My final year at Hogwarts slipped by almost unnoticed. I continued my research for a way back to my own time with no success. When I finally graduated, I was unsure what to do with my life. In the future, I had had it all mapped out: a university, apprenticeship, Mastery, and a professorship. Doing research, helping the world. In this time, my need to protect the future overshadowed my need to have a future. I had reluctantly accepted that there was no way back to my time, despite examination of every branch of magic, and I was looking for direction. I wandered the world. Tours of Muggle cities and visits to ancient wizards, where learned everything I could, occupied my time, but I had no real objective. I was in France, studying witches of the Renaissance, when I heard that Hogwarts was in need of a Divination Professor.

Curious, I did a little research and to my surprise found that there was no witch by the name of Sybill Trelawney anywhere in the entire world. The charlatan I remembered from my school days in the future seemed not to exist. It was then that I made my decision. I wrote to Dumbledore asking him to consider me for the position and signed the letter Sybill Trelawney. I began to study Divination with a vengeance. Making up for five years of missed classes in five days is not a recommended course of action. A reply finally came care of a Hogwarts school owl. I was to apparate to the gates the next day for an interview. That allowed me one day to perfect a charm to make me look like the Professor Trelawney I vaguely remembered.

First, I wove a spell that would make me look thinner than I really was. Next were the glasses that were etched into my memory. I was starting to look like a bug. Perfect. With a few more muttered words, I completed the transformation. I began to practice the whispery, wispy voice I remembered from my third year. It was late before I got to bed but it was worth it. I was now Sybill Trelawney.

Dumbledore seemed to buy my act, but something in his eyes told me that he knew who was really under the glamour. He asked me for a demonstration of my abilities and I pulled out a crystal ball. I gazed into it and gasped. Upon his question of what I saw, I answered, "I see that you are going to hire me." He laughed and looked at me shrewdly. I matched his gaze, confident behind my concealing eyeglasses. My prediction was proven correct; he hired me. I knew I was qualified for the job, despite my lack of class work in the subject and my total disdain for anyone who would waste their time trying to decipher tea leaves or stare into a crystal ball. I was one of the few people who actually *did* know what was going to happen in the future.

Two years after I joined the faculty of Hogwarts, Severus returned. He was much changed from the last time I had seen him and the differences pained me. I saw what I had helped bring about, and I wished things could have been different. He looked broken, hurt almost beyond recognition by what he had done, what he had been forced to do. He dully shook hands with me as Dumbledore introduced us. He didn't realize who it was; he didn't even try to see under the glamour. I tried to convince myself that I wasn't upset, that it was just proof of my powers as a witch that he did not recognize me. But it caused hurt when he who I had loved—still loved—so deeply couldn't look past the glasses and scarves to see my soul.

I determinedly moved on with my life, remaining almost exclusively in the tower, not coming down very often. Dumbledore even allowed me to skip teacher's meetings on a regular basis—I supposed his decision was supported by the rest of the faculty as I had worked my hardest to make myself odious to the other professors, and none of them, after a year or two, even tried to be friendly. Predicting their terrible demises was one of my few diversions. It always tweaked McGonagall when I told her that she would be dead before the year was out. Every time I mentioned this or that catastrophe that was sure to befall her, she would sniff, look down her nose, and turn away, studiously ignoring me. I believe what really caused her intense dislike of me, though, was my tendency to predict disastrous failures of the Gryffindor Quidditch team at every opportunity. Even Professor Flitwick, widely regarded as the most patient and kindest professor, and one whom I had always regarded favourably, gave up on me when I started telling him how to teach his class.

I freely admit, at every faculty meeting I was forced to attend, I just waited for any possible opening to make a prediction in my most mysterious voice. That my visions were usually incomprehensible rubbish only enhanced my fun. Every once in a while, I threw in a real prediction, just to keep my credibility up. It wasn't long before I was regarded as a hopeless wishy-washy of subnormal intelligence. If asked a question, I would pontificate some nonsense about the physical world clouding my "Inner Eye." I believe the rest of the faculty thought I spent my days in incense-induced hallucinations. I didn't do anything to dispel this notion. In actuality, I spent my free time—of which there was a lot—perfecting my abilities in other areas. I excelled in Potions and Arithmancy, finding the logic of these disciplines to be soothing. Of course, my Charms abilities improved greatly, as I was forced to maintain a spell about myself at all times.

Events began to unfold as history demanded. I did nothing to stop Voldemort. I revealed none of what I knew of the future to Dumbledore and those fighting the Dark Lord. I realize now, as I realized then, that the timeline must be preserved, but allowing people to suffer and die when I could have done something, went against every bone in my body.

I sat back and watched as Voldemort gained power. I said nothing as he carried out his vengeance against James and Lilly, as Sirius was wrongly taken to Azkahban, as Peter Pettigrew joined the Weasley family, and I stayed away from the rejoicing that celebrated "The-Boy-Who-Lived." I carried on alone.

The years between my assumption of the new identity and my younger self's arrival were fairly uneventful. I taught Bill and Charlie Weasley, suffered through classes with Percy, was amazed by Oliver Wood's spatial acuity, and laughed—silently—at Fred and George's antics. I was able to see a completely different side of those I knew when I was younger, and that, in itself, almost made the accident worth it. Almost. I could also see Severus sinking deeper and deeper into his moral quagmire. He considered himself evil and went about making it a self-fulfilling prophesy. I knew he was lonely—hell, I was lonely, but there was nothing either of us could do to fix the situation. One by one, he isolated himself from the rest of the faculty nearly as well as I had. The only difference is that while they stayed away from him in difference to his apparent wishes, they stayed away from me because of true dislike. It is rather ironic to think about—I was actually the most hated teacher in the school, and even if Severus started murdering his students, he probably couldn't catch up to me in the amount of sheer loathing directed at my person.

The day I was dreading came, as days are wont to do. The day my younger self arrived at Hogwarts. I was sitting at the head table, Dumbledore making it clear that I must be present at the first meal, when my younger self came in with the rest of her—my—class. It was slightly amusing to see how scared I had been at the time, but seeing Ron and Harry made me realize how much I had missed my friends. I had changed a lot in the intervening years, but deep inside me was the old Hermione, and she almost forced her way out that night. I had to bite my lip to keep from calling out to Harry and Ron. From where I sat at the head table I could see Severus' reaction as Minerva called out Hermione Granger to be sorted. His face went deathly pale and his eyes narrowed as he studied my younger self.

"Gryffindor!" the hat shouted, and cheers erupted throughout the hall.

I could see the instant when he realized that Mya Ranger and Hermione Granger were the same person. His breathing became shallow, and his hands clutched spasmodically at his goblet. I looked at Dumbledore to see what the Headmaster was making of the situation. He was slyly glancing from me to Severus, an unmistakable twinkle in his eyes. Minerva's ringing voice as she called out "Harry Potter!" finally broke the unbearable tension that had been radiating from Severus. His lips curled up into a sneer as the spitting image of James nervously sat on the stool. The sneer was paired up with a glare as the hat called out "Gryffindor!" Severus resolutely returned to his meal. Only the willpower that I had developed over the years kept me in my seat throughout the meal. Tears pricked my eyes, and I excused myself as soon as I could. Seeing my old friends, myself, so young only emphasized what I had lost. I wanted the pain to end. Oh…how I wanted it to end.

I suppose it is a good thing that students do not begin Divination until their third years because by the time the first day of school rolled around, I was in a much better state of mind. I knew I couldn't spare any of my classmates the pain they were going to encounter, but I could have a little fun with them. Brighten their lives a little.

Their first day of class. Oh, that was so much fun! From the moment I made the silvery staircase open at Harry's words until I dismissed them, I had the time of my life. The classroom--with the red lighting, the hideous furniture, the assortment of teacups--all of it remembered from my first day of class. I'll admit it now, the one thing I really regret, looking back on my years as a Divinations teacher, was my copious use of sickly sweet incenses. If I never have to smell that stuff again, it will be too soon.

"Welcome," I told them in my most misty and mysterious voice. "How nice to see you in the physical world at last." From the looks they gave me, I could tell that I had them completely fooled. No one would ever see Hermione Granger under the voice, the glasses, beads, bracelets and robes that Sybill Trelawney wore. I began the class with all my, now routine, mumbo-jumbo about how Divination is difficult, books are worthless, the standard spiel. I then started making predictions I knew would come true. I have always had a good memory and spouting the visions my younger self had heard in class was remarkably simple.

Neville and his cup, Lavender and the thing she was dreading, the student who would leave forever—though that one was slightly untrue as I would still be there after all—all the predictions returned to me. As for Harry, it was remarkably simple to tell him that he had a dog/Grimm in his tealeaves. I could see its effect on him and considered that it was slightly unfair to use my previous information to torment them. I shrugged that off easily. They had it coming for every time they had teased me about studying too much. The only problem I could see with the coming years was that that I would have to put up with Lavender and Parvati even more as I could see that I was quickly becoming their favorite teacher. No rest for the wicked, and all that.

***

The words were coming easier as I shook out the cramp in my hands. I sipped my brandy and watched the candle flicker in the drafts from the open windows. The timepiece indicated that the hour was approaching. I resumed my writing.

***

The one major regret I had was that I was unable to visit my parents. Officially that is. Over the two decades, I had made several appointments to have my teeth cleaned with them, thus allowing me to have a small amount of contact with them. It was amazingly cheering to see them working at a job they loved. They confided in me as though I were a prized patient, telling me how happy they were to be married. Seeing my mother pregnant with me was a shock, let me tell you. Avoid that if you ever can. I was steadied by these infrequent contacts with them, and I must admit my teeth were certainly well cared for. They never noticed the resemblance between their precocious toddler and me. Why should they?

Magic hadn't yet entered their lives; they were still sheltered. Several times, I had to attribute my tears to a toothache, when it was really heartache. I wanted so much to confide in them, but I didn't. I preserved their innocence. I toasted my birthday, the actual day of my birth, with several bottles of excellent wine, purloined from the kitchens, the largest, gooiest chocolate cake I could find, and the world's most remarkable hangover.

***

With a snort, I dropped the quill. I remembered that day. In fact, I sometimes I swear I can still feel the headache I had the following morning. But it was worth it. For one delicious night, I was able to forget completely. I had dropped the Charm that hid my features and was Hermione Granger again. I figured it was the least I could do to celebrate the day I was born. After all, how many people can say they got drunk on the day they entered the world?

***

And so the years passed. I saw myself grow up, and with age came some wisdom. I could see that as an adolescent, I had been something of a know-it-all. I discovered just how annoying it is when one student constantly raises her hand with the correct answer. The other students never even tried, knowing that my younger self was sure to be right. I could only imagine what my other professors had thought of my behavior. I know I breathed a sigh of relief when my younger self finally quit my class. Severus' methods of teaching also came into focus. He always got the best effort out of his students; I, on the other hand, got pages and pages of Harry and Ron's death predictions, Never-Break-China from George and Fred (wonderful invention of theirs, that was), and simpering, hero-worship from Lavender and Parvati. While all this was funny—some of the antics of my students I laughed about for hours—they had no real value. No one in the school had any real talent at predicting the future.

To my dismay, history played out true, and I became the favorite teacher of Brown and Patil. They would often come, unannounced to my tower, and stay for hours talking about how they were sure that the dreams they had were visions of the future. As if their future included marrying famous Quidditch players! Now if they had been dreaming about winning the war against Voldemort, that would have been something worthwhile. Even when I had been their classmate, we had had very little in common. Now, the differences were enough to give me a headache no potion could cure. I could make a wager that Severus Snape didn't have students ever drop by unannounced and prattle on for hours. His lack of interpersonal skills was something I began to envy. There were many times that I wished I could just yell "Longbottom, out!" and be done with it. I could understand that the boy didn't have much self-confidence, but, honestly…what did it take to get an effort out of him?