His Past, Her Future {Book One}

Chapter 4. Waking Up For a Third

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When Hermione woke for the third time that day, this time it was at least to find herself tucked into a warm bed.

She barely registered the familiar surroundings of the Hogwarts hospital wing before her stomach gave another horrible lurch and this time, unprepared, Hermione lent over the bed and emptied her stomach.

Feeling boneless and exhausted she let her body hang half over the edge of the bed, her hair falling limply over her head and surrounding her vision like a curtain.

After a minute she felt the gentle push of hands against her shoulders, guiding her lithe frame back onto the pillows.

Her hair was brushed out of her face and she recognised a much younger Madame Pomfrey holding a pale pink vile.

Obligingly Hermione opened her mouth and allowed the woman to administer the potion.

The potion felt like heaven to Hermione's dry throat as it slithered down, eradicating the acid-like residue left from her retching.

Gradually Hermione felt the potion taking effect until a few minutes later she was able to push herself up into a seated position in her bed and the reality of her situation became for the first time very clear.

She needed to speak with Dumbledore.

As if sensing Hermione's designs for leaving her bed, the ever hawk-like presence of Madame Pomfrey appeared before Hermione had even pulled back her covers.

"Oh no, you don't Missy," the hospital Matron snipped in her familiar admonishing tone.

"I need to speak with Headmaster Dumbledore," Hermione tried to speak authoritatively but in fact only ended up supporting the Matron by showing her very scratchy voice.

Madame Pomfrey merely raised an eyebrow at Hermione's attempt and disgruntled Hermione followed her silent command and fell back onto the pillows.

At least grateful for the Matron for so far not asking any questions as to Hermione's state, Hermione wondered how she must have ended up in the hospital wing, the last thing she remembered being entering the pub.

Had a teacher brought her here?

Her face must have betrayed her thoughts for Madame Pomfrey started to speak through her wonderings.

"You're lucky Madame Rosmerta thought to bring you here so quickly," Madame Pomfrey's voice admonished but with a slightly gentler tone, as she tucked Hermione tightly back into her bed. "She said you collapsed right at her door."

"Could have frozen to death...honestly"

The Matron shook her head and continued to mutter half to herself as she retreated back into her office returning moments later with another potion, this time a blue one.

Hermione accepted the vile gratefully and handed the empty vile back once she had downed the contents.

Hermione wasn't sure what either of the potions she had been given were exactly; but in her weak state she had eagerly accepted the first and, since no harm had come of that, she had no worry in accepting the second.

It was Madame Pomfrey after all, no matter what year it might be.

As the potion took effect, doing whatever it was designed to do, she shifted in her bed nestling herself between the pillows thinking of all she must do.

First of all she thought back to all that she had been taught of time travel.

You must not be seen.

Well it was too late for that.

But then should she tell anyone?

She obviously needed help for in all of her extensive reading she could not remember one instance where she had come across such time travel and she had never heard of anything similar to forward travel.

Yes, she decided. She needed to get back as soon as possible before she caused more damage then she had possibly done already and the quickest way was to achieve that was to ask for help. Even if she could find a way back herself she had no idea how long that could take and hadn't Dumbledore once said to Harry 'that help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it'? We'll kind of to Harry anyway, she thought, remembering that he had in fact been hidden under the invisibility cloak at the time. But that was beside the point.

Before she could ponder anymore in the muddle her thoughts where creating the doors to the infirmary opened admitting the very person she was hoping for.

For a moment Hermione was hit with a sudden sadness, although Albus Dumbledore was still the owner of a very long silver beard long enough to be tucked into his belt, the effect that the war would have on the aging wizard was clearly evident in his considerably smoother face.

The worry lines that Hermione had grown so accustomed to seeing on his face were not yet to mare this younger Dumbledore. The difference was so apparent that it was obviously accountable to more than just the time passed.

By the time she had finished her scrutinizing of the Headmaster he had already spoken words with the hospital Matron, closed the curtains around her bed, taken a seat beside her and poured two cups of tea.

Hermione took her cup of tea, cautiously sitting up in her bed.

"Do not worry, Poppy is in her office," Dumbledore watched her nervously rising from the pillows, that familiar twinkle in his eyes.

Hermione smiled sheepishly at him of his noticing her paranoia of being scolded by the witch.

"Now then," he continued. "You wanted to talk to me?"

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