was full of confidence. Now, she felt weak, crying and shaking like a leaf. She missed him. She refused to go home.
Apparition.
Apparition.
Apparition…
Suddenly, Hermione bit her lips to stifle a moan. Her knees had opened up against the stony ground on which she had fallen. Her trousers were soaked in blood. It was not a simple scratch. Even a witch as talented as she was could not apparate as much as she had without splinching herself. The wounds were superficial but would become dangerous if she did not stop the bleeding soon. She took out her wand. Remembering the right spell took some effort.
Did Ron also steal her intelligence?
That thought made her sigh. Recovered from her fall, Hermione stood up and looked around her. A thick forest surrounded her. Did she wish to go to a forest? The strong smell of conifers tickled her nostrils, and their thorns scraped her hands. No sound, not even from lost insects. The ground was wet but visible, it had not snowed here. It was also warmer than London. Hermione’s breath caught in her chest. Where had she landed? Was it possible to apparate in an unknown location?
Her wand raised; Hermione took a step forward. She struggled between the fir trees, so tightly closed to each other that they should have died of suffocation. No doubt anymore, it was a magical forest but what kind of magic could keep away wildlife? Hermione looked desperately for a spider web on the branches overhanging her, an ant colony on a tree trunk or a shadow of a burrow between the entwined roots. Her unease was growing with every step. She suddenly felt the ground becoming firmer et lowered her eyes on a path of grey stones.
The trees finally parted, and Hermione could breathe a bit more, chasing away the start of an evident claustrophobic attack. Objects started to appear on each side of the path. First, a coffee table with various vases and collector plates. Then, through the trees, the body of a car clearly dating from the 1950s. There also was a damaged teddy bear, boxes full of photographs of the same family, and lastly, a coffin.
“Welcome, Hemione Jean Granger”
Hermione jumped and turned around sharply, wand raised, toward the origin of the voice. At first, she did not see anyone. It is only when she lowered her eyes that she met the gaze of a skinny hairless grey skinned creature, wearing a green toga and a thick gold necklace. The young woman stepped back hastily. It looked somewhat like a crossing between a wizard and a house elf, excluding the white eyes that either species possessed. A blank stare that seemed to be focused on her.
“Where am I?” she asked cautiously. “Who are you?”
“You are in the Lost Forest, and I am its only habitant,” whispered the creature. “This is my domain. I welcome here those who wish to be my guests and do business. Three wishes in exchange for a unique payment.”
Hermione shook her head.
“I never wished to end up here, I’m sorry,” she answered. “I’d like to leave.”
“You can’t leave the Lost Forest without doing business,” retorted the creature. “And if you wish to leave, then that is a wish for which payment is due.”
Hemione took another step back. She was scared. Her eyes went back to the teddy bear, the boxes and… the coffin.
“Tell me who you are!”
“The genie of this domain, and everything here is mine,” declared the creature. “Three wishes, one payment. Calm down, Hermione Jean Granger, I never killed anyone. I cannot acquire, nor murder, nor even resurrect a free soul. The coffin that you see is the last residence of a young man who died the day before his wedding. His fiancé traded it for the chance to be happy again.”
To be happy again…
“How did you manage that?” she asked, sceptic.
“My powers are quite different from those of a witch, Hermione Jean Granger,” replied the genie. “I can grant people’s wishes in exchange for value. That coffin had a great sentimental value for that young woman, and it’s in that great value that I found the necessary magic to fulfill her wish. You came here, Hermione Jean Granger, because you were lost. In exchange for value, I will help you find your way.”
Hearing her full name at each sentence from the genie was getting on Hermione’s nerves.
“I never read about this, in any book,” she said relentlessly.
“All the knowledge in the world cannot be found in books, Hermione Jean Granger,” hissed the genie. “You, who read so much, should know better than anyone else.”
Ron’s face came to Hermione’s mind. She had started to doubt the day she kissed him for the first time. For years, she dreamed of their first kiss, and when that dream became real, a strong need to flee took over her mind. Indeed, no book had prepared her for that. And Hermione had finally surrendered to her anguish: she had left him. But now, the desire she had had for him at the beginning of their relationship had come back. She had to find him. With the genie’s help… Maybe their story was not over?
If Fred had not died that day, Mrs. Weasley would never have been hospitalized. And then Ron would not have lost it. Sure, Ron had always been fragile… but changing that would be like changing his whole personality. If she could not change Ron, maybe she could go straight to the source of the pain.
“Alright, I will make a deal with you,” she whispered.
“Sorry? “
“I said that I’m… I’ll make a deal. With you,” she repeated louder.
A chintz armchair appeared behind her. The genie beckoned her to sit down as he pulled himself up on another chair. The fir trees transformed into wallpapered walls, hiding the trophies of the master of the forest.
“What do you wish for, Hermione Jean Granger?” asked the genie.
According to the genie, Hermione did not have any other choice: she had to make a wish to get out of this place. And she could make any wish. Crossing her fingers hoping the price would not be too high, she made her first wish:
“I want to know the truth about you.”
The genie grimaced.
“Very well, Hermione Jean Granger.”
‘One.’
The genie was born in northern Scotland. He never was a child, just came to the world in his present state. No parents. Just a broken egg and a strange magic swirling around him. He wandered for centuries, looking for a home, as genies cannot settle just anywhere. Obviously, their nature pushed them to live most peculiar lives. One day, the genie previously occupying the Lost Forest for many centuries died. This genie took his place.
Other images surged through her mind. A young woman giving her fiancé’s coffin for a chance to find a man like him. And then, a teenage girl sadly bartering her old teddy bear for a friend. An old man exchanging all his photographs of his late wife for his son’s forgiveness. The genie extracted a powerful magic from these objects and took a savage pleasure in it. Hermione saw him caressing the photographs with the tips of his clawed fingers and protecting them from other genies trying to steal them.
One day, a visitor of the Lost Forest rebelled. He cursed the genie. Hemione watched the spell fly through the air aiming for the genie, hitting him full force in an explosion of red light. When the red light lowered, the genie was still there, apparently furious, but unaffected by the curse. He told his guest that, as a genie, he was immune against wizard magic. Immune! A piercing sound suddenly reverberated in Hermione’s ears, the guest covered his head with his arms, he screamed… and everything turned black.
That man had not died, but he had suffered. The genie forced him to make a wish and to pay with his fertility. The idea of never having children made her shudder. However, for that man, it must have been even worst because he committed suicide just a week after. He might have attacked the genie, but he did not deserve such a fate. Fear and indignation followed one another in Hermione’s heart. With the genie’s help, she might have a chance of getting Ron back. But at what price?
“I fulfilled your first wish, Hermione Jean Granger. You still have two left.”
She was back in the room with the chintz armchairs.
“You’re immune to magic?” she asked the genie.
“To wizard magic,” he corrected. “An immunity to all forms of magic would make it hard to practice my art.”
“I see.”
“Do you have a second wish, Hermione Jean Granger?”
The witch looked deeply into the blank gaze of the genie.
“I do, but first, I’d like to ask you a question, she said. Do I… have to make all my wishes today? Can I keep one for a later date?”
The genie’s face tightened.
“Nothing keeps you from making only two wishes,” he answered.
“I don’t want to make only two wishes, I want to keep one for later,” she insisted. “If I make it even worst with my wish, I want to be able to be able to undo the harm I’ve caused. I want to be able to rewind.”
“I don’t think so Hermione Jean Granger.”
“You told me that I could make three wishes. If you fulfill only two, that’s theft!” she hammered.
Her interlocutor grimaced. Touché!
“It’s a deal, Hermione Jean Granger.”
“In that case, I want you to give me a way to save Fred Weasley, Ron Weasley’s brother,” she declared.
A twisted smile spread the grey face of the genie.
“I can give you that, Hermione Jean Granger, in exchange of valour. I want something you really… really care about.”
She cared about Ron, Harry, her parents, Crookshanks…
“I’m not talking about living and free beings, but objects that belong to you,” continued the genie as if he had read her mind. “Remember, remember all those happy moments in your life…”
When Hermione casted her patronus, she used the memory of the day when Professor McGonagall knocked on her door, nine years ago. That day, Hermione learnt she had magic. The next day, she saw Diagon Alley and its curious shops for the first time. She went to Ollivander’s, the wandmaker, for her own wand. And when she found it, she knew immediately that it was the one. She had felt it’s magic flow like hot water down her arm.
‘That’s what I want.’
Hermione could hear the genie’s voice in her head but could see him anymore. Dread seized her when she though she understood what he wanted: her wand. But she was wrong.
‘I want your magic. I want to wield and feel the magic of wizards.’
She could not give her magic! How could she save Fred Weasley if she lost any way to defend herself? Would Ron accept her if she didn’t have a place in the magic world anymore?
‘There are many ways to find your place in the world. Magic is a means, not an end. That’s my price, Hermione Jean Granger.’
He was not going to give up. Her throat dry, she whispered:
“I accept.”
No sooner had she uttered the word that cold engulfed her whole being. As if a bucket of water had been poured over her head, she felt as if a part of her was drifting away, far, far away…
“I will help you to enter. After that, you’re on your own. Good luck, Hermione Jean Granger!”
‘Two!’
The deal was sealed. The Lost Forest faded away and Hermione was propelled through time and space. Later, she would realize that despair had pushed her into a crazy endeavour that could have cost the wizarding world a lot more than innocent lives. But for now, a magicless but determined Hermione was going back in time, crossing her fingers and hoping that her adventure will be a success. Two white eyes watched her leave her present year, leave her era, leave her century…
--- 000 ---
Landing.
Hermione fell flat on her stomach on a hard blanket of snow, her chin hitting the ground hard. She bit her tongue, and the metallic taste of blood spread through her mouth. Damn. She slowly got up and, despite the darkness, easily recognized the landscape: Hogsmeade. In front of her stood a large middleclass house, lit from within, which could have passed for a renovated Shrieking Shack. The taste of blood growing stronger, Hermione spontaneously grabbed her wand and cast a healing spell.
Nothing.
She could no longer feel her magic. She had indeed lost it. How was that possible? How could her magical abilities have been stolen? The day McGonagall had come to tell her she was a witch, Hermione had been so afraid it was a joke that she had refused to believe her at first. Then she had held her wand for the first time... and she had realized that all her dreams were coming true. She had realized that she was gifted with magic, that she could do amazing things.
Hermione turned her wand between her fingers.
It might never be more than a mere piece of wood, but she would keep it anyway. If she succeeded in her mission, perhaps she could ask the genie to make her a witch? It wouldn't involve payment, and perhaps she wouldn't have powers as powerful as those she had inherited at birth and learnt to master... She didn't care. The idea of giving up magic forever was unbearable. The genie had stolen the object of her patronus. She refused to lose the power, the strength of that memory.
In the meantime, what could she do? If the genie had sent her to Hogsmeade, it was because that was the best place for her to begin her mission. But Lord Voldemort was lurking, and Harry, Ron and she were on the run. Many Death Eaters must be roaming around: caution was advised. She looked up at the star-studded sky. It was night-time and she could hardly steal food, as she would have done as a witch. Even changing her appearance was impossible.
Then the solution came to her. There was a pub in Hogsmeade where she knew she had allies. In the moonlight, it would be harder to recognize her if she hurried, and everything would be fine. Hermione tucked her hair into the collar of her coat, lowered her head and made her way to the Hog's Head.
--- 000 ---
As soon as she entered the still bustling streets of Hogsmeade, Hermione noticed clues that made her suspicious.
Large beeswax candles had replaced the usual magical lanterns. On this Christmas Eve, passers-by strolled cheerfully, seemingly unconcerned about encountering a Death Eater. They were dressed in old-fashioned clothes, as if in an old family photograph. Some houses were dilapidated, while others seemed to be in better condition than Hermione remembered. In place of Honeydukes, there was a restaurant whose terrace tables were covered with snow. A sign indicated that the owner was away for the holidays.
“Dragon liver sandwiches for the lovely lady?”
Hermione jumped. The toothless merchant she had just passed was holding a shabby stall that gave off a suspicious smell. It was surprising that he wasn't trying to be more discreet: selling dragon liver had been banned since dragons were recognized as a protected species at the congress of May 1951 at the Ministry of Magic of Vienna. Did he know the risk he was taking by offering dragon liver to a passer-by? A fine of a thousand galleons and two years' imprisonment in Azkaban.
Hermione shivered. What if it wasn't banned yet?
Could she have landed before 1951? But what year was it? The merchant was wearing the same beret as Hermione's grandfather! She had thought that the genie would send her back two years, shortly before the tragic day when Fred Weasley had died. Little by little, she realized that she had travelled further back in time. Had Fred Weasley been doomed to die from the start of the war? Should she kill the person who had killed him? Should she prevent the birth of the one who had killed him, or something like that?
When had that genie idiot sent her?
“Dragon liver?”
“No, thank you,” Hermione replied. “But I'll give you a galleon if you give me today's full date.”
“For a galleon, Murdoch will gladly give the Gazette to the pretty lady!” replied the vendor with a silly look on his face. “Murdoch can't read anyway! And if the pretty lady wants dragon liver, Murdoch will give her a slice of toast, oh yes! Too bad the pretty lady doesn't seem to like dragon liver...”
Hermione placed a galleon on the counter – realizing at the same time that she only had about ten – and the man handed her his newspaper.
THE DAILY PROPHET – Thursday, 24 December 1942
“No...” whispered Hermione.
On the front page, a photo of a man with a pointed chin stared down at Hermione with contempt. “Grindelwald in England: rumours confirmed!” The headline was followed by a long article in which the words “Aurors” and “Ministry” appeared regularly. Hermione had indeed travelled to a time when war was raging, but it was not the war against Voldemort. In this time, Grindelwald was terrorising the wizarding world. He would normally be defeated in 1945, two and a half years later.
But Merlin, what was she doing here? Did she have to go this far to save Fred Weasley? Voldemort didn't even exist!
“I... I thank you,” she whispered to the vendor. “I have to... I have to go. Thank you.”
--- 000 ---
Hermione wandered around Hogsmeade for several hours. The streets gradually emptied of passers-by who had been giving her surprised and curious looks. Now, she thought to herself, their choice of clothing made perfect sense. She was the odd one out. Christmas 1942! The Prophet that the liver seller had given her could have been an antique copy, but the closed signs hanging on the shop doors confirmed the date on it. She had not travelled two years into the past, but fifty-seven years.
On the plus side, she no longer had to worry about running into her double; she wasn't born yet. Neither were her parents. And her grandparents were still in nappies.
Her steps led her to the entrance of the Hog’s Head. She wouldn't have recognised the pub if it had been in a different location. In her time, long cracks ran across the old, dirty grey shutters; now, the shutters were a clean, bright red. Everything was in better condition, even the wooden sign with the famous head on it. The usual smell of goat was absent. Hermione sighed; she missed her magic more than ever. Under other circumstances, she would have enjoyed discovering Hogsmeade this way.
But no. Right now, she was cold and mentally counting how many days she could last with ten galleons in her pocket. Whether or not this was where she was supposed to fulfill her mission, whether or not the genie was an impostor, it didn't matter anymore; Hermione had to pull herself together. Find a solution. Understand what she was doing here. No, the genie was probably not a liar; she would later understand the meaning of her return to the past. Her magic had never been her only resource; her good knowledge of history would help her. She would manage.
Wouldn't she?
The door suddenly opened, revealing a tall waitress with red lips.
“Hello,” she said. “If you're looking for the menu, we've brought it inside. The snow washed away the slate every time Mr. Jocelin rewrote the drinks list. It was enough to make you tear your hair out, if you ask me. I find it hard to believe that there are spells to make your nails grow, but none to protect us from this kind of inconvenience.”
“Have you ever tried a preservation spell?” suggested Hermione.
The waitress frowned.
“I never thought of that,” she admitted. “I'll talk to Mr. Jocelin about it. Are you American? You're dressed a bit like my aunt who lives in New York. Excuse me, I should let you in,” she added, stepping aside. “My boss says I tend to talk too much. I think it's a family tradition. My mother is the same, and my aunt—my mother's sister—is even worse than me. Apparently, her neighbours in New York avoid her. Oh, it may just be a rumour started by my cousin, but I wouldn't be surprised if it were true.”
The floorboards creaked. Hermione noticed that the interior was still as small as ever, with tables crammed together, but there was little dust on the windows or covering the floor. The wooden cash register behind the counter was less jarring than in the future, and the staircase seemed to be in better condition. The large bouquets of dandelions arranged on the tables surprised her more than the presence of two masked men at the back of the room. The current owner of the premises was not yet Aberforth, which explained its relative cleanliness; on the other hand, the clientele remained the same.
Somewhere, she was glad that Aberforth was not yet the owner of the pub and that it was being maintained. The idea of sleeping among bedbugs would not have appealed to her.
“Bonnie!” boomed a voice from the staircase. “Clean Mel's room! That madman left butter everywhere!”
“Coming!” replied the waitress. “Sit down,” she added to Hermione, “Mr Jocelin will come and see to you, I think.”
She went behind the counter, quickly wiped her hands on the tea towel and went upstairs. Hermione glanced at the slate. The prices at the Hog's Head were fairly low, so she could afford one night, maybe two, and a few light meals before her purse was empty. Now she had to find a job. Perhaps it would be wise to ask for an appointment with Dumbledore and offer her services to the school? If he accepted, Hermione would have lodging, food and protection.
She was educated. She didn't ask for a huge salary. She would be able to convince him.
A man with a long, pale face came down the stairs and fixed his dark eyes on her. A raised scar ran across his face. Hermione deduced from his appearance that he was the owner of the place, Mr. Jocelin.
In the end, she preferred Aberforth.
“Are you here to spend the night in my place?” he asked in a sinister voice.
She definitely preferred Aberforth.
“A room,” she replied. “The smallest one you have. I don't have much money.”
“If you're willing to take a room buttered like French toast, it'll be free...” he growled.
“Thank you, but I'd rather pay,” Hermione changed her mind.
He opened a drawer behind the counter and took out an old key marked ‘2’.
“First room on the left at the top of the stairs...” he announced solemnly.
“How much do I owe you?”
He pointed to a sheet of paper hanging from the beam by a rusty nail. On it were listed all the rates for the rooms and the various services that could be requested by guests. One night cost two galleons and six knuts.
Hermione placed the money on the counter, took the key and slipped it into her pocket.
“Excuse me,” she continued as Mr. Jocelin put the change in the cash drawer. “I would also like to make an appointment with the headmaster of Hogwarts. Could you pass on my request to him?”
Mr. Jocelin grunted. This time, Hermione only needed a little luck. If he agreed to contact the headmaster and if the headmaster came, she would have her opportunity.
The man suddenly stopped.
“Are you here for the job?” he asked.
A vacancy at Hogwarts? It was too good to be true!
“Yes, that's right,” Hermione replied.
But what if her application required her to use magic?
“Perhaps,” she added hastily. “I have conditions, of course...”
“You'll discuss that with him...” Mr. Jocelin interrupted her.
Rude!
“Headmaster Dippet will come tomorrow at ten…” he announced in his muffled voice. “After he leaves, you can spend Christmas here... We offer a plate of wild boar with mushroom purée and pumpkin juice for the holidays, and we offer a reduced rate for those who stay in a room...”
“Thank you.”
Of course. Dumbledore had become headmaster after Grindelwald's arrest. At this time, it was Armando Dippet who occupied the large office. Hermione felt disappointed at first, then relieved. Hiding her origins would be easier with Dippet than with a legilimens like Dumbledore. She nodded, with the unpleasant feeling that something was escaping her. Something to do with Headmaster Dippet. Something Harry had told her. Never mind, it didn't matter, she would look into it later.
“Boss!” cried Bonnie from upstairs. “There's a gnome tied up under Mel's bed!”
“I'm coming...” said Mr. Jocelin with a sigh.
Without another glance at his customer, he turned on his heel and headed for the stairs.
Hermione glanced at the masked men chatting at the back of the room. One of them turned his head towards her and raised his mug, as if to greet her, before returning to his business. The young woman walked around the counter and climbed the stairs. First door on the left. She inserted the key into the lock, pushed the door open and closed it behind her. The room was small, with a double bed next to a window overlooking the courtyard. Hermione realised she had no change of clothes. Her Galleons would soon be gone...
Hermione let herself fall onto the bed. It was less comfortable than at Hogwarts, but undoubtedly more comfortable than the cobblestones of the streets adjacent to the main alley in Hogsmeade. In fact, when she thought about it, her arrival in 1942, when Dippet was looking for staff, was probably not a coincidence. “I'll help you get in.” The genie had probably meant Hogwarts. He hadn't sent her to this place, one that day, by mistake. Yes, that was certain! She absolutely had to get that vacant position at Hogwarts.
Exhausted, Hermione quickly undressed and slipped under the sheets. They were worn and scratched every inch of bare skin, but exhaustion made her undemanding. She hoped that her journey would enable her to save Fred Weasley, whatever it took. She hoped that her meeting with Headmaster Dippet the next day would be a saving grace. She hoped that her application for this position would not require her to demonstrate magic. And it was with all these thoughts and desires that she fell into a deep sleep.
Hermione slept well that night.
She slept well because she had no idea what position she had just applied for.