Well Roared, Lion...

Discussion in 'ROLEPLAY GRAVEYARD' started by Nyxie-Pixie, Oct 8, 2011.

  1. [NOTE: The title of this thread is also the title of a popular Tomione fanfic by Treeson of Granger Enchanted - credit goes to them, but plot and character concept is original.]

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    Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry; August 31st, 1996.

    Hermione’s hand shook as she reached for the crisp, cream colored envelope on her bed. She had just returned to the Head Girl’s dormitory to finish unpacking for the new school year after dinner, and happened to notice the envelope appear against her pillow out of the corner of her eye. The shining black ink was still wet, and in a familiar hand. Hermione knew that Dumbledore contacting her in such means did not bode well, and she was swallowing a large lump back down her throat as she slowly, carefully broke the red wax Phoenix seal. Her alert, warm brown eyes began scanning his written words; Hermione abruptly felt faint after the first few sentences.

    [align=center]Dearest Miss Granger,

    I fear I never took the time to know you well, and I regret that with my whole heart. It burdens me to ask of you what I am about to now, knowing that you may think less of me for it. But all that stands before us is too great a burden in itself to face alone – the Darkness is upon us, and the Light cannot withstand lest it join with other flickers of flame. Your light, Miss Granger, is one of the brightest I have ever seen in a witch your age. Harry has told me a great deal about you, as have your esteemed professors, but it is more than rumor and common opinion alone that makes me choose you for the winding, dangerous road ahead.

    Miss Granger, you have been a true friend even in the direst of circumstances, standing by those you care for, fighting alongside them, simply because you felt it was the right thing to do. Many could learn a thing or two from you, my dear, and not just academically -- though I daresay your academic achievements far outshine many that have passed through these halls. I did not call you the brightest witch of our age lightly, you see. And it is your cleverness, your heart, your courage that I am depending on now, when I am no longer able to foresee the events ahead. We are in a dark sea of the unknown, of turmoil, my dear. The Order of the Phoenix can only hold so many Dark forces back before they falter and crumble, and we are far too overburdened to withstand much more. Our victories are few, and our losses are great.

    Even with Harry ready and willing to battle the Dark Lord one last time in attempts of fulfilling the prophecy, I am afraid that without some greater miracle our hope is for naught. Harry is a symbol of our hope, our future, but he represents a future that can never be unless we change our methods, follow through with something Voldemort cannot anticipate, something that he would never think of us...

    Without something more, something that I fear might be drastic...

    This war will be lost.

    You have already sacrificed so much in the name of our cause, and it pains me to ask you to give up more. After many months of testing and thought, I have formed a resolution –- a risky one, but if anyone can make it work, it is you. Harry is needed here, and too set in his ways. Ron is also needed here, and will not leave Harry’s side, nonetheless –- and it is their loyalty to you that makes me ask you to tell no one of this. Not even your parents. It would endanger them more than they already are, and potentially risk the already uncertain success of your objective.

    Time is the answer, Hermione. Inside this envelope is a portkey that will take you to a secure location, in which you will find everything you will need for your journey. Please, if you need anything, I will be there to help you as much as I can. I’m sorry I cannot explain further –- this is your journey, your task.

    Do not tell me anymore than I need to know –- do not try to alter the effect directly. Consider the cause.

    Be careful.

    Please set this letter down and step away. It will self-destruct in exactly three seconds once it detects you’ve finished reading.

    With love and respect,

    Ablus Dumbledore

    Hermione hurriedly set the letter down on the stone floor of her private dormitory, stepping several feet backwards. Sure enough, mere moments after she was a safe distance away, the letter burst into flames, along with the envelope. For a moment, Hermione was distraught, thinking the portkey had been destroyed, but sure enough, blossoming merrily out of the ball of flame as the fire died a single, brilliant red feather floated gently to the floor. A soft smile touched her lips as she recognized the Phoenix Feather, no doubt from Fawkes, as the intended portkey. Though she still had some matters to tend to before she saw about this mission she’d apparently been sent on, she decided to go ahead and gather what she’d need, as apparently it was urgent.

    Gingerly plucking the feather from the floor, she felt the familiar and unpleasant pulling sensation behind her navel, and felt as if she was sucked through a straw. After she opened her eyes and her vision stopped dancing, she realized she was still in the castle, in what could only be the Room of Requirement. To err on the side of caution, she hastily said aloud, ”I require you to let no one else enter while I am present, and remove any evidence of myself, and these things being here when I leave.” The magic in the air shifted, and Hermione knew the room had accepted her request.

    Now that that had been taken care of, along with the added precautions of some quickly and fluidly placed wards, she could concentrate on the loads of things before her. Female mannequins were assembled in a perfect semi-circle in various poses, modeling various clothing from the 1940’s. She noticed several sets of school robes, as well as muggle dresses and some jumpers and slacks, though most of the clothing consisted of breezy blouses and knee or ankle-length skirts. All of the clothing looked expensive, but it was also tastefully cut and conservative, just the way she liked it. Next to the concave circle of mannequins, a vanity was set up. A large, ornate oval mirror reflected the soft lighting of the room, and various hygiene and beauty products were found artfully laid on top of the vanity, as well as a large, silver jewelry box contained in one of the drawers.

    Abandoning the vanity, Hermione found several large bookshelves stacked against the wall, containing a number of volumes she could find handy, as well as some for recreational reading. A large bag from Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, Fred and Georges’ immensely popular joke shop, sat on the high-backed, beautifully carved chair of the vanity. Hermione peeked through it’s contents to find that it held mainly the defensive items that the twins recently started carrying in light of Harry’s rebellion against the Ministry the year before. Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder, curse repelling robes, extendable ears, and a complimentary Skiving Snack Box full of nosebleed-nougat and puking-pastilles, among the other popular favorites. Draped over the side of a large armoire in which she found various undergarments, shoes, and many old-fashioned but lovely accessories, was Harry’s Invisibility cloak. The Marauder’s map was laying neatly folded on top of a bed-side table that accompanied a large, beautifully decorated four-poster canopy bed.

    All of these items were lovely, and despite being practical, Hermione found herself getting slightly giddy.

    But what on earth would she require all of this for? Staring around the room in almost frozen wonder for several seconds, a yowl of greeting startled her from her near open-mouthed befuddlement and admiration.

    Crookshanks had somehow managed to find his way into the Room of Requirement, as well as a modified Hogwarts letter, and a rather weighty bag of Galleons, which were currently resting on the bed between the paws of her beloved familiar. A note appeared again, falling gently against her pillow from thin air. As she expected, she once again recognized the hand as Dumbledores’.

    [align=center]Miss Granger,

    Here you will find everything you will need to carry out your mission. As you may have deduced by now, the time-turner around Crookshanks’ neck is the key. I believe 267 turns should do it. It is imperative you leave as soon as possible. Have no fear for your life in the present –- this time will go into a stasis until you return; it will be as if you never left. Harry has willingly donated his Invisibility Cloak and Marauders Map, and the Weasley’s have made their own contributions to our cause. I regret to say they do not know the reason the items were needed, just that they were. Also, my brother and his then wife were in France during that time -- they were estranged from the Wizarding World for the most part -- so have no fear in being portrayed as their only daughter. All of the fine details have already been taken care of.

    I believe in you, Hermione.

    Good luck.

    P.S; I still liked Lemon Drops in 1944.

    Lemon Drops in 1944?

    Darting a questioning glance at Crookshanks, Hermione huffed, not a bit surprised to find that this letter too, had burst into flames as soon as she set it down. Watching with mild interest as the scorch marks seemingly erased themselves from the floor (at least she knew the Room was fulfilling it's end of the bargain), Hermione came back to herself and retrieved a grumpy and groomed Crookshanks from under the bed, where he had fitfully scampered in response to things spontaneously combusting in his proximity. The time-turner around her familiar’s neck was unlike any she had ever seen. It was wrought in silver and gold, and instead of the usual sand, crushed rubies filtered between two funnels of crystalline glass. It was beautiful. Hermione had only ever used a time-turner in Third Year, but she still remembered the simple procedure. She fingered the instrument thoughtfully, before setting it aside. If she was really going to go through with this fantastical feat, she was going to need to be as prepared as possible.

    Pacing about the room, she took a few moments to gather her thoughts, while Crookshanks watched her wear tracks into the stone floor from his perch on her bed. Coming to a decision, Hermione shed her modern school robes (which disappeared into thin air once they touched the ground! Good thing she hadn't left anything important in her pockets...), and donned a simple dark blue silk blouse and black pencil skirt, along with the appropriate under-things and some very troublesome shoes. The pumps she had chosen had a little more heel than she preferred, but apparentlyy women simply did not wear trainers in the forties (at least she had deduced that was where she was headed, via Dumbledore's cryptic message) and seeing as all the shoes neatly aligned in the bottom of her armoire had some form of heel...well, there wasn't any helping it, was there? She had a feeling that this was going to be a decidedly uncomfortable era. But, nonetheless, she was going to have to act the part if she wanted this to work –- the Wizarding World as she knew it may very well count on her success. Her insides trembled at the thought, and though she might very well be wasting precious time, Hermione for once in her life, took time considering her appearance.

    She would likely start counting the stones in the ceiling if it let her keep her mind off of the Herculean feat that she was to undertake. Hermione stood before the vanity, straightening her clothes and even applying a little make-up. Nothing drastic –- just enough to enhance her eyes and lips and hide and imperfections in her skin. A few flicks of her wand and her unruly ringlets were smooth, sleek, and shiny, contained in a bun, secured with one of the lovely silver and sapphire hair-combs she had found within the jewelry box. A simple silver bracelet and an ornate golden ring with a large ruby fixed in the center completed her ensemble. As far as she knew, the ring was a family ring, signifying that she was both a Pureblood and unbetrothed. Frowning a bit, she cast the ring from her mind, deciding that it would at least help her keep up appearances, even if she suddenly found it distasteful. Pureblood aristocracy had never meshed well with her...

    A spritz of lilac perfume later and she was satisfied that she could stroll backwards in time with confidence. A cream-colored pack of soft-leather caught her attention, and she smiled, casting an undetectable extending charm on it, before going around and shrinking all of the items, even the mannequins, and placing them into her pack. Thinking a minute, she began putting various other charms on the contents as well, she could keep everything from flopping around everywhere and getting mixed up and broken.

    Once the room had been cleared and she double-checked and triple-checked that she had everything, she put on the final touches. Putting her wand to her own throat, she murmured, ”Enchant’e accentia!" and felt a warm sensation in her throat. She now spoke with a husky French accent. Well, she was supposed to have lived in France all this time and attended Beaubaxtons -- she couldn’t take any chances with holes in her story. In fact, she couldn’t take any chances at all! Thinking it over, she waved her wand again, making her eyes a deep forest green, and her hair a deep brown, though with more of a red tinge. The Dumbledore’s had been natural red-heads before they’d went gray, after all! These features were a secret tribute to Harry and Ron, however, but she’d keep that tid-bit to herself. Retrieving the Time-Turner from Crookshank’s neck once again, she noticed that the orange, fat, and excessively fluffy cat had a rather elegant leather collar on, which had a tiny bell attached to it. Even with that bell, her cat managed to be excessively sneaky! Rolling her now green eyes, Hermione put the time-turner around her own neck, and took a deep breath, preparing herself.

    Lifting her wand, taking Crookshanks securely into her arms, and making sure she had the pack securely on her shoulder, she cast the spell that would make the time-turner automatically turn the appropriate amount of turns. The world began to spin and Crookshanks grumbled his distress, but she couldn’t move to comfort him. Like the last time, Hermione experienced a vastly unpleasant sensation of spiraling through a wind-tunnel, the pressure of the atmosphere pressing in on her chest. Crookshanks let out an unpleasant squeal during the process and Hermione could barely breathe, let alone make any other noise. Finally, the pressure on her chest let up and she sucked in a grateful breath, only to have it knocked out of her again, when she fell through the fresh evening air, landing right on top of something –- or was it someone?

    [align=center]Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry; August 31st, 1944.[/align]

    Hermione gasped and wheezed, while Crookshanks screeched and took off like a shot as soon as his large paws hit the cool ground. Just as her familiar's orange fluffy tail disappeared into the thickness of the Forbidden Forest, Hermione suddenly realized where she was, and who she had just unintentionally accosted.

    "Get off of me, you buffoon!" A cold, drawling voice seethed and she barely had time to stuff the time-turner out of sight before she felt her shoulders being seized roughly. Large pale hands decorated with expensive jewelry and lovely black leather gloves clenched her in a death grip, and ice blue eyes surveyed her. "I do not recognize you - is it your custom to randomly fall out of the sky on unsuspecting persons? Awfully rude if I don't say so myself." He drawled, before releasing her, his tone unexpectedly changing once he took in her ring, and her general person, cleavage included. "Abraxas Malfoy. Can I have the pleasure of knowing who just fractured my ribs?" He extended a gloved hand to her, and it took Hermione a moment to absorb this bizarre situation, before her brain kicked in.

    "My apologies, Monsieur Malfoy. I am not used to travelling wiz ze portkey. I am Hermione Dumbledore - Albus Dumbledore's niece. Would you mind taking me to him?" She asked abruptly, her slight French accent causing the Grandfather of Draco to raise a brow, before an admiring, albeit wolfish look entered his pale eyes. "But of course, Miss Dumbledore. It's my duty as a prefect and Pureblooded gentleman, after all," Abraxas crooned, smoothly offering her his arm. Hermione took it after a split second's hesitation, thanking Merlin he didn't question her story, and taking a moment to right her clothing and re-gather her belongings. She would see to retrieving Crookshanks later. For now, she needed to see Dumbledore.


    "Pardon, but actually, I believe Headmaster Dippet should know of your arrival first. You won't have to wait but a moment, I assure you. He is in a meeting currently, with the Head Boy and prefects. Dreadfully boring. I stepped out to take a break from his incessant rambling and I have a pretty little thing fall on me, and an un-betrothed Pureblood too!" Hermione didn't like where this conversation was going, and so she merely nervously giggled, trying to keep step with him instead of make a break--neck pace for the Headmaster's office. This 'offering- your- arm- to -ladies' thing was apparently some sort of tradition at Hogwarts in this era, because even the female teacher, the only one, mind you, was escorted to and fro by a male professor. It was a day before term started, just after dinner, if she was right -- but there were a few students who had been due to arrive early for some reason or another. Hermione learned through the one-man grapevine that was Abraxas Malfoy that this had something to do with preparations for a large, prominent Halloween Ball.

    Oh, goody.

    The staircases were much more well-behaved in this era than in hers, or it just could have been Abraxas' commanding presence. She wasn't really sure. To her, the castle was more or less the same, but it seemed happier, more authentic and classic, somehow, which was ridiculous, considering her current escort. Hermione had to act like she didn't know a thing about Abraxas Malfoy - -she didn't buy that he was out 'taking a break,' so close to the Forbidden Forest. But, again, she couldn't give any hint of dislike, any hint of suspicion. She supposed if she was really who she said she was, she'd be gracious, kind, and unassuming -- even a little flirty. Hermione steeled herself, buried her prejudices as best she could, and by the time she reached the Gargoyle guarding the entrance to Dippet's office, her smile was a little more genuine. "Z'ank you, Monsieur, but I'm sure I can manage ze rest of ze way myself - ah, after you speak ze password, zat is." she said coyly, inwardly grimacing when Abraxas genially insisted on accompanying her.

    If he kept being this good-natured, she might start screaming any moment now...

    The staircase unwound after he spoke the password with his usual confident drawl, and Hermione filed it away for future use. Taking the steps two at a time, Hermione suddenly found herself pausing at the office door, hearing a vast array of unfamiliar voices. A random, powerful shock occurred when she suddenly realized that it would not be Dumbledore behind the desk in that room -- it would not be an ally. Suddenly, her eagerness to speak to the Headmaster dwindled considerably. She was stuck in the past -- or rather, the future. She needed to get a grip on herself! Taking a deep, calming breath, Hermione pushed open the doors, noting Abraxas' keen look. Chills swept down her spine, and she hoped she didn't appear too unsettled -- after all, who would have a reason to be unsettled with talking to the Headmaster? Not someone who didn't have something to hide. Pasting a smile on her face, Hermione politely greeted everyone, and Headmaster Dippet turned out to be a kind, happy-go-lucky, if a bit dull man, who was only too eager to accept her into Hogwarts.

    "Hear, Hear, another Dumbledore to our ranks!" he announced jovially, filing away her transference letter for his archives. Dippet took his time introducing Hermione to every person in the room, making sure she knew her fellow students well. "And this lad here," Dippet continued, extending his hand towards a nearby individual Hermione hadn' t noticed in such a large crowd, "This is our star pupil and Head Boy, Tom Riddle."

    Hermione's stomach was suddenly taking up residence in her expensive shoes...