Disclaimer: I am not earning any money off of this. Anything you recognize from Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., and so on.

Chapter 1: The Wheels of Destiny

Often, she did not understand why she had chosen the life she had chosen. Of course, she was no ordinary person. In fact, she was quite special. Being the cleverest witch since Rowena Ravenclaw herself to walk the hallways of Hogwarts and being one of the best friends of Harry Potter guaranteed that she would not lead a "normal life." However, as abnormal life could become, there are some things that just never changed.

Bickering with Ronald Weasley had become some kind of unfortunate routine for Hermione Granger. They hardly went through a day without arguing with one another to the point that they would just turn their faces away from each other, waiting for the other to admit they were wrong first.

This morning was no different – or it would have been, if she hadn't decided to visit Dumbledore as he had told her to. However, this was Hermione Granger and she followed every single instruction that was given to her.

"The prat," Hermione silently fumed as she trekked the empty halls of Hogwarts. Her heels clacked out a continual beat, speaking of the source and reason of her unmitigating rage.

Clickety-Clack. Ronald Weasley is an uncaring, unfeeling, obtuse rat.

She crumpled the small piece of parchment she held in her hand, willing it and Ronald to burn into a pile of ash. He had been parading Lavender Brown around all day. It was as if they were joined at the hip. Tears began gathering around her large doe eyes. What made the situation worse was the fact that he knew how she felt about him. She had revealed her feelings for him the other day, only to face a humiliating rejection.

Then today, in the Great Hall, he proceeded to dig a spike deep into her heart. When Professor Snape had handed her a parchment, Ronald had the gall to state that she should thank the greasy git as it was unlikely another wizard would willingly write to her.

Ronald was now vomiting flobberworms. Yet, Hermione only felt a fleeting satisfaction at this thought as she continued trudging toward the Headmaster's office.

And so she arrived in front of the gargoyles at twenty to twelve, unshed tears still circling in her eyes and still trying to calm herself enough so that a certain blue-eyed Headmaster wouldn't know that she was upset. It was silly, really, since she didn't know of anything that had escaped the attention of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore yet.

At fifteen to twelve, she heaved a sigh and mumbled the password ("Tootsie Pops") to the stone statue guarding the entrance to the Headmaster's office. The gargoyle immediately jumped to the side, allowing her to walk up the stairwell. With three loud thuds, she knocked on the wooden door.

"Come in."

She opened the door and walked inside a room that was as bizarre as it was intriguing. Silver instruments lay around the room, humming as certain parts of it twisted and twirled around. Piles and piles of books sat around the room and on tables, waiting for a curious reader to flip through their pages. Hermione would've been more than enthralled to read through any one of them. The purpose of this trip, regretfully, was not a personal tour into the library of Albus Dumbledore.

The wizard was sitting behind a large mahogany desk, his fingers pressed together in a steeple as he looked at her over his half-moon spectacles.

"Good day, Ms. Granger," he greeted her.

"Good day, Professor Dumbledore," she answered back, sitting down in the chair he had gestured for her to sit down in. "You've owled me this morning to meet with you at noon?"

"Yes," the Headmaster answered. "I've requested for you to come here because there are some...things that I wanted to discuss with you."

A curious glow replaced the anger in her eyes.

"About what, Professor?" Hermione asked.

Dumbledore stood up and walked over to one of the silver instruments, his back towards her.

"You see, Hermione. There are quite a bit of things that have changed throughout the years and although I know about your particular dislike of fortune-telling and such, I would have to ask a favor from you," he said, his long, slender finger touching the instrument in front of him.

"A favor?" she asked. He nodded, never turning his eyes towards her. A nervous smile appeared on Hermione's face. For some reason, the Headmaster's attitude and motions made her feel nervous.

He finally looked at her, "I need you to travel back into the past."

"Travel...Professor! We're not allowed to change time!" Hermione protested. A small smile appeared on the wizard's face.

"You're not changing time, Hermione," Dumbledore answered. "I'm asking you to go back in time to do a bit of research." The witch was quiet, knowing that the wizard was not finished with what he had to say. Their eyes locked and Dumbledore smiled when he saw the sharp intelligence sparkling in the depths of her eyes. "Your research will be vital to the Order and," he paused as if he was deciding if he should say what he was about to say, "you have to go back in order for the timeline to remain unchanged."

Hermione stared at him, not knowing what to say. She was fully aware that Dumbledore was insinuating that he had seen her in whatever time period he was planning on sending her back to.

"Hermione! You are the one who holds the key! You must find the lock to the truth! That's the only way the future of the wizarding community will have a chance!"

"Will have a chance in what, Professor?" Hermione persisted.

"The answers lie in the past, Hermione," Dumbledore answered, a kind, almost sad, smile on his face.

She didn't answer him, her heart a complete mess and her mind buzzing like a beehive.

"Will you go back, Hermione?" Dumbledore asked, watching her intently, his expression bordering on harsh seriousness.

"I...I don't know, Professor," she mumbled. She laughed nervously again, "And I don't really have a choice now, do I?" Her eyes was looking at anywhere but him. She was confused.

Why couldn't Dumbledore just tell her what was happening? Why did she have to go back into the past?

"What year am I supposed to travel back to?" she asked.

"The year 1943," he answered. He raised his hand, allowing a familiar-looking hourglass to fall.

Hermione glared at the hourglass, recalling that it only turned back an hour per turn which meant that she had to turn the thing nearly half a million times before she could reach her destination. Perhaps Dumbledore had read her mind, since he chuckled at her expression.

"This particular Time-Turner had been charmed to bring you to your destination with merely one turn," he explained. He walked over to where Hermione, picked up her hand, and placed the device in her hand. "It lies in your hands now, Hermione."

Hermione sighed for the tenth time since she had sat down at the Gryffindor table, stabbing at the carrots on her plate. Of course, Dumbledore had been anything but subtle throughout the entire conversation. It all comes down to the conclusion that she did not have a choice. Nothing was ever in her hands. The Headmaster had staged the entire performance and as much as Hermione admired him for his wisdom, she resented the fact that he was trying to manipulate her as he had manipulated Harry.

"What's the matter, Hermione?" Harry asked, concern swimming around in his green eyes.

"Harry, I -"

She didn't have the heart to tell Harry what she was required of doing. The wizard looked at her expectantly.

"Nothing, Harry," she finally said. "I'm just worried about the NEWT's."

"Hermione, that's not until next year!"

"Well...you know me well enough," she smiled weakly. Harry shook his head and went back to eating.

She looked at the hourglass that was now hanging around her neck, feeling that it was heavier than ever.

All of a sudden, accompanied with the sounds of forks and knives hitting against a plate, a redhead sat down beside her, his mouth pulled into a big grin.

"Hello, Hermione," Ron Weasley greeted her.

She stared at him from the corner of her eye, hardly shocked that he was acting as if nothing from the morning had happened.

His eyes traveled from her hair to her face.

"Is it just me or there's something..." he frowned, "different about you?"

"That's a bit odd. I've never expected you out of all people to notice what's happening," she spat out, stabbing her carrot a bit harder than before.

"Bloody hell," Ron whispered, his eyes taking yet another tour of her face.

Very much annoyed, she stood up from her chair and walked out of the Great Hall.

Standing in the middle of the empty hallway, Hermione sighed again.

It seemed like she did not have a choice, did it? She closed her eyes and bit her lower lip, wishing that she could open her eyes and find a different situation in front of her.

But she know that that was impossible.

Time could not be changed. If Dumbledore had seen her back in the forties, that meant that she had to go back.

When she opened her eyes again, they took on a resoluted gleam.

It was now or never.

With a turn of the hourglass, she was gone.

It was only when she had disappeared that the shadow around the corner came into view.

His twinkling blue eyes appeared more serious than ever as he took a handful of sand from where Hermione had been previously standing and approached one of the many windows of the school. He pushed it open and held out his hand, allowing the grains of sand to fly away with the wind.

"Fly, little one, like how I know you're supposed to. You are destined for so much in the past as well as in the future. Let the fates guide you and may the pages of destiny turn in accordance."