Note: This fic is set between the Tenth Doctor episodes "Girl in the  
Fireplace" and "Rise of the Cybermen"
Disclaimer. Harry Potter and related characters are the creation of  
J.K. Rowling. Doctor Who is owned by the BBC. No money is being made  
from this and no such intent shall be inferred.

C&C always welcome


The body lay in the alleyway. It was a young girl, perhaps sixteen  
years of age. She had bushy brown hair, the pale skin of someone who  
spent too much time indoors and wore nondescript clothes. A bag of  
books  lay on the ground, wet from the summer drizzle falling on London.

The body's throat had been slashed and a purse lay at the alley's  
mouth, empty.

In time, the body would have been discovered, the police summoned,  
the body identified as one Hermione Granger, and the parents  
notified. They would have grieved, buried their daughter and tried to  
move on.

Would have, except, that something very peculiar happened; Hermione's  
body began to glow.

* * * *

Herbert and Janet Granger were two of the most ordinary people  
possible. They were dentists, both having graduated from university  
with high honors and a successful practice in a decent section of  
London. They took a vacation to the mainland twice a year and took a  
proper amount of pride in their daughter Hermione.

Herbert was pushing forty, starting to go bald and wore glasses. He  
had long narrow fingers and a perpetual squint from staring into  
mouths all day. He was an oral surgeon, spending his days at the  
office performing root canals, extraction of wisdom teeth, and the like.

Janet was lean and tall, with dark brown hair and a large eyes. The  
older of the two, she attended to matters of general dentistry and  
the children who came through the office doors. Perhaps most  
remarkable, she was one of those people who aged well. She didn't  
look a day over 25, if that, and were it not for friends and family  
(Herbert's family, that is. Janet never spoke about her family), to  
attest otherwise, who would know that she had just celebrated her  
forty-first birthday only last week?

She was the center of Herbert's world, though he sometimes felt  
depressed that he was fast losing his youth. Janet thought he was  
being silly, but Herbert remained convinced that he was losing his  
appeal.

Today, they sat together in the dining area of their cottage and  
drank tea as they did when neither had to go into the office.

"Let's go out tonight," Janet said, "I really don't want to heat up  
the kitchen, not in this weather."

"All right, Jan," Herbert agreed. "Where?"

Before Janet could respond, the front door banged open. They  
exchanged glances. "Hermione, dear? Is that you?" Janet called out.  
There was the sound of a heavy bag hitting the floor and slow,  
shuffling footsteps.

"Hermione?" Herbert asked. Around the corner came a young woman  
wearing Hermione's clothes stretched tight over lean, firm curves.  
Her hair was straight and glossy black and her eyes were deep blue.  
Her expression was vacant and she stared dumbly at them. But what  
drew Herbert's attention was that her shirt was drenched, with blood.

"Who?" he demanded, rising from his chair.

"Sit down, Herbert," Janet snapped. Herbert sat. Janet crossed the  
room to the young woman and gripped her chin, moving her head so she  
could look into the young woman's eyes. For several seconds, they  
stayed like that and then Janet released her and uttered several  
words in a fast, chittering language, which sounded much like  
swearing. Then in english she addressed the girl. "Go to your room,  
Hermione, I'll be along momentarily."

"Mum?" The girl asked.

"Yes, now go to your room and change clothes. I'll be along in a  
bit." The girl nodded and shuffled out. Janet sighed and looked at  
her husband. "Herbert?"

"Don't tell me, go to the pub for a few hours," Herbert said,  
standing up as the grandfather clock in the living room chimed the hour.

"Thank you," Janet said, coming over and kissing him on the forehead.

Herbert smiled and went to fetch his keys. On the way back to the  
front door, he stopped and eyed the clock.

The grandfather clock was Janet's. She'd had it since before they had  
met. It was a good three meters tall, made of dark oak and brass. The  
face was made of marble and showed not only the time, but the sun,  
moon, and the current phase of the moon.

When he had proposed, she had sat him down, taken his hand and told  
him that there were three things he had to know. The first had been  
the language she had occasionally lapsed into when under stress. He  
could never know what it was, or what she said. The second had been  
the clock. It was to always stay with them. The third was that her  
past was hers. She didn't want to talk about it. Ever.

Sloppy in love with her, he'd agreed, she'd accepted his ring, and a  
month later, a quiet little civil ceramony and just like that, they  
were married.  He'd never pressed her for details about her past,  
though he had a number of theories that he'd come up with over the  
years.

But he'd kept them to herself. Janet's past, whatever it was, must  
have been bad, and what the clock had to do with any of it was beyond  
him.

He loved her deeply, but sometimes he wondered. Shaking his head, he  
walked out the door.

* * * *

Janet sat in the kitchen until she heard Herbert leave and then  
checked to make sure. It wasn't that she mistrusted her husband, but  
she had been hoping that this day would never come and now that it  
had . . . She invoked the names of long forgotten gods  and took a  
deep breath. She didn't shirk from doing the unpleasant, she wouldn't  
have graduated if she did, but it would be a lie if she was going to  
enjoy the next few hours.

One more deep breath, and then she headed down the hall to her  
daughter's room.

Hermione sat on her bed, staring at her closet, whose contents had  
been strewn on the floor. She was clad only in her knickers and she  
looked up at her mother in confusion.

"Nothing fits right. Nothing seems right," she said. "I don't feel  
right."

"That's the way of it, Hermione," Janet said and picked up a  
bathrobe. 'Keep using her name, hold her to the present,' she thought  
to herself and held out the robe. "Come on then, put this on."

Hermione donned the bathrobe and then resumed staring at the empty  
closet.

Janet sighed. This whole thing was bad enough if you knew what was  
coming. If not . . . well, at least Hermione appeared to be stable,  
just in a state of shock. Small blessings, she supposed. "Come with me."

Hermione numbly followed her mother out of her room and back into the  
living room where they stopped before the clock. Janet sighed and  
pulled out the small pendant she had worn on a chain around her neck  
for her entire adult life. It was made of metal, shaped like a  
shield, and a cross coming out from one point. She pulled the chain  
over her head and slipped the key into a hidden lock on the clock's  
door. She turned the key once, and then pushed the door inward, the  
pendulum seeming to fade from sight.

Then, as though this was perfectly normal.  Janet took Hermione's  
hand and pulled her inside.

All was quiet and then Hermione leapt backwards out of the clock,  
staring in wide-eyed horror.

She sat there for several moments, chest heaving and then she got up  
and carefully examined the clock. "This is impossible," she said to  
herself and taking a deep breath, went back to the front of the clock  
and stepped inside.

She was in a large, circular room. Metal bumps lined the walls and  
the center of the room was taken up by a circular console covered  
with knobs, buttons, levers and switches. A large monitor screen  
covered the wall opposite the door and next to it was another door  
covered with a bas-relief of some creature Hermione had never seen  
before. The light came from some unseen source high overhead and a  
glass pillar rose from the console all the way to the ceiling.

Leaning against the console, arms crossed, was her mother.

"Mum?" Hermione asked. "What? How is this possible? What is this?"

"A little something of mine," Janet replied. "And really, given some  
of the things you've told me about your school, your friends and  
that . . . Qudditch game, this should hardly be worth batting an eye."

But Hermione didn't hear her. Her brain, jolted into action by shock  
was at full tilt, digesting evidence, applying logic and then  
dispensing a conclusion. "It's . . . it's a tesseract space. The  
inside of the clock has been folded in on itself so that it's larger  
then the outside."

"Close," Janet replied. "You can't really fold space, not for long,  
but that suffices for now."

"Mum, are you a witch? Or a squib?"

Janet shook her head. "No, dear, nothing so fantastic as any of that.  
Just . . . just a survivor. This way." With that, she led Hermione  
through the other door and into a long corridor. The walls, ceiling  
and floor were sterile white and at regular intervals were other  
doors, or hallways leading off to other places. Finally, they stopped  
before one door which opened onto a vast space filled with racks and  
racks of clothes.

Janet tapped controls on the wall next to the door and the racks  
moved. Some dropped into the floor, others slid into walls, and  
within moments, the room had emptied except for a handful of racks  
and shelves.

But oh, what racks they were! Shirts, jeans, pants, jumpers, in all  
sorts of styles and colors. The shelves held shoes of all types and  
colors. Trainers, heels, flats, pumps, sandals, boots. There was even  
a selection of hats and watches ranging from fancy digital to analog  
pocket-watches of various styles and types of chain. And bins of  
accessories. Wallets, pins, ties, and more.

"Go on, there should be something you like," Janet said, taking a  
small stool and sitting on it, leaning back against the wall.

Hesitantly, Hermione began to prowl the racks. "Mum?"

"Yes?"

"Where did you get this? All this? Why do I look different? It's like  
everything is different. I feel different. I don't understand it at  
all and I hate it."

Janet laughed softly. "It's a very, very long story." She looked up  
at the ceiling. "I'm sure you've figured out by now that I'm not from  
Cardiff at all. I was born . . . no, that's not quite right. I  
was . . ." Janet's lips thinned into a line. "Suffice to say, I'm no  
more human than this," she waved her hand to indicate the room, "is a  
clock."

"You're an alien?" Hermione asked, her tone incredulous. "From outer  
space?"

Janet nodded. "From very far away."

"How far away?"

"The light from our sun has yet to reach earth," Janet replied. "We  
were an ancient race, with a history going back millions of years."

"'Were?'" Hermione turned and looked at her mother. "What does that  
mean."

Something passed across Janet's face, a memory of some terrible past  
and her expression hardened. "There was a war. A terrible war . . .  
and we won. But my people are gone, and I, and now you, are all  
that's left."

Hermione let some of the clothes fall to the floor. "So . . . you  
came to Earth? Surely there must have been other places."

Janet shook her head. "I crashed here, Hermione. Power was low and  
the materials I need to make full repairs won't be available for  
another fifty years at least. So, I did what I could and settled in  
to wait. University and then some sort of career seemed like a way to  
pass the time, and that's where I met your father. We married, you  
were born, and that was that." She smiled. "I've never been content  
before that, but now . . . " she shrugged. "I am. Funny how things  
work out."

"I see. So why do I look . . ." Hermione gestured at herself, "like  
this?"

"It's a little trick my people can do at the moment of death. I  
wasn't sure if you could as well, though if . . ." she trailed off.  
"An even longer tale and a very old one. Never mind."

"Does Dad know?"

"I'm sure he has some ideas, but I told him that I don't want to talk  
about my past, and bless him, he's never pressed me for details. You  
can't say a word about this to him either."

"But why not? He's going to ask questions about . . . me."

"You're a witch, dear. That is all the explanation he needs." Janet  
shrugged. "I'll handle it."

Hermione was at the shelves now, adding things to the small bundle of  
clothes she held in one arm. She made a few selections and finally  
turned to her mother. "Where?"

Janet waved an arm at the wall. "Through there."

Hermione disappeared through the door to the changing area and Janet  
busied herself with cleaning up the mess. She noticed with approval  
and a bit of concern that all the conservative clothing had been  
tossed aside as well as most of the more provacative designs. That  
spoke volumes about Hermione's new personality. Less introverted then  
she had been, but probably not a "party girl".

"Mum?"

Janet turned. Hermione stood in the middle of the room. She wore a  
button down shirt with a black tie, dark blue pants and a vest that  
was a touch too snug and a light coat that came down to mid-thigh. A  
tie pin in the shape of a question mark adorned her coat lapel and  
she wore a fedora at a jaunty angle. Boots with a slight heel were on  
her feet.

"What do you think?" Hermione asked, turning slowly.

"It's what you think that matters, dear," Janet said. "Do you like it?"

Hermione examined her reflection in the mirror. "Yes, I do."

"Excellent," Janet clapped her hands together and finished  
straightening the room. "Come on," and with that, she led the way out  
of the room, back down the hall, through the room with the bumps on  
the walls and back into the Granger living room where she once again  
closed and locked the doors, the pendulum fading back into view.

"Not a word to your father," Janet said.

Hermione nodded and then she gasped. "What am I going to tell Ron and  
Harry? My friends!" She paused. "Why am I worried? I'll lie."

"Hermione Granger!" Janet snapped and Hermione stiffened. "You may  
not be the same person anymore, but you are still MY daughter, and  
you do not lie!"

"You lied."

"There are things I never said," Janet replied.

"Sophistry," Hermione scoffed. "You're not actually from Cardiff."

"I landed in Cardiff," Janet replied. "It was in Cardiff that I  
became Janet Roman. That I was someone else before being Janet was  
never mentioned, therefore, I didn't lie."

Hermione frowned at her mother. There was a logical hole in that  
argument. It was so gaping wide that even Crabbe and Goyle could have  
seen it. "You're playing word games."

"But not telling lies," Janet replied with an air of superiority. As  
a child, Hermione had admired and tried to emulate that very air.  
When her mother spoke with that sense of rightness, people turned to  
listen, to hear, to really hear what she had to say.

Hermione had never, despite her best effort, managed to do the same.  
She'd come across as snobby, or a know it all. But she'd tried to  
duplicate it anyway.

Now, it irritated her.

"Sophistry," Hermione said again, crossing her arms. Then she looked  
down, and frowned and pushed her arms together. "Bollocks!"

At that point, Janet realized why Hermione's vest was a touch too snug.

"None of your bras fit?" she asked.

"Not very well," Hermione admitted sullenly. "And I couldn't find any  
in there."

Janet fought down a laugh. Underwear had been a strange concept to  
her when she'd first arrived and while she now understood (pregnancy,  
childbirth, and nursing had opened her eyes a great deal) and could  
even appreciate the benefits of support for one's chest, it was still  
a bit silly in her mind. The T.A.R.D.I.S., of course, didn't stock  
any. "Well as it happens, I'd been meaning to get some new ones. One  
moment."

Janet went and got her keys and purse.

And then, as an afterthought, she went into Hermione's room and  
grabbed the wand lying on the bed.

* * * *

The car ride into London proper was uneventful, and they threaded  
their way through the mall crowds to Henrik's, a department store  
that sold good, practical clothing. Not to mention the staff knew how  
to properly fit a person.

Hermione was two sizes larger than the last time she'd been in and  
Janet knew that she wasn't done growing yet. She rather suspected  
Hermione would be taller than her when all was said and done.

After shopping, they sat in the mall cafe and drank tea surrounded by  
shopping bags.

"We'll put these in the car," Janet said, "and then we'd best pay a  
visit to that Alley place and have you fitted for new school clothes."

"I'm sure mine still fit," Hermione protested. "I might be a bit  
bigger in the tits and arse, but . . . what?"

"You have a fouler mouth on you, Hermione," Janet said frowning. "Do  
try to control it."

At that moment, Janet's eye was drawn to the door. Coming through it  
were three people. A black boy, a tall man in a brown suit and coat  
with messy brown hair and a blonde girl. The black boy and blonde  
girl were arguing. Though they weren't children, but young adults,  
Janet couldn't help seeing them as children. Especially the way they  
were arguing.

"Rose, I don't see why we had to stop here, I thought we were going  
to see dinosaurs."

"From a distance," the man in the brown suit said. "Up close, really  
bad idea. The bad breath. Phew!"

"I told you Mickey, I had a feeling," Rose said. "

"A feeling," Mickey repeated. "Lovely. A feeling."

Rose sighed. "Look, it was obviously nothing. Let's just get a snack  
and we'll get back to the Tardis."

Janet stiffened as though she'd been shot and her head snapped up to  
stare at the trio.

"What are you staring at?" Mickey demanded.

"I'm sorry," Janet said, a tremor in her voice. "Did I hear you say  
Tardis?"

Now the man in the brown suit was looking at them curiously.

"No, I said Cardiff," Mickey snarled. "Bugger off."

Rose punched Mickey in the arm and glared. "Quit being tetchy," she  
muttered.

The man in the brown suit smiled at them and gave Janet a shrug.

"Even though Cardiff and Tardis sound only vaguely alike?" Janet  
asked, but she didn't sound very sure of herself.

Hermione was confused. She'd never seen her mother like this before.

"Well phonetically, the two words are similar," said the man in the  
brown suit. "You could get them confused easily. I do all the time."

Janet looked at him. Really looked at him. At his manner, his face,  
and his eyes.

His eyes.

Both her hearts skipped a beat and she fought the urge to laugh. Of  
course. Of course he'd have made it. If anyone else had survived, it  
was him. It would have to be.

"You always did let them come to you," she said with a smile.

"Excuse me?" The man stared at her. "Do I know you?"

"Do you?" Janet replied, standing up. "Vi Ari Minmo Lungbarrow des  
skatquwah."

The man blinked at her and then his eyes met hers. Hermione watched  
him go pale and his mouth open and close several times.

"Doctor?" Rose asked, touching his arm. "Doctor, who is she?"

"I thought you were dead," he whispered, his eyes still fixed on  
Janet. "I thought I was the last." He struggled with some internal  
battle and then straightend. "Hello, Romana," he said softly.

Janet Granger, formerly Janet Roman and once known as  
Romanadvoratrelundar, smiled. "Hello, Doctor," she said. "You look  
well."

"So do you," he replied. "Regenerate?"

"Four. You?"

"Ten."

And then they were hugging and crying and clinging to each other and  
it was the first time Hermione had ever seen her mother cry.

She turned her attention to the Doctor's friends who could only  
shrug. They had no idea either.

Great.


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