Chapter 3: The Chosen One

16th August 1960

Pain.

Terrible, horrible and excruciating pain.

That was the first sensation she experienced when she came to herself again. Her head was pounding painfully, her neck was throbbing and her whole body was cold, sore and numb.

She gulped in a few breaths of air. The scent of fresh pines, willow barks, birches and the musky scent of fresh morning dew filled her nostrils. The air was so refreshing, she noted. Slowly, the numbing and suffocating sensation she experienced subsided and she relaxed a little.

Had it worked, she wondered, her heart thumping madly as the seconds ticked away. It should have at least sent her somewhere, she was certain of that point. She could tell that she was no longer in the stuffy and dirty little clearing where she had been in some time ago. However, she was certain that she was still in the Forbidden Forest, judging by the chirping of birds in the distance and the fresh scents of plants all around her.

She could not gauge how much time has elapsed since she had passed out cold. The last thing that she could remember was a hot and searing pain as the time turner shattered into a thousand small shards and cut into her flesh.

With a trembling hand, Hermione brought her fingers towards her chest, and started to feel around the place where the shards of glass from the time turner had cut into her soft skin. She could feel a hot and sticky substance around the small area of her chest. The time turner must have opened up a deep gash, she gathered. However, surprisingly, she did not feel the throbbing pain in that part of her body. It only prickled slightly as she touched it gently with the tips of her fingers. Dumbledore must have designed the object in a way that it would cause her the least pain as possible, and she was grateful for it.

She began to feel the rest of her body, to see if there are any broken bones or injuries. She found that nothing was out of place, save for a huge bruise on her left arm, which, she gathered, was caused by Snape earlier when he gripped her elbow to apparate them away from the Forest of Dean. This was no big deal, as it would gradually heal. She was grateful that Snape had not cursed her at all. After all, she still did not trust him completely. She only performed what was asked of her by Dumbledore. Snape was just a third party, whom duty was only to pass on her late headmaster's instructions. She had no reason to suspect Snape of any kind of foul play, as the evidence that he had shown her was convincing enough. Or was it? He could have fabricated all those evidence, as far as she was concerned. His loyalties were still unclear. Nonetheless, she figured that she could do nothing about it now, as she had already been sent to another time period. She had made her decision, and now she would have to suffer the consequences of it. She had trusted her heart in making her choice. Snape did not force her into it. She was merely doing what was asked of her by Dumbledore. What lies ahead was not a bright path, she was sure of it.

For one, she had still not managed to figure out her purpose of being in this particular time period. Dumbledore had sent her approximately 40 years into the past. Snape had told her to focus on the year 1960. What could her mission possibly be? As far as she was concerned, the dark lord had already left Hogwarts about a decade ago. There was nothing which she could do to find out more about his horcruxes or get close to him. He was probably somewhere in Albania now, she gathered, gathering up his forces and strengthening his alliance. What was Dumbledore playing at, she wondered.

A thought suddenly struck her, but she quickly pushed it away. It was not possible. She had thought that Dumbledore had perhaps sent her to this time period to keep watch and protect Harry's parents. But this was not possible, as Harry's parents would not be attending Hogwarts for another decade from now. She sighed softly, and shifted slightly. She experienced a stabbing pain in one of her ankles. She winced in pain, but muffled her screams. She must have twisted her ankle when she landed.

The pain subsided gradually, and she was back to her thoughts. She hoped that she would be able to figure out her task soon enough. It certainly did not look as easy as it had sound. She should have made some planning and preparations first before plunging blindly into her task. She should have asked Snape to give her more time to think about all of this. But she had not done so. Her Gryfindor spirit was too strong, and she would not like to suffer another round of insults from Snape before leaving. He was certainly not a very nice person to deal with, even though he carried out his orders efficiently.

"Well, I would just have to find that out myself," Hermione mused silently. "There is no turning back now, is there?"

After a few moments, in which she gathered up all the energy left in her, she slowly opened her eyes and observed her surroundings. Sunlight was streaming through the small gaps left by a few tall birches and weeping willows, which was some distance away from where she was lying. She could tell that morning was approaching soon. She looked around again and found that she was lying on a soft grassy spot where the trees had begun to thin. The small clearing that Snape had ushered her into was nowhere to be seen. She gathered that she was at least in a different timeline now, but she could not be sure of the actual time period.

"Well," she muttered to herself absent-mindedly as she felt in her pocket for the beaded bag – the bag who had accompanied her on many of her adventures throughout the horcrux hunt, and had held the key to everything she needed. She pulled the bag out of her robe pocket and was just about to open it when a pang of realisation hit her.

"How could I be so stupid?" she sighed, slapping herself hard.

She had wanted to pull out her wand and check the time and date, but she now remembered that she had no wand, except Harry's broken wand. Her wand was with Harry, back in her previous timeline, which she was now sure was her past life.

"Great," she muttered. "Just great. Hermione Jean Granger, stranded in an unknown timeline without a wand, defenceless and useless. Could things get any worse?"

The prospect of not seeing any of her friends ever again saddened her a little. She would never be able to look into Harry's beautiful green eyes, nor will she is able to snuggle close to Ron and held his hand when she was afraid. Never again would she see the messy tufts of black hair and the lightning bolt scar on Harry's forehead, nor would she see Ron's flaming red hair, freckled face and lanky frame again. She was not going to see Ginny and the others again, and she would not be able to enjoy Mrs. Weasley's delicious cooking and the warm and cheerful atmosphere at the Burrow. She would never get to visit her parents' graves. Of course, she mused, these things would be possible if the war could be ended. And with that, she was brought back into reality. She was the key to everything. Dumbledore had told her so, hadn't he? If she succeeded, more than one innocent life could be spared. She was the chosen one to complete this mission, and she was not going to fail and disappoint all of them. She squared her jaw determinedly and blinked back the tears that threatened to leak out of her beautiful hazel brown eyes. This was for the greater good, she kept on reminding herself. If she could stop the cause at its root, all would be well. The wizzarding world would enjoy a brighter future, and perhaps she would have the will to live long enough to see her friends again. Of course they may not be able to recognise her, she thought. No one can predict how would she affected the timeline. Nonetheless, she would still seek comfort just to gaze at a sea of familiar faces which she had seen for so many years. If she lived long enough, she may have a slight chance of seeing them again.

Lupin, Thonks, the Weasley family, Harry, Neville, Hagrid and many more. She smiled faintly as their faces popped up in her mind. She would change history for the better; she was determined to succeed, no matter what it takes. She was willing to sacrifice her own life if that was what it takes to alter the cold and harsh destiny that fate has placed onto the wizzarding world in the years to come.

After sifting through her thoughts for a few moments, Hermione stretched and started to plan her next moves. She figured that she could not waste much more time. She still did not know whether the plan had worked, but she hoped with all her heart that it had worked and she had been sent back to the right time period.

"Please let it be 1960," she muttered as she ran a hand through her untamed mane of bushy brown hair. It had become much frizzier ever since she spent her days camping in the wild while she and the others were on the run and hunting for horcruxes.

Her biggest problem now was not having a wand. She was not very good at wandless magic, despite her attempts of trying it out. She only managed certain tasks without a wand. Non-verbal spells were fine for her, but all the same, those would require a wand. She was dead without her wand.

Making up her mind, she straightened up and pushed herself to her feet. She stretched slowly, and the stiffness gradually left her muscles. She would have to get a wand first, she gathered. She would have to walk to Hogsmeade and apparate to Diagon Alley, so that she would be able to purchase a wand. She would also have to open a Gringotts account and place certain items in her beaded bag into the vault, as they did not belong in this time period. She did not wish to arouse suspicion among the people, as she would no doubt be at the centre of their attention. She had no wish to put herself in the spotlight. She had a job to do, and it would help if she stayed discreet. She would have to book a room at the Leaky Cauldron and stay there for the night, as she still needed to find out what is it exactly that Dumbledore had asked her to do. The envelope and small box which Snape had given her was still in the depths of the beaded bag, and they were calling out to her. As much as she was tempted to open them here, she decided that she could not risk it. Someone may sneak up on her while she was absorbed in deciphering her task, and her cover would be blown. Better be safe than sorry, she gathered.

She rummaged in her beaded bag for Harry's invisibility cloak. Once again, her jaw dropped. She had forgotten to tuck Harry's rucksack into her beaded bag before she left. Everything which Dumbledore had given them except for Ron's deluminator was stashed away in the rucksack; the Tales of Beedle the Bard, Harry's invisibility cloak and the golden snitch. She figured that those items were not important to Harry now, as she had journeyed to another timeline, and Dumbledore had told her that once she was sent back in time, everything changes. God knows what had become of the future she had left behind. She hoped that all is well. However, she had a problem now. She would be seen by the people on the streets of Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley if she walked out of the Forbidden Forest in this manner. Worse still, someone from the Hogwarts grounds may notice her and get suspicious. Her appearance, which was unkempt and haggard and her ragged and baggy clothing would attract unwanted attention.

"Great, Snape. Sent me back in time without giving me a single hint about how I should blend in!" Hermione scoffed.

It was then that she remembered something. Maybe there was something that she could use in the trunk that Snape had given her. After all, he had said that it contained everything she needed when she arrived in this new timeline. She fumbled in her beaded bag for the small trunk and brought it out. She would have to perform some wandless magic to enlarge the trunk and then shrank it back into its original size. She smiled. She could do such simple magic. This was child's play, she figured.

A slow smile stretched across her face. She held the trunk tightly in her hands, and closed her eyes. She concentrated hard and channelled her magic from her body to her fingertips. A warm sensation enveloped her body as her magic tingled within her. She could visualise the trunk growing bigger and bigger in front of her eyes. She held her magic together, ready to release it when she was ready. A burst of energy coursed through her body.

"Engorgio!" she thought. She could feel the trunk growing in her hands. She released it and placed it onto the ground as it grew bigger. She stopped the spell when the trunk was big enough.

She opened the trunk and looked inside it. There were an assortment of clothing, definitely from the 60s style, she gathered, judging by the long skirts and thick blouses. There were also a pile of textbooks and potion ingredients, a brand new cauldron, some quills and ink and a few rolls of parchment. There was a leather pouch, with a significant amount of money in it. But one thing was missing there: a wand.

"Ah," she smiled as her fingers brushed against something soft and silky. She had a feeling she knew what it was, but she had to make sure all the same. This was indeed what she needed the most. Slowly, she pulled it out from the depths of the trunk, and looked at it.

It was just what she had suspected: an invisibility cloak. However, she could tell that this cloak was not as great as Harry's invisibility cloak. Of course, she mused, Harry's cloak was a legend; one of the deathly hallows, according to Dumbledore. But this was better than not having a cloak, she decided. She could put this to good use for now.

Quickly, she pulled off her clothing, and pulled on some clothing she found in the trunk. She donned a blue floral blouse with a matching skirt with pleats which reached down to her ankle. She exchanged her pair of worn out trainers with a pair of sleek black heels. Finally, she sprayed some perfume, as she could tell that she was stinking badly as a result of not bathing for a few days now, and tied back her hair in a tight bun. She was lucky to find some hair products in the trunk. Snape had probably outdone himself in purchasing such items for her, she mused. But she would have to thank him for it in the future if they ever met, as these items were handy now.

She took about ten minutes taming her frizzy brown hair into soft wavy curls which cascaded down her back elegantly. Next, she applied some makeup to cover up a few scratches on her face which had not fully healed yet. Hermione was never the one who fancied dressing up and putting makeup, unlike Parvati, Lavender and Ginny back in her time. She would rather not waste her time by beautifying herself, as her looks were plain enough. Her bushy hair and large front teeth would make her look out of place, even if she applied lipstick and rouge, in her opinion. Her time was put to better use in the library; filling her brain with knowledge which would always be useful to her. Knowledge is the key to everything, as she had always believed. Thus, this philosophy had kept her away from the others, as she would sit in the library for hours and hours, thumbing through tome after tome. She often forgot the time as she lost herself in her sanctuary. The others often teased her about her habits, and have tried to coax her into joining them for their various makeup sessions, but Hermione managed to decline each and every invitation by giving them a valid excuse. She honestly did not care at all how others perceived her. She had Harry and Ron as friends, and that is considered as enough for her.

However, she gathered that she had no choice now. People would get suspicious when they saw her face. She had scratched herself badly during the escape from Bathilda Bagshot's cottage. Glass had cut into her skin as she grabbed Harry and spiralled out of the window to apparate away from that dreaded place.

She shuddered involuntarily as the memory surfaced in her mind. She looked around her apprehensively, expecting someone to jab a wand into her neck or point it at her any moment. To her relief, nothing was out of place. She was alone in the forest. She was safe. The worse was over, and she would have to alter the path of destiny now.

Gingerly, she powdered her cheeks lightly, darkened her eyes with some mascara and applied some lipstick. She huffed irritably as she tried to patch up some areas where the mascara was smudged. She was really not an expert in this kind of silly thing. After looking at her reflection in a small hand mirror which was provided in the makeup kit, she straightened up and smiled satisfactorily. She deemed her first attempt at beautifying herself to be passable, and she was secretly proud of herself for having to pull it off so well. She stuffed everything back into the trunk, shrank it using wandless magic and placed the trunk back into her beaded bag. After that, she threw the invisibility cloak over herself, tucked the beaded bag under her arm and was ready to go.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

By midday, Hermione emerged from the forbidden forest, feeling slightly exhausted. It seems that she have landed in a spot which is rather deep into the forest. Perhaps it was the place where Snape had build the clearing earlier, she figured. After all, she remembered that they had travelled rather deep into the forest before reaching their destination. Come to think of it, it was actually the same route which she had taken earlier before arriving here. The forbidden forest has not changed much after all. There were the same trees, same little insects, birds and small plants. She was lucky that she had not run into other creatures such as unicorns or centaurs. She had no desire to be injured, say, by an arrow from a centaur's bow at the moment.

The sun was shining brightly when she stepped away from the thinning trees and approached the Hogwarts grounds. There was a wooden hut in the distance, which belonged to Hagrid in her time. She wondered whether Hagrid was occupying it now. If she had arrived in the correct timeline, she figured that she was already here. As far as she remembered, Dumbledore had kept Hagrid as the groundskeeper's assistant after he was being expelled from Hogwarts in 1942. Dumbledore had faith in Hagrid, and he was convinced that Hagrid was innocent. Hermione was glad that her late headmaster was compassionate enough towards Hagrid and was willing to believe his story. After all, Dumbledore was a wise man, and he knew how to separate the truth from the lies.

Anger boiled up in her when this memory surfaced in her mind. This was all happened because of one person, and she was going to make said person pay, whatever it takes. She was already here, and she did not care how she would meddle things up. She was convinced to put the future dark lord in his place and make him experience the pain which he had so conveniently put others through without sparing a single thought. He was a psychopath, and she was not even going to let him have the benefit of the doubt that he would turn over a new leaf any time soon. The faster she gets rid of his horcruxes, the better. She was not going to teach him how to love and make friends or all the other nonsense, as she knew that it was already too late and he could no longer be saved. Clearly, Dumbledore was somewhat delusional when he thought that Hermione could still help the future dark lord at this point in time. Personally, she felt that there would only be a ten in a million chances that this latter plan would succeed.

It is better to tackle the enemy by recognising their weaknesses, destroying his strengths and then leave as soon as everything was settled. She would have to be witty, cunning and courageous at the same time when she was performing her task. She could not afford to make any mistakes or slip ups. She would be doomed if the future dark lord knew of her intentions. She would be cursed into oblivion, or even blown of the earth in the blink of an eye. She would have to be extremely careful, as she was treading in dangerous waters. One might fall and drown in them if they missed a crucial step, and there will be no point of return by then.

She could see the huge bulk of the castle as she turns away from the wooden hut and walked further up the grounds. A sense of familiarity overtook her. She was home. The all too familiar towers and turrets loomed above her in the distance, the glittering windows calling out to her. She could just feel and smell the sweet scent of flowers and grass on the slopes leading up to the big double front doors. She could picture the entrance hall beyond the door, its brilliantly lit walls and the large round hourglass which held the house points, which is represented by four different precious stones; there would be the Great Hall next, with its enchanted ceiling, the portraits along the walls of every corridor, the moving staircases, the commonrooms with their cosy fireplace and soft plush chairs, the dormitories, with their soft and warm four-poster bed. Oh, how she missed Hogwarts! She was home at last, back where she belonged, where the beautiful and great castle was free from destruction now. It was so peaceful just standing there, invisible, admiring the great architecture of her second home, breathing in the sweet scent of late summer [judging by her surroundings], without having to worry about any war. Hermione felt relaxed as her eyes took in the full view of the castle. She stood rooted to the spot for a few more moments, imagining what it would be like to wander the castle again. She would eventually get the change to do so, she gathered. After all, Snape had told her that she would be enrolled as a student there this year. Her spirits rose a little as this thought entered her head. She would be able to visit the library again and sleep in the soft bed and enjoy the wonderful meals served in the Great Hall again. She would only need to figure out her plan first – what is her actual purpose of being here – before settling in, and she was determined to figure it out soon enough. Her sense of longing for the comfort of the castle was clutching at her; she missed Hogwarts greatly. The castle seems to call out to her; its magic wrapping around her, attracting and entrancing her senses with every step she took.

With great effort, she turned away from the castle, and started to make her way towards the gates. She passed the black lake, its black surface glistening as rays of sunlight reflected on its surface. The small trees around the bank provided some shade from the hot sun. She walked slowly, watching her steps and making sure to muffle her footsteps as best as possible. She could not take any chances and risk being discovered by someone, in case he or she decided to take a stroll on this pleasant day and enjoy the beautiful weather.

As she rounded another corner, she wondered whether her favourite tree by the lake had been planted yet. It was a tall beech tree, with huge leaves which used to serve as shades. The leaves were an unusual colour, as they did not look like normal beech tree leaves. It was green, with bits of silver all over it, making it look like a beautiful patch of cross stitching. The branches were laced with silver, and the tree trunk had an elegant curve to it, making it look like a comfortable back of an elegant armchair, so that one could lean on it. She had never seen any tree like that before. It was near the lake, overlooking the forbidden forest and Hagrid's wooden hut. Some of the greenhouses were also visible from the spot. She had discovered this spot one day during her fifth year, and had shared it with Harry and Ron. This was a perfect place to discuss anything which they deemed not safe to be discussed around the others. Besides, she often found the spot to be relaxing and cooling, and it would be a nice spot to do her reading. The tree trunk was surprisingly soft and cosy to lean on. She figured that some kind of enchantment had been placed on the tree to make it that way. The person who planted the tree was so creative and thoughtful, she mused when she first discovered the tree. The spot was also quiet and secluded, away from the usual spots which students liked to hang out when they are out and about on the castle grounds.

Curiosity had the better of her, and she decided to check whether the tree was there. After all, it really could not do much harm, she gathered. She would just crept quietly along the bank of the black lake and see whether the tree was there. She would just take a quick look and then she will be off. She would know the tree by first glance, as she was so familiar with its shape and form by the end of her fifth year. One quick glance will give her the answer she needed.

Cautiously, she crept quietly around another corner and glanced up when she was about a few meters always from where the tree was supposed to be. Her heart leapt when a familiar patch of green and silver caught her sight. Her eyes traced the familiar outline of the tree, its thin and slender branches and the elegant curving tree trunk. Her heart leapt with excitement. Her tree was already planted, and she would be able to retreat to this spot when she was enrolled here later.

As she was about to turn away, something else caught her eye. She blinked and squinted more closely at what she had saw. Her heart sank. It seems that someone was a step ahead of her in this time period. Someone had already discovered this spot. Hermione was slightly disappointed. She figured that she would not be able to have this spot to herself any longer.

There, sitting beneath the trees and well hidden by the shades, was a figure. She figured that it was a male, judging by the silhouette, but she still could not be sure. The figure wore a long black cloak, and was leaning back on the tree trunk. She could not see the figure's face, as it was being low over a thick tome. She could just see the edges of the thick and dusty leather-bound tome from where she was standing. She stood there, observing the figure. Occasionally, she could hear a page turning. She heard a rustle as a page was turned. Unintentionally, she took a step forward.

Crunch!

A twig snapped under her foot. Hermione let out a muffled cry as her heart jumped. The figure moved a little and looked up. Swearing under her breath for her stupidity, Hermione quickly turned and backed away silently. She hoped that the figure would thought nothing of what he or she had heard, and go back to reading the tome. She crept silently away from the spot as fast as possible. When she was sure that she was far enough, she dared a glance over her shoulder. She let out a breath of relief. The figure had went back to reading, with his or possibly her; head bent over the thick tome once more.

"Lucky you, Hermione Jean Granger. Next time, think before you decided to do something stupid like this. You would not be lucky always."

She approached the castle gates. She stood there for a moment, not knowing how to get pass the various enchantments of the castle to get outside. She should have thought about this earlier. She did not have a wand with her, which made it more difficult than ever. She had to get out of the castle and head to Hogsmeade, as there were anti-apparation charms inside the castle. She would not be able to apparate anywhere if she was stuck in here.

She hoped that someone would be here to open the gates, so that she could sneak out silently before it was closed again. But who was she kidding? This was probably the summer, and all the staff were either on holiday or cosily enjoying the weather inside the castle. No one would want to go out, unless there are errands to be carried out.

She should think fast, or she would not be able to get to Diagon Alley soon enough. A plan would have to be formulated.

Just then, she heard footsteps from outside the gate. Her heart began to thump excitedly. She looked up and sure enough, a figure was approaching the gates. An all too familiar figure. Tall, lean, with mismatched robes, auburn hair which was turning silver, a long beard and twinkling blue eyes. Hermione's stomach lurched. She wanted to cry out in joy and hug her late headmaster. Seeing him bring back so much life in her. She felt happy, strong and secured. No one would be able to harm her when Dumbledore was around.

Nonetheless, she managed to control herself. She figured that this was not the right time to make her presence known. Dumbledore would bound to get suspicious when he saw her. Hermione could not blame him for this. After all, one would bound to get suspicious when they saw an unknown stranger standing a few inches away from the castle gates and calling out an introduction to one who had not seen her before. The introductions could wait later, Hermione decided. The important thing now is for her to get out of here safely and apparate to Diagon Alley in order to execute her plan.

She waited for Dumbledore to unlock the gate patiently, making sure to not move a muscle. After a few minutes, she could hear a series of clicking as Dumbledore undo the enchantments on the gate with his wand. Finally, after seems like forever to Hermione, there was a final click and the gates swung open. Hastily, Hermione took a few long strides and was outside the castle grounds in a matter of seconds. She almost brushed against Dumbledore as he strides into the grounds. He did not have any indication of recognising the slight contact as he directed his wand at the gates and locked them behind him before striding up towards the castle.

Hermione let out a breath of relief before continuing on her way.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Lord Voldemort was enjoying himself. The weather was beautiful. The shining sun and the sweet scents of flowers and grass entranced him and drew himself outside the castle. He was already in a very bad mood, after his argument with the old coot of a headmaster yesterday.

The old codger had mocked him, taunts him and ridiculed him by drawing unnecessary conclusions and attaching particular concerns which were, in Lord Voldemort's opinion, completely insignificant and foolish. He had expected that Dumbledore would reject some parts of his lesson plan, as he knew quite well that what he had intended to teach the students was well out of the boundaries of Hogwarts curriculum and was extremely dark stuff which Dumbledore would not have approve at all. The old coot cared too much for his students, trying to be protective of them. However, Lord Voldemort knew the actual reason the headmaster refused to let him spread his influence on the other students – he was worried that Lord Voldemort would swing some of them to his side in no time at all.

Lord Voldemort had scoffed at that idea. If one was going to switch sides, he or she would have to do it willingly. He was not one who would force someone to join his alliance. One must possess the appropriate attitude and ideals in order to be accepted for his alliance. Those who wanted to join him, but were deemed to be unworthy would be ignored or worse, tortured if they insisted to join him despite being rejected. He had no time for such child's play. He had more important things to settle – strengthening his alliance and trying to swing influential authorities to join him.

Therefore, Lord Voldemort was not surprised when Dumbledore had owled him a day after he had sent his lesson plan to the headmaster's office. However, his judgment was wrong again this time – as it would always be the case if Dumbledore was involved – he noted sullenly as he read the headmaster's letter, which requested a meeting as soon as possible. He had clearly underestimated the old codger yet again. Not only were the darker stuff which he had inserted into the lesson plan rejected, Dumbledore had the nerve to reject his whole lesson plan. He had asked, in an all too familiar tone, fixing Lord Voldemort in a calculating stare: "I hope that you knew what you are doing, Tom. Clearly, I doubt that you've misunderstood me when I say that you should stick to the curriculum as close as possible? What part of our agreement did you not understand, Tom?"

He had glowered at Dumbledore, as he snatched the lesson from Dumbledore and set it ablaze with a flick of his wand. He was fuming, and the dark magic around him crackled furiously in the air. Dumbledore pretended not to notice, and continued to gave him a questioning look.

"And what part of my terms did you not understand, headmaster?" he asked coldly after a few moments of silence. "I remember telling you that my teaching style is entirely free from any scrutiny. The students would be thought things which they could not learn simply by studying and memorising. Come on, Dumbledore. Surely, you, as the headmaster would have the desire to watch your students march out of Hogwarts with glory? What better what way to do this than by providing them with quality education? This is a lifetime experience which, I assure you, they can gain from nowhere and from no one. I will provide the best for them. Hence, I don't see any problem at all with my lesson plan."

Dumbledore had remained silent for a while, before speaking again.

"Not all the material you intended to introduce to our students is suitable, in my opinion. . ."

"Magic is might," he had cut Dumbledore off. "Those who failed to recognise and utilise their true potential would be nothing. There is no good and evil, there is no dark and light. The thin lines between these two concepts had let to distorted beliefs amongst the wizzarding community. I am rather disappointed in the people's mentality nowadays. Narrow-minded, refusing to accept change and refusing to explore the boundaries of magic. The different branches of magic are very interesting to study, I am sure you will agree with me on this point, headmaster?"

"Tom, how I wish I can agree with you, but I just simply cannot bring myself to side with you for this once. I literally held the same philosophy like yours in my youth, and I am sorry to say that it did not work out well with my life. That, my dear boy, would be my greatest regret. Perhaps the story will reach you when we're close enough as the year progressed, when I feel that there is a mutual bond between us. But for now, I must ask of you to comply with our agreement and draft a more suitable lesson plan. I would appreciate it very much, Tom."

Lord Voldemort had threw back his head then, and laughed like a maniac. Dumbledore just stared at him, unblinking and with a sad expression plastered on his face.

"Don't humour me, headmaster. I don't believe a word of it. You? Power crazy? Exploring dark magic? Do you expect that I am such an insolent crackpot old fool to buy your story?"

"That, my dear boy, clearly shows that you do not know me at all. Perhaps over time, as we exchanged our ideals, you will get a clearer picture of who I truly am. You'll be surprised to find out that I was once just like you, believe it or not."

Lord Voldemort had then stormed out of the office, after throwing Dumbledore a contemptuous look. Dumbledore did not even try to stop him this time, and he was glad that the old codger had the sense not to do so. He was sick of the old coot, his old stories, his lies and his manipulative tactics. He would not give Albus Dumbledore the satisfaction he craved for. He had the Ministry and other influential authorities under his thumb, but Lord Voldemort was certainly not going to let himself to be treated in the same way. He was special, he had potential and he would prove to Dumbledore one day the flaws in that lightheaded old fool's beliefs and philosophies of life.

For more than once, he had questioned Dumbledore's motives for offering him the job so openly. There was not even a moment's thought on that night, he could tell. Something had triggered Dumbledore's change of attitude towards him. He was pretty sure that he would not get the job. He was merely going to Hogwarts to do something else, and the application for a job was merely a facade to conceal his true intentions.

He smirked in satisfaction as he visualised the beautiful diadum of Rowena Ravenclaw, which he had obtained through a few years of hard work and rough journeys, now perching on top of the ugly and crumbling bus made from stone. He had taken care to hid it well among the pile of junk in the room of hidden things – as he liked to call it – before coming to see Dumbledore. No one would ever guess his greatest secrets, and a part of him would remain locked up and hidden safely from the castle and even from Dumbledore, who seems to know everything. His soul fragment would continue to exist, obscured and tucked away in a hidden place and this will last for eternity. He would never die, and no one would be able to destroy him. One would have to finish off his horcruxes first.

Yet, as he had departed from the castle on that cold winter's night after his meeting with Dumbledore, he was overcome with unease. What had made Dumbledore changed his mind? He could see that the headmaster was conflicted before he made his decision. Surely, it could not be that easy, knowing Dumbledore. He did not believe a word of Dumbledore's excellently constructed excuse.

"You asked for a job. I gave it to you. Isn't that simple enough, Tom?"

He snorted as he remembered what Dumbledore had said. He was sure that Dumbledore had a motive of giving him the job, and he was intended to find out what that was. He had accepted the job based on this premise, aside from the fact that he would nonetheless be able to spread his influence slightly over the students. All the Slytherins would be on his side before he left the castle and continue on his path to greatness and success, he was sure of it. He could kill two birds with one stone by accepting the job, he gathered. Furthermore, it would be suspicious if he turned Dumbledore down, as the old coot would bound to get suspicious of his intentions of visiting the castle in that ghastly weather. He had no desire to let his guard down in front of Dumbledore and he would not want his secret to be discovered so soon. Dumbledore had guessed that he had a purpose of coming to the school on that night, but Dumbledore only guessed one half of the truth. The other half, Voldemort assured himself, he would never ever know, not even on the day he died. Voldemort figured that he would have to play his cards well and laid them on the table with extreme precaution.

Lord Voldemort stepped out of the castle grounds as these memories from the past year and the day before flickered through his mind's eye briefly. He had already written a new lesson plan, which he hoped, would satisfy the old coot. The plan was an absurd one, with a brief overview on everything he intended to teach the students, and he had to shrink the contents until the only remains were just the tip of the iceberg. He literally cringed as he imagined the boredom he faced when he taught his students this fall. However, he consoled himself by thinking about his other plan. Dumbledore would not get to know about this, he was determined to not let a word of it to reach the headmaster by any chance. He would provide the knowledge he gained to his mentees, which he would have the privilege to select, as agreed before. He would groom them accordingly and shape them up by helping them to recognise their true potential. A smirk edged onto his features when he thought about this. Dumbledore may be able to boss him around, but he would have known that Lord Voldemort was not one who would accept defeat so easily. He would show Dumbledore how able he was in the years to come, he decided.

Lord Voldemort reached his favourite tree, the beech tree which he himself had picked up and planted there during his first year. It had grown over the years, as he had used various kind of magic to sped up the growth process and enchanted the tree to make it as comfortable as possible. It had been his favourite spot ever since he was drawn to it on his first day of school, when he had first came across the shady and secluded area. He had managed to get the small plant from the greenhouse as a reward for helping his Herbology professor to handle some poisonous ivy and potted some mandrakes. He had planted the tree and then enchanted it to suit his needs.

He would sit and read under the tree for hours and hours until sunset during his schooldays. This was his comfort zone. Hogwarts, despite its irritating professors and gibbering and idiotic students was his first and only home. It was a beautiful place, with its winding paths, long corridors and oil paintings. He had never feel so secured and relaxed when he was away from the castle. He belonged there. He could feel the castle's old and ancient powers and magic, calling to him, whispering to him, wrapping their thin golden and beautiful threads around him, seducing and lulling him, entrancing him and drawing him towards the castle. He liked the feeling very much, but had never confided this to anyone. This would be only his secret and he alone should know about it.

Lord Voldemort felt the hot rays of the sun on his skin as he read late into the afternoon. Occasionally, a soft breeze blew across the castle grounds, making the leaves of the beautiful tree rustle silently. He felt peaceful, calm, collected and relaxed.

The sudden snapping of twigs ahead made him look up. He had no desire for someone to discover him in this vulnerable state, not even that old great oath, Hagrid. He was sure that it had to be one of the school staff. After all, this was the middle of the summer holidays, and no students are permitted to stay back at Hogwarts.

His gaze travelled the entire length of the grounds, but he found nothing suspicious. There was nothing at all. No one was watching him. He was perhaps being too paranoid, he gathered. He let out a frustrated growl, and resumed his reading.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Hermione picked her way through the small crowd of people who were doing their shopping at Diagon Alley. A smile was playing on her lips as she observed her surroundings. Diagon Alley, she noted, had not changed much. The brightly lit cobblestone street was as inviting as ever, with its beautiful shops along the way. She had successfully apparated here from Hogsmeade.

Her first stop was Gringotts. She had opened an account under her own name, as she figured that it would not make any difference since she was going to be stuck in this timeline in eternity. She had deposited some money and a few tomes which she deemed would arouse suspicion among the wizzarding community. She had already made a copy of these books and stored it in a small journal, with unlimited pages. She figured that this precaution was necessary, just in case her beaded bag was snatched by some Death Eaters when they were on the run. The journal was stuffed into her pocket, and it contained all the vital information about horcruxes, various dark curses and etc. The journal had simply everything in it, and it was her latest creation. She had cleverly modified the undetectable extension charm so that it could also be used to extend the volume of information kept in a book. She was able to manipulate the charm to its full extend, and was secretly proud of herself.

Since Snape had given her enough supplies to last for a year, she had nothing much to shop for. Hermione only bought a few books from Flourish and Blots, as she simply could not resist the temptation of doing so. She just could not live without books.

She figured that she was able to blend in quite well with the crowd, as they did not even glance twice at her when they passed. A few young girls had smiled at her, but she did not return their smile. She did not wish to be drawn into a conversation which she was not prepared for. She had still not figure out a complete and believable cover story for her presence here. Until she managed to do so, she wishes to avoid contact with anyone as best as possible. She only needs to talk to another when it was really necessary to do so.

All was well thus far. She managed to take a quick look at the date when she was passing a newspaper stand. It was the month of August and she managed to arrive in 1960. Everything was perfect and under control. Her day could not have been better.

She had just one last stop to make before heading to the Leaky Cauldron, where she would book a room there and stay until she had figured out her next move. She made her way towards the south of Diagon Alley and was soon in front of Oliwander's wand shop. She seeks comfort in the thought that she would be in possession of a wand again. It would give her more security. One does not wander the streets of the wizzarding world these days without a wand. As far as she had glimpsed on the front page of the Daily Prophet of the day in the newspaper stand earlier, the dark wizard Lord Voldemort was on the move, gathering up his forces and his alliance was getting stronger as the days passed. Half of the giants and trolls community was on his side now, as rumours have it, and there were also certain unexplained sudden disappearances and deaths all around Great Britain, and the speculation of analysts that another dark wizard is on the rise was getting more attention from the press than it deserved.

Hermione shuddered. How was she supposed to barge in and ruin all of Lord Voldemort's well laid plans, she wondered. She was just an ordinary book-smart witch and nothing more. She was not really an accomplished dueller yet, as her spells were all weak and useless. She actually knew the reason for this, but she refused to acknowledge it. Hermione Jean Granger, the smartest witch of her age was never one who would easily give up on anything and was never one who was weak. She had actually thought herself with more spells that one would possibly learn from just studying the normal Hogwarts curriculum. She was never one who accepted defeat lightly, not when she was bested by her best friend, Harry during fifth year in OWLs. Although she did not show it in front of her friends, Hermione secretly resented Harry who had managed to outsmart her in her favourite subject at Hogwarts. She did not tell everyone about this, and pretended to accept her results with a happy expression plastered on her face. Deep down inside, she was actually feeling quite down. She had loved the dark arts ever since she came across it in her first year, although she did not tell anyone about it. She had read extensively in that field, and had even created her own spells from time to time, but did not dare to try them out.

How could they just gave her an E for her OWLs? All her hard work had been washed down the drain, as there was no other grade worthy other than an O. She could not and would not accept anything lower than that. That was simply her standards. She had all the while shy away from the darker side of magic, believing that it would be dangerous to dabble in it as one would lose them self in it if not careful. She was sure that if she had included all her findings and inventions in her script, she would gain a perfect O for that subject, but Hermione was not going to let her cover off so easily. She had no desire to be discovered studying the dark arts, especially by Dumbledore. He would get suspicious and would even consider throwing her out of the school, if he knew what she had been up to. She had gone beyond the tomes in the restricted section of the library by the time she was at the end of her fifth year, and her knowledge in the dark arts was sufficient to make her another dark protegy of the wizzarding world.

Nonetheless, Hermione was never once entranced by the dark arts. She knew just when to press the stop button in her system. She knew her own limits. Although she was studying the dark arts, she did not intend to use it. It would be handy some day in the future, she gathered. She would save her talents for rainy days, and she would show her true potential when the right opportunity presents itself.

When Harry had told her about Lord Voldemort's horcruxes, after his private lessons with Dumbledore, her heart leapt with excitement, whilst another part of her felt disgusted with herself. She had never heard of horcruxes before; never once had she come across the term when she was researching the dark arts. Her frustration reached its peak when she discovered that there was not a single book in the library which mentioned horcruxes. Of course, she was just thirsty for the knowledge contained within such an extraordinary yet cruel and inhuman kind of magic. She had given up on it at the end of her sixth year. Then, the horrible day came when Dumbledore was killed. And Hermione had suffered a nervous breakdown. Not many had knew about it. She had locked herself in her dormitory after dinner on the day of the funeral, and had stayed there for two days, telling Ginny and the others that she was sick. When the others tried to haul her to the infirmary when she did not show up for breakfast, lunch and dinner at the Great Hall, she had hurriedly made up excuses that she had not yet started packing and need some time alone to calm down. The others had gave her understanding looks and had not bothered her since.

During her breakdown, guilt crashed down on her, landing blow after blow to her conscience. She did not dare to question or acknowledge her own beliefs. She had once believed that there was no harm dabbling in the dark arts, as the branch of magic could be useful in the darkest moments, even to witches and wizards who had shy away from this kind of magic. She had once believed that the dark arts were a fascinating subject. Now, her beliefs were teared apart into bits, smeared, smudged and tainted. She had just witness what dark magic and its temptations would result in; cool-blooded, inhuman murder, just to gain power. She felt disgusted with herself for having worshiped the dark arts in some ways. She was a monster, and a complete betrayal to the wizzarding community. She had betrayed everyone, especially Harry and Ron. She did not think that she deserved to stand by Harry's side while he continued the battle. She was just a fool, who, like every other person who had dabbled in the dark arts, have been pulled into a seductive trance in which she forgets herself completely and shape new beliefs.

She had then done the most sensible thing of all. She had wiped her memory clean of the dark arts she had dabbled in. There was not a single trace of it left in her brain now. Only vague memories of what she had learned would surface in her mind. The rest was either put away in a secluded and tight compartment at the back of her mind, which she had locked away and had vowed never to unlock them again in the future. She should make up for her foolishness, and help Harry to finish up what he had to finish. All her discoveries were already recorded in her journal, and she had already erased her memory on most of the dark spells she had created. The journal was now buried deep in her beaded bag, and she had locked it with strong protective enchantments. She was not going to unlock the journal ever again, but she had taken the precaution to make sure that others would not be able to get their hands on it too. She had no desire to share her discoveries with the wrong person, who would be bound to use it in a distorted way.

Her magical core was weakened slightly after she had erased her memories. She could no longer perform certain strong and complicated spells. The memory charm she casted was too powerful, that it had ripped part of her magic away from her forever. However, she never regretted her decision until today. She had done the right thing, she kept telling herself. She had turned away before it was too late.

Perhaps, Hermione wondered for a brief second, as she walked into Oliwander's shop, she would have to unlock her deepest secrets again when she was here. It would cause her some courage and great pain to acknowledge her greatest fears to do so, but she figured that this was for the greater good. She would do what it takes to bring the dark lord to his downfall. She would save every life which is dear to her, and she was determined to succeed.

A bell tinkled as she stepped into the shop, closing the dusty glass door behind her softly. Once again, her eyes took in the all too familiar surroundings: the dusty shop front, the counter, a chair at the far end of the shop with some dusty cushions on it and heaps of thin, long boxes, piled high up on shelves until they almost touched the ceiling. The shop was quiet and deserted, and the same feeling of someone watching her which she had felt the first time she had come to buy her first wand returned. She straightened up and cleared her throat. She wanted to get this over with and get out of there as soon as possible. After all, she was still a new edition to the wizzarding world, and she did not wish to create any lasting impression of herself upon Mr. Olivander, whom she knew had an excellent memory. She did not wish him to remember her for being a mysterious customer. After all, she was just an ordinary witch. Perhaps she would get back her old wand, she mused. Who knows? Perhaps Mr. Olivander had already made it.

There was nothing to fear, she decided. Mr. Olivander would treat her as an ordinary customer, and nothing more. However, Hermione would find out soon enough that she was mistaken on this point. She could not have guessed what the future means and what it represents after she had purchased her wand.

So, oblivious to this small error of her own judgment, Hermione held up her head high and cleared her throat again, as she continued to pace the shop.

"Hello?" she called out in a rather small voice when no one comes to attend to her when she had cleared her throat for the third time.

"Good evening."

The familiar form of Mr. Garrick Olivander emerged from the back of the shop. His hair was not as white as she had seen him before and the creases on his forehead and the wrinkles on his face were less pronounced at this moment. The only similarity was his deep blue eyes, which pierced her gaze as they roamed over her form.

"Ah," Mr. Olivander said, after a few moment of silence. "Finally, I feel it again. Yes, it is the same thing. The same dark aura. It seems though it was only yesterday this happened. He was there, standing where you are standing, buying his first wand. Ah yes, I can see now. There are a few similarities, although, shall I say, you are quite, let me put it, different from him? There is still some lightness within you, yes, I can see that. And I hope that it is a good sign. It better be good. . ."

Hermione shuddered. She wondered what Mr. Olivander was mumbling about. Had the man gone crazy? Everything he said was not making any sense. How could she, Hermione Jean Granger, an ordinary Muggle-born witch possess the same dark aura like a certain person? She had a fairly good idea of whom Mr. Olivander was referring too, but yet, she did not think that it made any sense if she made the connection between that person and herself. They were two worlds apart; her philosophy did not match his, and their view of the world they lived in was just like fire and ice. She was warm and passionate, brave and loyal; he was cunning, calculative, contemplative, emotionless and cold inside out. How could Mr. Olivander said such absurd things, she wondered.

Nonetheless, she tried to draw Mr. Olivander's attention by taking his hand quietly and shook it.

"It is such a great pleasure to meet you, Mr. Olivander, Sir," Hermione said, smiling politely.

With a start, Mr. Olivander's gaze, who had become unfocussed, turned back to Hermione. He grasped her small hand in his thin and bony one, and shook it warmly.

"Oh, sorry about that, my dear. Forgive me; I must have drifted off without knowing it. These things happened to people who are aging, you know."

He offered her another warm smile as she let go of his hands.

"Indeed," Hermione chimed in, trying her best to get down to business as soon as possible. Mr. Olivander was really giving her the creeps, as he continued to scan her through his blue eyes.

"Now, how may I help you, young lady?" Mr. Olivander asked after a few minutes of silence between them, where he continued to gaze at Hermione intently whilst she shifted her weight nervously from one foot to the other.

"I need to get a new wand," Hermione said. "My old one is broken."

"Ah, I see," Mr. Olivander said, still giving her a calculating look. "Forgive me for being rude, young lady, but I don't believe that I remembered you."

"No," Hermione said hastily. "I just moved here. I lived in France. I came down to Britain for a fresh start after my parents died. They were tortured into insanity by Grindelwald back in 1945, before the great Albus Dumbledore defeated him. I took care of them myself, whilst attending a homeschool ran by my guardian. I was only a little girl, but I showed signs of magic when I was about two years old. My guardian tutored me for fifteen years, until I was old enough to learn things on my own. A few weeks ago, my guardian passed away and I had nowhere to go. My guardian had expressed the wish that I should spent a few years at Hogwarts, to complete my education and if possible, apply for a job as a professor there."

"I see," Mr. Olivander said. Hermione averted her gaze when she related her false story to Mr. Olivander. She had made this up on the spot, as desperation was clutching at her. She was sure to remember it now, and add in a few details when she applying to Hogwarts later, she decided.

Luckily, Mr. Olivander did not seem to be suspicious after hearing her story. However, Hermione noted irritably that he made no attempt to take down the boxes piled high on the shelves and giving her a wand to try.

"One more thing I would like to know, young lady," Mr. Olivander said, drawing himself up to his full height. "How did you broke your wand? Forgive me, but this is only to satisfy an old man's curiosity and nothing more."

"My wand was made by Gregorewich," Hermione said coldly. She was starting to get nervous and irritated. Why had Mr. Olivander even bothered to ask her such questions? Luckily, she had read enough about the properties and characteristics of wands during her spare time at Hogwarts in her past life. She was going to thank her know-it-all trait in her later for this. "I am an inquisitive person. I like to try out new things. My wand could not handle the force of my magic. I was experimenting with one of the spells that I have invented. It is not a light spell, but not too dark, I can tell you that. Gregorewich's wands, especially the ones made from willow bark and villa hair could not withstand the pressure of my spell, so my wand shattered into pieces."

Hermione looked away when she was relating this information to Mr. Olivander. She had no desire to be caught lying by Mr. Olivander.

Mr. Olivander nodded and gave Hermione another smile. He was finally satisfied with her reply, she decided.

Five minutes passed, in which Mr. Olivander measured Hermione's arm using his measuring tape which was magically enchanted. Hermione felt that she was reliving the moments from her first year.

Mr. Olivander finally replaced the measuring tape in his pocket and started to sort through the piles of boxes in his shop.

"Try this," he said, handing her a wand. "Ten and a quarter inches, walnut and dragon heartstrings, hard but easy to manage. Good help in Transfiguration."

Hermione was about to give the wand a wave when Mr. Olivander snatched it away from her hastily.

"No, I don't think so," he said, replacing the wand in its thin slender box, and reached for another box.

"How about this?" he asked, handing her another wand. "Twelve and a quarter inches, holy and unicorn hair, flexible and swishy, powerful wand, ideal for duelling."

Before she could give it a wave, Mr. Olivander pulled it out of her grasp and shook his head.

This continued for about an hour. Hermione was worried that she would not be able to get a wand. Strangely enough, her old vine wand, which was still in the shop, did not recognise her touch this time. Her fingers had closed around the thin piece of wood when Mr. Olivander had handed it to her half an hour into their session.

She was sure that she would be getting the same wand again. However, her heartbeat quickened when she did not feel the usual warmth which enveloped her body and coursed through her fingers when her skin connected with the wand. She tried to wave the wand, but this time, instead of red sparks shooting out of its tip, the wand remained stiff and cold on her touch.

Mr. Olivander had frowned as he took the wand back from her.

"I have a feeling that this would be the right wand for you, Ms. Granger. But it appears that I'm mistaken. Ah well, never mind that," he said as he continued to sort through the pile of boxes in his shop. "Just an old man's mistake. Not to worry, my dear. The wand chooses the wizard, you see, and I'm confident that we'll find the right wand for you soon."

Hermione shifted nervously as the session continued. Mr. Olivander had went to the back of his shop and was busy rummaging in an old oak cupboard for more wands.

What if the plan failed? What if there was not a wand which chooses her because they all can detect that she was a fraudster? She was not suppose to exist in this timeline, she gathered. Surely Dumbledore would have figured that out, she mused.

"But he didn't know that you didn't have your wand with you, Hermione Jean Granger," she mocked herself. "You only have Harry's broken wand in your beaded bag. Yours was with Harry. Now, it is still in the shop, although I am certain that Harry's wand would not be among the others."

She wished that she could confirm this fact, but she did not dare to risk her chance. If she took out her beaded bag and has a quick look inside, she would have her theories confirmed, but she would not want Mr. Olivander to notice what she was doing. His senses were still sharp after all. The last thing she wanted was arousing the wandmaker's suspicion.

Mr. Olivander emerged from behind the shop just as Hermione was putting up more occlumency barriers. He was huffing slightly as he walked towards her. Beads of perspiration were visible on his forehead, but the wandmaker seemed to be oblivious to that fact. He was panting slightly as he laid down three dusty long and slim boxes on a nearby stool.

"These are the rare editions which I have made," he whispered excitedly, as he brushed off some dust from the boxes. "The rarest indeed. These wands are my pet projects when I was experimenting with the wonderful art of wand-making. Well, not all of them. One out of these three is . . . May I call it . . . a rare case. It is not the product of my experiments, but it was made due to unexplainable circumstances which I am, until today, could not seem to find the logical answer to it."

He chooses a box at random and handed it to her.

"Try this," he said. "Nine and a half inches, dragon heartstrings and dragon blood, unicorn hair and moonstone dust, holy."

Hermione was about to touch the wand which Mr. Olivander held out, but he stopped her by quickly snatching it away and stowing it back into its box.

"No, no, no," he said softly. "I don't think so. It does not suit your personality. Oh yes, I can see that."

He placed the wand gently back into its box, and laid it down gently among the pile.

"Ah," he said slowly, reaching for the longest of the boxes on the counter after a few moments of silence. Hermione could feel the wandmaker's blue eyes piercing through her. Luckily, her occlumency barriers were so strong that he could not even read a single thought of hers. Hermione knew that the wandmaker was trying to size her up by trying to penetrate her mind. She had no idea why the old man was so interested in her. Did he use to be so nosy around his customers, sniffing around them to fish out whatever information he could glimpsed by reading their minds? He does not seem to be that type of person, she gathered. When she met him in her past life, he was just a frail and harmless old man.

Mr. Olivander's soft voice jolted Hermione out of her musings.

"I wonder. Could it possibly be this one? After all, I can still see the similarities . . ."

Hermione restrained herself from growling in frustration. Why did Mr. Olivander behaved so weird in this time period? What similarities was he rambling on about? He had said this earlier, but refused to elaborate on it. She had no desire to ask him about it, but her patience was going to snap soon. Did Mr. Olivander still think that she was in some ways similar to the dark lord? Was he deluded? Come to think of it, she figured she knew why he was so interested in her. He had believed in the stupid and absurd theory of his, and was trying to test it out.

She wished that he could hurry up. She was fed up of not getting a wand so soon. Her sense of security was slowly slipping away as the seconds ticked by.

Mr. Olivander took out the wand from the box. It was white and slender and very long. For some reason, she felt a sense of familiarity when her gaze fell on the wand. She knew that she had seen the same wand somewhere, but she could not place it just yet.

"Try this," Mr. Olivander said, handing the wand to her.

Hermione took the wand from Mr. Olivander. Immediately, warmth coursed through her fingers and travelled up her arms the moment her fingers closed around it. She could feel the wand vibrating in her grip. She could tell that this was not an ordinary wand. The magic emanating from it was very powerful, she could feel it.

The magic from the wand was tugging at her magical core softly. The pull got stronger as seconds ticked by. Euphoria washed over her as she suddenly felt energetic and charged. The air around her was humming with magic. She could feel the power of the wand blending in with her magical core, teasing it slowly, beckoning for more. The vibration was getting stronger, nudging her magic and guiding it slowly through her body. It travelled from her upper body, towards her arms and it was now ready to be released. Her body hummed with energy. Her magic was going to burst out of her soon. She should be careful, she gathered. If she let it out now, the consequences was unpredictable. She should control her magic. If all her magic are forced out of her, she figured that her magical core may be damaged, and she may even bring about an explosion which will not only kill Mr. Olivander and herself, but also damage the whole shop.

"Ms. Granger?" Mr. Olivander sounded worried as he looked at her. Hermione had turned pale. Never had she experience something like this in her whole life. This was really a very powerful wand

Taking a deep breath, Hermione concentrated hard on her magic, and managed to push some of it back into her body. Her magical core responded immediately, gathering up some of her magic, and channelled it back into her body. Relieve washed over her, as she could no longer feel the vibration of the wand. It had became quite still. Her palms were sweaty, and her k knuckles had turned white as she was gripping the wand too hard.

She placed the wand down on top of its box and wiped her sweaty palms on the front of her dress. Then, she picked it up again.

Mr. Olivander stood a few inches away from her, without saying a word. He was still surveying her, she could tell from his expression.

"Are you all right, Ms. Granger?" he finally asked. "What is wrong? Any problems with the wand? Any . . ."

"No," Hermione said quickly, cutting him off before the wandmaker could ramble on. "I was just tired. Long journey. I'll give this one a try."

She picked up the wand once more. Again, warmth coursed through her fingers and travelled up her arms. But she was grateful that she could no longer feel the vibration of the wand. Everything seems to be in order.

She brought the wand down in a swift movement, and immediately, green sparks shot out from its tip.

She felt slightly shocked. Never before had she seen that shade of green before. It was a frightening sight. This was an avada kedavra green.

"Even the same result . . . I knew it . . . someday . . . "Mr. Olivander muttered to himself. Hermione could still make no sense of his words, or at least she chooses to ignore them. It scared her. Did she really had some similarities with the dark lord, she wondered.

"This is the one then?" she asked impatiently as Mr. Olivander took the wand from her and gave her another contemplating smile.

"Yes, indeed, it is," he said. "I should never have guessed . . . curious though, very curious."

"Excuse me?" Hermione said coldly, her patience finally snapping. "What is so curious?"

"This is a very special wand, Ms. Granger," Mr. Olivander said. "Thirteen and a half inches, yew and phoenix feather, very powerful wand indeed."

Hermione could feel blood draining from her face. Her insides turned cold. No wonder the wand was familiar. She had seen the wand before in one of Harry's memories. He had shown her a few memories, where this wand had appeared.

But surely this could not be true? The dark lord had already graduated from Hogwarts a long time ago. Surely he had already obtained his wand from Olivander's shop. How come the wand was still here? There were just so many surprises to take in, she mused. What else has this new timeline installed for her, she . Olivander's voice jolted her out of her thoughts.

"I remembered every wand I made, Ms. Granger, every single wand. It so happened, that the yew tree which is used to make your wand decided to give another bark, just one more so that another wand can be created. The phoenix, which feather is used to make this wand gave three feathers, allowing three twin core wands to be created. One of them, a wand which is eleven and a half inches, holy and phoenix feather has gone missing. I wonder why. It was still here two days ago, when I was updating my inventory. But never mind about that now. We'll worry about it later."

Hermione had already guessed what is to come next, but she was too overwhelmed with emotions right now to respond. She just stood rooted to the spot, listening to Mr. Olivander's explanation.

"Twin core wands?" she said in a small voice after some moments of silence. "How interesting. So, has the brother of my wand been sold yet?"

She just needs to make sure, as she had already knew the answer to that question.

"Oh yes," said Mr. Olivander. "It was sold almost two decades ago. The brother of your wand has done many great things, I heard. Its master is now slowly rising to power."

"I see," Hermione said dryly. She could no longer take in anymore suspense. This was simply too much to absorb in one single day.

"Indeed," Mr. Olivander said. "And I think it is clear now, that history would repeat itself again. I myself am to be blame for all this destruction. Ah well, whatever will be, will be. I think we'll see great things from you, Ms. Granger. I wish you luck."

Hermione ignored Mr. Olivander's ramblings. Her mind was too occupied with other thoughts.

Mr. Olivander wrapped up her wand in brown paper, and handed it to her from across the counter. Hermione took out seven galleons from her purse and laid the coins down on the counter. Mr. Olivander glanced at them briefly before taking them and put them into a magical till.

"Good day, young lady," he said, waving as she exited the shop.

"Thank you for your time, Mr. Olivander," Hermione called out without bothering to look over her shoulders at the old wandmaker who was still standing behind the counter. "I am truly grateful for your help. Good evening to you, sir."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Hermione felt much better after a long hot bath. She had booked herself a room at the Leaky Cauldron after exiting Diagon Alley. She had immediately asked for a hot meal, and then went up to her room to take a shower.

She was now sitting on the soft mattress of her bed, turning over the letter and the box which Dumbledore had asked Snape to give her. She figured that all her queries laid in here. She decided that she could not wait any longer. The suspense is suffocating her. She needs to know what she was sent back to this time period to do. She needs to know her predicament.

She opened the letter, and found various forged papers, detailing her personal history. There was a forged birth certificate, papers confirming that she was adopted by a particular guardian when her parents passed away and papers detailing her homeschooling. She breathed a sigh of relief. Luckily she had told Olivander a story which is close to what Dumbledore have planned for her. She was glad that she was able to keep her own name, Hermione Jean Granger, after taking one look at the birth certificate.

Her guardian was a Mr. Thaddeus Flamel, a distant cousin of Nicholas Flamel, the friend of Albus Dumbledore. She smiled. Dumbledore was trying to help her to blend in as best as possible. By having a Pureblood as a guardian, she would certainly gain some degree of respect from the wizzarding community.

Her test results were very good. They were the exact copies of her own results, except that the date has been changed, and Divination has been added to the list of her subjects after her third year. There was a letter from her guardian [also forged, Hermione assumed], which explained that Hermione had taken the OWLs when she was fifteen, to gauge her own skills and abilities. Her OWLs result slip was also included there. Her gaze travelled down the paper quickly. She felt slightly crestfallen, as she discovered that Dumbledore had not bother to forge an O for her Defence against the Dark Arts. A big E was scribbled neatly on the parchment next to the subject. However, for Divination, which Dumbledore had added, much to her annoyance, he had given her an O.

She put all the documents back into the envelope and laid it aside. Her heartbeat quickened as she picked up the small brown parcel. She wondered what was concealed under the thin layer of paper. It was certainly light and she could feel warmth coursing through her fingertips when she touched it.

With shaking fingers, she undid the wrapping slowly. It took her a few tries to do this, as she was too nervous.

With a final tug, she managed to take off the wrapping, and gazed down at a small wooden box. Nothing was written on it. She opened the box, and her gaze fell on two objects.

There was a small note and also a round orb which is all too familiar. She inhaled sharply. She could not be mistaken about this. She had seen it herself, hasn't she? The night at the Department of Mysteries and the Hall of Prophecies was unforgettable.

"How come the thing is here now?" she wondered in amazement. "Did Dumbledore give it to me so that I can kept it hidden? But this did not make any sense! The prophecy has not even been made yet!"

With her heart still racing, she picked up the note and unfolded it.

Written in Dumbledore's thin and slanting handwriting were the following words:

All the answers [or part of it] which you seek lies within the prophecy. Destroy it in order to hear it out loud. The sooner this is done the better. No one must know of this prophecy, and it will disappear after some time. This is from the present. I have used certain powerful enchantments to enable you to take it along with you to this time period. It already violates the fundamental principle of time travel. I dare not think of the consequences if it is not destroyed in time. History will repeat itself again and your sacrifice would be pointless.

Your next step is to enrol at Hogwarts as a seventh year student. The plan is as Severus had mentioned earlier. Come to see me when you arrived. I have addressed a letter to my future self, detailing the circumstances of your arrival. Bring your forged documents for your enrolment. Good luck, Hermione Granger.

Professor Dumbledore

P.S. Sorry to be so frank, dear, but I don't have much time. Follow the instructions, and all would be well.

Hermione folded the note and set it ablaze with a flick of her new wand. The wand was already warming up to her, and she was now able to control her magic very well.

She picked up the prophecy and inspected it closely. The round orb was not dusty at all. It looked new. She had an instinct that this was a new prophecy, not the one which they had broken earlier at the Department of Mysteries.

She turned the orb over in her hands, and squinted at the label at the bottom of it.

SPT to APWBD: Dark Lord and ?

And below it, there was another line, written in Dumbledore's handwriting, and Hermione nearly dropped the prophecy after reading it.

Hermione Jean Granger.

The orb began to hum and glow as she held it tightly. She released it after a while and stood up. She better get this over with once and for all.

With a swift movement, she held the orb high above her head and then threw it hard onto the floor. It smashed down hard on the cold marble floor. She snatched up her wand and quickly muttered locking charms and protective wards around her room. No one must hear the prophecy, save herself.

Smoke began to rise from the floor, forming a pearly white figure which is all too familiar. The figure rose higher and higher, her magnified eyes unfocussed.

Hermione completed the last spell just as the figure began to speak in a soft and melodious tone. Its voice was faint and raspy, but she could hear each syllable clearly.

"The one with the power to vanquish the dark lord approaches

Born in the middle of September, to parents who disgusted him

She will be reunited with the dark lord when she seeks him out

And both shall rise, for the dark lord will mark her as his equal.

The one with the power to vanquish the dark lord approaches

Born in the middle of September, to parents who never defied him

She shall change history shall she desired, for she is the key to everything

For either one of them will live while the others survived.

However all is fair in love and war

For magic is indeed full of possibilities

Shall she succeed in her mission

Both will live amongst the living

For the dark lord repents and starts anew

And this prophecy will be null and void."

The figure dissolved in a puff of smoke, leaving a gaping Hermione standing alone on the cold marble floor.