Disclaimer for Whole Story: Anything you recognize is property of JK Rowling, Warner Bros. and other affiliations.

Formal Summary: What if during the final battle, Hermione Granger and Ginny Weasley had died and Voldemort survived? What if the war continued with only two-thirds of the Golden Trio and with a rebuilt collection of horcruxes to find and destroy? But that's no longer Hermione's concern. She's dead and the only thing she should concern herself with is resting in peace. But the god's have other plans for her and Ginny- plans to rectify a world gone mad. A world that will, in time, fall to pieces. But there's a catch. Hermione and Ginny can singlehandedly save the world from ever knowing Voldemort, but to do so, they must lose one of two things: their souls, or their reason.

Author's Note: Okay, so on Micosoft Word, it's about three pages in before Hermione is actually killed. I understand some readers prefer a story that's quick to the start but I feel I need a proper starting point. Either way, the three pages do come in to mean something deeper and so it's best to get that in before the true plot kicks into gear.

1: Familiarity in Death

"One final chance, Mudblood!" Voldemort spat at Hermione Granger, the tip of his wand jammed forcefully against her thyroid gland. "Where is Potter?" Involuntarily, she cringed, expecting a 'persuasive' cruciatus curse to emerge from the weapon pressed into her throat. But it didn't, causing her muscles to relax slightly and her bleary eyes to open.

His face loomed just inches from hers, the red, narrow eyes set in frustration, the slits of his nostrils flaring with impatience and rage. His gray skin was pulled gaunt over his bony facial structure and his lipless mouth sat in a grim line of anger and determination. He was going to break her if that's what he had to do.

"I don't know," she answered, feeling ashamed at the way her voice shook. Where was the Gryffindor? Where was the stereotype of ignorant courage, laughing at Voldemort, spitting at him, telling him she'd rather die than tell him a shred of helpful information? 'Hiding,' she thought as she succumbed to the throat-burning scream from the cruciatus. 'Hiding because that's not me. I don't want to die…' Her skin seemed as if it was being cut from her bones with white hot swords and like her body was being torn to shreds from the inside out. It was a shock, even to her. She was meant to be the epitome of blinded and jaded bravery, meant to put her life on the line. But she didn't want to. Oh no, don't get her wrong- Hermione Granger was, and will never be, a Wormtail. If she had to die in order for Harry to be safe and capable of defeating Voldemort, she would. In a heartbeat. But she couldn't help but mourn the husband she would never love, the children she would never have, and the life she would never know.

The crucio stopped and her breathing, ragged and uneven, was desperate. Her throat was raw and it was a frantic scramble to cool her frazzled nerves. But of course, no such respite was allowed and she felt the sharp pressure of strong hands slam her shoulders against the wall. A yowl of pain escaped her lips as fresh tears prickled her eyes.

"You lying filth!" the wizard yelled, losing his patience for the girl. If she didn't reveal anything of true value to him soon, he would surely not be able to contain himself and would kill her. When that time should come- and it would, knowing the obnoxious chivalry of the Gryffindors- he could only pray to Merlin that she had no knowledge that he could've been privy to had he exercised patience.

The interrogation continued for what felt to Hermione as hours but was, in all actuality, only an hour and a half. Her lip seemed to be in a permanent state of quivering and her body was limp, yet heavy and weighted down with the torment. The chocolate brown eyes, which hitherto had been warm and hopeful, were now listless and glazed over, the life fading from within them which each passing minute. She was a ragdoll that a bratty child had thrown around in a tantrum, leaving her limbs loose, her hair a tangle of honey colored locks and dried blood (Voldemort had gotten creative when curses had failed), and her clothing was torn and askew from all the quick, harsh writhing.

Now, nearly reaching the second hour, Voldemort felt more than frustration. He felt practically murderous. He needed to find Potter and that damned Gryffindor was too loyal. Why? He turned to her, watching as her chest just barely rose and sank to ensure the continuation of life. She was a mess of blood, grime and brokenness. The grotesque lump in her wrist and the awkward, painful-looking angle of her elbow suggested that he had managed to break her all the way down to her skeleton. Yet, she still wouldn't talk.

His crimson eyes fell onto her brown ones, noting the lack of luster, and they stared at each other for the briefest of moments. Someone less informed on the circumstances might've confused the transaction for a fonder one, one where emotions were exchanged and where empathy was formed. Instead, the only emotion that could be seen was confusion hidden beneath murderous intent, and regret mingled with the hopelessness. Empathy and all its kindred were nowhere to be seen.

"Why do you fight for him? Why are you going to die for him?" his voice was cold, yet sincere- he truly wanted to know her reasoning.

Hermione remained still for a moment, her mind reeling with his words. 'Die for him…' she knew she probably would die, she knew it the moment he found her hiding underneath a staircase and dragged her out by her hair. But the realization finally came to her.

She was going to die.

'I wish I never got the damn letter,' she thought, recalling the month before her eleventh birthday when she, very confused and frightened, received a letter from an owl. 'What are you saying! You're grateful for it!' an inner voice shouted out to her, but she couldn't agree with her mind. Not this time.

She was pulled from her reverie by a sharp kick to the ribs, eliciting a hiss of pain as she wrapped her arms around her middle.

"I asked you a question, Mudblood!" Voldemort shouted, the term dripping like venom from a snake's fang.

She closed her eyes momentarily as she summoned all her strength and moved to sit herself up. She could accept death, but she couldn't- and wouldn't- accept death while she lay at his feet. Her breath came out in hisses through teeth as her bones and body begged her to lie down, but she continued to move until she was propped up on her elbows. Voldemort seemed amused if anything.

"Why?" she asked, ignoring his question. If she was going to die, she was going to die hitting a nerve. "Why do you feel the need to do this? What happened to you to make you do this?"

Nerve hit.

If Hermione had a quicker eye, she would have seen the fleeting look in Voldemort's face at her words. A look filled with shock, anger, hatred and…vulnerability, fear and hopelessness. But unfortunately, a human cannot follow the quick inner-shifting of a monster and, being only a human to a monster, Hermione could only see the look of absolute rage and ferocity.

His lip twitched as he slowly held his wand out, the yew wood shook with his arm as he said the words that would be the last words to grace Hermione Granger's ears.

"Avada Kedavra."

The green light hit her with such intensity that her small form was thrown against the stone wall, creating a slight crater which was noticeable after her body slid back down to the ground. Though it hardly seemed appropriate to call it her body now.

The body no longer harbored a soul to be the possession of.

-X-

Death wasn't at all what she imagined, even though she would never admit she truly thought of it that in depth. It wasn't painful, but it wasn't peaceful either. Instead, her stomach twisted in nausea as she felt a somewhat uncomfortable feeling invade her entire body. Her body had gone numb, though not in the unfeeling sort of way. It was the prickling, heavy numb feeling you get from putting too much weight on one limb at a time, though all over. She began to rise, her now dead eyes watching Voldemort as he angrily kicked her corpse and she couldn't help but huff indignantly.

'I'll make sure Harry dances on your grave twice over for that,' she thought bitterly, wondering if you could even send messages like that when you're dead. She would have done it herself, had she the proper body to dance with.

She looked around uncomfortably at the place where she met her final moments- Dumbledore's office. Or rather, the Headmaster's office; as it didn't belong to Dumbledore and now it didn't belong to Snape, as both were dead. She frowned, swallowing a lump in her throat as she saw the portraits, askew, some even burnt through. The portrait belonging to Dumbledore though was the most heart wrenching.

In true Voldemort fashion, the dark wizard wanted nothing more than for Dumbledore to stay and watch the torture and eventual death of one of his prized students. She supposed it was meant to represent how much Voldemort had the upper hand but she knew the wise old man would never fall into such tricks. But still, the portrait looked older, far older than she'd ever seen him. His face was sober and his eyes lacked the characteristic twinkle she had to know and love and, on occasion, despise.

She felt ashamed for having died in front him, for having not put up stronger fight. She felt her eyes heat up and moisten but then again…'Can I still cry? Do I even have eyes to cry with?' Her thought process was interrupted by angered slamming of the door as Voldemort left and then the soft call of her name.

Her head turned to both sources of noise, the door first, then the voice second. Her eyes came to fall on Dumbledore, who offered a hopeful, if not sad, smile.

"You can see me?" she asked, her eyes wide. Voldemort hadn't been able, she was sure of that.

At this point the twinkle returned and his smile became one of amusement. "Well, my dear, like kind can see like kind," was his answer, and she let her head drop as the heat and moistening returned.

"So I am dead then? This isn't just an out-of-body experience?" she questioned, knowing before she even opened her mouth how ridiculous she sounded.

He shook his head solemnly. "I'm afraid not. But if you come with me there is someone who is very intrigued on meeting you and may…assist in your situation for a favor."

Her brow furrowed, confused at his words. As far as she knew- and she was proud in the fact that she knew a great deal- there was no way to return life to those who have died. Not even Dumbledore could offer such magic and she was sure he wouldn't if he could. "Death is but the next great adventure," he had told her once, proving that he preferred the work of Destiny than the magic of everlasting life.

At the way her brows knitted together and as her eyes misted over with thought, he said, "All answers will come in due time, Miss Granger. Now, come with me. It is rude to keep our host waiting, even if he, and we, have all the time in the world." She grimaced at his last sentence, but came over to his portrait anyway, watching in amazement as he reached a strong, painted hand through the surface of the portrait and offered it to her. She hesitated, not sure if she truly wanted to accept death. But then again, she couldn't just hope her body would wake up and go searching for her soul now could she? So with a sigh she looked around the room she had died in, torn apart and disgraced. And, lying so close to the fireplace that she feared it would catch aflame, was her body. She almost felt guilty for the way she looked in death, knowing that it was a gruesome way for Harry and Ron to find her. Blood surrounded her, covered her face and chest. Her hair was matted down by the same substance and several bones were clearly broken, some sticking out horrifically beneath the stretched skin. But for some reason, it was her eyes that made her feel sick.

Maybe it was the deadness in them, the fact that nothing lay beneath them to warm them, make them alive again. Or maybe it was the way that they were wide open, taking everything in without truly seeing it. Or possibly it was the fact that they harbored no emotion, devoid of any and all intuition and feeling. That was the most likely cause, the inhuman glint of indifference that made her hate her own form.

Quickly, she turned back to Dumbledore and took his hand, letting him pull her into the portrait. She couldn't help but close her eyes and keep them closed until her feet landed on solid ground. When she finally opened them, she was standing in the luxurious room depicted in the portrait. A regal looking area decorated in rich crimson tones and brilliant golden hues. She smirked somewhat despite herself, thinking, 'Ever the Gryffindor at heart.'

"Miss Granger, have a seat there, if you will," an unfamiliar voice called to her. Swiveling around to find the voice's owner, she saw two men in the corner of the room, one sitting behind a desk and the other, in front of it. The man behind the desk was decidedly an angel, she thought, looking at his long, gold hair and his ivory skin, flawless as it was pulled softly over a strong facial structure. His eyes were a blue gray so clear and light that they sent a shiver down her spine.

The other man was the exact opposite of the angel, with unruly black curls falling down to his shoulder. His skin was slightly golden and his eyes were a dark, emerald green with flecks of gold swirling throughout. While the other man had a pointed, regal looking face, this man had a face marked with soft curves and high cheekbones. His demeanor was looser than the other and a seemingly ever-present, lopsided smirk was gracing his features.

The two men were possibly the most handsome men she had and would ever see.

"This," Dumbledore said, pointing towards the angel, "is Clockwork. The other one is-"

Before he could finish, the man grabbed Hermione's hand delicately and placed a gentle kiss on her skin, looking at her afterwards with a winning smile as he said, "Bonifatious, Madame, is at your service."

Clockwork tsked slightly and shook his head at his companion's behavior but Dumbledore merely smiled.

"Not as if it isn't nice to meet you all," Hermione said, turning to both in turn. "I'm still confused as to why I'm here. Could you…"

Clockwork raised his hand up to silence her, causing her to frown, slightly insulted by such a dismissive gesture. "We are expecting one more person to join us and we'd prefer to have everyone present before we go into detail," he explained, his voice clipped yet gentle and soothing.

"Until then," Bonifatious stated as he wrapped an arm around Hermione's slim waist and pulling her closer. "There are rather…tempting ways of passing the time," he whispered into her ear, making her flesh form tiny goosebumps. Her cheeks heated up as she searched her mind for a response, but nothing coherent could be worked out for once.

"Ah, I do believe our second guest is here!" Dumbledore said merrily, clapping his hands together. "So Bonifatious, if you would mind, please stop advancing on Miss Granger and prepare for us all your words as I go fetch her!"

Slowly and reluctantly, the arm left her waist and she could've sworn his lips formed into a pout as he settled himself down on the top of the desk. He gestured for Hermione to take one of the seats sitting adjacent to the desk, yet turned at an angle to face it. She did so and waited patiently for Dumbledore to return.

"So Hermione, dear," Bonifatious started, but was quieted by the sharp smack of a fairly heavy tome against his head. He yelped and turned to glare at Clockwork, who calmly placed the book back down on the desk. Hermione suppressed a giggle as the assaulted man referred to the other with a rather juvenile word. As much as he left Hermione at a loss of words and slightly uncomfortable, she couldn't help but like Bonifatious. Perhaps it was because he reminded her of what Lupin had always described a young Sirius to be like and how Sirius himself was often like in merrier moments.

If Dumbledore had not popped in at that exact moment, she would've found herself mourning, once more, the loss of Sirius and of all the others. But thankfully he appeared once more, this time accompanied with a shaken Ginny Weasley.

"Ginny!" Hermione yelled as she got up from her chair and embraced the young red-head. After a second or so of this, she had realized what exactly Ginny's presence here had meant, and she felt her stomach drop like lead to the floor. Slowly, she pulled away and looked into Ginny's hazel eyes. This was possibly the most beautiful Ginny had ever been, her hair redder than ever, her face fresher and clearer than before, and her eyes practically glittering. Did death make everyone this beautiful? Was Hermione as beautiful as Ginny was? Pushing the thought from her mind, she shook her head and could only bite out the question, "Who?"

Ginny swallowed before saying, "Bellatrix. You?"

"Voldemort."

They smiled slightly at each other, being drawn together in a way that only death could. They were all the other had now, and, as much as they didn't want to admit, they would hope it would stay that way for a while. That no more people they loved would die.

"Now that our second guest is here," Clockwork said slowly, smiling at both of the dead girls. "We can begin."

-X-

The room was silent, each member contemplating the words that were said. Hermione and Ginny were looking at the other, exchanging thoughts without speaking. Just understanding.

In essence, Bonifatious was the God of Fate- a seer who could see the past, present, and future and the consequences of all possible routes of action. He was the writer of destiny and wrote the start and end of everyone's life. Unfortunately, being only Fate, he could not control freewill and could not control what said person does, merely manipulate the destinies to fit his will. But that could only do so much. Even in the afterlife there were rules- he was strictly forbidden from altering someone's action so as to avoid one particular outcome. He could only write several lines of destiny, several paths of life, and hope a person chose the least troublesome. Voldemort was proving to be quite a nuisance.

As much as Bonifatious enjoyed some entertaining turmoil occurring on earth, he was not at all pleased with the path Voldemort had settled on- a path that would, in only decades times, prove to be the end of the world.

In short, Harry Potter was doomed to die in 1999, leaving Voldemort to sit as Master of the World. In 2000, muggles would be enslaved, purebloods honored, and anyone in between would be killed, tortured or used as entertainment on the nights when a break was welcomed. In 2001, all persons born who were not muggle, but not pureblood either, would be castrated or receive a hysterectomy when they came of age. In 2054, Voldemort would die of an unknown cause and would be, joyously, thrown into a pit of fire before the entire world fell into anarchy. By 2060, all life would've been wiped out in an epic war over the next ruler of the world.

And there was a way to prevent it all- a way to make none of this happen, a way to make sure the world never knew of Voldemort. Multiple ways, even. But Ginny and Hermione were faced with a complex and frightening decision to make.

If they agreed, Bonifatious would revive the two girls, reworking what little he could to bring them back to life. Clockwork would then use his control of time (he and Bonifatious were partners in deciding when and how life played out, much to Clockwork's apparent displeasure) and send Hermione and Ginny back in time, to the year of 1944. Bonifatious would then rewrite that period so that the school would receive two new transfer students, sisters by the name of Hermione and Ginny Bonnet. The two had previously been homeschooled by their parents, Elvina and Lorne Bonnet until they were murdered by Grindelwald because of their refusal to aid alongside him in the war. The two sisters were then sent to live with their uncle who was too busy to teach them himself and so had enrolled them in Hogwarts, sixth and seventh year, respectively.

What happened then was entirely of their own making.

They could kill Tom Riddle, stopping the war from ever happening but would in turn be condemned to hell for murder when they should die in their new, Voldemort free life. Or, they could deter him from becoming the Dark Lord without losing their souls, but Bonifatious and Clockwork had refused to give them any idea on how exactly to do so. They had simply said, "Well if you truly are the smartest witch of your age, you will find a way to do it." As flattering as it had been, it infuriated her! How dare they ask her to do such a complex task and not even offer a single shred of ideas! What was she supposed to do? Start a 'Future Serial Killer's of the World' support group and hope young Voldemort decides to get help? The idea made her snort but she nevertheless remained sober to the situation.

"I don't understand how we can do this. Voldemort is…" Ginny began but stopped when she the way Bonifatious shook his head.

"He's not evil," he said, earning a dry laugh from Hermione.

"Right, and killing everyone who won't bow down to him is just a cry for attention," she said sarcastically, almost offended by his accusation of Voldemort not being evil. The two men ignored her comment and instead, Clockwork continued.

"You will receive help from time to time, but you need to understand that, should you do this…you're not talking to Voldemort. You're talking to Tom. As much as Dumbledore likes to deny it, Tom does have something human lying underneath his monstrous shell. You just have to find it." They remained silent for some time, Ginny being the first to speak.

"If we do this…the war will never have happened?" she asked, shifting in her seat hopefully.

Bonifatious shook his head and corrected her. "There are a total of seven possible outcomes. One will send you two to Hell but will stop the war. Two will not stop the war, but merely effect certain aspects of it and the rest will end it."

"And how exactly are we supposed to know which one?" Hermione asked, trying to keep her voice calm. She figured that yelling at two of the most important gods in the afterlife would not bode for her in the long run.

"As I said, there will be guidance to help you. But ultimately, you are the deciding factor. We have enough trust in both of you to know you can and will succeed," Clockwork said with a smile and appraising nod of the head.

"So, if we do this and stop Volde…Tom," Ginny corrected, "I would still have my brother? And Harry wouldn't die and would still have his parents?"

With a smile, the two men nodded.

Ginny turned to face Hermione, her hazel eyes wide and pleading. "Hermione…we have to try. At the very least we have a chance." She fell silent for a moment before adding, "A chance to save everyone."

The seventeen year old witch frowned and bit her lower lip, rolling her teeth around the sensitive skin. She was right. They could change the entire Wizarding World and give Harry the family he never had…Besides, it did present her with a great challenge. What greater test of her intellect existed than beating Tom Riddle, the future Lord Voldemort? None- that was the answer. She almost smiled at the thought of out-manipulating the Master of Manipulating until she thought of how horrible that sounded. She wasn't going to be manipulating him, just trying to subtly coax him into leaving the world of Dark Arts behind. That wasn't manipulation, was it?

'Yes,' her inner voice told her, which she promptly responded with a silent 'shut up.'

She nodded before she spoke. "Yes, I think we should at least try." Besides, maybe she'd get to learn the insanely brilliant thought process of one of the world's most evil wizards. Hermione had never studied psychology but the thought of it did intrigue her. Maybe she would be able to find a psychology book in the library, but the chance was slim considering the time period and the overtly muggle study.

"Excellent!" Bonifatious said as he grabbed a tattered, leather bound journal and a quill. "I will start working on your new lives. In a matter of an hour, you will be at Hogwarts, preparing for your sorting. I wish you both well."

Hermione swallowed nervously, wondering what she had gotten herself into.

She had just agreed to spend a school year alongside a Slytherin who had already murdered his family and a Ravenclaw girl and had plans to murder much more.

Briefly, she wondered what it felt like to live a normal year at Hogwarts, knowing she would never experience it for herself.

-X-

"Don't be so nervous, Hermione! You got sorted once and nothing bad happened," Ginny hissed lowly to the girl who was busily twirling her hair so tightly around her finger, the skin was turning shades of purple. Though her hair was considerably more tamed than when she first stood in line to be sorted (years of living with superficial teenagers who constantly berated her frizzy locks had made her slightly more appearance conscious, despite her better want) she still felt as though she were eleven years old, anxiously awaiting the judgment. The group of first years was slowly thinning out and her time was closely approaching.

Wonderful.

"There he is," Ginny said, her voice low and wavering slightly, recalling the events of her first year with disdain. Though she couldn't point her in the direction, Hermione instinctively turned to the left side of the room, scanning the last table quickly until her eyes landed on the boy in question. Impeccably neat hair was brushed to the side, the dark, ebony locks contrasting nicely with his pale skin tone. His face was strong with fine, handsome contours. He was disastrously handsome, she hated to admit, but no amount of good looks would ever hide the calculating beast inside.

He was evil, no matter the gods would say.

"And now, we have two new students to sort, though these are transfer students," a much younger Professor Dumbledore said, his beard graying slightly but mostly auburn still, only reaching below his ribs. The hall immediately began to whisper with excitement. How often did Hogwarts get transfer students?

"First, we will sort Miss Ginny Bonnet, starting her sixth year." Hermione gave her an encouraging smile before the girl walked up to the wizard and sat down on the stool. She took a deep breath as the hat was placed onto her head, sinking down comfortably.

After a moment or two, the stitching separated and the shouted word of "GRFFYINDOR!" rang through the halls. Hermione clapped along with the others, watching as Ginny, relieved and smiling, walked over to the appropriate and familiar table.

When the clapping ceased, Dumbledore said, "And now for her sister, joining the seventh years. Miss Hermione Bonnet!" Her heart thudded as she stepped up to the stool for the second time in her life. The hat was slipped onto her head, this time not covering her eyes and blocking her view of the hall, forcing her to awkwardly look around.

Suddenly, the voice popped into her head. "Hmm…interesting…very, very intelligent. Ravenclaw perhaps? No…bravery and loyalty are too strong…yet…ahh…" The hat seemed to have found some particular good crevice of her brain as he began to chuckle. "War has changed you though, I see…still brave, still loyal and still kind…but…cunning yes…determination I see. There is something you're stubborn to do and will do whatever you have to…definitely a trait of…

"SLYTHERIN!"

The last, condemning word was shouted out and she felt her heart stop beating. Again. But she didn't die, not this time. Unfortunately.

Not wanting to move, wanting instead to argue and threaten to turn the Sorting Hat into a mess of scrap thread and fabric until he put her Gryffindor, she was glued to the seat. But when Dumbledore extended a hand to point her in the direction of the table, she knew she had to move.

Begrudgingly, she stood and walked on shaky to legs to the table that seemed so cold when compared to the one she was used to. Making sure to sit at the end with the least amount of students, she slumped her shoulders and tuned out the start of the year speech, made by a wheezy Professor Dippet.

This could not be happening. There was no way she was Slytherin material! The hat was just a tattered excuse for apparel and had no right to say she belonged among the snakes! But then again…

Slowly, a small smile formed on her lips as she realized the blessing beneath the curse. How much closer could she get to Riddle than sharing a common room with him? Hogwarts: A History had taught her that the Head Boy and Girl Dormitories had not been created until the fifties, meaning that Tom, despite being the Head Boy, still spent his days and nights in the Slytherin house.

This was the perfect way to get close to Tom and decide how to go about her mission.

She was going to do this right from the Dragon's Den. Or rather, the Snake's Pit. She laughed inwardly at her own thoughts.

Maybe the Hat was right in putting her in Slytherin.

She truly was getting too cunning for her own good.

-X-

Author's Note: Hopefully, not too bad. Please review constructively. Even though it's partly a shameless whoring myself out for feedback, it's also for actual need. I would like to know if this story is worth continuing and what I did well or poorly, depending on your opinion. So review and let me know. Thank you ever so much!