AN: So ummmm this is like my first Fanfic. The writing is probably not stellar though hopefully I can fix that with time. This Story is kinda an experiment, so we'll see where it goes. This is the first chapter.

1999:

She had thought it was a good idea. Actually, she had thought it was an excellent idea. A brilliant stroke of genius. Something only she had considered. A plan so thoroughly thought out that it couldn't possibly go wrong. Every move was so perfectly calculated. Every situation accounted for. She would fix everything. Within seconds, the pain would fade from her friends' eyes. They would get to have the childhood they deserved. There would be no pain. No war. Everything could be right again.

She tilted the large cloak to cover her dark curls, glancing around the London street, the thin chain burning under her robes.

It was ambitious.

With one last look across the road, she scurried to the telephone booth. For the greater good, right?

A dream. A faraway memory. A distant whisper.

The Ministry would let her in. They welcomed her.

Worshipped the girl who had defeated the dark lord. Voldemort. Oh if only they knew. What she was about to do…it was illegal. It was against the very nature of the world. Just…

Just a time turner away.

She slipped into her old office unnoticed, shutting the door behind her. She was in a hurry. The wards only lasted so long.

Everything would work out. She had to believe it.

Impossible.

The wards were failing, cowed under the force of the ministry's ancient magic.

She felt the cool metal in the palm of her hand, felt the sand shifting inside, felt the magic swirl around her office. In that moment, she was powerful.

Simply impossible, a part of her mind whispered.

But then, Hermione took the impossible and made it possible. That's what she did. During the war. When all odds were against her and her friends, they had survived. Scarred but alive. Even after the war. She took something she wasn't, shifted her mask to match expectations of high society.

She wasn't an idiot. She knew the rules. Time was unchanging. Unbreakable. A fabric woven so delicately, so linearly…

But then, when has she minded the rules?

It could go horribly wrong.

It could fix everything … change everything.

It could destroy the world, rip apart the fabric of time.

The Aurors were at the door.

It was now or never.

No pressure

—--

It had all gone wrong. A split second longer and she was in the wrong time. How could she be so arrogant? So foolish. This was supposed to be the answer. The solution. No matter though. She would make it work, she always did.

Hermione just needed to think. She would make it work.

She apparated into Diagon Alley, feeling like an absolute idiot. No that wouldn't do. Feeling stupid wasn't productive.

No, she would get a room at the leaky and fix this mess in the morning. It would all be fine. Just fine.

Hermione dropped the galleons on the countertop, offering three more when Tom asked for a name.

"Goodnight to you Miss Johnson" she heard him say as she trudged up the stairs. A muggle name.

The dreams. They wouldn't leave her. Always there. Always waiting for her eyes to close. In the corner of her mind — Harry, Ron, Ginny, Neville.

"Miss Johnson?" Hermione looked up to see Tom greeting her from the counter, waving her over. She pulled the long dark cloak over her shoulder, grudgingly taking a seat. A smile. A few words. Plasentaries. She had almost forgotten what it felt like, to be treated normally.

Not the girl who defeated the most evil dark lord Voldemort. Not the one who was second to only the boy who lived. Here, she got to start over. Be whoever she wanted. No, she wasn't bound to the role she played.

And part of her mourned it.

But it was with a light heart that she thanked the bartender and stepped into Diagon Alley. Afterall, she had things to do.

With a few Gelleons thrown around the goblins of gringotts were swayed in her favour. They never much cared about wizaring affairs.

Within a few hours, Beryl Kate Delacour was born. A perfectly good name, if a little unusual. Clearly not muggle. A french, pureblood name that was too distant to be of any importance.

She was sure Fleur wouldn't mind.

She had considered using Hermione as a middle name, to keep some sort of her former self, but Hermione Granger would inevitably appear in the school records eventually. It was too risky.

Hermione would remain only in her mind. A memory of the past. She was Beryl. Fresh out Beauxbatons, ready to explore her new life in England.

With a curt nod to one of the goblins, Hermione – Beryl — strolled out of the bank.

—--

The London apartment was a quaint little thing. Modest and small. Dingy and a bit cluttered. Dark with small stains on the walls and worn out sheets on the bed.

Hermione smiled. It was perfect.

London is different. The streets are a little narrower. The shops a little smaller. The air a little colder. Even the people seemed old fashioned and a little stiff. But this was home.

Hermione walked along the pathway, stopping to peer curiously at a tiny shop off the corner of one of the main streets.

It was the first shop that had been there in her time. She decided to check it out.

The shop was small, with brick walls and a hanging sign that read Allen's second hand books.

She thought it was a little cafe in her time, and remembered walking past it on the way to the ministry almost everyday for work. She recalled the muggle college students sitting at the little outside tables eating sandwiches and taking with their friends.

There were no tables, and no one seemed to be in there.

It was a bookstore, she realized when she pushed open the door. As tiny as it seemed on the outside, large windows illuminated the little space, giving it a light and airy look.

There were so many books, all clearly muggle. Hermione spotted some of her childhood favorites. Books like Charlie and the chocolate factory and reads like Sherlock Holmes. She had passed the normal reading level for her age years before any of the other children in her muggle school, but had read all of the kid's books in the hope that if she could connect with them, they might've found her interesting.

A bittersweet smile crossed her face.

And then she saw it.

On the top shelf, hidden between two other books.

To Miss Hermione Granger, Dumbledore has left his copy of 'The tales of beadle and the bard'

"Why would he leave me a book?" Hermione asked, trying to keep the disappointment off her face. Ron shrugged. "I dunno. But there are tons of stories in that thing! ... mum used to read it to us a lot when we were younger..." He trailed off, his ears going red. Harry took the book from her hands, flipping through the pages. "There must be a reason. Dumbledore always has a reason" He said.

Hermione stared at the book. At the dark spine, with pages yellowed and frayed. She gently pulled it off the shelf, careful not to rip the frail old thing. She flipped through the first few pages, remembering the many nights it had taken them to read every single story in that old book. They had every read every story at least five times.

Hermione was so fixated in her own loss that she failed to notice the shopkeeper before she spoke from behind her shoulder.

"Quite an old book, that"

Hermione startled, but recovered quickly as she whirled around.

The girl was about her age, maybe a little younger. She had long strawberry blond hair and an unassuming smile.

"How much?"

The words tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop it.

The girl gave Hermione another bright smile.

"Oh that one? Free. It's been on the shelf for ages"

Hermione gave the girl a rare smile. "Thanks," she murmured.

The girl hummed before prancing off to the register.

She didn't know why she got it.

It just felt ... right.

She pushed the door, hearing the familiar soft ring as it swung open.

Hermione found herself going to the little shop almost every day of the week, chatting with the girl (who had later introduced herself as Dosie. She had casually pulled quite a bit of information from the chipper shopkeeper.

For one thing, it was 1901. The First World War had not started yet.

She had forgotten about the war, so consumed with Magical affairs.

Hermione smiled at the girl, who shot her a grin and rushed over.

"Beryl! I thought you wouldn't come today, it's so late!" Dosie wrapped her arm around her shoulders and Hermione tried not to flinch at the contact.

Hermione gave her a tired smirk. "All these books... you look couldn't keep me away" Dosie laughed at that. They both knew she wasn't here for the books. Well, not this time.

Hermione's original plan had been to travel to Tom riddle's orphanage and kill him as a little baby. It was brutal but effective. The only problem was that Tom Riddle wouldn't be born for another twenty five years.

She had briefly considered killing Merope. After all, hadn't she given the love potion to Tom Riddle Sr.?

But she couldn't.

The witch had spent years with her magic deteriorating over the mental and physical abuse of both her brother and father.

She wouldn't kill Merope. Even if the dark lord's mother would die anyway almost immediately after childbirth.

Though Tom had been abused as a child in an orphanage, he had just done too much to her for her to care.

Since Tom wasn't born yet, she was going to wait. Bend in with the muggles.

She also had to find out why the time turner had failed

But for now, she was going to make a life for herself. Dosie Had agreed to give her a job for the time being, and Hermione figured it wouldn't hurt to get to know the muggle shopkeeper.

Dosie walked up to her, the trademark smile wide on her face.

"You pretty much know the place so we'll skip the tour. This job isn't very time consuming -- you'll really just be organizing new books and whatnot"