Author's note and disclaimer at end.  C&C 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.

She was the center of Herbert's world, though he sometimes felt  
depressed that he was fast losing his youth while Janet still  
appeared to be in her 20's. She 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.

The stranger stared at them vacantly.

"Mum?" she said in a little lost girl voice.

In the space of a heartbeat, Janet was out of her chair and staring  
into the young woman's eyes, looking for something. Then her  
shoulders slumped and she sighed.

"Jan, what's going on?" Herbert demanded. "Who is this? Why is she  
wearing Hermione's clothes? What's going on?"

Janet ignored him and addressed the stranger. "Yes, Hermione, it's  
me. It's your mum."

"I'm all messy," she said in that same little girl voice.

"Yes, Hermione, I see that. Go to your room and change clothes. I'll  
be along in a bit." The young woman nodded and shuffled out.

Janet turned and looked at Herbert. "Herbert . . ."

"Damnit, Janet, what is going on? Why are you calling that person  
Hermione? That is not our daughter!"

"She is Hermione," Janet snapped. "She is our daughter, no matter how  
she looks, and I will take care of it."

"You will? Janet, if this has to do with --"

"You promised." Janet whispered, eyes filled with pain.

The two words froze him in mid-sentence. When he had proposed, she  
had told him that he must never ask about her past. Sloppy in love  
with her, Herbert had promised he wouldn't, and he'd kept that  
promise for nearly 20 years. But now . . . damn it all, this was  
about his daughter!

"Jan . . ."

"You promised." She said again. "Herbert, please. I'll take care of it."

"But --"

"Go to the pub for a bit," she said, taking his keys off the hook and  
pressing them into his hand. "Take your time."

"But--"

"The pub, Herbert."

They stared at each other, his fury and fear versus the veil of  
mystery she'd always worn and never taken off, even for him. He  
stared at her, trying to pierce that veil, trying to find even a  
hint, but it withstood him and he turned and walked out, storming  
past the massive grandfather clock in the living room, and out into  
the street.

Legs shaking, Janet leaned against the kitchen counter as the clock  
chimed the hour. Damn it all to hell, she was about to lose  
everything again. She didn't think she could handle that, not so soon.

"Why did I have to be the last?" she asked the empty kitchen. She got  
no reply. After a few moments, she pushed away the fear and the pain.  
For Hermione's sake, she had to stay sane. Once that was taken care  
of . . . she drew in a deep breath, and marched down the hall to  
Hermione'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.

Hermione's mouth fell open. This . . . this was impossible. She'd  
seen places that were bigger inside than on the outside, but those  
were tents or rooms in a building. But inside a clock?

She stood 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.

"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 and 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 it 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 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. 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."

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 other 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 provocative 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 come to earth. Wearing a garment specifically  
for support instead of layers of wraps and robes was a strange idea,  
but then, so had been sex for fun. Janet still found the whole idea  
of underwear a bit silly, but pregnancy, giving birth, and nursing,  
had opened her eyes a great deal. "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.

* * * *

Companion House was a relatively new pub, not even ten years old. It  
was in an old brick house two blocks from the Granger cottage and run  
by a patient and friend of his and Janet's.

Janet had never cared for pubs, she preferred the library or  
bookstore, but Herbert was a traditionalist and Companion House was  
designed for drinking. Wood paneling, low light, brick for walls and  
good beer for only a few pence. It was tasteful, it was a place to  
drink and socialize and right now, Herbert wanted to drink.

"Afternoon, Herbert," said the woman behind the bar as he walked in  
and sat. Companion House was almost empty at this time of day and  
Herbert was glad for it.

"Whiskey, Tegan" he said. "Make it a double." She made the drink and  
he downed it in one go. "Another." That too, vanished. "A Guinness,  
please."

She drew the beer from the tap, looking at him out of the corner of  
her eye. "Bad day at the office?" she asked as she set the beer in  
front of him.

Herbert shook his head. "You wouldn't believe me."

She smiled at him. "You'd be surprised."

Herbert hesitated and then took a long drink of beer. Hell with it.  
"You know how Jan seems so ageless?"

"Sure, I keep meaning to ask her her secret, but I never get around  
to it. Why?"

"Something really weird happened today."

"Yeah?" Tegan began polishing glasses.

"Jan and I were having afternoon tea today while Hermione was at the  
library, when this young woman wearing Hermione's clothes walks in  
and worse, those clothes are drenched in blood."

Tegan's eyes widened. "Did you call the police?"

"I was too shocked, and then Janet, she gets up, stares into her  
eyes, and then calls her Hermione like she's our daughter. I'd never  
seen this woman in my life, but Jan treats her like Hermione. Not a  
word about all the blood."

Tegan froze for a moment, and then resumed polishing glasses. "Like  
Hermione changed her face."

"Exactly! She sends her to Hermione's room to change and then sends  
me to the pub, like this is all perfectly normal!"

"Maybe it is, where she comes from," Tegan said softly, an odd note  
in her voice.

Even through the haze of alcohol, Herbert knew that that tone of  
voice. It was the tone of someone who knew something.

"You know something," he accused.

"Knew a man once," Tegan said. "Saw him die and come back to life as  
someone else. Even traveled with him for a bit." She looked at  
Herbert. "Gallifrey."

"Gallifrey?" he repeated.

Tegan nodded, put the glass down and picked up another. "See what Jan  
does if you say it to her. What she might tell you."

"Why can't you just tell me now?"

"Not my place," Tegan said. Not sure I'm right, after all, and," she  
gave Herbert an odd look. "There could be another reason, right?"

Herbert blinked at her. Well it was true that Hermione . . . wait.  
"Tegan, are you a--"

Tegan set a double whiskey on the bar. "Your drinks are on the house  
today, Herbert." She walked away.

Herbert stared down at the glass of whiskey and then drank it. He  
needed some fresh air, and then he needed some words with his wife.

* * * *

It was known as The Leaky Cauldron. Oddly, not everyone knew about  
it.  Janet was very glad that she no longer had to pretend she  
couldn't see it and walked right up to it and stepped inside,  
Hermione paused in the doorway.

"Mum . . .?"

"Later, dear," Janet replied, taking her hand and pulling her inside.  
"We need to get you fitted for new robes." She pulled her through the  
tavern and out the back.

"I'm sure mine still fit," Hermione protested as they stepped into  
the little alley. "How did you get into the Leaky Cauldron? You're  
not a witch."

"I'm not human, either," Janet replied. "I've always been able to see  
the Magical World."

Hermione glared at her. Janet raised an eyebrow and then handed  
Hermione her wand. "If you please, dear."

Hermione made a huffing noise and then tapped the bricks. Obediently,  
the brick wall slid aside and revealed the hustle and bustle of  
Diagon Alley. The two women stepped through the portal and the bricks  
closed up behind them.

After visiting Gringotts to change their money into Knuts, Sickles,  
and Galleons, Janet sent Hermione to the robes shop while she went to  
the Post Office and then to the ice cream parlor for a parfait.

No sooner had she finished, then a shadow loomed over her.

Janet looked up at the smiling face of Albus Dumbledore. "It is  
wonderful to see you, Doctor Granger. I got your message and came as  
quick as I could. You said that there was an emergency?"

"It's happened," Janet said simply and Dumbledore sat down.

"I see," he said gravely. "I warned you that this might happen."

"I realize that," Janet said, "but she's not even out of her teens  
yet. Her friends will have questions, and I shudder to think of any  
rumors."

Dumbledore smiled. "Hermione has dealt with rumors before," he said.  
"She acquitted herself well against them, I assure you." He paused.  
"I realize that I'm breaking certain taboos, but has Hermione spoken  
of the circumstances behind that caused it?"

Janet shook her head. "Her clothing, mostly her shirt, was drenched  
with blood, like her throat had been cut." She looked up. "Why?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "I was concerned it was Dark Wizards.  
Hermione is a Muggleborn witch, after all. But they wouldn't use a  
knife, and certainly not slit a throat." He held up a hand to  
forestall Janet's outrage. "I warned you and Herbert that Hermione  
faced certain risks because of her blood. You should be grateful that  
same blood allowed her to survive."

Janet ground her teeth in pure maternal fury and then forced herself  
to calm down. "If Hermione is some kind of danger, Albus," she  
threatened.

"No, no," Dumbledore said. "Hermione is the cleverest witch to come  
Hogwarts in ages. Why she's teaching some of the teachers a few  
things. I daresay that if there's anything dangerous at Hogwarts,  
it's her."

Janet tapped her fingers on the tabletop. "Why do I get the feeling  
you're not telling me everything?"

"I get that a lot," Dumbledore said without batting an eye and then  
smiled. "Janet, Hermione will be fine. I will inform the other  
teachers of her change. If you and Hermione decide on some sort of  
story to explain her appearance, let me know by owl and I will pass  
it on."

Janet nodded as they both stood up. "Albus, I haven't ever thanked  
you enough for all you've done. You helped me when I crashed on  
Earth, arranged a new identity, helped me learn to pass as a human. I  
owe you so much."

Dumbledore smiled. "It is I who owe you. Were it not for your  
bravery, many lives would have been lost. Helping you and teaching  
Hermione is a poor way to repay that debt, but I am glad to be of help."

Janet shook her head. "I did very little."

Dumbledore laid his hand on her shoulder. "Never underestimate  
yourself.  More to the point, do not underestimate Herbert. He should  
know the truth."

"I don't know if I can tell him," Janet replied. "I've kept it a  
secret for so long. What if he leaves me? I can't bear to lose  
everything again."

"If you truly believe that of him," Dumbledore said, "then you were  
never married to begin with." With that, he left the table and Janet  
sat there, alone until Hermione found her, carrying a small stack of  
books and written note from Madame Malkin that Hermione's robes only  
needed a bit of hemming so if Janet could owl them in, Madame Malkin  
could have them ready before start of term.

Janet sighed as she took the note and then tucked it into her purse.  
"Let's go home," she said.

-------------------
Author's note: Wow. I was going to do a few edits, then I wound up re- 
writing 2/3 of the fic. Go figure.

Now, I know a lot of you have spotted a possible plot hole in the pub  
scene, but I promise I'll explain it later on.

DISCLAIMER
Harry Potter is the creation of J.K. Rowling, Doctor Who is owned by  
the BBC. No money is being made from this and no such intent is being  
inferred.





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