Disclaimer: All characters belong to the always amazing J.K Rowling, the plot however is all mine.

Title: A Great Distance

Written for: Missa Pugliani-Fisk/ Birdie'Jaden'Blythe

Written By: ashes at midnight

Rating: T

Prompt used: Time is a tricky thing, one misspoken word, a handshake out of place, anything can change time.

A/N: This story was written in response to a prompt that was given to me by Birdie Blythe. The Fic Awesome Gift Exchange (FAGE) is a bi-annual event that I haven't participated in for a few years. It's nice to be back writing something for someone. I haven't written a chaptered Harry Potter fiction in a very, very long time. I hope you all like it. This isn't a pairing I would normally write, and something I wouldn't read either, but it suited the prompt, so I thought I would give it a go.

You can find the rest of the FAGE 007 stories here
www . fanfiction community /FAGE-007/93625/

Read, review but most of all enjoy.

A Great Distance

Chapter 1

This wasn't the normal type of work befitting the brightest witch of her generation, Hermione Granger mused as she walked through the dark corridors of the Department of Mysteries. She clutched a stack of parchments and books to her chest, her bag slung over her shoulder. She should be upstairs, researching new spells, and potion techniques, talking to the healers of St. Mungo's about the best use of Dragon's blood, or improving the Goblin and Centaur relations after yet another year of quarrels.

But instead she was down here, in the most isolated section of the Ministry of Magic. In the Department of Mysteries storage area. She was to spend the day Stocktaking the various Dark Arts artefacts that had been confiscated over the years. Cursed objects, even spell books containing the darkest of spells, Sneakoscopes, illegally modified Portkeys, even the Ministry's supply of Time Turners. It was a daunting task that would take her hours, if not days. It was an annual process that had been assigned to her. Why her - when she could be so useful elsewhere, and not some intern she did not know. But it had put her in a bad mood. Hermione Granger had no use for wasting time, and this was definitely a time waster.

The hassle of trying to get out of the assignment (and the paperwork she would have to do because of it) wasn't worth the trouble. So she took her bag, and the parchment and books she was given, with only a few stern words, and not a heated argument and the accompanying letter of complaint she would normally have done.

Resigned to her fate, but still annoyed, she convinced herself that the quicker she got on and did the job the quicker she could finish. The scolding of her superiors could come after.

With a heavy sign she opened the door to the supply rooms and looked around. There was an entire wall filled with spell books, while the rest of the shelves filling the room contained an assortment of different things. She put her bag down by the door and got out her quill. Tapping her wand against its point she muttered a quick spell that would insure a steady supply of ink. She picked up the roll of parchment she was carrying, and starting at one end of the room she meticulously started jotting down her calculations.

The process took ages, a few hours passed and she decided it was time for a break. Walking upstairs she bought herself a nice hot cup of tea (no sugar) and a sandwich. After lunch she headed back downstairs and walked into the next room. This one was filled with Time Turners. The Ministry of Magic was the only place where you could acquire one.

The secrets in its making was a carefully guarded secret, every Time Turner was carefully regulated and permits were given in only very important circumstances. Having been privy to the very best and the very worst a Time Turner could offer Hermione had always had a deep respect for the powerful device. Terrible things happened to those who messed with time. It was not something that anyone wanted in the wrong hands.

This room was one of the Ministry's most best kept secrets, if the Wizarding World knew of this place who knew what kind of mischief the more questionable members of their society would do to get their hands on one.

Hermione looked around the room in awe. It was huge, with thousands of Time Turners stored on every surface in the room. Some were as small as a fingernail and others almost as large as a man's head filled the room. They were stacked everywhere. Shelves lined the walls, with long tables filling the centre of the room.

She walked forward and put her bag down on the ground. As she straightened up she accidentally knocked the table, and the Time Turner nearest to her (a very old, very ornately carved, silver one on a long chain) toppled off its secure base, bounced onto the table and fell off the table.

As the Turner fell, spinning to the floor the air around it started to shift as time was displaced. Hermione, standing right next to it, felt the familiar, gentle nudge in the middle of her chest as she was pulled through time with it. With a gasp Hermione lunged forward, and grabbed at the Time Turners long silver chain that was trailing behind it. Her hand around it stopped the little device from falling and smashing on the floor, but it continued to spin as it danced on the end of the long chain, moving through time at an unmeasurable speed. Desperate, Hermione grabbed it with her other hand. Finally managing to stop its spin.

The sudden stop felt like she had hit a wall at a dizzying speed. She gasped and stumbled. Mud under her shoes caused her to slip and suddenly she was falling backwards. She landed in a puddle of muddy water and wet cobblestones, the ancient Time Turner hitting the ground at her side and cracking with the impact.

With a groan she lifted her head and looked around. The Department of Mysteries, and the room with the Time Turners was gone. She was lying on the floor, in the mud and the dirt, on the edge of a cobblestoned street. She rolled onto her side and looked around, houses lined the street, all of them were thatched, and made with hard packed clay and wood. There was glass in the windows, but it was opaque and she couldn't see through it. Chicken's pecked across the yard in front of her, and she heard a horse whinny from its pen behind a nearby house. She liked her lips nervously, something was very, very wrong. Slowly she sat up, blinking as the clouds parted, and the sun came out.

At the moment there wasn't another person in sight, but she knew that wouldn't last long. Dressed in her favourite pair of black boots, black pants, a short sleeved white blouse, and a tailored grey jacket she had no hope of blending in with the locals. She wondered what century she was in.

A Time Turner, unlike a Portkey does not transport you across a distance. A Time Turner moves you through time only, depending on how many repetitions the Turner spins, and how powerful the magic in it is. Some Time Turners were designed to move hours, others centuries, and the magic inside each determined that. Hermione didn't know how far back she had gone. Judging from the lack of downtown London, and the skyscrapers she had grown accustomed to she figured it was at least a few centuries, though it wouldn't surprise her if it was a much higher number. Luckily she had her wand with her.

But that was the only bright side.

The Time Turner was broken, cracked right down the centre where it had hit the cobblestone street. She didn't want to risk using it in case she caused more damage, and she didn't know how to fix it, or even where to start. She was stranded.

She got to her feet slowly and looked around, brushing off her pants. She bent down and picked up the Time Turner, slipping the chain around her neck and tucking it under her shirt. It brought back memories of her third year at Hogwarts, when Professor McGonagall gave her a Time Turner so she could get to all the extra classes she was taking. She smiled at the memory. If it hadn't been for her determination to take every class available things would have turned out a lot differently. Sirius Black would have died that year, as would Buckbeak, a proud Hippogriff. Hagrid still had the old beast, Hippogriffs living to almost twice the age of horses.

A sudden shout pulled her out of her musings and she gave a start, quickly looking towards the sound. The angry voice had come from one of the houses to her right. A man was staring out the open window at her. He disappeared and a second later the front door opened, He ran outside, shouting and waving a fist at her. Her eyes widening, Hermione took her wand out of her pocket. Thinking quickly she thought of the only place she was sure to still exist, before turning on the spot and apparating away from the angry man.


She landed just outside the grounds of Hogwarts castle.

Stealing herself she looked up at the old building. It looked exactly the same, except…

The Quidditch Pitch was gone, she could just imagine Harry and Ron's horror at this development and smiled, despite herself, at she thought of her two best friends. It was puzzling though, Quidditch had been the Wizarding World's national sport for centuries, the origins of the favoured sport having started long ago in the 11th century (Thank you, Quidditch Through the Ages).

Just how far back had she traveled? Hermione wondered. Narrowing her eyes in contemplation she started forward up the path. There wasn't any gates, and as she got closer she realised Hagrid's Hut and the Greenhouses were gone too. Instead a large vegetable patch covered the lawn in front of the castle. The path curved up a hill, and Hermione found herself a little out of breath.

As she got closer to the castle she realised something else was different about the ancient school. The stone was clean, shiny and vibrant, it almost looked….new. Which was impossible. Hogwarts was a thousand years old, there was no way her little Time Turner had made that much of a leap through Time.

Frowning to herself she walked up the last three steps of the castle and stood in front of the door. She took a deep breath, put her hand on the knocker and slowly pushed the big wooden door open. It didn't creak, like she was used too. The brass knocker gleamed in her hands, the wood shiny and freshly oiled. She opened the door just wide enough that she could slip through the opening, closing the door behind her.