A/N: This is my first real experience writing a piece like this. There's time-travel, the Marauders are going to pop up, and it's going to be a bit of an AU. I'm going to keep a lot of canon components but I don't have a concrete plan for this yet- I only have a general direction. The timeline of the story is a bit jumpy and I'll try my best to differentiate between who is who and when is when, but please let me know if you have no idea what is going on. Also keep in mind that I make changes among various chapters as I go, so until I finalize this fic, everything is up for criticism and change. Please review!

Chapter I: A Decision

April 8th, 2000

In the rare moments that Hermione sporadically lost awareness of her current situation, it was the brown-eyed, freckled, and dreamy face that somehow ended up in the palm of her hands. When she could no longer could remember the whirling world that she had been forced into by the laws of time, she thought of the loose red strands of hair mingling where her fingers met her palm and where only her quill or wand would fit more perfectly. The smell of smoky caramel and the ever-familiar scent of parchment engulfed her, and she leaned back- only to realize that she was only sinking further into the couch that took up half of her flat. She was still in current time, a rather dreary, disappointing, cold April day.

These were the moments that hurt the most. Sinking far into her couch and even farther into her past and hoping for oblivion. Hoping to be forgotten by the people around her so that she could lose the obligation to live life like a functional human being. Hoping to fall into the world of her thoughts and memories. Hoping to remain there for the rest of eternity. If she didn't so despise the idea of acting on her own behalf, she would reminisce about the days before the battle forever in the comfort of the flat, that had a presence in her memories from before her current and self-proclaimed "dark days". If she didn't so despise the idea of acting selfishly, Hermione would take the golden trinket from her pocket and twist the orb as far back as she could. The ridges in the surface of the knobs would imprint themselves into the pads of her fingers.

But Hermione was rational- she knew she was being unreasonably sad and she knew that she had to move on. Everyone had lost someone in the war, everyone had lost a piece of themselves to the war. Hermione supposed that, in a sense, losing someone was a form of sacrifice. The losses were for the greater good. For the safety of the next generation. For the safety of the world and all that etc shit. Those that had died knew what they were getting into and they were willing to accept those risks. Unfortunately, this meant that everyone in the present day was left wallowing in their own memories, but life went on.

It had to go on, which is why the supposedly rational people spelled the memories of their own lost piece out of their head. A simple spell cast for simple oblivion. It became easier to function without infinitely continuous grief, and Hermione could understand their motivation to take this path. If she didn't have to face her own painful memories, she would be able to walk down the street without swallowing shaky sobs. If she could just put the wand to her head, and use the modified form of obliviate to charm the memories out of her head, she wouldn't have to wallow in her own guilt. Hermione supposed that this failure to charm herself made her sadistic and irrational, but she couldn't resist. She had built up memories in the current decade and in decades past, and those weren't memories that she was willing to give up for the sake of sanity.

Hermione ruffled her fingers through her hair. She was tired of living in this constant moroseness. Golden light streamed onto her, reminding her of the constant desire she had to leave. Reminding her that she had to push those thoughts into the deepest corners of her mind. Every day was the same- with the rise of the sun, she had to allow the rays of light remove any semblance of darkness within her. Everything was forced, like the gravity that kept Earth in its elliptical orbit. Nothing was free.

A barn owl tapped on her window, with a small scroll tied up to their leg. Giving them a Knut and a treat from the bowl she kept on hand, Hermione swiftly removed the familiarly formal parchment from the owl's leg, and they flew off. She was quite sure that this was going to be a repeat of the message that she had begun to receive weekly (or more, she couldn't keep track) from the Ministry so she began to mentally prepare herself to leave the flat. She did this before even beginning to read the sloppy ink that was scrawled on the parchment. For a man of such high authority, Hermione often founded herself astounded by how much this man's script matched that of chicken scrawl.

Need you to come to the Ministry as soon as you possibly can. I have a situation that needs to be handled and I'm afraid that I am in need of your expertise. Thank you so much for everything you do- I'm afraid you're far too valuable to my office for me to be content with the fact that you are currently sorting papers for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Have you considered moving to the Department of Mysteries? Or maybe directly to my own office?

Yours truly,

Kingsley

Sighing, she began her daily ritual, allowing herself the guilty pleasure of putting on a pair of his old Quidditch socks underneath her Ministry robes. She washed her face, put her hair up in a knot, did a couple of beauty charms that Ginny had taught her, and looked at her reflection in the mirror. A small scar lined the curve of her jaw, but it was so faint that it was only visible to those who looked closely, and only felt by those who knew where to touch. Another scar, jagged in appearance but smooth to the touch, sat atop of her shoulder, inches from her collarbone. Instinctually, her hand drifted there and grazed the scar that, over the years, had become oddly comforting to her. Snapping out of her trance, she grabbed her mug of coffee, finished it in nearly one gulp, and was on her way out of the door of Number 93 Diagon Alley and to the London Underground.

Very few people knew the path that sneaked around Fortescue's and lead to muggle London from Diagon Alley, so Hermione was able to get to the tube without attracting too much attention to herself. The tube was a nice and easy commuting ritual for her, serving as a simple reminder of her days before the Wizarding World. As an escalator took her down to the platform, she realized that she hadn't had much time to keep up with Muggle inventions, and reminded herself to restudy modern mechanics, electricity, and twenty-first century inventions. The trip to the Ministry was short, relaxing, and one of the best parts of her day, considering that no one stared or begged for autographs. Once she got off the train at Westminster station and into the bathroom (which she had never used for regular or routine bathroom purposes and hoped that no one ever did), she flushed herself into the Ministry and into the large, familiar auditorium. Thankfully, she had pulled enough strings that the "Magic is Might" structure had been taken down. But while she no longer had to face that form of horrendous bigotry on a daily basis, she still had to face the relentless press.

"Miss Granger, Miss Granger!"

She sighed. She supposed that there wasn't very much she could do to escape her "fanbase". She wasn't an employee of the Minister's office, which meant that Kingsley couldn't technically grant her a private entrance. She supposed that if she really tried, she could persuade him to break a couple rules, but considering that she was a member of law enforcement, she didn't want to be hypocritical. If there was anything Hermione wanted to be, hypocritical was not one of them.

"I can be reached at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement through simple post, though, Misses Bleeker and Skeeter, I'm sure you were already aware of this since I have told you every day for the past two years. Please do not attempt to send ridiculous letters of inquiry for your daughter's birthday party or anything of the like, because I can guarantee that I will not have the time. My mailbox is charmed to get rid of junk mail and love potions, meaning that you can stop trying Mr. McLaggen." She harrumphed her way through the crowd and hoped that no one would bother her for the rest of her trip to the Minister's office. Kingsley held her in high regards as a close friend, which came as no surprise to her, considering their shared past and similar ideology.

The elevator ride was only slightly better than her experience in the auditorium, but the trip was short and she was able to run onto the Minister's floor pretty quickly without an issue. A small, rushed-looking redhead made darting eye contact with her as she got off the elevator. His glasses fell of from the sudden motion that this eye contact had required, revealing the dark bags under his eyes. Hermione frowned. He had always overworked himself, even if the things he did were relatively menial. A paper flew off his desk and onto the floor as he stood up to greet her, walking quickly around the corner of his desk. They began to walk down the central corridor, dodging through a maze of desks, all while engaging in rapid fire conversation.

"Good morning, Miss Granger. Did the Minister update you on the current situation?"

"Percy, you call me Hermione everywhere else that we are- I was just at the Burrow with you yesterday- is it really so difficult for you to call me Hermione here?"

"Forgive me, but I really must say that I find simple pleasure in the formal tone taken in the environment of this office, Miss Hermione."

"Well, I doubt that that's a reasonable excuse, so don't expect the same attitude from me. You're no longer a prefect, Percy, I won't follow your every move." The tips of his ears flushed crimson. "And no, Kingsley only informed me that he had a situation at hand instead of the actual happenings. Do you know what's going on?"

"I have no idea, but if you recall that I am usually completely aware of every situation- practically, if not literally, all the time- meaning that right now, I must say that I am completely taken aback by the fact that you are here and yet I am unaware as to the reason why. Naturally, I am going with you to the Minister's office to speculate. Hope you don't mind me following you. "

"I do hope there're no feline traces in you. You do know what they say about curiosity."

The pair stopped in front of the Minister's doors. Hermione looked at the redhead, tilted her face to the side, and then stepped around him and into the office of, arguably, the most powerful wizard in Britain at the current moment. He sat comfortably in his chair with his fingers laced together, waiting quite obviously for her arrival.

"Kingsley, care to explain why Percy doesn't know what's going on?"

The powerful wizard gazed sadly at Percy, allowing himself a moment of emotional vulnerability, but then returned an intense gaze back at Hermione.

"Close the door behind you, Hermione. I'm sure your good friend here will find out about the situation that we have at hand soon enough."

She looked at the man with a confused look- he had never acted so grim before, not even before the war. What was it that he could tell her, but not Percy? Her curiosity got the best of her, so she turned around to shut the door behind her, giving Percy a half apologetic look in the process. When she got back to her position in front of the Minister, he sighed and relaxed into his chair.

"I'm afraid we have a time-travel mishap that you'd be very deeply interested in, Miss Granger."

"Well, while I always have been interested in the functionality of time, I was under the impression that these things were too serious for someone to take care of without the proper training? What is it that I can help you with that the Department of Mysteries cannot? Forgive me for wondering, but should you not respond to them instead of me?"

"Well, that would be standard protocol, yes. However, I have recently come into possession of a particular piece of- well, for lack of better term – joke product that has a message inscribed to me in it. The message, inscribed by George Weasley, directs me to pass this on to you. However, he charmed it to show how much time has passed since he left the message, and my most prized analysts have confirmed that he did indeed inscribe this message in 1975." He took out a rubber wand, and balanced it gently on his fingertips. "Would it be wrong of me to assume that this object would be of particular interest to you?"

Hermione gasped. It was the most recent prototype of a trick wand that, instead of transforming to a rubber chicken to all users, transformed to a specified object to only certain (specified) holders. It was the last prototype that she and George created before he spontaneously disappeared roughly two weeks ago. They hadn't even had the time to test it or show it to any one else. Could time be rewritten? The last time that Hermione and Fred had been thrown back in time, it was to ensure that everything that was supposed to happen in present time, happened. Or had they been rewriting time without even noticing it?

Realizing that she was holding her breath, Hermione slowly exhaled and leaned forward to grab hold of the wand, gently moving her fingers across the inscription. The inscribed "GW" could easily be recognized by anyone who had ever looked at a Weasley product. But Hermione could not see a message inscribed to Kingsley on the surface of the wand, which made her realize that messages were triggered by the touch of the witch or wizard that was meant to receive it. How ingenious.

Kingsley allowed her to take it from his hands, and the moment that it was only her skin touching it, it turned into a roll of parchment.

Hermione,

I've found Fred and I think I've seriously messed up the time continuum. I was blasted back to 1975 after touching an old letter that he left me dated for our birthday of this year. You're here with him and Sirius and Remus and James and Lily, and luckily, no one has seen me yet, but I have to lay low so that I don't mess anything up. I don't know what I'm doing Hermione. You have to get here. I don't want to be stuck here in hiding because this might be our chance to save our Fred. Meet me in the Potions section of the library- that's the once place that Fred would never find himself in, plus there's a nice crevice that I've been able to hide in (disillusioned) until the librarian (a librarian that's not Madam Pince- I didn't realize that there had ever been another librarian) locks up. So far, I've had the time to recreate the prototype and charm it with this message. Shacklebolt is still a student here so I've written his name and some directions into the rubbery outside and left it where I believe he usually studies. Hopefully, I won't have to send anymore joke wand messages because you'll be here soon.

George
April 8th, 1975

From her pocket, she took out the amber and emerald encrusted time turner that she had been holding onto for months. Remembering the exact events of the 1975 she had spent with Fred, Hermione slowly realized why Fred had charmed George back to exactly a quarter of a century ago.

Unfortunately, what Fred hadn't anticipated when he wrote that letter, was that he would be dead.

The laws of time could be bent, manipulated, and broken, which made Hermione's position in Magical Law Enforcement seem rather ironic. Without giving Kingsley a proper warning, she turned the topaz inside the time turner, and made her decision.

Kingsley- who had sat stiff and upright when the joke wand had transformed- sank back into his chair and waited. He had figured out some time ago that something like this would happen, and now it was his duty to provide help to Hermione and everyone else involved when they needed it.