Time in a Bottle Chapter 3
Hermione lay in the quiet
solitude of her infirmary bed and stared at the smooth white ceiling.
She was trying to recall
the events that led her to the 19th century, desperately trying to think of
anything significant.
Hermione had been walking
down a corridor in Hogwarts thinking about her next lesson, potions, when two
brawling Ravenclaws stumbled around the corner. She had gotten shoved into a
wall and heard a faint crunching noise. She vaguely remembered a falling
sensation.
Then she was waking up to
a teenaged Dumbledore ordering her to cover her identity.
Thinking back on it, she
wondered why.
She knew the Dumbledore
from her time, but she knew very little of the Albus of this time. He had grown
to be a great wizard, but what of his teenage years?
She may have just gotten
herself into serious trouble.
“Miss Dumbledore,”
Headmaster Phineas Nigellus began, his hands folded on the table before him.
“You have caused quite a disturbance in our school with your arrival.”
Phineas had thin receding
black hair that sharply pointed into a widow’s peak. His thin mustache and
small pointed beard twitched around his mouth. Dark brown eyes fixed
unblinkingly at her.
“I am sorry sir,” said
Hermione in a light French accent. She was planning on losing it quickly. “I
obviously did not think things through. I could have died, not to mention
disrupting the studies of others.”
She was repeating to
herself in her head that her name was Hannah Dumbledore. She had always been
home schooled. She was raised in
Aberforth had slipped her
a note briefing her on a few details, thankfully. The ink had faded after a
day, but it was long enough for her to memorize it.
“Quite,” said Nigellus
quirking a thin slick eyebrow. “Your apology is accepted.”
He smiled maliciously and
Hermione had the feeling it wasn’t over yet.
“Your father has written
to us and you will be staying with us for the rest of the year,” Nigellus
smiled thinly. “Perhaps he thinks his coddling has affected your sense of
reason.”
Hermione nodded silently.
How long was it going to be until someone found her?
“You will have the chance
to apologize to the pupils tonight,” Nigellus said, looking slightly amused.
“Before the meal.”
She didn’t know anyone in
this time besides Dumbledore and he didn’t really know her.
She had to give a speech
to the ancestors of her classmates, apologizing for something she hadn’t done.
She only had a prayer that
anyone would figure out where she was.
“Yes sir,” Hermione said,
her heart sinking.
Hermione made a brief,
stammering speech, trying to be as unmemorable as possible. Albus Dumbledore
nodded and looked relieved when it was over.
To her surprise, although
she should have expected it, the Sorting Hat was brought out.
She sat on the small
wooden stool and a tall wizard with burgundy robes and brown hair set the hat
on her head.
“Aren’t you early and late
all at once?” the Sorting Hat echoed in her head.
“Certainly wasn’t my
idea,” Hermione whispered, annoyed. It probably wasn’t often the hat sorted a
Seventh Year, though.
“Well then,” the Sorting
Hat said. “Gryffindor!”
The hall resounded with
applause and Hermione smiled slightly as she made her way to the long wooden
table holding her new house mates.
Hermione noticed the
Hufflepuffs clapped politely, if at all. The Slytherins smiled and a dark
haired boy nodded at her, appraisingly.
She frantically tried to
recall anything she had read about the history of interhouse rivalries, but
came up blank. At least she was as clueless as she was expected to be. Her
false French origins would be a plausible cover for most potentially
embarrassing situations.
She hoped.
Aberforth and Albus, she
kept repeating to herself, had already saved her a place between them.
Hermione tried not to
notice that the other sexes seemed to be segregated. She assumed since she was
supposedly family with the boys they would be expected to escort her. This was
going to be convenient, yet bothersome.
It wasn’t as if Harry and
Ron hadn’t been with her most of the time, but she had some time to herself.
Hermione had the feeling her privacy was about to completely disappear.
Hermione bowed her head
with the rest of the school as the Fat Friar, the Hufflepuff ghost, blessed the
evening meal. She wondered when that had changed. It was probably something so
small no one had bothered to mention in Hogwarts: a History.
Hermione picked
absentmindedly at her chicken as she let the boys make light conversation so
she could get her bearings.
During the meal, Albus
passed her a copy of her classes. She blinked twice.
Monday:
History of Magic
(Gentlemen) Quidditch
(Ladies) Household
Management
Luncheon
Potions
Tuesday:
Transfiguration
Divination
Luncheon
Arithmancy
Wednesday:
Herbology
(Gentlemen) Quidditch
(Ladies) Household
Management
Luncheon
Potions
Thursday:
Transfiguration
Care of Magical Creatures
Luncheon
Arithmancy
Friday:
History of Magic
Herbology
Luncheon
Charms
“Household Management?”
Hermione blurted out. A homemaking class?
“You can spend that hour
in the library, if you wish,” Albus said. “Contact Madame Church so she can
drop you from the roster.”
“It may be informative,”
Hermione said weakly. It would give her a great opportunity to find out what
was normal in this time period. Hopefully no one would speak to her. “Perhaps I
should attend.”
“Not like you have to
learn how to manage a household,” snorted Aberforth as he tapped her foot with
the pointed toe of his shoe. She mentally noted that the French branch of the
Dumbledore family was well off.
“I find Household
Management a most interesting hour,” a blonde witch interrupted. She was seated
behind them at the Slytherin table between two large blonde boys. They seemed
to become even more interested in their dinner, if that were possible.
“You would,” Aberforth
said under his breath so only Hermione could hear.
“Hannah,” Albus began
neutrally, “this is Rachel Black.”
Hermione hoped her face
didn’t register any recognition at the other girls’ surname. Hermione nodded at
Rachel.
“As I was saying,” Rachel
said, as if the introduction were intrusive on her opinion. “Household
Management is quite interesting. It’s not as if your husband will be interested
at all in anything that happens in the house he resides in, except that the bed
is warm and the food is plenty.”
Rachel glared at the men
accusingly. Aberforth rolled his eyes at the ceiling without turning around to
face the bossy girl. Household Management might be interesting after all,
Hermione thought to herself. Rachel passed Hermione a basket of bread.
“These animals live with
you, work a bit, bring home some gold and think their job is done,” Rachel
continued loftily. “Our work is never done. We don’t have the pleasure of
earning our own wages beyond servitude, leaving for exclusive clubs to shirk
our family duties, or pursuing worthwhile activities like sports or scholarly
studies.”
“No one is saying you
can’t live in the library if you wish,” Albus began, but Rachel didn’t let him
get very far.
“But there are still
branches of literature people would discourage me from for being a woman!”
Rachel jutted her chin out stubbornly.
“Really,” Hermione said
interestedly. “What do you plan on studying?”
“Anything she’s told not
to,” Aberforth said under his breath.
“I heard that, Aberforth
Dumbledore!” Rachel said, annoyed.
“You know, it’s not
everyone that can demolish half a charms classroom trying to prove how smart
they are,” Aberforth finally turned around to glare at Rachel.
Albus took Hermione’s arm
and scooted her closer to him, out of immediate reach of Aberforth or Rachel.
Hermione suddenly realized
she was in extremely close proximity to a very good looking boy. He smelled
slightly of spices and soap. She shifted her posture so she could be close,
without actually touching him.
This was Dumbledore, for
Merlin’s sake! Good Lord, Harry was right. She needed to get over Krum and get
on with it. She was obviously getting desperate and silly.
The scent had muddled her
senses enough to have missed the end of the argument. At least the speaking
part.
Rachel had finally
clobbered Aberforth on the shoulder and he had responded by throwing a goblet
of water in her face. She lunged and the scuffle had begun. The students seemed
just as enthusiastic at the prospect of a fight as Hermione’s classmates had
been. The noise level rose above them as people climbed onto their benches to
get a better look.
Hermione couldn’t help but
notice the large blonde boys had not come to their cousin’s rescue, but were
watching with mildly amused looks on their faces.
Come to think of it, it
didn’t seem like any real blows were being thrown.
“Does this happen often?”
Hermione asked Dumbledore over the rising din of cheering students.
“Once a week or so,” Albus
said, sighing and turning his back on his brother and Rachel. Hermione followed
his lead and tried to look as invisible as possible as Headmaster Nigellus
stormed between tables, zapping students out of his path with small sparks of
lightning from his wand. “I expect they’ll be announcing their engagement any
day now.”
Hermione snorted as she
reached for her own goblet of water. She chanced a glance at Dumbledore.
It was still Dumbledore’s
long nose, his soft eyes, but goodness that twinkle looked drastically
different under that crown of red and above that little intriguing line of
freckles that ended-
For crying out loud, it
was Dumbledore!
“Dumbledore! Black!”
Nigellus roared with a trick that amplified his voice and rattled the walls of
the Great Hall. Aberforth and Rachel shot to their feet, straightening their
robes.
Hermione noticed a First
Year Hufflepuff standing on a bench, quietly accepting coins and nodding at
whispers from other students. If the betting pool was this organized, Albus
wasn’t kidding.
“Fifteen points each for
Gryffindor and Slytherin! Detention for a week! Go to your common rooms
immediately!”
Most students groaned, but
Hufflepuff laughed. Hermione threw an amazed look in their direction. When did
they become such a bunch of jerks?
Aberforth shot Albus and
Hermione an apologetic look before gathering his things and trudging out of the
hall.
Rachel shot Aberforth a
dirty look before gathering her things and storming out, shoving her way past
him.
“Uppity,” Hermione heard
from behind her in a female voice.
“She’ll grow out of it,” a
male voice answered. “Her father indulges her too much.”
Hermione fought back the
urge to turn around and give the Victorian students a mind full of modern
ideas.
She didn’t realize she was
gripping her fork in a death hold until Albus carefully took it away from her
and passed her a fingerbowl of strawberries. She also noticed him moving the
cutlery out of her reach.
Perhaps strong-willed
women weren’t that unheard of after all.
Albus walked Hermione to
the Gryffindor common room after the meal. As Hermione followed him through the
familiar twists and turns of the Hogwarts corridors she was a bit relieved she
had some practical knowledge, like where her room was.
To her surprise, the
portrait of the Fat Lady was nowhere to be found where the entrance portal was,
instead there was a large painting of a piano. Hermione watched as Dumbledore
reached his hand inside and plinked out a few bars of an unfamiliar tune.
Her heart sank. She didn’t
know anything about music, or the piano. What on earth was this?
The portal swung open and
Hermione breathed in at the sight of the common room.
The stairs were in the
same place, as was the fireplace and the Gryffindor banner, although this
banner seemed to be a hand woven tapestry.
The furniture was covered
in rich red velvet. Gold glinted from everywhere she was used to deep rich
wood. A small stream of steam snaked from a tea service in the corner. A small
piano sat in a corner.
"Do you play
chess?" a young, dark haired boy demanded to know the instant they had
entered the common room.
"It's so nice to see
such an impressive use of manners, Williams," Dumbledore said to the boy.
The boy went slightly pink
and bowed to Hermione.
"Pleased to meet your
acquaintance, Miss Dumbledore," the boy said.
"One usually waits
for an introduction before he's acquainted," Dumbledore gently pointed
out.
"Bugger, Albus!"
the boy said frustrated. "I'll never get it right!"
"Of course you
will," Hermione insisted. When the boy got frustrated his voice went from
clear, slightly over enunciated speech to a clipped cockney. "And I play
chess poorly, I'm afraid."
"Smashing," the
boy said, looking somewhat cheered.
"May I introduce
James Williams," Albus said with a sigh.
"How do you do,"
Hermione said with a bob. She was thankful she had run across an ancient book
of etiquette in the library.
"Chess?" the boy
asked hopefully.
"Perhaps later,"
Albus said with a frown. "Mistress Watson let you slip by with no work at
all for this evening?"
"Well," Williams
hesitated. "Perhaps a bit."
"A bit?"
Aberforth spluttered from a small table where books were stacked and rolls of
parchment lay unfurled.
Albus quirked an eyebrow
at Williams and he scuttled off. Albus shook his head.
“Lower born muggle parents.
Couldn’t even read when he got here.”
Hermione’s mind boggled at
the idea of print eluding the senses. She felt a shiver course through her.
“Cold?” Albus asked,
looking a bit concerned. “Your constitution may not have returned completely.
You came a long way. Perhaps we should sit by the fire.”
‘Constitution?’ Hermione
choked back a laugh, but followed him to the fire.
He chatted lightly about
‘their’ family affairs in Britain, the muggle High Nobs, and points of interest
about Hogwarts and the small town of Hogsmede that had just been founded
nearby.
“It’s such an ever so
wonderful idea,” a red haired girl interjected. “So our babies can grow away
from all the dangers we’re beginning to see.”
‘You ain’t seen nothing
yet,’ Hermione thought to herself.
“How so?” is what she
really said.
“The streets are getting
dangerous and overcrowded,” the girl said seriously. Dark brown eyes absorbed
Hermione. “The muggles are discontent. I want my children to grow up in a place
where I don’t have to fear for them.”
“I think you’re over
exaggerating,” a sandy hair boy said, looking annoyed at the red haired girl.
“Hannah, this is Francis
Bulstrode and Christina Weasley,” Albus introduced them.
Hermione lightly shook
hands with the pair, because they were obviously a pair.
She remembered Ron telling
her all the Weasleys were in Gryffindor. Apparently that changed at eventually
when that branch went to the Bulstrode line. It was strange watching history
happen. Maybe the Bulstrode switch was fairly recent, by her standards.
Somehow, she couldn’t believe Millicent Bulstrode descended from Gryffindor. It
was wrong, somehow. Maybe they were cousins.
“It’s not healthy to be
terrified of Muggles,” Francis said, patronizingly.
“I’m not terrified,” said
Christina. “But if I found out that some of my countrymen and women wielded
powers above and beyond any sort of control or regulation I would be a bit
nervous and perhaps would not make rational decisions at times.”
“So to avoid reactionary
behavior, you’re going to hide yourself away?” Francis argued.
“It’s the best for
children not to be exposed to that type of thing,” Christina argued.
Hermione looked at Albus
questioningly. The argument made sense, but it’s context was a bit screwy.
“I think you will be fine
living at the Bulstrode Estate,” Albus reassured Christina. “Even with the
muggle neighbors and family. They are quite kind people.”
“I know,” Christina looked
nervous. “I never met muggles before I met Francis. His mother is very pleased
at the idea of magical grandchildren.”
“How could she not be?”
Hermione interjected. “For a household that has never seen the privileges of
magic the idea would be wonderful! Imagine seeing the children develop their
talent as they get older, for a muggle grandparent it would be rapture. They
will never suffer any of the pains muggles go through.”
Albus nodded behind her.
“It will also benefit them
to see that not all people have the privilages they have,” he added. “They
won’t take as much for granted.”
“My mother would love to
see them grow,” Francis said softly.
Christina’s face softened.
“Of course, Francis. I wouldn’t dream of it any other way. We’ll live at the
estate.”
“It doesn’t mean we can’t
visit the town often,” Francis said, laying a hand on hers.
Hermione noticed the
Christina’s cheeks flushed furiously and she pulled her hand away. Francis took
her hand and held it.
“We are engaged, I will
hold your hand if I feel like it,” Francis declared, his voice rising. Then his
voice lowered to nearly a whisper, “Not as if I gave you a solid pat-“
“Francis!” Christina said
looking very nearly scandalized if she hadn’t been trying so hard not to laugh.
“I think the last thing
you need to worry about is outside your household,” Hermione commented, hoping
the reply wasn’t too cheeky for this time.
“No doubt,” Christina
snorted. She gave Francis’ hand a light slap and snatched her hand back.
“Ten more months, my
love,” Francis reminded her before he scurried off.
“Don’t remind me,”
Christina groaned. “I don’t know what my mother was thinking.”
Hermione looked at Albus
and laughed as Christina made her way to the girls’ dormitories.
“Has history changed
courtship rituals?” he asked interested.
“Not nearly as much as you
would imagine,” Hermione snickered.
As the common room emptied
out as the hours grew, Aberforth joined them near the fire. Once they had the
room to themselves, their conversation didn’t have to be so guarded.
“I can’t play the piano,”
Hermione sputtered.
“You’ll find it to be a
simple tune,” Aberforth insisted.
“It only took him a month
to learn,” Albus said dryly.
“Either way,” Aberforth
said, his voice a little high. “You’ll probably be with either of us most of
the time.”
“I suppose I will be,”
Hermione said lamely. She really hoped these boys liked to read. Perhaps they
wouldn’t have a problem with her being alone in the library. There would be the
librarian, it wouldn’t be like she was alone, really. Perhaps.
“Our father has sent along
some feminine articles,” Albus said. “It will be up in your room, although we
had to guess as to size. In the morning a house elf will be up to tailor your
clothing before classes start.”
Hermione nodded. This was
an era where ‘off the rack’ was a completely foreign concept. She had a feeling
that starting SPEW wouldn’t be a good idea, either.
“Thank you,” Hermione
said, swallowing dryly. “Your family is most kind.”
“The pleasure is all
ours,” said Albus, more than a little relieved.