1998

She had been fighting for so long, it felt like she could never stop.

Of course, it had not been forever, only a mere three and a half hours, but when one has been on the run from both the government and a renegade group of Death Eaters it all tends to blur together and begin feeling like forever. She couldn't stop, lest she be caught and face an untimely death.

What would happen to the remaining Golden Trio if one of them fell?

Hermione Granger felt pushed to her limits, her body running merely on adrenaline at this point of time. There was little that could be done to end the siege of Hogwarts and she knew that the members of the Order of the Phoenix, the ones that were still alive that is, would soon become to weary to carry on. Hermione paused for exactly one second, ducking behind a pillar in the hopes of catching her breath. Tears sprung to her eyes with the realization that they were not winning, despite all of their efforts. A horrible feeling had settled in her chest, formidable in its own power, that she would not likely live past the next few hours.

A loud screech, almost in the same key as a banshee, sounded behind her. Hermione knew it was no banshee, however; no creature of mythical proportions could ever hope to be compared to the likes of Bellatrix Lestrange. The dark witch's presence alone made Hermione want to break down and give up.

But she couldn't. Even though she wanted to be far, far away from the Battle of Hogwarts right now, she knew she couldn't give up; for that feeling of failure and loss had always been there to push her to success. Hermione gathered up what was left of her Gryffindor courage and whirled around the pillar, immediately on the offensive, catching her opponent by the shortest of surprises.

What commenced was yet another torrent of crusading magic; red against green, counter-hexes against Unforgivables.

"Is the little Mudblood going to give up?" said Bellatrix maliciously. Hermione made no reply, simply trying to keep up with the older, more experienced witch. Bellatrix had forced her to her knees as the streams of light connected their incantations. The distance between them grew smaller as the Death Eater approached. The showers of sparking curses ceased only when Hermione realized something about war, a realization that one can never come back from when fighting what seems like an endless fight: there are no rules, and you must play dirty if you want to win.

Again, as has been said before, their magic dispersed as Hermione threw a handful of the smithereens of the castle rubble into her opponents face. Bellatrix fell back, momentarily blinded, but a moment was all that Hermione needed.

"Flipendo!" Hermione knocked the evil witch off of her feet, winning at last. Bellatrix attempted the killing curse, but it was pushed aside as Hermione came into her own. Wars weren't fair, and she wouldn't be either. She was now fighting to kill, attacking violently for the deaths of her friends—her family. And with that in mind, she used her first lethal spell. "Avada Kedavra!"

Bellatrix was no more.

Across the Great Hall, Hermione heard yelling. Only later would she realize it was Voldemort, himself. She was tiring, her movements slower after the defeat of Bellatrix Lestrange. So it comes as no surprise that she was caught off guard at the onslaught of those who wished to avenge her former adversary. Injuries came faster now, with more than one Death Eater sending curses her way. Blood gushed from a cut on her forehead, and soon she could only see out of one eye.

Unfortunately, one eye was still enough to see the event that occurred in front of her. Ron Weasley met his end, endeavoring to come to her rescue. His neck was snapped in the frightening paws of Fenrir Greyback. Hermione wondered briefly how much more that werewolf could take from her—this only a fleeting thought as the realization of death came over her.

Like a three-legged stool, the Golden Trio fell.

Hermione's body gave out as a cutting curse sliced into her back, forcing her to the ground. Face pressed into the floor; she could just barely see Harry. He had become unhinged, losing all control, as he threw every ounce of his being into what would be his last moment of living. The flash of green, the unforgivable spell, was not lost on anyone present.

Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, had now died.

Hermione was not far behind him. What more had she to lose? The sinking feeling she had felt earlier was nothing compared to the feeling of drowning that came now. The Death Eaters lifted her to her feet, which could hardly hold her weight. Her wand was at her feet, useless without its wielder.

One more blow was unleashed upon her, and she crumpled to the floor, unconscious atop her wand.

It is important to recognize that she was only unconscious, and not dead like the Death Eaters believed her to be. For none of them seemed to realize that the curse that was meant to end Hermione's life had, in fact, struck the time turner that hung under her layers of clothing. The time sand, disturbed by the ramifications of the blow, sent her back; back in time, further than any person should ever go.