A/N: Up until now, I've been an avid reader, serial reviewer, and unabashed fangirl of fan fiction here at Checkmated and elsewhere. I am impressed (and a little intimidated) by the amazing display of writing ability in the world of fan fiction.

Thank you to Jane, who is a source of inspiration to me, as both a writer and my beta.

Chapter 1: Stirring Up the Past

Hermione stared up at her nanny with wide brown eyes, her chin jutted out stubbornly. Even at just over three feet tall, she was imposing and bossy. She was always questioning everything, to the point of driving Nanny Jenkins mad.

"Why?"

"Because I said so, Hermione Granger, now do it!" Nanny was fast losing her patience.

"But why?" Hermione needed a better reason than because I said so to choke down the large bitter vegetables.

"It's good for you."

"How is it good for me? It tastes yucky." She stabbed one of the offensive little buggers with her fork, held it up to her nose, and made a dramatically disgusted face.

"It's good for you because….because…oh, I give up. Go watch television." Nanny's voice, though exasperated, held a hint of laughter.

"I don't wanna. Daddy says the telly is rotting the brains of society."

"Then go do something! Cor! You drive me to distraction!" Exasperation had won over amusement. Nanny snatched the plate from the table and began washing up.

Hermione puffed loudly, and then stomped up to her room, her fluffy brown ponytail bouncing. She knew why her nanny had given up so easily. The last time she'd been trying to force a hated green vegetable down her throat, the entire plate had mysteriously disappeared…into thin air.

At four years old Hermione knew she was different. She didn't know why, or even how, but she knew…

***

Smiling a little at the almost forgotten memory, Hermione daubed at her streaming eyes, hidden beneath the wide-brimmed, veiled hat. Her wild hair had been forced into a tight chignon, but strands were escaping, clinging to the nape of her neck, sticking to her face. The muggy climate was suffocating.

Her heart grew heavy again as the lightness of heart she had felt moments before receded along with the vision from twenty years ago. Feeling as though she couldn't breathe, she removed the somewhat ridiculous, black hat from her overheated head. She no longer needed the veil as she was the last of the small crowd of mourners.

Hermione studied the simple gravestone:

Victoria Elizabeth Jenkins

Born: September 15, 1954

Died: July 15, 2004

There was no lovely sentiment, not even Rest in Peace. The freshly mounded earth would soon be trodden flat, and Nanny Jenkins would be just another unexceptional plot in a sea of unremarkable headstones. She should have contributed something to the cost of the funeral, she thought, wincing. They had let Nanny Jenkins go upon Hermione's acceptance at Hogwarts, but she had remained a close part of the family for years as she had had no one else. The fact that she had lost touch with her former nanny (and only true childhood friend before Hogwart's) in recent years weighed heavily on her conscious.

Unable to withstand the thick atmosphere any longer, Hermione started toward the path to the entrance. At first, she did her best not to trod on any discernable graves, then shook her head and her own illogical superstitions. Before that thought even finished processing, the fine hairs on the back of her neck rose. Subconsciously quickening her pace, she was bombarded with more recent memories. Not of her nanny this time, but of others. Visions of a gory battle, a noble sacrifice, and countless human remains--some of which she recognized--strewn on burned patches of grass floated through her mind.

Habitually forcing these unwelcome thoughts into their customary dusty little boxes at the back of her mind, Hermione was flat-out running by the time she reached the gate. She grasped her knees, assuming a somewhat ungraceful pose, and attempted to control her rapid breathing, all the while trying to look everywhere at once. No one was there. No one she could see anyway. Gradually, her heart rate returned to normal, and she straightened.

Her senses were heightened. Sweat trickled down her spine, making her slightly out-of-fashion ankle-length dress stick to her skin. The slightest of breezes rustled through the trees, making a the frizzy halo of hair that had escaped with the removal of her hat tickle her cheek. The oppressive heat made her feel heavy, as though rooted to the ground.

After one last leery look around revealed nothing, she disapparated to her flat.

***

Everything was in perfect order; nothing was out of place. The floors, windows, walls, even the ceiling sparkled. After donning her usual shorts and tank, Hermione had resorted to cleaning the "Muggle way" in a futile attempt to distract herself. Finally, she gave in. She was exhausted.

Emotions she hadn't allowed to surface for five years were perilously close to bursting the bubble of denial she had been living in for so long. Pushing them back, yet again, she started undressing for her bath. It was only a matter of time before there would be no more holding back; everyone has limits, even a strong-willed woman such as Hermione Granger.

As she slipped into the steaming, lavender-scented water, her mind emptied of all thought. For the first time in a week since her mother had sent a terse note about Nanny Jenkins' passing, she was at peace. Nice…the bubble bath potion was almost like a sleeping draught, but much less potent. She enjoyed it for a good three minutes before loud knocking on the door interrupted.

She smiled wryly. Hermione knew of only one person that would bother her this late at night. He was the only person in the world who had a key to her apartment, and he still knocked.

"Harry?"

"Yeah, it's me."

"Let yourself in, I'll be out in a few minutes." Hermione felt the indulgent smile slip from her face as another deeper voice, one she hadn't been prepared for, penetrated her serene environment. At this she struggled out of the tub, sloshing water all over the dark blue tiles, and threw on her dressing gown.

Ron looked up as she burst through the door, mystified that smoke actually seemed to be coming out of her ears. She just glowered at him wordlessly, and then turned her murderous gaze on Harry. As Harry calmly stared back, not cowering as he might have a few years ago, Ron felt the panic subside a bit, finally realizing that the "smoke" was a result of their interrupting her bath.

Steam was rising off her heated skin--skin that was barely covered by the short silk dressing gown she had hastily wrapped around her too-thin frame. Ron focused on one droplet of water that ran down her face, making a path down her throat, only to disappear into the folds of her gown right between the slight curves of her breasts.. He tugged at his collar as he felt his own ears grow warm.

Hermione regained control of her faculties enough to ground out through clenched teeth, "What--is--he--doing--here?"

A/N: I would greatly appreciate reviews, as this is my first attempt at fan fiction.