No matter how many deaths that I die,

I will never forget.

No matter how many lives that I live,

I will never regret.

-Hurricane 30 Seconds to Mars

Chapter One: I Will Never Regret.

July 25th 1993- Island.

Hermione was seated just inside of the cave she had called home for the past five days, staring at the wild forest that covered most of the island she was currently stranded on. Having cleaned up what she could in the area and even made an attempt to mend some of the clothing she found lying around in an attempt to quell her growing boredom, she was quickly left with nothing to do but wait for her companion to wander back.

After her initial arrival, she had not strayed far from the cave's entrance. At first it was because Halt had not allowed her; whenever she had made any move to leave, rather than call her back he would simply pick her up and toss her back in like a kitten.

It seemed that now he was sure she had learned her lesson and wouldn't run off, because he had taken to leaving her alone for hours at a time.

"Why couldn't I be stranded on an island with a library?" she asked aloud to herself as she shifted to lean back on her good arm and looked up at the cloudless sky above. Her right arm was currently in a splint and resting in a scrap of cloth she had found and made into a makeshift sling.

Finally, as the hours ticked by, the bushy-haired brunette stood, fed up with waiting around, and dusted off her cut-off jeans. During the day it could be absolutely sweltering here, even in the shade, and she figured that there wouldn't be much harm in going just for a short walk under the trees.

"Halt won't be back for a while and he shouldn't mind if I just take a peak around," she told herself, walking off into the trees. She had intended to only go a few yards away, but too soon she found herself completely turned around. When she moved to return to the cave, she found it wasn't where she had thought it to be and that everything around her was unfamiliar.

Only then did she truly begin to regret wandering off while Halt was gone; it was doubtful that he even knew she was missing, and it was even more unlikely that he would come looking for her.

She wandered aimlessly for what seemed like hours, the logical part of her mind figured that if she just headed in one direction she would find the shore and be able to get an idea of where she was. But the child part of her was beginning to jump at every strange shadow when the sky began to darken.

As her search for the ocean became more frantic, it didn't occur to her to watch where she was placing her feet, even after her run-in with the net trap that had broken her arm. Stepping along a faint game trail she had stumbled across, she felt her foot sink slightly in the damp leafy foliage that blanketed the forest floor, with an audible click. Something about the sensation and sound sent every nerve in her body on edge as she froze. Looking down, she was about to move her foot to see what she had stepped on, when a voice to her left spoke.

"I wouldn't move if I were you. That is, unless you want to end up a bunch of little pieces."

Hermione looked over to see Halt leaning against a tree, arms folded across his chest, his ever present longbow gripped loosely in one hand. The dark brown poncho he wore was making it hard to pick him out from the shadows, had he not lowered the hood revealing his uneven, short-cropped, gray hair.

"Halt," Hermione gasped out, nearly in tears, "Thank Merlin. Please tell me you know how to turn this thing off."

Halt watched her, his dark eyes calculating as he cocked his head to the side. "I'm afraid I don't, and attempting to learn how would more than likely result in us both being blown up," he replied coolly.

"Please, you have to help me!" The thirteen year old began to sob loudly, tears sliding down her cheeks; it became an effort to keep herself from shaking, with the thought of death in mind. "I don't want to die. Please, Halt."

Halt turned his head to look into the trees, ignoring her now nearly-hysteric crying. "I might not, but one of them might be able to get you out of your current situation," he said, nodding with his head where he had been looking before walking off and out of sight.

"Wait, don't leave me here. Please!" Hermione cried out, but was unable to move to go after him.

Her crying and shouts caught the attention of a group of four men. They were tall and far bigger in build than Halt, and were dressed in identical uniforms of light brown. Spotting her, they were cautious in approaching, but when she made no move to leave or attack them, their confidence seemed to grow.

The front most soldier, the leader most likely, going by the snake-tailed lion embroidered on the collar of his shirt, raised his gun and propped it against his shoulder in a relaxed position.

He said something to his companions as he eyed her up and down without shame, in a language she didn't understand; his eyes lingered far too long on her bare legs. He said something else, this time directed at her that caused the other three soldiers to chuckle.

Hermione shook her head, she didn't understand what they wanted and her instincts were telling her she didn't want to. This seemed to be the wrong thing to do as the leader growled something short and barking at her. He dropped the gun from his shoulder, gesturing with it for her to come closer.

Hermione shook her head again this time in refusal. "I-I can't."

Seeing she wasn't going to do as she was told, the leader made a gesture at one of the other soldiers with his weapon. He was the youngest of the group, and had short black hair that stood out amongst the brown hair that the rest of the men had.

He stepped forward at the command and raised the stalk of his gun to strike her. He froze, his green eyes going wide in shock, as a feathered shaft suddenly sprouted from his chest. Everything seemed to move in slow motion, as Hermione stared up at him, less than a foot away. His eyes went dull before her, as something dark leaked from the corner of his mouth and nose.

Warm liquid splattered on her cheek like tears and she blinked; everything seemed to move back into focus in that moment. The soldier dropped dead at her feet, as the others cried out in their native tongue, raising their weapons to the surrounding trees.

In moments, two more of the soldiers went down, one with a feathered shaft in his chest, the other by the reflexive gunfire from his dying comrade. The fourth tried to take cover behind a tree out of Hermione's sight, not that she was looking, as her gaze was still locked on the lifeless green eyes of the man at her feet. She never heard the strike of Halt's final arrow or the gurgling sound just out of sight where the leader sat slumped against the tree, pinned there by an arrow through his throat.

Hermione shut her eyes, whimpering as she tried to not be sick from the gruesome sight; the dark hair and eyes brought to mind another more familiar pair of green eyes. She could feel the warm sticky liquid of his blood on her face, dripping down and soaking the front of her shirt, painting it in crimson.

"Girl, open your eyes," came the cool, calm voice of Halt. Opening her eyes, the young witch found the gray-haired man crouched in front of her, maneuvering the dead man's body so that he lay right against her foot, pulling out his arrow and setting it aside. He looked back at her, and kneeling he was now almost at eye level with her. His gray-blue eyes locked with her brown ones.

"On three I want you to jump back as far as you can, okay?" he ordered gruffly. Hermione swallowed once before nodding, unable to open her mouth to speak. "Okay…" Halt licked at his lips. "One...two...three!"

In that moment, he rolled the dead body over just as Hermione moved her foot off the land mine.

After the initial shock wore off and her brain registered that she had not blown up, the girl promptly collapsed to her knees and threw up, the pressure from moments before at last taking its toll on her. Once she had stopped heaving, Halt came over and hauled her roughly to her feet by the shoulder.

"This isn't your local park. You can't just stroll around here like you own it. This is Hölle, and if you want to stay alive, you're going to have to learn how to survive in this hell. If you can't do that, then I will end it for you now. Save yourself the suffering, because if they get a hold of you, they will do things that will make you wish they had killed you, and then when they are done, they might put you out of your misery. Might."

Hermione couldn't reply as she stared off blankly into the trees, her body and mind numb. She avoided looking at the bodies scattered before her- and later, she would look back and realize she had probably gone into temporary shock.

"You see him? Look," Halt said, grabbing her face and forcing her to look down at the black haired man who was lying dead on his belly on the mine she had just escaped from. "You should never avert your eyes from death, never forget the people you've killed, because no matter how much time passes, they will never forget the one who killed them." He released her chin and grabbed her arm, pulling her into the trees.

He didn't speak for a long time, and Hermione's body seemed to be stumbling alongside him on auto-pilot. Soon enough they made it back to the cave, and he shoved her roughly on her makeshift bed of raggedy blankets.

"I won't always be there to pull you out of danger, so you better get smart or you won't last long," he said stiffly before leaving her alone in the cave. Hermione wasted no time in curling up in a ball, holding her knees tightly to her chest as blurred thoughts whizzed by in her mind.

It wasn't until that evening that she finally was able to process what had happened, how close she had been to dying. The look on the man's face, as his blood dripped over her skin, and the sick feeling of relief when she saw the dead man's weight had prevented the mine from going off and killing her. She didn't want to fight, and she didn't want to be on this island, but she was, and — more than anything — she didn't want to die. She couldn't die.

It was with those thoughts in mind that she found a rag and water to clean the blood from her skin. Her shirt was beyond saving now, so she changed into the smallest of shirts she could find in a bag of Halt's clothes. Feeling mildly better, she walked to the cave entrance where Halt was sitting, sharpening his knife on a rock in the late evening light.

"Halt," she said, her voice was raspy from previous hours of crying.

"What?" he asked, voice laced with irritation at being bothered.

"I want you to teach me to fight."

Halt paused in his work to check the blade with his thumb, as if processing her request. "Oh, really." He went back to sharpening his knife, like he was amused with the thought of her fighting. "And why should I go through the trouble of training a scrawny thing like yourself? I bet the most exercise you've done in your life is cracking open a book."

"Because I could help you," the young witch defended herself.

He gave a mirthless laugh, looking up at the bushy-haired teen. "I don't need any help, and especially not from a little girl like you."

Hermione was beginning to get angry, and she propped her good arm on her hip for effect. "Because it's the decent thing to do."

"What gave you the impression I'm a decent man?" Halt asked, giving her a genuinely surprised look.

"You could have left me back there, but you came back."

Halt snorted, before going back to his work. "Well, I won't be doing that again, now will I?"

Hermione gave a frustrated growl, before stomping her foot and shouting, "I don't want to die here on this cursed island!"

Halt did not even react in the slightest to her outburst, testing his knife again. After finding its sharpness to his standards, he returned it to his sheath before standing. His tall muscled frame towered over her before he gave a smirk.

"Now, that is an answer I can work with."

Looking up at him, Hermione's temper suddenly cooled, and she remembered how easily he had killed those men just hours before and his threat to kill her as well if she proved to be too much of a burden. She shifted uncomfortably, and added, "I don't want to kill anyone, though. I just want to know how not to get myself into trouble."

Halt shook his head at her statement. "You want me to teach you to survive? Well, here is your first lesson; if you want to stay alive on this island, then you're going to have to get over that fear of killing. So long as you refuse to kill, your enemies will always have the advantage, and they will always come back and stab you in the back the moment you show any hesitation or mercy." Hermione seemed unable to form an answer to that, and Halt waited for none, as he walked out into the small clearing in front of the cave, turning to face her and gesturing for her to follow. "But first things first, let see if you have what it takes to learn how to fight."

"What, right now?" Hermione asked in confusion, looking up at the darkening sky and then to her splinted arm. "But I can't."

"Yes, now, and you will. No time like the present." He beckoned her again to join him in the clearing. "Come on."

"All right. What next?" she asked, once she had come to stand a few feet in front of him.

"Defend yourself," he said simply, before swiping her feet out from under her and sent her crashing to the ground.

"Owch… b-but you haven't shown me anything yet! How can I defend myself?" she protested, climbing painfully to her feet.

"I find pain to be a great teacher and motivator," he said, once again moving forward to swipe her feet out.

But this time, Hermione jumped back out of the way just in time to save her footing. She was so distracted by her accomplishment that she didn't see the fist until it connected with her gut, sending her curling in on herself to the ground, the wind knocked out of her.

"Is that all you got in you, girl?" Halt scoffed, looking down at her. "How pathetic."

"I'm not done." Hermione felt her temper rising again as she dragged herself to her feet, only to be sent to the ground again by another one of Halt's iron fists, this time with a bloody nose. Again, she got up, and again she went down. Over and over and over until she couldn't push herself to her feet any longer.

"Well, I'll say you're a stubborn little thing, aren't you?" Halt mused, rolling her over onto her back with his boot. "We might make a fighter out of you yet."

That was the last thing Hermione heard before slipping into unconsciousness.

April 26th 1993- Leaky Cauldron, London.

Hermione Granger apparated to the Leaky Cauldron as soon as she was clear of the Ministry. As she entered the pub, she was forced to pause just inside the door.

Nothing was like she had last seen it just a week ago; there was no sign of the Death Eater raid that had torn the place apart. The tables and chairs were not smashed to pieces, the floor wasn't covered in blood and other bodily fluids, the air didn't have the smell of urine and death seeped into every corner.

Instead, there was the savory smell of cooking meat and potatoes. The shear contrast between her memory senses mixing with what she actually smelled and saw was enough to make her nearly sick there.

Fighting down the bile in her throat, she approached Tom, the barkeeper, trying not to look directly at him until she had a chance to get her equilibrium back. She didn't trust her self-control at the moment. The last she had seen Tom… well… seen was a relative term. There hadn't been enough of a recognizable body to say whether or not it was truly the barkeeper that was all over the walls and floor, but she guessed it had been no other.

"How can I help you, Miss?" Tom asked, coming over to greet her at the counter.

"I need a room for a week if you have the space," she said, risking a glance up at the wizard, remembering to tint her voice with the French accent she had been working on for her cover.

"That we do. Will you want dinner as well?" He pulled out his ledger and handed her a quill to sign her name in.

"No, just the room. I am feeling rather under the weather at the moment," she said, signing her name and pulling out the correct number of coins to pay for the room. She took the key that hopped off a hook behind the bar and had slid itself across the counter to her waiting hand.

Making her way up the rickety stairs, she swiped a copy of the Daily Prophet off a passing table as she went. Locking the door to the room, she wandlessly warded it before allowing herself to relax.

Shrugging off her outer robe, she tossed it on a nearby chair before sitting down on the edge of her bed. After unfolding the paper, she looked for the date.

April 26th 1993.

Her situation finally hit her like a troll's club to the chest. She was back, she was really and truly back. No one was dead yet; she could still save them all.

Something wet trailed down her face, dripping onto the paper. Reaching up a hand, she touched her tear-streaked cheek before chuckling.

"I must truly be a wreck if I'm crying now," she whispered, wiping the tears away.

It wasn't often she cried. It was a rare occurrence that she was moved to tears, not after that December so long ago. Forcing the tears away, she told herself there was no need to grieve for her most recent loss; nobody had died yet and it was going to stay that way.

Curling up on the bed, she magicked out the lights. Tomorrow she would begin to put her plan into action, but for tonight, she would sleep. She wouldn't brave Diagon Alley until she knew what was in this new time-zone and what wasn't; but still, she did know one thing: she would find a way to save them all. No matter what.

With that in mind, she let herself drift off into a light sleep, the paper still clutched tightly in her hand.

I promise.

Next Chapter 2: There Is A Fire Inside Of This Heart—Young Hermione begins her training with Halt on the island and Older Hermione sets herself up for her coming mission.

Edited-12/03/17

Beta'd by thepurplewriter333 and ladyravenpuff2021.

German Translation by the wonderful and patient Alea Thoron.