"You have failed, my child."

June 2nd, 1348

I found out why they called me home for the first time in almost 4 years. I am to be married. They told me that he is a proper pureblood, a good man with a good job and an inheritance worthy of my ancestor. But they wouldn't show me a picture or tell me how old he is. Nor would they tell me whether or not I would be his first wife. Instead they insisted that it didn't matter, but to me it does. I don't want to marry one of Father's "proper" friends, one of Uncle's friends from old, pureblood families nor any of my "brother's" friends. I want to marry for love, not for stature. I want to be free, be myself, be my own - not someone else's proper wife. Someone's property. Only good for producing a pureblood heir. Why can't they just let me be?

Chapter 2

I awoke to darkness – pulsing, twisting darkness – and the feel of warm arms holding me in a caress. I felt safe, protected, the same feelings a child gets when being held in their parent's arms. It has been years since I felt like this: like nothing can harm me, like I can do no wrong. It brings back memories. Painfully happy memories.

Memories of parents who held me tight, who got rid of the monsters under the bed. The ones who encouraged me in all I did. Who died when I was still so young, barely 18. They never lived to see my wedding. The ones who died not knowing they had a daughter, not knowing me. Dying without even knowing their real names. How I wish I had never erased their memories.

My first friend: Harry Potter, the one who saved my life even at the risk of his own. The young boy who grew up beside me. Who silently supported me and loudly stood up for me. The only friend from whom I have ever received a hug.

And then the war took him from me.

Every happy memory has a painful memory so closely tied to it that it is impossible to pull them apart; they have become completely unified within the holds of my mind. Even my marriage has become one of those.

"You have failed, my child."

A gentle voice broke through my self-pitying thoughts. When the dark landscape changed I do not know, but now I stood in a long hall that stretched on and on with not a door in sight. In fact, there was nothing except vast lengths of whitewashed walls and marble floors in both directions as far as my eyes could see.

"Failure need not last forever, child," the voice spoke again, coming from the very walls. "Erasing history is simple when you have the right tools; getting them is the hard part." And then the speaker stepped through the wall – yes, through it, as if it were nothing more than water.

"Who are you?" I asked, even as I couldn't help but stare. She was beautiful, inhumanly beautiful, some might say otherworldly. A non-existent wind blew her dark green hair around her thin frame, occasionally exposing her very naked chest. Her skin – or at least what I could see of it – was a weird mix of grey and brown with slight rivets that ran up and down her body. Upon her head sat a crown of flowers, some of which I knew and others I most certainly did not.

"Which name would you like, child, for I have many and none will truly tell you who I am." And she smiled down at me. "Days pass, child. Why do they pass you? Potential lost on one must be given to another." Then, giggling, she pulled me down the hallway. Farther and farther we went as the hallway stretched on and on, forever and then some, with no end or door in sight. And then, just as suddenly as we started, we stopped. Giggling all the harder, she pulled me right through the wall into the most bizarre room I have ever seen.

On each wall as well as on the ceiling, a little grey-bearded man sat at a desk. And in front of each of the identical little men was a thin golden name plate. But rather than names or even words, numbers graced the plates. One said 2046, another two 1998 and 1991, still another 1985 and the last 1979.

The lady giggled all the harder the longer I stared perplexed.

"This is the room of past and present," she said between fits of giggles.

"Past and present? What, no future?"

"Exactly! Finally someone who gets it," she said while trying to keep a straight face and failing miserably. Then the nameless lady pushed me forward. "Don't just stand there, daughter. Pick one."

"One what?" I stared at her in utter confusion, annoyance starting to creep its way in. But she just gave me this look and pointed into the room. "Listen, Lady, I don't know who you are and, frankly, I don't care, but if you want me to do something you had better explain what it is."

"I am neither who I am nor who I am not. I do not want you to do anything. Rather, you shall be the one wanting to. Why should I explain what your heart is plainly telling you, when I am not your heart? I speak for myself, and I can't speak for you. You must follow through with what you choose. On your own you must do. For help is not what I give, unless I give it plainly."

"Look Lady, you are not making any sense, and you are starting to sound like Luna." She just smiled sadly and sat down in a large poufy chair that had not been there seconds before. With a low growl I turned back to face the room.

What could she mean? What is there to pick? Desks? Or is it the number? Do I get one chance to pick correctly? Or many? She mentioned my heart. Must I choose with my heart? If so, what does that mean? As I glanced up to survey the room once more I found myself already standing in front of one of the desks. I glanced down at the name plate. It read "1985". I glanced over at the little man. He smiled politely. "I choose 1985?" I said uncertainly. His whole face lit up as he started dashing around grabbing papers and different items.

"She picked me, she did," he repeated over and over to the others. Then once the pile of pages had doubled the height of his desk, he finally stopped bragging to his neighbors and sat down behind the pile. Then sheet after sheet went by me with the occasional sign here, initial here, memorize this, lick here, drop of blood here, read this and so on. On and on the process went, the lady giggling away in the background the whole time. Then the final page was handed to me to sign. And I realized as it disappeared from my sight that I had retained nothing from any of the many sheets I had read.

As I was trying to remember anything, anything at all from those many papers the five little men packed up. Each of their desks went away into tiny little pocket watch and they all marched out of the room reminding me very much of the 7 dwarfs, if two of their members were out sick. They marched up the wall and through a man hole that had appeared there.

The Lady rested her hand on my shoulder and turned me to face her. "Nothing is set in stone, child, and time, for some, exists only in the pond of wonder."

"Huh?" I was still getting over the shock of me, Hermione Jane Weasley, not remembering something she had read, and here was the strange lady adding to my confusion.

"Find the Grandmother in a child's body. She shall be expecting you." And with that she gave me a little push and I was falling, falling into a pit that I know hadn't been there a second ago. I watched, surprisingly calm, as she faded into the distance waving at me and giggling away the whole time. And just as she became a dot in the distance, a song more beautiful than even Fawkes' most beautiful song began to envelop me. It was the last thing I heard as the world went dark, and then all feeling was sucked away.

August 20th, 1345

My own wedding is in four days time, and I have finally met my groom. Now that I have I knowledge of his identity I must escape more than ever. I have a plan.

The family Grimoire has accepted me. Me! It hasn't accepted anyone since my great-great-grandma passed away when I was three. So I did what anyone would do: I read it. At first I thought it must be joking; how can my family specialize in a brand of magic that has never existed? But the more I read it, the more convinced I became.

What magic, you may ask? Time magic. And not just time travel. There is a spell that, when cast on oneself, can reverse the aging process without diminishing the caster's magical core. That means, in theory, that one's power could grow exponentially forever.

So the plan is as such: take the Grimoire, run and never look back. As soon as I'm far enough away, I'll perform one of those power enhancer fields and stay there for a few days. That should be good enough to withstand their calls. For I cannot let them overpower my magic, I cannot marry that beast of a man.

I will run to France; I feel a pull from there. Maybe the man from my vision is there. That would be luck for sure; I know now that he shall help me, for I saw as such last night.

"What a bizarre dream!" I said as a yawn escaped my mouth. Then I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and reached for the diary. But my eyes flew open in shock - it wasn't there! In fact, glancing around the room, I realized nothing was; none of my stuff was anywhere. "Where am I? Did someone kidnap me? But who would? No one even remembers what I once did for them. No one remembers that I still live, no one cares, not my so called husband or my children. Why would someone kidnap a lady as old as me? No one, that's who! So if I'm not kidnapped where am I, and why am I here?"

With that, I pushed myself up from the bed on which I found myself, before taking a better look around the room. And to my extreme shock, I recognized everything, from the dresser in the corner to the mahogany book shelves that lined two full walls. Everything was mine. Well, not mine now, but it was way back before my parents' deaths, before the war. And by the lack of magic texts, even before Hogwarts. No pictures anywhere, just books and more books.

My bedroom, my childhood bedroom. Is this a hallucination? A prank? Or was my dream true? I died and this is the afterlife. I hope it is the latter. I hope I will get to see my parents again, get to see Harry again. The last thought definitely brings a smile to my face. Harry. I might get to apologize.

And so throwing caution to the wind, I dash out of the door that, in my childhood house, led to a hallway. This one did too. It was exactly like my childhood house as well. In fact, as I worked my way through the house, everything was the same. Everything down where mom liked to hide her stash of chocolate that she thought we didn't know about.

As I was passing back through the main hall on my way back upstairs to search there, I passed in front of a mirror. Mom had it there for a last minute check before leaving the house; I used to hate the reminder of my frizzy hair and bucked teeth. And to my shock that is exactly what was looking back at me from within the mirror's frame: the skinny little girl with the big poufy hair and the slightly off-centered, buck-toothed smile.

Looking down I noticed for the first time that I was young again. It had just seemed so natural to be able to move fluidly again without the aches and pains. With all the excitement of seeing my old house again, years after it was torn down, I hadn't taken the time to notice that I was six again.
I was six. But I wondered, was I actually six or was this just the age I was given in the afterlife?

"Hey, honey, what are you doing up so early?" Looking back at me through the mirror was my mother, my very much alive mother. She glanced down at her watch and sighed. "Honey, it's 4am. Couldn't you have waited a little longer before getting up? Besides, today is Sunday; you don't have any school today."

"Mom?"

"Yes, honey?"

"Is that really you?" She gave me a weird look.

"Yes… Honey, what's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost." In a way I had.

"You're alive! Are you really here? How is this possible?" I could feel the tears gliding down my cheeks as I pulled her into a hug. It felt so warm and secure. I could smell her shampoo, the same shampoo she had used all my life; it smelt of apples and cinnamon. It felt almost like home, almost. It just sort of felt like something important was missing. "It's so good to see you."

"I saw you just last night dear. Are you coming down with something?"

"No, I'm fine, just had a bad dream where you and dad… well, you died." I gulped, feeling guilty for yet another lie. "Uh, Mom, what day is it?"

"The 17th. Why do ask?"

"Of what month… and year, what year?"

"Honey, are you sure nothing's wrong? Should I take you to the hospital? Maybe you have a concussion." She asked as she felt my forehead and then looked into my eyes. "Your pupils look fine… maybe you should get some more sleep."

"No, Mom, I'm fine, my dream was just really vivid and it's, well, confusing me a bit." She gave me a stern look for a few moments before answering.

"It's the 17th of November, 1985. Now you should go back to bed and get a few more hours of sleep." And with that she guided me back up to my bedroom and tucked me into bed. As she was about to close the door I called out to her.

"I love you, Mom, you know that right? No matter what, you'll remember that I love you and always will won't you?"

"Of course I know, honey, sleep tight." But I know I won't be sleeping tonight. How can I after all that's happened? How can I, when I have been sent back in time? And so I look around the room one last time. And something caught my eye. There in the corner, behind my desk. It looks like a book, but I would never let one of my books lie like that, open and face down as if preserving a page. After all, it wrecks the binding. And so I slip back out of bed and pick up the discarded book, making sure to carefully mark the page with a handy bookmark. It feels familiar in my hands, like a long lost friend that has somehow found its way home. Like I have always held it. And so I flick on the lights only to drop it in shock. After all, I know this book better than any other, for I have read it time and time again. It's Harry's journal.

Tentatively, I reach out and open it to the marked page and begin to read. Maybe it will have the answers to my questions. Maybe - just maybe - it will tell me what I should do.

November 18th, 1985

It didn't take us too long to track down what school he would be attending. After all there were only really two options. And so today I started Kindergarten again. The only difference is this time it was voluntary. Okay, technically I start tomorrow, as it took all day to sort out my "records" (I love transfiguration) and convince them to put me in Harry's class, but we managed, and so tomorrow I will finally meet him. Him, whom I have wanted to meet since my little Rose left us.

I am very excited to start at Buckland Primary School.

A/N: Thanks everyone for all the great reviews. Sorry about not updating sooner and would just like to warn you that I won't be able to update all that often, I am a full time college student after all. Hope everyone is having a wonderful New Year so far.