When Hermione Granger woke up, she immediately knew she shouldn't have. That curse was no joke, and she had encountered it for the second time.

When she opened her eyes, for a second she thought she was blind. As her vision came into focus, she blinked a couple of times. There was fire and smoke around her and she started choking from the lack of air. Wandlessly casting a bubble-head charm, she greedily gulped in the fresh air. Her entire body burned as if on medium-heat and she felt a tingling sensation she had only ever associated with Disillusionment.

She felt around with her hand and hissed when it came into contact with the ground. There was no way her wand had survived the fire. But perhaps one mystery at a time, right now she had to figure out how the bloody hell she was still alive.

As soon as she sat up, she noticed a circle of runes surrounding her. Her eyes widened and she slowly stood up. Interweaving runes, charred but beautiful flowed in an angry script. As they started disappearing, she quickly committed them to memory as she turned around to take a good look.

Instinctively, Hermione knew the runes were the answer to how she was still alive. And she had always known to trust her instinct. Harry had always said that he would sooner believe Tom Riddle was just a misunderstood wizard with daddy problems than believe that Hermione's gut was wrong.

Thinking of Harry brought a smile to her face and she let out a deep sigh. She made a silent prayer, with everything that is good and magic; please make sure Harry is safe.

As soon as she thought of it, her magic flared to life so violently that she flinched and waited for the onslaught of her Magical Core. She fished her pockets for Harry's amulet only to realize she was clutching it in her hand. She couldn't take the risk of passing out now, but her magic was going haywire. Sooner than she could blink, her magic quieted and she realized something.

She didn't feel unbalanced anymore. Her Magical Core was humming. She hadn't felt this way her entire life. Even when she had learnt about Magic, she had noticed a slight fracture in her Core. As the years passed she had been aware of that fracture widening and then the magical instability had forced her to bind her Core.

But now, her Core was practically thriving. It felt so alive and unrestricted. That could only mean either she was not in the place she had been before or something else she couldn't even begin to fathom.

Frowning at the amulet, she knew she had to deactivate it and for that she needed her wand, she used wandless magic only to cover the basics, any more could backfire. Looking around, she noticed that the smoke and fire had only been restricted to her circle. A circle that was now gone. Removing the bubble-head charm, the taste of ash felt foreign on her tongue. She looked around. Her first theory was proven wrong because she was in the clearing she and Harry had been investigating this afternoon except that it was almost dark now. How long had she been here?

Glancing around, she noticed odd changes here and there. Some trees were smaller and she was pretty sure there had been a wild bush somewhere. Should she go back to check the warding line? As soon as she turned, she heard a slight disturbance in the area and whipped around. Cursing her lack of wand, she quickly cast a Disillusionment spell and a Silencio on her feet. She forgot what she was about to do as she stared at her feet in shock. To be more precise, her stiletto covered feet whereas she had been quite sure she had been wearing boots earlier.

But low muttering made her look up and she dashed into the trees just as a group of people came into the clearing. As she observed them, she knew they weren't the people who had almost captured her and Harry. The clothes were all wrong and there was only a slight manic look on their faces. As they moved in the opposite direction to her, she couldn't decide if she should follow them.

However, the words muggle village and bloodbath decided it for her and she sprinted after them. There were ten of them, four women and six men, and they didn't seem that bright. They were loud and were leaving tracks.

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"You think I will find some good filthy Muggle ink to dip my quill into?" one of them asked.

Hermione's jaw tightened in anger, as the rest of the group laughed.

"Quite a lot, I'ld imagine. But I didn't think you would sully yourself so." a tall blonde wizard asked, his wand ready.

"Anything for a fuck, eh?" the idiot bellowed out, guffawing with the others.

Hermione silently summoned a wand from the back of the group. It flew in her hand readily and she ignored the pliable but wholly wrong feeling. It would do for now.

Refusing to listen to them any longer, Hermione knew the muggle village was still a few miles off. Feeling around her magic, she poked at the air around her and sighed in relief when she noticed that she could easily Apparate now. She frowned when she realized there had been a block earlier. Had only one Apparition point been a part of the trap too?

The idiots had likely never seen the village before but Hermione had. She closed her eyes and Apparated with a silent pop. She arrived in the exact place she had been killed in and looked around. The alley was dark and there was no sign of a fight. There was no sight of blood either. Without dwelling on it, she made her way around the bustling town. She could hear music from somewhere and the smell of fresh food wafted in the air. Where had all these people been before?

While she walked, her mind was making all the connections and filling the holes. When she reached a conclusion, she chose to ignore it. She trembled. She hoped to Morgana that she wasn't right.

She had read about bells in old villages which had been used as an alarm. It could be a marching army, a flood or even a fire. She found one in the middle of the village. It was time to put her new wand to test.

Her Magical Core protested at the use of a foreign wand, but she ignored it for now. As strong as her wandless magic was, she wouldn't rely on it until she had her answers.

Hermione cast a silent Domus Erumpo and watched as a Magical Dome burst from her wand with a weak disapproval. She felt the invisible barrier engulf the village and she changed the parameters. It would now allow all of the muggles and her to leave. Grinning in victory, she looked around and cast an Incendio in a nearby hut which had been empty. As it caught fire and it spread quickly, she charmed the bells to chime. As the panicked villages started running around, she added an illusion that the fire was spreading rapidly. No one even stopped to put the fire out; they just gathered what they could and fled the village.

Well, there goes the chance of this village becoming a town.

As she felt the last muggle leave through the dome, she swiftly cast an Aguamenti to put the fire out and later with a wave of her wand the smoke disappeared. Anyone observing from afar would definitely notice the smoke, but not the fire. She decided to stick with the illusion for a while. She didn't want the villagers to think it was safe to come back.

She stood in silence as she waited for a group of idiots to pillage an empty village.

She had to wait for a couple of minutes. As the group entered the dome, she exhaled in relief and waited for them to reach her as she cast a Finite at the illusion. Striding towards them in determination, she saw that they did not seem alarmed by the lack of activity. None of them had even cast a Protego and only a few had their wands out. Idiots.

Not itching for a fight, not after what she had been through today, she simply cast a wide stunning spell and watched with grim satisfaction as all of them fell down. She summoned their wands and broke them before banishing them. She looked at the group.

What were English wizards doing in a muggle village in France?

Adept as she was at memory charms, she decided to Obliviate their magical existence entirely. When they woke up, they would believe they were muggles and go to different corners of the globe. As easier as it would be to kill, she couldn't just go on a killing spree, especially when she still wasn't sure where and more precisely, when she was.

Hermione waved her wand to make the dome disappear; she did not want to risk exposure to a spell not many knew about. Then, she cast Notice-me-not and anti-Muggle charms around the area. If there was a place near that had once been a Death Eater hideout, she thought it might be better to make sure no one inhabited the land.

A place that is a Death Eater hideout.

She bit her lower lip in thought and decided to go back to the clearing. As soon as she Apparated, she was startled. There were droves of people running around her and at first she thought they were the fleeing muggles but then she noticed they were all carrying wands.

She was glad she was almost invisible. She then realized the group around her was speaking in rapid French. She made out the words and understood that someone had noticed the magic spike, the fire and this was the French Magical Law Enforcement. Who knew they were so quick over here?

Confident she hadn't left any tracks, Hermione decided she couldn't investigate the warding line today and she was about to Apparate somewhere safe, when a voice cried out-

"Mon dieu! Ma fille!"

She tensed as she heard the cry. The witch seemed to be in distress and Hermione couldn't help but feel she knew the cause of her distress-

"Hermione!"

She froze. She looked at the witch carefully, although she was somewhat familiar, Hermione couldn't place her. While she stared at the witch, the adrenaline slowly wore off. Hermione felt drained and knew her magic was the only thing keeping her functioning. She felt around with her magic and couldn't detect any threat. She took a risk.

Lying down, a few feet from where she had woken up, she dropped her Disillusionment charm.

"Regarde ça!" someone yelled and she heard footsteps coming towards her.

Soon, the events of the day caught up to her and she blacked out.


Hermione woke up quite in the same manner as she had before; knowing she shouldn't be alive. She was nestled in a warm bed and she could hear nothing except for her low breathing. She got up on her elbows and noticed the bedroom she was in. It was quite grand. Grand even for her- it was Malfoy-type grand. She noticed her blue sheets were silk. The room was huge and decorated in a warm blue colour. As much as she fancied her Gryffindor red and gold colours, she realized she quite liked this colour too. The entire room was bathed in sunlight. She was horrified. How had she slept for that long?

She looked at the furniture and eyed it carefully. It looked solid and the ivory colour went along with the rest of the room. She carefully sat up and noticed that she was in a nightgown. Silk, again. Hiding a grimace, she took a quick stock of the room. Two doors; entrance- twenty-one feet away, bathroom- twelve feet away. A tall window, the angle of which told her that it was a second-storey or third-storey floor; she could see the top part of a tall tree. Her stolen wand: missing. She gave the dresser and the closet a cursory glance before slowly getting out of the bed.

She glanced towards her right and blood rushed to her face. There, on the bedside table was a picture of her parents. A moving, magical picture of her actual parents. Deciding she needed to lie down for a few more seconds, she dashed into the covers again. She heard a faint pop and looked up to see an elf looking at her before vanishing.

This could not be happening. This could not be happening. This could not be happening.

Hermione realized she was about to have a panic attack and grasped at her magic. It, bless Morgana, flared and reassured her. The doors opened-

And in walked a witch Hermione realized had been calling for her. She gaped at her. Narcissa Malfoy had nothing on this witch. This witch was refined; there was no other word for it. She walked with a grace Hermione had never seen in any witch before. Except maybe Fleur, but that was probably because of her being part Veela.

Her brown hair was well-coiffed and her green robes were distinct. Her sharp eyes accompanied a beatific smile. And Hermione knew that if crossed, this witch would flay someone alive and she would do it with a smile. She wondered who it was. Her magic flowed and answered her.

Magic kin.

Immediately, Hermione relaxed and sent a small smile in return. The witch watched her carefully, her face completely blank. But Hermione could read the worry in her eyes. As she reached the bed, she conjured a chair and sat on it. Folding her hands in her lap, she looked at Hermione.

"Comment allez-vous?"

"Pas mal, merci. Et vous?" Hermione answered, her voice hoarse. She cleared her throat.

"Pas mal, merci. Et où étais-tu passée, jeune demoiselle?" the witch asked sharply.

Time to pass the first test, Hermione thought.

"I was outside. I didn't realize I had gone that far."

The witch frowned at her use of English but replied in kind.

"Far enough to leave the house and the warding line?"

Hermione was alarmed. The warding line she had been investigating was to guard this property? Also, an alleged Death Eater hideout? She poked her magic through the magic thrumming in the air and it detected no threat.

"Oui." she answered, her face shifting towards her bedside table.

The witch caught her glance and sighed.

"You cannot simply go beyond the wards. It is a dangerous place! Be glad you simply passed out in your state. What if those Muggles had hurt you because of the fire? Hermione, I realize you are in mourning. But there is no reason for you to pout in such a manner-"

Hermione bristled in anger; Hermione Granger did not pout. And the Muggles would have definitely not hurt her. But the witch continued-

"I realize your Grand-père was a bit absent and not…stern with the rules. But a young lady such as yourself cannot just go around gallivanting! I am your guardian now, I believe it is time we establish some rules."

Hermione tried to put the missing pieces together. This witch spoke with a slight accent but her English was good. This meant that she had spent some time in an English-speaking country. Her parents were dead. Her grandfather was dead, too. The witch's tone told her that this was not the first time Hermione had been 'pouting' and that it hadn't been long since she had attained her guardianship.

She needed answers. And she needed to be in the witch's good graces to do that.

"I agree. I apologize if I have caused you any strain."

The witch looked so astonished that Hermione thought perhaps she shouldn't have tried that hard-

"I accept your apology. Now rise and get ready for breakfast. I shall meet you in an hour. It isn't acceptable for a Rosier to be in bed for this long."

Rosier.

Rosier.

And like the final piece of a puzzle everything came together in her mind. She barely noticed the witch leaving.

No, not the witch. Amélie Rosier.

That was why she had seemed so familiar. Hermione Granger was ace at research and she had researched every family tree in the so-called Sacred Twenty-Eight. Although many of them were either nearly extinct or not so sacred when she had researched, there was always a pattern of inter-marriages. She had taken note of how as time had passed these families either produced squibs or people with a touch of madness (possibly the entire Black family). The families that chose to end blood purity flourished, but the others did not. Rosier had been one of the many families which had been rather hard to track. Originally from France, she had discovered that there were few mentions of Rosier anywhere.

Of course there had been Aldrich Rosier who had attended Hogwarts with Tom Riddle and later joined his merry band of Death Eaters. Evan Rosier, spawn of the said follower. Druella Rosier, mother of Bellatrix, Andromeda, and Narcissa Black. Druella was a cousin of Aldrich.

Another one was Amélie Rosier. She had been married to a much older Lycoris Black, only to be brutally murdered later. She was a cousin of Aldrich and Druella, although, perhaps less touched with madness than the others.

Hermione had been disturbed to know that the Blacks had kept journals of their exploits. And apparently murdering your wife for getting out of a betrothal contract was an act punishable by death and torture. Lycoris had drugged, kidnapped, married and raped Amélie before torturing her to death. Lycoris even had the audacity to describe the torture in detail. Hermione hadn't read that part thoroughly, suffice it to say.

Lycoris, in all his psychotic glory, had drawn a portrait of his betrothed in his journal before she had jilted him. The resemblance was uncanny. She found it hard to believe that Amélie was the same beautiful young woman that had been married to a Black.

But she had looked a bit older just now. Something was missing, she needed more information.

Throwing the covers off, Hermione darted into her closet where she found her trunk. There, in the corner of the trunk written in a neat script-

Hermione Dagworth-Granger

Hermione paled.

She had been right. She had somehow travelled in an alternate universe, where she was a Pureblood or a Halfblood at best.

She grimaced and turned towards the mirror to look at herself. Her jaw dropped.

Oh, she was definitely Hermione Granger. But now, she was a 15-year-old version of Hermione Granger.

So she had travelled to an alternate universe where she was still a teenager?

She pulled her gown down and noticed that she no longer had the scar Dolohov had given her or any scar she had gotten since. Even the mudblood scar was gone.

As glad as she was, her mind fell in disarray. Her Magical Core hadn't felt strange when she had used it earlier and it still felt normal. Just more whole.

Had she body snatched a Dagworth-Granger but with her own memories?

Her features were exactly as she remembered them at 15, only her hair was shorter and less of a mess. Seconds away from a panic attack, she rushed out of the closet and her eyes fell on the picture on her bedside table. She made a grab for it. She looked at her parents' smiling faces –still the same albeit a little stoic and a lot younger – and turned it around.

Thaddeus Dagworth-Granger and Hélène Rosier.

Betrothal Ceremony, 1958

Panic forgotten, laughter bubbled up in her throat. Oh, how it would have just tickled Malfoy to see her in all her Pureblood grandeur!

Realizing hysterical laughter was another form of panic; she forced herself to calm down.

She needed to think.

Fortunately, compartmentalizing was another thing she was ace at.

First, she had definitely died. Second, she had ended up in 1976. Third, she was a pureblood now. Fourth, this was a reality her death had somehow triggered.

Searching around for some books, she realized she didn't have any in the room. What kind of a person didn't have books in their room?

Remembering the circle of runes she had woken up to, she quickly tracked down some parchment and quill and drew it from memory. Once it was done, she looked at it and frowned. Majority of the runes were looped into others and she couldn't make head or tail of any. She looked at the ones she knew and her mind provided an answer.

Destruction. Magic.

Unable to make the connection, she realized she needed to meet her Cousin/Aunt. She thought back to Amélie Rosier's life. The torture and murder. She sighed in frustration.

But this all had happened before 1965, when Lycoris had finally died. It was 1976 now and she was still alive and probably, still unmarried. So what had changed?

She met Amélie in the breakfast room, where she had been guided to by an exuberant elf. She had stiffened but she knew spouting elf rights would hardly help her case in this timeline.

She expected Amélie to join her in conversation but she hardly looked up after the initial greeting. Hermione carefully ate her breakfast as she watched her companion frown at a letter in her hands. Not wishing to disturb, she quietly asked to be excused and Amélie dismissed her with a wave of her hand.

She made a beeline for the library, or at least where she thought it was until she got lost in the corridors and asked one of the paintings. The painting of an elderly woman sniffed at her disdainfully and pointed out the direction.

Arriving at the double door, Hermione threw open the doors and smiled at the huge library. Putting aside the desire to explore it, she looked at a card floating in the air above her. Carefully, she intoned:

"Books on Ancient Runes and Time Magic."

A few seconds later, at least fifty books hovered in the air. She was delighted. Perhaps, Hogwarts should have such a system too.

Dismissing the books she knew to be of no use, she carried onto her room, at least two dozen books following her.

Deciding she needed to find out what the runes had said, she separated the pile and sat down on the floor. What kind of a room didn't have a study table?

An hour later, she finally had her answers. But she triple checked. Arranging the runes so they made more sense to her, one loop read-

Destruction of Time. Magical Universal Rebirth.

Fifth, this was no alternate reality; her timeline had been completely destroyed.

She thought of all she had left behind. Harry, Ron, the Weasleys, sweet little James who looked at her with such joy and love, Luna, Minerva, so many people.

All gone.

All out of her reach.

She ultimately realized that Magic had more hand in what had become of her than she knew. The three wars within a century had been exceedingly taxing on Magic. The void had been too much, the magical instability had been the centre and the Magical Core destruction had been the precipice.

And somehow, her death had been the catalyst Magic needed to rebuild.

At the cost of her own timeline.

Apparently, Magic had use of her in this period. But she already knew that her presence would cause a ripple effect through time, nothing would be as she had left it.

And nothing would ever be the same again. Little Hermione Jean Granger would not be born in three years. She would never go to Hogwarts. She would never be saved by Harry and Ron.

And finally, she succumbed to tears.


Hermione spent her days in a trance. If Amélie noticed anything amiss, she chose to say nothing about it. Instead, she lectured Hermione on propriety and Pureblood etiquette. Hermione half-listened to her, picking up the lessons more out of habit than necessity.

She was numb.

Amélie guided her towards the Family wands when she noticed Hermione didn't have one, and Hermione picked the one with a Phoenix-feather that was oddly agreeable with her magic. Amélie told her she would be employing some tutors to help with her 'transition', whatever that meant. Hermione agreed without thinking. Classes for Etiquette, Appearance and Societal Behaviour. Weeks later, her tutors were apparently delighted with her. They reported back to Amélie and gave her the highest praises. Her teachers at Beauxbatons would be very pleased with her this year. Of course it was Beauxbatons, Hermione thought, she was in bloody France after all.

Hermione could not care less.

Amélie was over the moon.

Hermione didn't know why she was so happy until breakfast one day.

"I have to say I am quite impressed." Amélie started, sipping her tea. "I had not thought you would progress so. Especially considering the gaps in your education and your obvious reluctance, I thought it would take more time. But clearly I was wrong and now, I think you are quite ready to write to your betrothed and-"

Hermione was jolted out of her impassiveness at the word 'betrothed'.

She almost choked on her toast and she screeched-

"My—WHAT?"

Amélie looked at her in dismay, as if shocked by her manners.

"Your fiancé? Betrothed? Someone you will get married to?"

And for the first time in days, Hermione Granger came out of her shell.

"Oh, trust me. I have no intention of letting that happen."

Amélie was not impressed.

"It is a binding contract, Hermione and it has been so since your birth. You can't break it. Honestly, you have always known about this."

Something about her words seemed wrong.

"Who is it?" Hermione demanded, seething with anger.

Her Aunt looked at her as though she had gone insane. Hermione fought the urge to snarl at her.

"The Black heir."

When Hermione looked at her blankly, Amélie tried to control her temper.

"Sirius Orion Black, obviously." Amélie announced, her tone impatient.

Hermione looked at her incredulously. Sirius Black, her Sirius Black had a betrothal contract? How come he had never told them or-

Then, she realized that things worked differently now.

But she felt somewhat calm, if it was Sirius she knew he would want this even less than she did. Surely, they could work something out between the two of them.

She imagined approaching the young Marauder and almost laughed out loud. Sirius would be horrified.

Her mind recalled something-

"Why did you say I can't break it?" she questioned, glowering at Amélie.

Amélie sighed as she rubbed her temple with her right hand. Hermione had never seen Amélie anything but put together.

"Because you can't. It is binding and if broken, this time it will result in a loss of magic on both sides. There was an existing contract between Rosier and Black families but it was broken. The counter curse went into effect and it reverted to choosing the Black family heir and the Rosier family heir."

Hermione felt her temper rising again. She knew exactly who had broken the contract from her side.

Her mind ran at full speed.

In the original timeline, when Amélie Rosier had broken the contract, she had no living relatives or not any who could get married in her stead. So the contract had been made null and void. But Lyocris had married her anyway and later killed her. All of her Rosier fortune had gone to him. This property must have reverted back to her too, in the absence of a Dagworth-Granger heir. She was quite sure there had been intermarriage or two between the Dagworth-Grangers and the Rosiers in the original timeline, which explained why Death Eaters had gained the Dagworth-Granger property in France when Amélie had died.

She wondered if this warding line was the answer, it had after all hidden at least a dozen Death Eaters so well.

Alternatively, Evan Rosier could have also handed over the property but that did not explain why Lyocris was hell bent on marrying Amélie. He didn't have to marry her to do all those atrocious things to her. No, there was a chain, and unfortunately, Amélie had been in the middle of it.

Hermione supposed that there might be other properties or fortunes the Blacks taken from Rosiers and Dagworth-Grangers. She didn't know about Rosier but Hector Dagworth-Granger had been an only son and he didn't have any children. When Slughorn had asked her if she belonged to that family, she hadn't been sure at first. Then, she had researched that family. They had been extinct. In her time, there might have been some Squibs running around, but there had been no way to be sure.

In this timeline, however, Hector Dagworth-Granger had a son who had an heir, as did the Rosier family. Her presence had altered the timeline. When Amélie had broken her contract, the counter curse had snared her- the Rosier heir and Sirius- the Black heir together.

Fucking hell.

She wanted to laugh at the irony.

And because she was a closet masochist, she asked Amélie-

"Who broke the original contract?"

Hermione was delighted as she watched her Aunt squirm.

"Herm-"

"Please, go ahead. Tell me all you know, Aunt Amélie."

Amélie winced at that but she collected herself as quickly as any good Pureblood witch would.

"I doubt it is ideal conversation for breakfast. And call me Amélie, as I have directed you to."

Hermione merely inclined her head. She was amused at her Aunt's use of English. Hermione could speak fluent French but she didn't want to. Anytime Amélie talked in French, Hermione answered in English. After sometime, Amélie started using only English.

She was glad Amélie had escaped her horrible fate. But she had known of Hermione's existence. How could she have just broken a contract when she knew the consequences would be severe? It could have been anyone but Sirius. At least, Amélie had a choice. Hermione, however, did not.

However, she also knew Lyocris had been a lunatic and she would never wish for anyone to suffer Amélie's fate.

"Nonetheless, you will write to him before you leave for Beauxbatons. I was told he did splendidly in his O.W.L.s."

Hermione's eyebrows rose. Really? She was in contact with someone in the Black family?

She hoped it was Walburga.

When Hermione got back to her room, she was glad she was heading to Beauxbatons instead of Hogwarts. The latter would bring back too many memories. And she would get to experience a new culture. It would be her sixth year; she had turned sixteen a month ago. She slumped in her bed when she realized that sixth year at Beauxbatons meant she would have to take her O.W.L.s. Again. Like once wasn't enough.

Fuck.


She chose to not write to Sirius even though she told her Aunt she had. As far as she remembered, her Sirius had been disowned the summer after fifth year. And while the betrothal contract was binding, and it hinged on Sirius being the heir; she didn't trust Walburga to not try to throw him out. She was senile, after all.

But before long she was in Beauxbatons, and no word came of Sirius being disowned. She supposed even Walburga didn't want risk the contract knowing the curse might turn on her if she was the reason it broke.

So, she concentrated on her studies.

Beauxbatons Academy of Magic was beautiful. The gardens and mountains were in a perfect harmony and the library was absolutely divine. However, she spent more time outside than inside the château. She fell in love with the Abraxan horses and the Wood Nymphs. She was impressed by the respect her classmates had for each other and their teachers.

(If she missed the chaos of Hogwarts, she ignored it. If she missed the mere magic the castle was, she immersed herself in Southern France's natural beauty. If she missed the companionship, she learned to be apathetic.)

To her delight, Beauxbatons offered more classes than Hogwarts did. Battle Magics, Curse Breaking and Healing. Her classmates and teachers were bewildered at her choices. Her teachers even tried stopping her, telling her she couldn't make up for course load she had already missed in the previous years.

Hermione dismissed them all. Her alternate-self had apparently been a scatter-brain and an idiot. She had taken Divining Arts, of all things. But she couldn't really blame her. Inbreeding was a bitch.

Her alternate-self also did not have friends and for that Hermione was thankful. She was sure there was a group she had belonged to once but she had ruined that when one of them had made a comment about her hair and Hermione had reciprocated in kind.

Suffice it to say, she was as lonely as she had been in the first year of Hogwarts but this time, she didn't mind so much.

Her Magical Core was unbroken and there were no fissures in it. She finally had her range back. Her magic felt pure and that feeling rivalled nothing else.


Two months before her exams, Hermione felt a searing pain in her chest and she almost fainted. Recollecting herself with difficulty, she dashed for her room. As soon as she was inside, she threw the strongest wards she knew and silenced the room.

Then, she screamed herself raw before she passed out.

When she woke up, the pain in her chest had dulled to a slight ache. She ripped the blue silk open. And she stared.

The scar from Dolohov's curse was back.

Her head spun with possibilities. In this period, her age had been altered. Instead of a September birthday, she had one on July 19th, to be precise. Originally, she had gotten her scar exactly four months (give or take) before her 17th birthday.

Now, it had reappeared exactly four months before her 17th birthday in this timeline. This meant all of her scars would probably come back.

She almost wept with joy.

She should have realized sooner that when her Magic whispered that Amélie was her Magic kin, it had not said blood kin, something it should have considering they were related through her mother.

So, in spite of everything, she was still a Mudblood.

And she was still bloody proud of it.

Thinking of the word, she realized she had roughly two years before her Mudblood scar made a reappearance, any other scars she could easily explain. So that meant, she had two years to research and find a way to hide it or remove it permanently. After all, a Black bride couldn't be caught dead with such a slur on her body.

You're going down, dear Bella, she thought viciously.

She had thought she had nothing. That she was nothing. But she was a relic from her original timeline. And Harry's amulet which she had deactivated and now wore as a simple bracelet. She had retained her own body, her own magic, her own blood through the time destruction. She even had her memories intact.

And her memories were perhaps her greatest weapon, she was a still 36-year-old Deputy Head of DMLE in her mind. She had helped defeat Voldemort. She had been tortured and cursed. She had learned politics and magic beyond belief. She had learned to live in a world where Magic was failing. She had learned to sort out her priorities. She had learned to give hope in a world Voldemort had left in smithereens.

She knew exactly who she was and exactly what had made her like this.

And she vowed to make every bit of it count.


A/N: For future reference, I will just write French translations next to the text. Although I doubt I am doing them any justice.

Mon dieu! Ma fille! = My God! My girl!

Regarde ça = Look at this

Comment allez-vous? = How are you?

Pas mal, merci. Et vous? = Not bad, and you?

Et où étais-tu passée, jeune demoiselle = (loosely) And where have you been, young lady?