She was watching the world spin around her. Many people, old and young, passed her vision and a few in particular caught her eye – McGonagall, Snape, Dumbledore, and the members of Dumbledore's Army were only a few of them. Hermione blinked as she saw very unfamiliar people, all sitting in a large circle, all of them paying rapt attention to the same old, old wizard with twinkling blue eyes, a crooked nose upon which sat a pair of horn-rimmed glasses, and a long, thick white beard.

Hermione stumbled forward out of the mirror, blinking owlishly at the room full of people she vaguely recognised. "I'm looking for Dumbledore," she said, collecting herself and straightening her posture, looking around coldly at their slightly shocked faces as they looked upon a girl who had fallen from a mirror. "Now, please," she said impatiently, not knowing how long it would take before she broke down.

"Ah, Miss Granger," said the old man, his wrinkled cheeks curling with the large beam he offered her, along with his hand to shake. "I believe you have arrived from the year 1998, unless I am misinformed or completely clueless."

She took his hand, her eyes still cold. "Yes, sir," she spoke softly, dangerously as she glared at the people staring unashamedly at her. "I presume this is the original Order of the Phoenix?"

Her eyes flickered over a pair of men who looked a lot like Bill, with long red hair pulled back in ponytails and bright cyan eyes, grinning mischievously at the younger witch. She blinked at them before turning her gaze to a man who looked a lot like Harry, but his eyes were an ocean blue and had no glasses whatsoever. "Mr Potter?"

"Yes," said the man slowly, looking confused as to how the mysterious woman had known his name She gave him a small smile and brief nod before turning to Dumbledore and proclaiming, "This is quite the bunch you have gathered, Professor. I trust them – they look quite promising in the task we have before us."

Dumbledore smiled at her and gestured for her to take a seat, discretely waving his wand as a chair appeared for her. "I should have known you would arrive at such an ironic time, Miss Granger. Yes, your assumption is right; this is the Order of the Phoenix. Trust me, they are quite adequate."

Hermione nodded and blinked rapidly, remembering the warm yet tired faces she had seen during her many adventures with the Order. Never again would she watch Tonks change her appearance to amuse those at the table, nor would she help brew Wolfsbane for Remus, nor would she exchange cool pleasantries with Professor Snape or hug a Weasley in the same, loving way she once had… She would never see them again…

"Are you quite alright, Miss?" said a woman to her left, looking concerned. Her flaming red hair hung to her shoulders and a kind, motherly, careworn face smiled back at her and the familiar brown eyes of Molly Weasley were fixed upon her soul once again.

She couldn't hold back the feeling inside of her as she launched herself at a clearly younger, more merry-looking version of her second mother. Sobs overtook her as she clutched the woman in front of her.

"It appears Miss Granger has finally recognised someone from home," said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling knowingly.

Hermione sniffled as she pulled back, glaring up at Dumbledore as Molly blinked rapidly, trying to place where she had ever met the young woman from. "Get out of my brain please, sir," she growled, slumping back in her chair as she heard several snorts around the room.

"Not to sound rude or anything," said a clear, familiar voice from her left that made her head snap up and her eyes to water again, "but why did you just hug my wife when she appears to not recognise you at all?"

"Well, as the Headmaster has said before, I'm from the year 1998," she pointed out, looking particularly miffed as Arthur Weasley gave her a confused look that slowly gave out to dawning comprehension, "unless you weren't listening, of course, Arthur. I know you and your wife and many children quite well in the future – sometimes I feel as if you're my own parents and your children are my siblings."

Arthur blinked, looking particularly owlish as he gave her a blank look. "Well, then," said one of the twins from before, clearing his throat, "do we win this bloody war or not?"

Hermione grinned slightly as she turned to face Fabian and Gideon Prewett, running a hand through her hair and sniffling still. "Would I, a muggleborn witch, be talking to you if we hadn't won this 'bloody war'?"

The twin slowly cracked a grin, his other stifling his laughter behind a handkerchief.

"Onto business," said the man with untidy dark hair and blue eyes, coughing slightly as his wife gave a small giggle. "How did you get here exactly? And why did you give us your real name? It would change things and thus your future will not exist…"

She nodded sadly, casting a soulful glance at the silent room in front of her. "I'm not going home. Home is a terrible place that has only just got out of the Dark ages, and because I was a big part of it, I'm more likely to be ambushed in broad daylight there. Anyway, I left home for good.

"See, yesterday morning a letter arrived upon the breakfast table. I thought nothing of it because we had just finished this thing the day before and the letters were bound to arrive to either thank or scream at us. So I sat down and read it. Unfortunately, the letter's handwriting belonged to someone who had been dead for a very long time. I read it, with my friend Harry and Molly Weasley looking over my shoulder, and it told me of a way one Albus Dumbledore had found back in time to end the suffering of many and save thousands of lives. Naturally, Harry and the Weasley's thought it was a forging," continued Hermione, noting the look of pride on Molly and Arthur's faces, "and I had to sneak out of the Burrow in the middle of the night to do this. I travelled to St Mungo's to say goodbye to Fred before coming here, because he saved my life at the battle of Hogwarts. So, I followed the instructions that Dumbledore gave me and then, I was here."

Hermione swallowed, standing up and braving a glance at the room around her as she glared around at them all, her hands on her hips and her hazel eyes cold. "Sir, I'd appreciate it if you would show me to my living quarters for the time being. Unless, of course, this meeting is not over."

Dumbledore nodded, looking hesitant to end the meeting, but complied and waved his hand.

She knew it was cold, but she could no longer stand the pitying, untrusting, or shocked glances every single person in that room had unashamedly given her. Some of them had looked almost apologetic, as if it had been their fault.

"Very well," said Dumbledore, waving his hand as everyone stood up. "Follow me, Miss Granger. Come on," he started towards the door and she spared a glance at the subdued room before following.

"One more question!" called Marlene McKinnon, making everyone freeze as Hermione's hand touched the doorknob. She seemed to collect herself before nodding briefly, her head only turned the slightest bit toward the blonde woman, who hesitated. "What is it like in the future?"

Hermione swallowed, her gaze turning cold. "Worse than you will ever imagine; of course, half of you won't live to see it." She pulled open the door and followed Dumbledore, who had waited for her on the staircase, down fifteen steps.

The pair travelled in silence toward the fourth floor, their cloaks silently flowing around their ankles as they swivelled around winding corridors and through room after room, passing portrait after portrait.

"Hello, Headmaster," said a portrait of a beautiful woman, who perched on top of a chest of drawers. Her blonde hair fell to her mid-waist and her eyes were a protuberant grey. She reminded her of her young friend Luna, which made Hermione blink back tears as the painting beamed around at them. Her voice was dreamier than Luna's had been, perhaps more airier and had a more floaty quality to it that comforted her; it was the way Luna had spoken before the war had hardened her and turned her into a fierce fighting machine. "Hello, young stranger. Welcome to Hogwarts!"

Hermione gave the Luna look-alike a small smile, feeling familiar with her. "I'm Hermione," she said.

"I'm Evanna," said the painting, beaming dreamily. "What will be the password, Headmaster?"

Dumbledore smiled and turned to Hermione, who shrugged and leaned forward, whispering, "Phoenix," before the portrait swung open, startling the young witch and amusing Dumbledore.

"Don't worry, Miss Granger – Evanna likes to surprise people, but she won't give your secret away to anyone. She was a mother herself once," he spoke softly, his eyes twinkling. "Goodnight, Miss Granger, sweet dreams."

He bade her good evening before striding off down the hallway, his cloak billowing around his ankles.

Hermione sighed and gave Evanna a small wave before stepping inside, feeling the portrait close behind her. The way she had entered reminded her much of the Gryffindor Common Room, and suddenly she realised exactly where she was.

The guest rooms at Hogwarts had been built for visitors or parents that were too eager to see their children. None of them had been used for centuries, but that did not mean that they were any less cleanly grand.

The room Hermione was standing in was tall and majestic, though the floors were covered with dark crème rugs and the fire roared merrily in a grate just across the room. Armchairs were scattered about the room, tables between them. The walls were painted a variety of deep, light, and dark blues that made the room look like it was the Ravenclaw Common Room, and most of them were lined with short bookshelves.

"Wow," she murmured, spotting a door to her left. It lead to an expensive bathroom, furnished with marble. Another door led to a grand bedroom with dark red sheets and gold hangings. "I didn't know the Founders were interior designers."

Her attempt at humour rang out through the silent room. As beautiful as it was, she couldn't help but feel lonely. Of course, she was alone in the past with no home other than Hogwarts and the next day she would be starting her seventh year with dead people who she had met before, only older.

Harry and Ron wouldn't be there to hold her when she cried. The twins wouldn't cheer her up with their pranks or make her scream herself hoarse at their ridiculous products. Molly and Arthur would never bake her dinner and kiss her goodnight again. Charlie and Bill wouldn't fight with tables in the back garden again, and Fleur would not make her feel better about herself.

Never again would she fight side-by-side with her family.

No. She would not do that. She would not regret trying to put their lives right. Hermione Granger would die trying to save them and bring back thousands of lives that would make them happier than she ever could.

And, not for the first time in her life, she felt truly alone.

Hermione stumbled over to the sofa, blinking back tears and hugging her arms around herself. Even with the fire radiating heat she felt as cold as ice. "I miss you," she murmured, tears finally breaking the hardened barriers she had held up for seven years.

Salty droplets of water ran relentlessly down her cheeks, their force sending her into a mindless mass of sobs as she collapsed on the sofa, arms wrapped around herself for warmth.

Tomorrow she would start Hogwarts, her first day without them.

Hermione Granger was no longer one third of the Golden Trio. She was no longer an honorary Weasley. She was no longer best friend to Harry Potter, the Chosen One, the Boy Who Lived. Never again would she be any of those things.

But she would be damned if she gave up now. All of her life she had fought for what she believed in, in the things that made those around her smile and laugh.

She would not give up. Not for anyone, not for anything.

I'd like to thank each and every one of you who have reviewed - but it's late (according to my parents, anyway) and I'm tired. So, yada yada yada, blah blah blah, thank you so much...

Must sleep now...

Love,

Marlene