AUTHOR'S NOTE (MUST READ): Ok I got a bit drifted away when I started this chapter, I original wrote something else but a message from one of my readers gave me an idea so I changed the whole thing. Ok, in this story Harry was never a horcrux or whatever and THE SLAZAR SLYTHERIN locket was never found or destroyed which means that Harry, Hermione or Ron never wore it. Voldemort never looked for the elder wand and when Harry came to the Godrick Holow, it was spring and not christmas eve.

I can't stress it enough how important reviews actually are, if you see something not right or anything at all please tell me about it if you have time, I would love to hear your comment.

OUR LOVE IN THE PAGES OF HISTORY

II

It was not long till he finally reached the soaring Victorian weir, it was barely recognizable. The clinging greens had completely dominated the thick, winding metal that stretched in the horizon and the youthful grass that cloaked every bare corner of the gloomy place now overpowered by towering timber that barely ravished any passing visitors.

Fifty three years had gone since his last visit, yet his reminiscence of the erected stones that spread widely across the small portion of the Goswick estate mounted solidly deep within his memory. He had been there many times before but the last that he set foot on the Goswick family graveyard was on a hot summer day, 30th of June, 1945, the day Astrid Goswick was buried six foot beneath the surface of the earth. Many grieving friends dressed in complete black lamented before her lowering coffin. Friends from Hogwarts, staff from the Goswick Manor, and even children from the orphanage wept in exception for Tom. Every face he saw held sadness and anguish with a set of tears to follow their emotion, and although he felt the same, he hid his tormented soul beneath his cold surface, but he knew that no mater how adept he was in doing this, his eyes would always reflect the impaired feeling he was experiencing. He distinctively remembered turning to get a glance of Finella Brewer and was curious by the expression she wore. Finella was known to be unusual and quite deviant but the piqued and wrathful glare she shot at the grave surprised him. But all of that did not matter now… Voldemort was not there to pay respect and reminisce about what happened on that hot summer day, he was there to claim immortality- the scent of eternal life teased him immensely as he finally burst open the towering gate.

Voldemort immediately fled across the graveyard looking for her grave, fearing of wasting time, his pace quickened. George Goswick- no.. almost there, Isobel Goswick- no. His pace came to a halt when finally the grave he was searching for lay deteriorated next to Isobel. Written in bold letters, her name was carved on the stone.

HERE LIES

ASTRID GOSWICK

FEBRUARY 29, 1927

One after the other his feet led him towards her burial, a mount of rectangular stone that stood so simple unlike the others that erected with Celtic crosses, guarding angels and tall monuments, her grave was the odd one. There's no questioning why, none of who she knew or knew her would know that she's not part of them.

There was something in her death that was unbelievable; there was no creature in the Forbidden Forest that could overpower her knowledge in magic. She was rightfully titled his equal, he knew no other witch or wizard that earned his respect the way she did, she was intelligent and her skill could no doubt easily surpass any beast in the Forest. Yet now that he stood by her grave, her death seemed more realistic than before with every whisper of her name. Abruptly he stopped himself and blocked his thoughts. This was becoming regular and it annoyed him, it seems as though memories of her wriggled out of leash and meandered inside his head uncontrollably. With such wrath, his upper eye lids cloaked his blood coloured iris tightly as he massaged his right temple with his wand.

"Enough!" he snapped his eyes wide opened as if recovering from a bad dream.

Slowly he aimed his wand right at her grave and muttered, "Surrec-" but stoped when an alluring scent of lavender suddenly attended the graveyard beside him. Unconsciously, he cloaked his eyes once more and elevated his nose wanting to seize more of its given pleasure that woke his desires, it was much stronger than immortality or power, it was something else, something more… Voldemort tilted his head and tardily exposed his pupils to the light and there only three meters away stood an unfamiliar mausoleum.

He had not notice it before but now it was the centre of his attention, guarded by two demonic gargoyles and protected by black iron gates; it was the most beautiful architect that stood within the graveyard. It was new; the carvings were still fresh and the marbles undamaged. He felt himself being drawn towards it, curious of who was concealed inside when Astrid was the last remaining Goswick to have owned the country estate. Behind the iron gates a chandelier of magical ever-lasting candles hung on the ceiling and under it was two marble effigies of a grieving girl and a dead man on a heightened bed like surface. The man laid slothfully close to the girl, head on a pillow carved stone, one hand holding a glinting dagger whilst the girl with long curly hair sat next to the man, holding his hand to her cheek and away from the man's gaze she held a crystal ball, small enough to be clutched with one hand. Their faces weren't clear due to the shadows that were cast upon them but the crystal the girl held looked awfully familiar. It was not the typical crystal ball use for divination; it was not clear or solid to the centre, it was hollow and lightened with many swimming strand of glowing blue.

As he was about to reach for the opening a familiar voice called him, "Master, I've caught Harry Potter. I have caught Harry Potter!"

Only a short moment after Nagini's beckoning Voldemort was at Bathilda Bagshot's poorly lit bedroom staring at Harry, whose hand whitened from pressing the lightning both like scar on his forehead that opened with immense displeasure. Voldemort's lips tugged slightly upwards as he saw the vulnerable Harry Potter before him. He could've easily cursed him but a voice that rose from the corner of the room distracted him, it was the mudblood that's been travelling with Harry Potter.

"Harry!!" Hermione yelled as she bolted to her friend, her hair sweeping away from her face, revealing her stained cheeks and dark eyes that twinkled with tears.

Voldemort's pale and thin figure suddenly froze; the grin on his snake like face disappeared slowly. The features of this mudblood looked remarkably identical to Astrid's, it was as if he was seeing her again in flesh. As much as he wanted to run, grab her and inspect her thoroughly, he stood there just watching.

While Harry bawled in pain by an unbarred window, Hermione immediately ran to him, embraced his quivering body and pushed both herself and Harry out into the open. Caging her tears of fear as they fall in mid air, she looked back from where they came and within the window frames, she saw Voldemort's red iris peer directly at her with such astonishment.

The Malfoy Manor was empty that late afternoon, the Death Eaters already vacated to the Forbidden Forest as their Dark Lord desired. The Lady and Gentleman of the house were also out from London to welcome their only son for the Easter Holidays.

"Bloody useless followers!" he complained as he stormed to the salon.

The room was widely covered with hunter green tapestry and was decorated by only a few gold plated man size mirrors and one large portrait of the current Malfoy residents, Lucius, Narcissa and Draco Malfoy. There were two greatly heightened windows that extended from the border of the ceiling to the ground and were rightfully decorated with heavy gold patterned curtains. Many carved figures surrounded the only crystal chandelier that hung divinely onto the high, well decorated ceiling. Like the ceiling, the drawing room floor was far from bare, antique Louis XIV arm chairs gathered around the only standing fireplace, there were many multicoloured flowers that flourished every corner of the room and multiple curvaceous writing tables displayed proudly near the windows.

Voldemort furiously pointed his wand at the fireplace and chanted for fire to come alive. He paced back and forth before the fire and meandered his temple frantically with his spidery fingers.

"My Lord?" asked a tall, blonde haired man who stood in curiosity by the doorframe as he watched his superior display an almost comical scene.

"Malfoy!" Voldemort called out with a hint of relief in his voice, "Back from Town with your son already?"

"Yes My Lord."

"Tell me, did he not go to Hogwarts with Harry Potter?"

"He did My Lord."

The haughtiness in his voice that disappeared for a moment returned with haste, "Call him in."

He turned his back to Lucius as he watched the fire flicker calmly, he did not wait long till a set of short footsteps entered the room. Draco now stood where his father was and looked uninterested at the lanky figure standing before the fireplace.

"My Lord." he announced ungracefully.

Voldemort did not waste time to chatter the teen but got straight to what he wanted to know, "Tell me all about the muggle that travels with Potter."

Only till then that Draco's thoughts filed with question, since when did the Dark Lord became curious with anyone or as a matter of fact, anything that does not consist of anything dark or Harry Potter?

"The mudblood?" Draco reassured.

"Yes the muggle. What is her name and tell me anything you know." he commanded wavering his hand.

Another question arose, the Dark Lord calling a 'mudblood' a 'muggle'? There was definitely something awry about that.

"Her name is Hermione- Hermione Granger, she's Potter's pet and she's an annoying know-it-all." he paused thinking of anything else to say because even though he teased her all these years all he ever knew about her was her name, blood trait and her title in Hogwarts, "I always hear Hagrid say that she's the smartest witch of her age." he scoffed.

"Really now?" Voldemort grinned; his voice was so ruptured with curiosity that Darco no longer felt frightened within such close range to the Dark Lord.

Voldemort soon asked for Hermione's photograph to confirm the resemblance and it was no doubt that he was seeing a complete replica of Astrid Goswick. A moving image of Hermione pulling Harry in an embrace before his first Tri Wizard Tournament task played repeatedly on the front cover of an old Daily Prophet. Unable to unglue his eyes from the friendly act he became unconscious of the time.

Not a great distance away from the Malfoy Manor, a tent erected securely on a small land close by a lake. It was almost dawn but sleep has not come except for Harry whose eye lay rested since early that evening, since their close encounter with Voldemort.

Harry stirred underneath his sheets as he felt the cold air seep through his blanket, his hand reached for the scar located on his forehead and found that it no longer stung, still with his eyes closed, he pulled his blanket away to search for Hermione.

"You're awake!" greeted an unfamiliar voice.

Alarmed, Harry shot his eyes wide open but only then did he remember that he did not have his glasses on. Although he could not see clearly the blur of the figure before him was definitely Hermione, under the golden rays of the lantern, her hair was brown but longer and less bushy but everything about her was the same except her voice.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

"Yeah, are you aright?" he asked daring to address her as Hermione or not while searching for his spectacles, "Are you sick?"

"A little bit."

"That explains your voice."

"I should probably call Hermione in now, tell her that you're awake." she paused as she opened Harry's hand and giggled, "Here's your spectacles." with haste she turned her back to Harry for the tent opening.

Harry immediately arranged his round spectacles on his nose bridge, trying to catch a glimpse of the stranger's back before she was out of the tent. Now that his sight was clear, he blushed at the embarrassment of almost calling her Hermione when it clearly wasn't her. Although there where resemblance the differences were outstanding, he was a good ¾ of an inch taller with brown hair more tameable and extended just above her waist which was again noticeably smaller than Hermione's. Her disappearance was soon followed by Hermione's presence.

Hermione saw the questioning look Harry wore and immediately relieved him with answers, "Her name is Rose. She found us when we apparated here. She's a witch, she has a wand but she can't remember how to do magic." she paused as she took a glance of the moving shadow outside the tent, "Poor girl…"

Reluctant on whether to speak or not, Harry muttered to Hermione softly fearing that the girl outside the tent might hear, "When I woke up I thought you were her."

Hermione did not have to say a word for Harry to read her thoughts and the questioning look plastered across her face, "She looks like you."

"What are you talking about?" Hermione asked with a look that made Harry uncomfortable and dense, "She looks nothing like me."