Plan B
Isabella120
A/n: This is my first Tom/Hermione fic, I know it might sound like every other Tom/Hermione fic out there… time turners, missions, changing T.R.'s heart… really cliché –I know but please give it a chance it really is different. Also one last thing before I begin… remember the formula Reviews=Updates.
I stared at my former headmaster's painting in their office, locked and warded with every possible spell I knew, I didn't know where it had went wrong. Blood trickled from my mouth, and side, and arms; dark circles formed under my eyes; my clothing was battered, ripped, and torn. I stood in front of the three previous headmaster/headmistress' portraits', alone, a pathetic excuse for the last surviving member of D.A., the order, and solider against the Dark Lord. My heart pounded, wheezing just barely beating, hanging on… what was there to live for anyway? I could hear the Death Eaters attempts to smash down the door, there was only hours, maybe only minutes left before they reached me.
"There is always something to live for, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said kindly, as I gave up sinking to my knees at least one of my ribs and my leg was broken.
"What?" I inquired, weakly.
"Love," he replied.
"There's no one else to love," I replied.
Snape's portrait rolled his eyes.
"Not. Here." He said slowly.
I looked up, into his twinkling eyes.
"I don't know if you remember Miss Granger, our plan B," he said.
I pulled a gold chain from underneath my tattered robes and held the little gold circle in my bloody hand.
"You can change that," He told me, "you can give the world hope."
…
"Name?" he tested.
"Rosalie Roberts," I replied.
"You…" he prompted.
"I am from America, Hathaway Academy where I attended for six years until my parent's were killed in a car crash, I was sent to England to my Aunt Sophie, my last living relative, and It was her wish that attend Hogwarts rather than spend my last year at Hathaway so she could keep an eye on me." I recited but making it sound believable. I had summoned healing ointments and cleaned up in the adjoining quarters. Dumbledore had been prepared for this, as if he'd almost known all along, he had a trunk full of old clothes he'd had made for me and old money. I flicked my wand at my trunk, Rosalie Roberts appeared on the side in gold letters.
"When you get there, go to Headmaster Dippet immeaditly, your new and modified identification and report cards are in the bag slung over your shoulder," he instructed.
I nodded.
"Do you remember everything I told you six months ago?" He inquired.
"Everything," I assured.
"Because of the number of years you will be out for a day getting there, but don't come back to the future until you are sure time is changed, for it takes a month to recover and be able to travel back to the past," He warned.
I nodded once more; my eye's flickering from Dumbledore's to Snape's to McGonagall's to Dippet's. I fingered my new trunk with one hand and the time turner in my other. The banging on the headmaster's door only grew louder.
"Just one more thing, Professor," I begun, "How did I get in here if you're…" and my voice failed me.
"Dead," McGonagall supplied, I nodded wordlessly.
"Only a deputy headmaster/headmistress could enter this room once you are…" I swallowed and tried the word on my dry tongue, "…Dead."
"Isn't it obvious? And they say you're the smartest witch in the year..." Snape muttered.
"No," I said, "I can't be…"
"ah but you are, I never told you Miss Granger but this position was always meant for you, I wish it had been official, and it would have been if things had been different," McGonagall sighed.
"Go my child," Dumbledore's portrait instructed, "there isn't much time."
I began to flip the gold circle backward when Snape's voice stopped me. "I am sorry Miss Granger, I fall into my act unconsciously still, even now, I just want to say that I am sorry, and you were by far the best student I've ever had. Good luck."
I stared at him for a moment, "thank you," I whispered and flipped the circle backwards. 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10,11,12,13,14,15,16,17,18,19,20,21,22,23,24,25,26,27,28,29,30,31,32,333,34,35,36,37,38,39, "Get out of my way you fools," His voice sounded over the Death Eater's failed attempts,40,41,42,43,44,45,46,47,48,49,50, I stared once more at everything around me,51, the door burst open he walked in wand in hand ready to kill me, 52… .. And suddenly everything faded into black nothingness.
I regained feeling after what seemed like weeks, I could feel the tingling in my fingers. I could feel the smooth pavement that I was laying on. I could feel the coldness radiated from the cement. I could hear my rugged jagged breathing, as my chest rose and fell. It felt like I'd been plunged underwater for days, drowned, suffocated, unable to breathe yet unable to die. I could start to hear the faint outline, a dim hum of voices, the noise of passing-by cars. Everything was dull, I could not move an inch. Slowly things became clearer and clearer. I could smell the fresh air, an elderly ladies strong perfume. I could feel a pair of strong arms picking me up like a rag doll, masculine arms.
"—she's breathing again…"
"…Who is she…"
"…where is she from…"
"Do you think…"
"—Of course not…"
Sounds were clearer and I could pick up fragments of whispered conversation. I could feel the air pushing against me as someone carried me. I shivered as I felt the absence of fresh air and the warm sun. The air was cold, and stale and old. The perfume smell was stronger…a mint perhaps, as was the smell of cat hairs, tea, and pill's—old people smell. I could feel myself being laid down on a soft bed, or sofa. My eye's fluttered open, yet all I could see was a blurred outline. Black and grey shades, I could see clearer as my vision improved like a microscope that took time to get everything into focus. What looked like an old lady and younger man in his twenties leaned over me. I didn't need it to get clearer to notice the concern in their eyes just in the way they were positioned they seemed worried about me. As my vision improved I realized it was in fact an elderly lady and young man in his twenties.
"Rose," the old lady's voice floated, nervously on the edge of hysteria, "Rosalie."
I could see very well now and I realized I could move, I sat up and stared at the old lady. She had silvery white hair that was so fine it looked like a fairy's, with soft blue eyes. There was hardly a wrinkle on her baby soft looking pale waxy skin; but she was sickly looking the way her thin stretched skin lay limp on her bones, the ways the blue blood vessels lined her skin, and just the overall paleness of it. It looked like she hadn't slept or eaten in many days.
The man beside her was definitely in his twenties, and could be mistaken as my older brother. He had honey brown hair, that was only a few shades lighter than my brown hair that now seemed to have a blackish tint about it, which was short but not buzzed rather just a few inches but not enough to look long. It curled slightly at the tips in the front and back of his head, and like me, he too had hazel eyes. He had a tan skin compared to the elderly lady's although he too had a paler skin tone. From looking at his arms, I knew at once he must have been the one who carried me inside.
The apartment, or flat was lined with red wallpaper that had large beautiful white roses on it, it was exquisite yet a little hard on the eyes. I was seated on a white sofa that looked like a roman bed or a futon. Beside it was a little caramel wood coffee table. It was the same on the opposite side. I could see my trunk laid carefully on the other side of the room near the door.
"Rosalie, you aright dear?" the elderly lady asked.
"I am fine, I must have fainted," I said slowly.
"Apperating long distance's I suppose," She sighed in relief.
I nodded unsure of what to say, they were definitely wizard's, but still I hadn't been prepared for this.
"Don't tell me you don't recognize your Aunt Sophie," She said in horror.
"Aunt Sophie, that sounded familiar," I thought over the thumping of my head. "O my gosh, Aunt Sophie…. She was REAL!"
"It's been awhile," I said softly, unsure if this was true.
She shook her head, "don't fret about it dearie it's been ten years… I think," she continued placing her hand on my forehead, "You probably don't remember or recognize your cousin Edward either," she finished nodding towards the young man standing next to her.
She started to shake her head no when the copy of the Daily Prophet caught her eye…. It was August 31st, 1944.
A/N: So there it is. I am not exactly sure if that is the right year for Tom Riddle to be in his seventh year, or not …so if you could tell me that would be amazing, and I'd be so grateful! Please press the cool new review button and tell me what you think. Remember Review=Happy Author=Quick Update.
~Isabella120