"Believe me, Miss Granger, that's far from the worst possibility."
"Could it really have been worse?" There was bitter irony in the displaced girl's voice.
"Easily. For example, your Time-Turner could have worked on the principle of a 'one-minute time machine'."
"I don't understand." Hermione shook her head impatiently.
"The 'one-minute time machine' theory involves travelling through time by transferring your consciousness into your own body in the past. But, like a wormhole, this particular time machine operates by sending that consciousness into the past of a similar parallel universe. As a result, the time traveller dies in their own world and, in effect, takes over someone else's body. How do you like that little twist, Miss Granger?"
Hermione went white as chalk and raised both hands to her mouth.
"How horrible! Thank God the Time-Turner doesn't work like that! It's terrifying to imagine that somewhere out there several versions of me might have been left... dead... and that I could have killed two of my own doubles."
"Exactly." Richard nodded in agreement. "So your situation isn't quite as bad as it might seem. Playing games with time never ends well."
Hermione fell into thought for a while. Eventually, she said with determination:
"I agree. Richard, if you can help me, I'd be grateful. I'll pay back every last penny in the future, I promise."
"There's no need to burden yourself with debts, Miss Granger."
Richard brought up his AI's menu on the display of his glasses, and only now did it occur to him that he could simply have checked the real Hermione's location on the map. Her AI had been dutifully transmitting telemetry all along. In principle, he could have contacted Granger through the AI as well, but using the telephone was more familiar.
Richie understood that he had been under considerable stress at the time, but he still reproached himself somewhat for not thinking of it sooner. Hindsight was a wonderful thing.
The boy opened the virtual video-chat menu and selected one of the few contacts on it. A few moments later, the display in his glasses showed a room resembling a gymnasium. The main view was centred on a slightly dishevelled and sweaty Nymphadora Tonks in a tracksuit.
"My lord," she replied politely. "How may I help you?"
"Good afternoon, Miss Tonks. I need your assistance."
"Of course, my lord. What do you need me to do?"
Richard noted that Nymphadora's manner of speaking had changed somewhat. When they had first met, she had dared to address him familiarly, as though he were an ordinary person. Presumably, she simply hadn't known the proper forms of address for the aristocracy. Now, however, someone had knocked some sense into her. Her service at Eaton Hall clearly hadn't been wasted; no doubt the servants had explained the rules of etiquette to the bodyguard.
"Miss Tonks, your task is to purchase and send to Hogwarts a complete wardrobe for a fourteen-year-old girl who attends Hogwarts. Absolutely everything, several of each: underwear, skirts, blouses, robes, jumpers, socks, coats and shoes for several seasons. Feminine hygiene products, cosmetics and the like as well, plus a complete set of third-year school supplies. Oh, yes! Don't forget some sort of case with an Undetectable Extension Charm to hold all this stuff, and a small handbag with the same properties. I'll send you the measurements through your AI."
"Very well, my lord," Nymphadora replied, somewhat taken aback. "Forgive me, but what happened?"
"An acquaintance of mine had a mishap involving a magical artefact and ended up losing everything she owned..."
"Ah, it happens..." Nymphadora drawled sympathetically. "Though back when I was at school, pupils mostly just managed to destroy their robes and cauldrons. Anything else?"
"That will be all, Miss Tonks."
The displaced Hermione was staring at Richard with an indescribable mixture of emotions. She couldn't decide whether to consider him a madman talking to himself or try to work out how the communication was taking place. Eventually, she could stand it no longer and asked:
"You were just talking to someone... How?"
"Miss Granger"—Richard narrowed his eyes—"in your world, did you grow up among ordinary people, like my friend, or among wizards?"
"Among ordinary people. But what does that have to do with anything? I don't understand what you're getting at."
"Miss Granger, if you grew up in the ordinary world, you should be familiar with such concepts as telephones, video calls, artificial intelligence and computers."
"Er... yes."
"Well, then it should be easier for you to understand. I possess an artefact which is, in essence, a powerful computer. It, in turn, uses an artificial intelligence in place of an operating system. The image is displayed on my glasses"—Richard tapped the arm of his glasses a couple of times with the forefinger of his right hand—"and the computer is controlled by mental commands."
For what seemed like the hundredth time that day, Granger was stunned. She stood there open-mouthed, trying to put her fallen jaw back where it belonged.
"Do wizards really have artefacts like that?" she asked quietly in astonishment.
"I don't know about your world, but we do. And to anticipate your next question, you can't buy a toy like this yet. They're made in small batches at my magical company, to special order and for a great deal of money."
"You own a magical company?"
"Yes. Have done for several years now. At the moment, roughly as many wizards work for me as work for the Ministry of Magic."
"My God, what a mad world!" the dumbfounded Hermione exclaimed. "I thought you were talking to yourself..."
"No." Grosvenor shook his head. "I was talking to my bodyguard."
"Well... I did see some sort of reflection in your glasses, but I couldn't hear anything."
"That's because the image is displayed on the glasses, while the sound is transmitted directly into my brain."
"But why not transmit the image directly into your brain as well?" Hermione asked, following the idea to its logical conclusion.
"The first version of the wrist-mounted AI did exactly that, but it failed testing. Users became too detached from reality when visual information was fed directly into their minds. We solved that problem with sound, but for visual information, glasses turned out to be simpler, cheaper and more convenient. Right, then. Are you going to your lessons?"
"Yes, of course." Hermione nodded.
"Then you need to get to Transfiguration, and I should be off to Charms. I'm planning to visit Hermione this evening. Would you like to come with me?"
"Yes, I think so," the displaced Granger replied after a moment's hesitation. "It'll be interesting to meet an alternate version of myself. By the way, I've been meaning to ask—why is she in the hospital wing?"
"Studied too much."
Hermione's lips curved into a sardonic smile.
"Sounds like me!" she said.
(End of Chapter)
P@treon: /SadRaven
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