DISCLAIMER: Hi, everyone! I am letting everyone know that I do not own Game of Thrones (obviously). I would also like to inform everyone that I write for and by choice. My writing is not professional, nor is it edited by anyone other than me. Feel free to inform me if you see something incorrect (in either a grammatical or informational sense), but unnecessary rudeness will not be tolerated.

I will also use this time to inform you that I will not use chapter as A/N notes. I do not appreciate it when authors use up an entire page for meaningless drivel. Please enjoy my writing.

WARNING: the content in this fanfiction may be triggering to some people. Contains [Rape, sexual violence, violence in general]

CHAPTER 1

Alright, this is most definitely not Hogwarts. Hermione Granger considered herself an observant witch. This was not a particularly observant sentence. Where in Merlin's soggy pants am I?

In fact, Hermione was standing before a stone castle wall that couldn't have been less than 24 metres high. It was, as she had previously stated, "most definitely not Hogwarts," no. This castle was much more fortified and obviously built with defence in mind.

Another thing, It was snowing. Snowing? It is snowing? In May? Hermione's head began to spin. She stumbled a few feet forwards, then froze. Standing in front of her was a tiny white wolf with red eyes. A baby dire wolf most probably. There aren't dire wolves in Scotland. I'm definitely not in Scotland. Where the everliving fuck am I then?

Hermione stared at the small albino wolf for a few more seconds before deciding that it was not, in fact, a threat to her. Moving towards the little pup, she scooped it into her arms and began to rub between its ears. This may be absolutely useless in my search for answers, but it is definitely relaxing. Holding the wolfling close to her chest, she cast a disillusionment charm upon herself and the pup. Walking towards the gates, she could see a young red-haired girl in a mediaeval style dress. The men behind her were in leather armour or woollen tunics. This is definitely not 2017. Realising that her silk blouse and denim trousers may look a bit out of place, Hermione transfigured her blouse into a long silk dress that covered her arms and went down to just below her ankles. She decided not to transfigure her moccasins, they were simply too comfortable. Sliding out of her trousers and stuffing them in her beaded bag, Hermione berated herself for not changing the material of her dress. I am simply too tired to do so, it would take much more concentration than I have in me at the moment.

Just as she finished settling her purple beaded bag once again around her wrist, the little white dire wolf in her arms began to nuzzle into her neck, reminding her of its existence. The little pup was most definitely no wild, as it seemed to be comfortable in the presence of humans, but it held no collar around its neck.

Walking back into the woods, Hermione came across an odd-looking tree. It was a large white tree, humongous in size, with thick and plentiful red leaves. The odd part was the trunk. There, as if carved into the side of the tree, was a face. It was old and knobby and most definitely naturally grown seeing as the bark was not disturbed. It was leaking crimson red sap from the eye sockets as if crying blood. She disillusioned herself and kneeled in front of it as if to examine it. Before she could touch the bark, she heard a sound.

Hello child. Hermione saw the mouth of the tree move. The voice was old and young, tired and excited. No, it wasn't a voice, it was many. Many voices all saying the same thing. Hello Child.

We are what the people of The North call the Old Gods. We speak to you through the Heart tree. We know you are a child with many gifts, and we also know you have been through much. We know you have fought for justice, and hope you will do so again.

You have grown tired in your world, surrounded by people who see you for your achievements and not your person. You are so sad, having lost so many people you genuinely care for. We have hope that in this life, you will be able to save lives that were meant to be lost.

A think vine moved towards Hermione, the point of it pressing gently into her forehead. Almost as if looking into a Pensieve, hundreds of memories flowed into her mind. First, they were from the point of view of a man, most likely in his forties. Eddard Stark the memories supplied. She watched him take in the child of his sister, raise him as his own. She watched and watched until finally forced to kneel in front of a cruel bastard king, and beheaded with his own sword. Next was a young girl, Arya Stark, she watched Arya grow to resent her mother and sister's forced lessons of ladylike behaviour. She watched Arya grow as a fighter and a survivor. She travelled with Arya all the way till the end, where she watched her burn to death in the crypts, the green of wildfire exploding before her eyes. She watched Robb Stark endeavour to conquer the game of thrones, and fall to House Frey. She watched the child that Eddard had adopted, Jon Snow Aegon Targaryen take the north, she watched him bring wildlings into Castle Black, she watched him die for it. She watched him come back to life and hang those brothers who betrayed him. She watched him bend a knee to Daenerys Targaryan, and through that, she watched the story of the young Targaryan girl, and she watched him burn with his sisters in the crypts. Then she watched Sansa. Sansa Stark, A girl so similar to herself. A girl raised to believe that the world she would enter is a world of magic and love and happiness. She watched the young redhead through her engagement to Joffrey Stark. She watched as he had men beat her, and as she was forced into a marriage with the kind crippled Lannister. She watched Littlefinger save and betray her, selling her to the Bolton boy. She watched her raped and then watched her escape with the young Greyjoy. She watched her become Queen of the North, and she watched as she too was burned in the crypts.

"Why did you show me that?" Tears rolled down her cheeks, "I thought you said you would show me people I could save? Why would you show me the ruin of an entire house as if it were a tragic play in the theatre?"

We have not shown you the past dear child. We have shown you the future. We have placed you in this world with a story, and with a purpose. We have given you a chance to save these people, knowing what will become of them. There are some things you may be unable to change, but you have the chance to now to save these people.

We will not take from you your gifts, not when you have done so much to justify your right to them. We will gift you, instead, with this. YOU HERMIONE GRANGER, ARE A DAUGHTER OF THE GODSWOOD, AND A DAUGHTER OF THE HEART TREE. ALL SHALL KNOW YOU BEAR THE MARK OF THE OLD GODS. CALL TO US AND WE SHALL ANSWER YOU, WHEREVER YOU MAY BE. We ask only that you pray to us as one would to any god, we ask that you not forget our gift to you. You will be

"Thank you, then. Thank you for the opportunity to save these people. I will do as best as I can."

The vine that was pressing into her forehead began to press more firmly, and a warm feeling spread throughout her body. On her forehead in golden ink was an image of a weirwood tree with a small raven laying at its base, the image encircled by a circle of weirwood leaves.

[A/N: the title image without colour basically, but imagine it however your brain tells you too]

Putting her hand to her forehead, Hermione could feel the slide indents caused by the vine's point. It didn't hurt at all.

"I pray to the Old Gods, may those that I have been tasked to protect shatter the future that has been pressed upon them"

As she prayed, Hermione was oblivious to the footsteps approaching her. As she finished praying and opened her eyes she was faced with a man she vaguely recognised. Eddard Stark, so he is still alive. It is truly the beginning of everything.

"Who are you?" Eddard voice was hard, but not accusatory. "You are not dressed like any Northerner I know."

"I am...I am Hermione. I am a child of the Old Gods, and of the Heart Tree. I know who you are." Hermione decided a vague half-truth was the best way to go about things. "I've been called to protect you, and your family."

At this, Eddard looked sceptical. "How can you prove that you are here to aid us, not to harm us?"

Hermione thought a bit, wondering how to answer. If I tell him the Gods told me, he most likely will think I'm crazy. If I show him my magic he may think I'm some sort of evil witch.

"Give me your hand, Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell, Paramount of the North. I will show you"

Hesitantly he placed his hand in hers. Walking with his hand in hers, Hermione placed her hand upon the weirwood tree and closed her eyes. I ask of you my Gods, help me show this man I mean him no harm. Help me show him I wish to protect him and his kin.

Lady Hermione, you have called. As now and always, we answer your prayer. To you Lord Stark, we assure, the lady before you has been called to be a protector for you and your kin. Just as we loved onto the children of the forest, we love onto this daughter of ours. Hold no suspicion in your heart.

Opening her eyes, Hermione turned to her left to look at the man she had been charged to protect. He was open-mouthed and wide-eyed staring at the tree before him. Tears pooling in his eyes and hands gently caressing the bark.

"All the years I have been a child of the North, never have the Old Gods spoken to me." His voice was soft and gravelly.

"Maybe not" Hermione replied softly, "But they have always been watching. I have seen what fate would fall upon your family, and I will prevent it. The gods are willing."