How the Mighty have Fallen

Author’s note: I would like to thank those who read my story as that means a great deal to me. Furthermore, this chapter was a tad slower in coming than I had expected because a plot bunny attacked me and a S/Hr one-shot was born!(Currently only living at fanfiction.net)


Hermione entered the familiar office and closed the heavy door, softly, before turning around clasping her hands behind her back. It felt like an eternity passed in the few seconds it took for Professor Dumbledore to acknowledge her and she couldn’t help the nervous tapping her fingers were drumming on her left palm. Hermione found his presence disconcerting. It wasn’t enough that he was supposed to be dead, no; he also hadn’t the faintest idea who she was. Although, she reasoned, obtaining his trust shouldn’t be a problem as he was renowned for extending it.


“Please take a seat, Hermione,” he said magnanimously.


At least now she had an outlet for her nervous energy she thought; as she made her way to the armchair opposite the Headmaster. Once comfortably seated Hermione felt the best approach would be straightforward.


“Sir, it is imperative that our conversation remain completely confidential,” Hermione began seriously before the Headmaster stopped her with a knowing smile and declared that he had put a silencing charm on the room upon her entry.


“Oh,” she stated inarticulately. And with a bracing breathe began, “Professor, I’m not from this time,” she said; but before she could launch into the whole sorted affair she was interrupted by Dumbledore once again.


“I know. It is as I expected,” he replied stoically.


Apparently this was quite a shock for the girl, Dumbledore noticed; for she was sitting impossibly rigid and looked as if she was holding her breath.


“I do believe,” he began lightly, “breathing is necessary to sustain life; even in the future.”


All Hermione managed was a muted nod. So the Headmaster persisted a little more forcibly.


“Take a breath, dear,” he ordered gently. After her breathing gained a semblance of normalcy he continued by asking, “Would you like a calming draught?” concern etched on his kind face.

“No sir, I’m fine. Just caught me off guard is all,” she muttered.


“I have some startling news, Hermione,” Professor Dumbledore prefaced tentatively. And at her expectant look he continued.


“It would appear that you are the woman the prophecy foretold,” he stated evenly; for this was a cause for rejoice, at least from his standpoint.


When laughter met his ears he was concerned the poor girl was not faring well. Far from alleviating his fears she proved them when she stated, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”


“I’m quite serious,” he said solemnly.


Hermione could actually feel the blood drain from her face as she gripped the chair for support; even though she was seated.


“I’d like that calming draught now, please,” she whispered.


“Of course,” he uttered. And with the barest flick of his wand the potion was encased in his hand. “Drink it all,” he commanded knowingly as he handed it to her.


He needn’t tell her twice, Hermione thought, as she would willingly down two doses at this point.


“The prophecy made by Madam Trelawney was given to my predecessor Armando Dippet many years ago,” Dumbledore recited but stopped at Hermione’s questioning look.


“Do you have something to say?” he questioned patiently.


“Not Professor Trelawney,” she said despairingly; clutching her hair and shaking her head as if she could rid herself of the truth if she was forceful enough.


“To my knowledge Cassandra Trelawney was never anything other than a seer,” Dumbledore supplied helpfully.


“Cassandra Trelawney, the Cassandra Trelawney,” she repeated numbly.


“It would seem her reputation and skill has preceded her,” Dumbledore reflected aloud.


“Indeed,” Hermione quipped.


“First things first, if you are indeed the woman in question you will be able to retrieve the prophecy from the shelf to your right,” as he indicated the place he was referring with a tip of his head. “If you are, we will listen to the prophecy and sort it out together,” he finished serenely.


At least one of us is calm Hermione mused as she got up on shaky legs. Although, she reasoned, it could be worse… at least there are no Death-Eaters in hot pursuit this time.


She reached the shelf without recalling walking toward it. She raised her right hand to grab the orb and at the final moment she dropped her hand by her side; wiping her palm on her skirt. She could do this. After all, she was a Gryffindor; regardless of the uniform she currently wore. She brought her hand back up and plucked the orb from its resting place. Well, this could complicate things she thought anxiously as she handed the Headmaster the orb and took her previously vacated seat.


Both of the office’s occupants waited with baited breathe in anticipation.


The gentle voice of the Seer filled the room to such a degree that it was unquestionably magically magnified; even though there was little need as it was deathly silent within the space.


Young woman not of this time befriend those considered foes
One fair without but dark within, the other dark without but fair within
You will return when time mends, brought to the past to ensure the future

“I believe those she speaks of are Mr. Malfoy and young Mr. Snape. Considering they are already besotted with you, it will take little concentrated effort on your part to fulfill the prophecy,” Dumbledore said as he began to decipher the prophecy.


“I don’t accept,” Hermione said abruptly.


“I want no part in this,” Hermione reiterated.


“What you want is of little consequence; furthermore, I don’t believe I gave you a choice in the matter,” Dumbledore said in a thoughtful voice that broke no argument nonetheless.


“My only concern is returning home,” Hermione stated icily.


“Besides,” Dumbledore continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted, “you cannot return home until this is fixed,” Dumbledore said holding up her ruined time-turner.


Gryffindors sure make fantastic Slytherins Hermione reflected bitterly.