"My colleagues and I recently showed that you can think of time travel, the process of going from the future into the past, as a kind of teleportation of information from now to back then." –Seth Lloyd

Earthy tones wafted up in the muted lights, giving the room a soft, enclosing warmth. Distant sirens created a clashing counterpoint to the slow, indistinct music. Everything seemed calm and quiet in the small coffee shop. Everything but the mind of the bushy haired girl clutching a cooled cup of tea.

Her stare sharply pierced the nothingness, back arched at a soldier's attention and legs ready to spring. She unconsciously reached for something in her pocket, before twitching her hand back towards the white cup, spreading over the blackened wood. Abruptly, she stood up, grabbing her knapsack and throwing her sweater over her with a resolute swish. She jerked toward her pocket, once more restraining herself from reaching it.

Rain pattered outside the window as the girl marched towards the door, her bushy hair darkened by the fading light. A decision had been made, and the murmuring customers of the coffee shop hadn't a clue as to what it was. The girl had already left their minds by the time a resounding crack sounded from the parking lot.

Hermione Granger, age eleven, opened her eyes with a snap. The early morning light barely peeked through her curtains, leaving shadows over her room. This was not unusual, as Hermione always attacked her mornings with similar ferocity to how she tackled her homework. The beginnings to her typical day ended, however, the moment she cleared her head out of the brown tangle of frizz that passed for hair. A ghostly spectre of a woman stood at the foot of her bed.

"Who are you?" She asked strongly (let it not be said that Hermione Jean Granger was rude. More prevalent questions, what are you being the most likely, stayed firmly in her head).

The ghost, who, now that the young girl looked at her, shared some eerily similar characteristics to herself, spoke quickly. "I'm you. From the future." She paused, smiling. "No, you're not dreaming. Yes, I am real."

Hermione blinked. The ghost stayed silent. She blinked again, running this knowledge through her mind logically. A ghost was no less likely than a time travelling ghost, as far as magical occurrences went (so far as she knew). Plus, that very prim professor from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry did say ghosts were real. "Is this," she started, then rephrased. "Are these occurrences common in the Wizarding World?"

The spectre laughed. Hermione found this a bit rude, as she hadn't laughed at the ghost proposing to be her future self shown up at the foot of her bed. "No, not common." Her face lost its light, and she spoke seriously. "You should have just met Professor McGonagall and gotten your books. Have you read Hogwarts, A History, yet?" Hermione nodded quickly. "I come from a future where it's gone. The entire castle was eradicated, along with almost every witch and wizard on the planet. The ones that were left..." she trailed off. "There is no Wizarding World, anymore. I had my muggle heritage to fall back on, but some of the purebloods were worse off. And my two best friends, well, they were a part of all the fighting. They didn't make it. Anyway, I'm here to make sure magic stays alive this time. But I need your help."

Hermione stared at her spectre with wide eyes. Her small face had always been serious, but a knowing look had entered her gaze. "I have friends in the the future? In the Wizarding World?" The ghostly Hermione nodded solemnly. "And then I lose them." It wasn't a question. Hermione had read between the lines of her elder's tale, and she had always been perceptive. "What do you need from me?"

Hermione the ghost looked at her small, squared shoulders. "I need to meld with you. I've researched it. You'll still be you, just with twenty additional years of knowledge." She kneeled down to Hermione's level, speaking seriously, "you will not, however, be the same person you are now."

Hermione grasped the duvet of her bed, wringing the fabric. She knew what the right choice was; she knew she wouldn't be able to turn all that knowledge away. "Do it. Whatever it is you have to do."

Hermione Granger, age thirty-one, opened her eyes with a snap. She quickly combed her hair out of her face, squinting in the bright light. Bloody hell. She looked down at her hands; she was going to have to get used to being small again. Not to mention going through puberty again, she thought with a groan. Her eyes wandered around the room, landing on the organized desk in the corner. A calendar hung above it, a yellow highlighter giving 1 September a supernatural glow in the morning sunlight. She was only a day away from starting Hogwarts again; seeing Ron, seeing Harry, seeing everyone who had died in the purge.

A shudder ran through her as she remembered that final battle, and the sheer decimation that came with it. She had taken years to come to terms with the fact that she was one of the only witches left in the world. After a solid ten years of integrating herself into a new society, it was suddenly gone. The very few people that survived had scattered. Besides Pomona Sprout, she didn't know where a single person ended up.

The years after that had been a dark time for her. She threw herself into research, scouring the earth for anything and everything about magic that survived. First, she just wanted answers. How had so many magical people died? The answer was never apparent, but the source was: Voldemort. Somehow, Voldemort had almost caused a mass extinction of magic. The only way she could figure out how to fix it was to destroy the warped man himself, and to do that she had to start over.

Which left her here, in the room of her eleven-year-old self, about to start formal magical schooling. They can't track me yet, though, she thought, and raised a hand experimentally. Time to see if my magic's up to snuff. Without speaking, she lifted her trunk from it's corner and set it at the foot of her bed. A smile lit her face as she realized she hadn't lost all that she trained for. "Tempus" she spoke softly, unmoving. A glowing 09:23 lit her duvet, and she jumped up. She hadn't "slept in" this late for five years as far as her parents knew. Rushing down the stairs, she truly felt her new age as she met the new day with a smile.

The following hours were more hectic than she expected, as her eleven-year-old self had packed somewhat differently than her future self would consider smart. Firstly, the muggle journals, pens and textbooks were something she had picked up for her personal note taking later in life. She didn't think she could switch back again. A wandless illusion spell later and all her spiral notebooks now looked like much more acceptable leather bound ones; her pens would appear to be self-inking quills to anyone but her. She gave a slight smirk, almost Slytherin-like. Anyone who met her would have a hard time distinguishing her from a pureblood in manner and knowledge. The open curtains fluttered as she sat at her desk, color coding an 'attack plan' in a carefully charmed notebook.

By the time she had repacked, returned her room to its original state, and reunited with her parents, she was exhausted. Weren't eleven year olds supposed to have boundless energy?

Hermione groaned as she realized her future strict exercise regimen would have to be built up from the bottom again. Her bookish ways hadn't exactly been good for getting in shape. But that could wait for tomorrow. Tomorrow, when she got on the Hogwarts Express. Tomorrow, when she saw Ron and Harry for the first time in years. "Tomorrow," she muttered as consciousness left her.

Hermione's morning had begun exactly how she remembered. Her parents had tearfully left her at the gap between nine and ten, and she had walked on to platform 9 3/4 with an excited grin. Only this time, she waited five minutes and walked right back out. She knew how Harry had met the Weasleys and instantly befriended them, and while she hated to break that connection, the logical part of her brain knew that connecting with him first was the only logical way to make this work.

Lo and behold, she saw a messy haired boy walking up to a train conductor, and subsequently getting brushed off. She waited until he went back to looking lost before tapping him on the shoulder, lightly. He spun around, cringing away from her. "Hey," she said softly. "If I were to say Hogwarts, would you get what it meant?" A look of relief washed over Harry's face.

"Are you going to Hogwarts too?" He asked hopefully. "Do you know how to get on the platform?"

She nodded. "Professor McGonagall told me after I accepted admission," she said matter-of-factly. "Otherwise I'd have no clue. It's a bit odd, though. She said to just walk through the bricks between platforms nine and ten - you know, over there? I was a bit nervous trying to go in on my own."

Harry squared his shoulders, determination passing his young face. "We can go together," he said, "I wouldn't fancy trying to do that on my own either. You ready?" He led the way, automatically taking the role of a leader. Hermione was surprised how hints of the Harry she knew showed through in this child; he wasn't her Harry, but he was undeniably just Harry.

"Brilliant!" Hermione said as they passed through the bricks. Harry had flinched, expecting an impact, but bravely rolled on. "I'm Hermione, by the way." She left off her last name, trying her hardest to make up for her original reaction. (It had been a long time since she had to confront how strong she had come on in first year. The parallels were already dissipating as she rewrote her own history, and she decided she liked it this way).

"I'm Harry," he replied. "Are you new to magic, then?"

She nodded. "My parents are dentists. They had no idea about all this magic stuff; but I researched a lot, apparently

it's a bit dodgy to go in not knowing anything. There's a stigma against muggleborns - are you muggleborn, by the way?" She added, remembering at the last second not to reveal her knowledge of Harry's life.

Harry visibly paled at her commentary. "My parents were magical," he said slowly, "but they died when I was one. I've lived with my aunt and uncle and didn't know anything about magic until about a month ago. You said we need to know a lot going in?"

She led them to the nearest entrance; Harry was too worried about his ignorance he hadn't realized she levitated their trunks up to level with the train, nor when she led them to a compartment. "Not about how to do magic or anything. Just culture and such. I read a bunch of books on it, and talked to quite a few people in Diagon Alley, but it seems like you may be less of a bookworm than I." She smiled, trying to put him at ease. Harry, however, looked worse.

"I can teach you some, if you like," she offered slowly. This was the most delicate point of the entire plan. She needed to gain - regain - Harry's trust, and she had to do it now. The issue of houses wasn't unconsidered by Hermione. She had evaluated and reevaluated every single house. She had considered every possibility. And she knew what she had to do. At Harry's eager nod, she began. "Well, Hogwarts is the highest ranked school in all of Britain. The first thing we'll do when we get there is be sorted into houses. There are four. Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin."

At the last word, Harry made a face. "What?" Hermione said, somewhat sharply.

Harry frowned. "Isn't Slytherin full of dark wizards? Hagrid, the gamekeeper, told me that every evil witch or wizard came from Slytherin."

Hermione shook her head, frizz covering her face. "All houses have their ups and downs. And I can't honestly believe that an entire fourth of the school is naturally evil. I'm sure Hagrid meant well, but maybe there are multiple perspectives on this."

"Wait, so you're saying Slytherins aren't all evil?" said Harry questioningly. He paused for a moment, then looked embarrassed. "I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions. That's what everyone did with me at my aunt and uncle's, and they were telling everyone I was a delinquent."

Hermione froze at that. How was she supposed to respond to that? Little Harry was blunter than she remembered. "I mean, there are qualities highlighted in all the houses. Hufflepuff considers loyalty to be the most important quality in a person. Slytherins just happens to be ambition."

"Well what are the other ones?"

"See, Hufflepuffs value loyalty, and Gryffindor considers bravery absolutely essential..."