Disclaimer: I own only my mind, not JK's.

A/N: This story is part of my response to a grave lack of time travel fics in which Hermione is not the same age as whatever character she ends up being paired with; in other words, she's always conveniently the same age as her romantic interest/plot-important characters via time turner. This is one of two stories I am writing to address this lack and show that even though time travel is at our disposal, fate isn't always convenient.

Other common themes in time travel fanfiction I wish to avoid include all-powerful Hermione (because I like the realistic approaches best), Hogwarts transfer students (because, we haven't seen them at all in the books), evi Lily (because it's overdone and cruel if not poorly written and I'd rather not attempt it against a beloved character), and the phenomenon I like to call Suddenly the Same in which every character in the original Order guest stars as a Marauder's peer.

So, what will you be seeing in this story? You'll be seeing a Hermione grieving over her memories of the future, struggling with her conflicting wants to save people and to keep the majority of the future stable, then act on her final decisions, making both mistakes and good advances because she isn't perfect. You'll be seeing a Hermione who had to become an animagus to save her life and Harry's, not just because she could. You'll see a decent age gap between her and the Marauders. You'll see a girl with no identity and no place in the past attempt to find her way. And, hopefully, you'll see all of this written well. I hope you like it.

And without any further ado,

-.-.-

CHAPTER THE PROLOGUE

Perhaps it wasn't a great idea to go back to the so-called Time Room in the Ministry, Hermione thought. Perhaps, if she hadn't gone, none of this would have happened. No. There was no perhaps in this situation. Hindsight is 20/20. She was here because she went there. She was here because she snuck into the Ministry alone to look for a working time turner. This situation was completely her fault.

Just like Ron.

But now is not the time to dwell on that, Hermione reminded herself. Now is the time to be proactive. Now is the time to get back out of the Ministry unnoticed and see just how far she'd gone (she hoped, hoped, hoped that it wasn't too far). Yes, she told herself, be proactive.

...so why wasn't she up yet?

Move, she told her body. It did nothing.

Hermione panicked. Her body wasn't responding to her. Her body wasn't responding to her like it was supposed to. It was supposed to get up so she could sneak out and figure out what to do. It was supposed to but it wasn't.

So, yes, her mind was running in circles again, but she was scared. She was terrified. Who wouldn't be if they couldn't even move their own body?

But then.

She could control her mouth, Hermione found as she began hyperventilating. And her limbs were listening, she felt as they began quivering. And when tears spilled from her eyes, she knew they understood her. And as her heart raced,she saw that her pulse was under her control. But, no. That wasn't her intent after all, was it? She wanted to stand, to get up. Oh, well. At least she was moving now.

And so, Hermione remained, kneeling on the floor of a damage-free, time-turner-less Time Room, bawling like she hadn't let herself in a year. Each tear was a memory, and each memory was an agony and had -

"Ron, don't go that way! You'll get - "

"Stop nagging, 'Mione."

"Don't call me - Ron. Please, don't go that way. It's not safe."

"But, the horcrux is right - "

- had the breath ever come to her, she would've screamed with every drip. But it hadn't, so she hadn't. But it hurt; it hurt so much. And there was no way to bottle the pain up this time, because this time, this time, even Harry was gone.

…

She continued like that for countless hours. The silent screams faded to sobs. The sobs faded to hics. The hics faded to shallow breaths. The shallow breaths gave way to deeper breaths. And, eventually, the tears stopped coming, too.

When she finally felt spent, she shakily got to her feet and silently looked around the room for a hint as to the time period, avoiding the bell jar as best as she could. The clocks around the room only served to confuse her and the lack of time turners and cracked floors only told her that it was the past she'd found herself in.

She left the room, found her way out of the Department of Mysteries in record time.

As she walked through the halls of the Ministry, she attracted the attention of practically everyone present, a move she would soon learn to regret. Cameras snapped pictures of the mysterious, sparkling, blood-stained witch walking confidently through the Ministry with tear tracks down her face and neck, and large wet spots all over the fronts of her weird-fashioned muggle pants.

Hermione ignored them and made her way out of the Ministry into muggle London to find a muggle newspaper or magazine. Muggle, because their fashion periods were distinctive and their newspapers were much less likely to be full of rot, much more likely to talk about global events she could connect to the date and create a full picture.

Just as she reached went out one of the more subtle exits, she realized her attire would be suspicious.

"Oh," she said aloud, vaguely surprised. "I walked around in this."

A murmured spell and a few wand movements removed the stains, of course, but the fact remained that she just painted a large picture of herself in the eyes of the Wizarding World.

"Lovely."