Prologue

An ear-shattering explosion to her left ripped the panting girl from her stupor. Before her pursuers could catch up to her, Hermione continued her mad dash through the crumbling corridors of the castle she had once called her home.

A purple jet of light impacted next to her head. "Filthy mudblood", - Rodolphus Lestrange was closing in on her. "-why won't you just die already?"

Feeling her heart beating faster in her chest, Hermione skidded around another corner down towards the Great Hall. Come on, just a little further.

Her lungs were on fire. She had been evading the malicious curses of the two wretched wizards for what had felt like an eternity.

A blinding pain shooting up her lower leg caused the girl to lose her footing. The second brother's prior curse had sliced clean through her left calf.

"Gotcha!" Rabastan Lestrange called triumphantly.

Hermione's breath hitched as the man came to a halt behind her.

"What a sad excuse for a witch you are, little mudblood."

She was pulled up from the ground, the man's rough hands digging into her tangled locks. Her captor smelled like the fires the Death Eaters had ignited all around the castle.

Hermione felt like her heart was about to stop when the second brother stopped before her, lowering himself down to her face. "Not so brave anymore, are we now?" he hissed, a mad smile dancing over his chapped lips.

Hermione whimpered as she struggled to break out of the other's painful hold. He tightened his grip around her neck, forcing Hermione to lean further into the vile man.

Hot tears were blurring her vision, "Just kill me already." she spat. "Make your lord proud for once."

"Your words are just as dirty as your blood, girl," the brother that wasn't holding her sneered. "Disgusting."

"What are you waiting for, Rod?" Rabastan shoved her towards his brother. "Kill her already!"

The cut on her leg burned in protest at the sudden move, making Hermione lose her balance. Before she could catch herself, she fell to her knees.

"Right where you belong, mudblood," the older brother snarled, pointing his wand at the trembling girl.

I'm sorry, Harry. I failed you. I failed everyone.

Hermione closed her eyes in an attempt to find some of her famed Gryffindor courage but was met with chilling despair instead. In a final act of defiance, she raised her head and met the older Lestrange's cold eyes head-on.

"Avada Kedavra!"

The curse tore into her chest. Burning through Hermione's veins in a heartbeat before settling like a paralysing fog over her rigid body.

Hermione Granger fell on the eve of the final battle. Her wand was still clutched tightly in her bloodied right hand. She did not see the horrified faces of her captors as the tell-tale green light engulfed their forms as well, forcing them to their knees. She did not hear McGonagall's sorrowful calls for help as she found her student's body just a few moments too late, surrounded by the two corpses of the Lestrange brothers. No, Hermione Granger's soul had left her body before it had even hit the hard stone tiles, ready to pass on…


Another chilling droplet made its way down the side of her face, rousing the girl from her troubled sleep. Hermione wiped her cheek just as another drop rolled down her nose, shortly followed by another.

"Oh, for Merlin's Sake!" Slowly opening her eyes, she focused on the blurry outlines of what appeared to be a field.

"What the"- Hermione pushed herself from the muddy ground, rubbing her eyes to see more clearly. She was standing in the middle of a field. A seemingly endless, muddy cabbage field.

The flabbergasted girl took a few steps forward before coming to an abrupt halt. "…This can't be the afterlife." Her soaked clothes clung uncomfortably to her body. Calm down, Hermione. You're the brightest witch of your age, so act like it, for Merlin's sake! But her body seemed to have its own idea of an appropriate reaction. Her lungs constricted, making every breath feel like something sharp was piercing her chest.

"How-" Turning to one particularly offensive-looking cabbage, Hermione felt the familiar sting of tears gathering behind her eyes. The young witch ran across the muddy grounds with chattering teeth as the rain mercilessly poured from the grey skies.

For Godric's sake, I can't even die properly. Taking a deep breath, she pinched the bridge of her nose. "First, I need to get out of the rain. Then I'll think about what to do next." Clutching her wand tightly, as it was the only thing separating her from completely losing it, she was about to cast a warming charm on herself when she noticed her tiny hands. "Strange." Hermione furrowed her brows.

Something's not right. Looking down, she took notice of her baggy jeans. The last time she checked, she'd certainly not been wearing trousers three times her size. Although they were still her jeans, no doubt, the dirt and the torn bit where Rabastan's curse had cut into her leg were still there.

Then why – Before Hermione could finish her thoughts, a spell hit her right between the shoulders, sending her crumbling to the ground.

"If it isn't Potter's mudblood again." It was Rodolphus Lestrange who pulled the dazed girl back to her feet. "My- aren't you a vision."

Hermione tried to comprehend what the Death Eater was rambling about, but it was hard to form a proper thought with the way her vision was spinning at that moment.

"Brother, what is the meaning of all this?"

Then, as if one Lestrange wasn't already bad enough, the younger one also came into view, and Hermione began questioning her sanity. Was she dead? Was this hell?

"Merlin knows. I'm sure she does, though." His grip around her arm tightened.

Hissing at the sudden pain, Hermione glared at the two brothers, somewhat aware that they shouldn't be that far up. Startled, she realised their height difference.

"Pray tell what makes you think I know what happened to us."

An ugly sneer crossed Rodolphus' face. The death eater roughly grabbed her shoulders, his nails digging deeply into the sensitive skin around her neck, probably leaving marks, Hermione reckoned. How is this man suddenly so tall?

"Better think again, mudblood, or this might not end pretty for you." He spat, his depthless eyes never leaving her own.

Wrenching herself from Rodolphus' bruising grip, Hermione levelled the two men with a glare. "What do you expect me to say?" She rubbed her sore wrist. "As far as I know, I'm dead." If I can still feel pain, I can't be dead. Not that she would tell this to the two Death Eaters who seemed to haunt her person even beyond the realm of the living.

"Lies!" Rabastan hissed, his voice nearly getting lost in the pouring rain.

Hermione shuddered as she felt it soaking through her loose clothes.

This couldn't go on. She had to find someone from the Order, Shacklebolt or Moody. Anyone that might be able to help her.

"Screw this," said Rodolphus to his brother. "Clear out the farm over there. Kill anyone who gets in your way."

"What?" Hermione spun around, her eyes searching. At last, in the distance, she made out the faint silhouette of a house. "That's barbaric!"

"You should worry about yourself, mudblood." the older brother clicked his tongue. "Can't defend yourself if you still got the trace, eh?"

Hermione's heart constricted in her chest. A second of silence passed before everything suddenly fell into place. Her knees gave out under the sudden realisation. It was only thanks to Rodolphus' hold on her arm that she didn't find herself on the muddy ground again. Impossible. Magic can't reverse your age. Not like this.

Taking note of her struggles, a faux look of concern settled on the older Lestrange's face, "Is this too much for our filthy little witchling?"

Hermione grit her teeth. "Screw you, Lestrange." Based on their difference in height, Hermione guessed her age to be anywhere between ten and twelve at the most.

Just as Rodolphus was about to reply, his brother called for them. The vile man pulled Hermione with him through the rain towards the farm, unbothered by the fact that she could barely keep up with the tall wizard.

"Found two Muggles in the house, old folks," Rabastan said. "Got rid of them before they even got up from the table." He leads them through the front door to a small sitting area.

Feeling sick to her stomach and entirely out of her depth Hermione allowed Rodolphus to deposit her on the nearest sofa roughly. Before she could react, he snatched her wand from her stiff fingers and sat down with his brother across from her.

"Give me back my wand." With newfound determination, she squared her aching shoulders.

The older brother chortled at her request. "And let you alert the Ministry to our presence? I don't think so, brat."

Hermione rolled her eyes at his answer.

"I killed you. Something went wrong, and the curse rebounded." The imposing wizard leant back in his seat, observing the girl in front of him for a few seconds. "Are you seriously telling me to believe that you had nothing to do with this?" he finally stated, his cold eyes daring her to disagree with him.

"How do you expect me to accomplish such a thing?" Hermione asked. "Do you think I just wave my wand, and suddenly I'm immune to the killing curse?" Her flippant answer was apparently the wrong thing to say as she was suddenly hit with excruciating pain.

"Don't get smart with me, mudblood." hissed the older brother. "If you're useless, I might just as well kill you again." He let Hermione suffer a few seconds longer before lifting the curse.

"Now, let's try this again." He stood up and grabbed her by her wet curls. "What did you do?"

He was close enough that Hermione could see the stubbles of dark hair on his jaw, indicating that he hadn't shaved in a while. Is it just the light, or does he look much younger as well? Hermione whimpered. It was as if she was back at Malfoy Manor, Bellatrix's maniacal cackles echoing in her mind as she glimpsed up at the late woman's husband.

"I don't know!" she pleaded. "Maybe your curse activated my time turner, but"- she pulled the chain out from under her jumper. "-that is A, completely impossible, as it broke during my third year, and B, it can't just de-age three people," she said. "That's outlandish."

"Who just carries a time turner around with them?" Rabastan asked incredulously. "And why would the ministry even allow a teenager to have one, for that matter?"

Hermione pursed her lips. As if she didn't know how dangerous it was to own such a powerful object. His brother seemed to have had enough of her snarky commentary and was about to raise his wand again when his eyes fell on something on the wall behind her. A few seconds passed before Rabastan noticed his brother's sudden silence. Even Hermione eventually turned around to see what had made the death eater suddenly forget about his anger.

Her heart skipped a beat when Hermione realised what he had been staring at. A small, plain calendar hung on the other side of the room just above an antiquated record player. Nothing special about it. Except for the date that was. Hermione's mouth went dry as she read the numbers repeatedly. 23rd of August 1937… She heard Rabastan seemingly choke on his spit. For a minute, the room fell silent. Then all hell broke loose.

"Morgana, help us. What did you do, girl?"

Hermione knew Rodolphus was asking her, well, yelling at her. But all she could think of was where she had taken the wrong turn to end up here—sixty Years in the past, with two of the vilest men in existence. I can't do this. This is insane. I should just let them kill me again.

"Your cursed time turner isn't as broken as you thought, mudblood."

Hermione could tell that the older Lestrange was losing it, His eyes holding a feverish glint as he sprang up from his seat. This is impossible. No time turner should be able to transport anyone, let alone three people that far back in time.

"Tell me one reason why I shouldn't just kill you," Rodolphus demanded, his deceptively soft voice washing over her like a sinister wave.

Harry, what should I do? Hermione was a sharp girl; she knew there was no reason for them to keep her alive. But this went beyond the war and their sentiments. They had to lay low. Better yet, she had to contact the Ministry or Dumbledore, someone that could help them get back to their own time. Hermione took a deep breath. This was just another problem to solve. Now she only had to get the Death Eaters to listen to her.

Determined, she grabbed the thin chain around her neck and pushed the thing back under her ill-fitting jumper. "Killing me would be a stupid move, Lestrange. Seeing as I am the one with the time turner." She folded her legs. "If we want to get back to our own time, we have to contact someone at the Ministry. Someone from the Department of Mysteries might be able to help us."

"We'll not talk to anyone about this," Rodolphus scowled. "They'll lock us up again, and even if I don't care what they'll do to you, I most certainly will not go back to Azkaban."

Rabastan eagerly nodded at his brothers' words.

Hermione threw her arms up. "It's against the law. We have to report what's happened to us!" she argued but was only met with shrugs from the two brothers.

"As if we would care, girl." Rodolphus put his wand away and began pacing around the small room. "No, we'll stay low and think of an explanation."

The rain was still pouring outside the windows. They can't be serious. This is insane! We can't just stay in this time. We could seriously mess up the future by just sitting here, never mind building a life in this time period! Hermione's thoughts jumped from one awful scenario to another.

It took the sudden sting of her nails piercing through her palms' skin to tear the witch away from her racing mind. Then, before the brothers could notice her distraught state, she hastily wiped her bloodied hands on the worn fabric of her seat.

"Awful things happen to wizards who meddle with time. We can't just pretend to belong here!" Hermione quoted the words of her professor in an attempt to make them see the insanity of Rodolphus' words. But the older brother didn't even acknowledge her warning.

"Our family still lives in France at this point. For now, we'll compel them to believe us to be their relatives." Rodolphus began, pulling back his wet locks, which had continued to fall into his eyes during his speech. "Get access to our family vaults and then back here to find a more suitable place to stay. There's no way I'll stay with those snail-eating Frenchmen."

Hermione was speechless by his words, unable to comprehend the recklessness of his plans.

"What about the mudblood?" Rabastan spoke up. "She will rat us out the moment we leave her."

His brother came to an abrupt halt. "Well, we must ensure she doesn't do that then, right?"

"I won't say anything!" Hermione's nervousness skyrocketed at his calculating gaze. "I'm not stupid enough to think you'd just let me go," she argued, trying to gauge the older brothers' reaction.

Pursuing his lips, he attempted to find any deception in her words. "You may still be useful in the future. Your blasted time turner brought us here. Maybe it'll bring us back someday." Without waiting for her reply, he continued. "Still, I'll not have a filthy mudblood living in my house, so what to do with you, hm?"

Hermione rolled her eyes at the man's hollow insult, tired of their prejudice. She knew she had to put up with whatever he said to get out of this mess alive, so she stopped herself from snapping back at him.

"We could just drop her off at some orphanage until she gets her Hogwarts letter," Rabastan suggested, looking at the girl with a thoughtful expression.

Hermione noticed that he didn't look much older than herself back in the future. She couldn't wrap her head around how the time turner's magic managed to reverse their ages and, even more importantly, why it did.

"I'm afraid this plan will not work, you know, with the whole thing of me not being born yet?" she quipped. "The letters are addressed to the children whose names were added to the registry the day they were born." Hermione pulled her legs up to her chest and continued. "My name is not on that list. Not for a long time, at least." She finished her explanation and watched with a twisted satisfaction as the older Lestrange's face darkened progressively throughout her little lecture.

Eventually, he just threw his head back, attempting to collect himself before addressing her, the fingers around his wand twitching to curse her again. "I don't care. My brother and I will go to France and sort everything out, and you'll be a good little mudblood and stay here, understood?"

Hermione wanted to protest, but Rodolphus quickly interrupted her.

"Understood?" he growled, threateningly pointing his wand at her shivering form.

Stupid git. She thought quietly to herself but gave him a curt nod.

"Good," he spoke. "Get rid of her, brother. I'll meet you at the international Portkey station." Rodolphus apparated out of the small farmhouse before Hermione could ask him to return her wand.

Rabastan groaned at his brothers' orders and grabbed the girl by her shoulder before apparating them to the first place in London that came to his mind…


Hermione's entire body was tightly squished together before she found herself and her captor in a tranquil Park with no single person in sight. Dazed, she tried to regain her bearings by leaning against the nearest tree.

"Go find someone to help you," he ordered. "Tell them you lost your parents or something."

Rabastan was about to leave before Hermione stopped him.

"Wait! I can't wander around in these clothes. People will ask questions."

The man rolled his eyes at her.

Well, it's not my fault your batty brother took my wand. She thought, eyeing Rabastan as he waved his wand. The wet fabrics slowly transformed themselves on her body. After a minute, the younger Lestrange brother was done. He nodded to himself before vanishing in a swirl of leaves, leaving Hermione stranded, God knows where. Sporting a plain dress in the same dull colours her jeans had been, she awkwardly lingered around her hiding spot for a few more seconds. Finally, she brushed over some non-existent wrinkles on her skirt and took a deep breath before determinedly stepping onto the nearest pathway. I can do this. I need to find a phone box and get to the Ministry before those wretched brothers return.

Feeling somewhat hopeful for the first time since their unexpected arrival in this time, Hermione swiftly exited the small park. The witch turned around in search of one of the classic red telephone boxes that might save her from this nightmare. As she took in her surroundings, Hermione suddenly became aware of how far back in time she had actually gone. Observing the countless pedestrians around her, dressed in outdated clothes she had only ever seen in her grandma's old photo books, she sighed. This is insane! Hermione's gaze wandered over the vintage cars that passed by her, polluting the air so much with their antiquated engines that she felt like she had to cover her nose to be able to breathe right next to the street.

"I need to move," she murmured and was about to cross the street when a deep voice stopped her.

"Where are your parents, girl? You lost?"

Hermione turned around to come face to face with a policeman dressed like the ones from the old storybooks she had read as a child.

Swallowing down her growing panic, she shook her head. "No, mister, I was just on my way home."

The police officer looked her up and down once, taking in her damp hair and dishevelled appearance. "Hm, where's your home, girl?"

Hermione cursed at the man's perceptiveness and tried to think of a street in the area. But unfortunately, she didn't recognise any of the buildings around her. "Penton Street." She finally answered, remembering her mother telling her she'd lived around the area back in the day.

The Officer furrowed his bushy brows, and Hermione knew she'd messed up what she would give for her wand at this moment.

"Quite a walk from here, isn't it?" he grumbled. "I think it would be best if I brought you with me 'till we manage to contact your folks."

Realising that her protest would only make her seem even more suspicious, she dully nodded and proceeded to follow the Officer through the streets.

After a few minutes, the burly man turned to face her again. "I know an orphan when I see one, lass. Don't know where you ran from, but I'll bring you to Mrs Cole for the time being."

Cursing her lousy luck, Hermione tried to look like he had caught her in the act. What act precisely that was, she didn't quite know, but his stern gaze seemed to soften at her pitiful look.

I know it's hard," he sighed. "But when you grow up, you'll see that life at the orphanage isn't that bad."

She remained silent. Hermione had to get away from this Mrs Cole as fast as possible. After turning around another corner, they finally arrived at a run-down building that stood tall between the grey three-story houses.

Hermione suddenly felt compassion welling inside her chest for the grimy-looking children playing in front of the house on patchy concrete with no single green tree in sight.

"Here we are, Wool's Orphanage. One of the better ones in this city." the Officer told her.

Hermione raised a brow at his words. So, this was the nicer option? Merlin, how much worse than this can it possibly get? She was gently steered through the rusty gates, a gaggle of chattering children immediately on their heels. You're a seventeen-year-old witch Hermione, don't let those kids get under your skin. But as she walked up the worn-down stairs to the front door, she could still feel the eyes of a particularly mean-looking bunch of teenagers on her back.

"Officer O'Malley, what brings you here? Not another stray you picked up, I hope." A woman that had to be in her late forties walked out of one of the rooms to Hermione's left and proceeded to dry her hands on her apron before shaking the Officer's hand.

Her skin seemed to be just as dull and grey as her hair. When she looked down at Hermione, her dark eyes turned into slits. "Lord, help me; I already told you last week we can't even feed the children we have," she said. "We don't have room for another hungry mouth." The woman tried to sound pleasant, but Hermione could hear the thinly veiled annoyance behind her thin-lipped smile.

"But Mrs Cole, you are the only matron in this town I could ever trust with those poor children," O'Malley exclaimed with a hand on his heart.

She could practically see the woman melt like butter in his hands. It would've been funny if she hadn't been so desperate.

"Oh, hush you." She waved her hand. "You're right; one more child won't be the end of the world. But you have to promise me to stop bringing strays to my house."

Hermione cringed as the Matron batted her eyelashes in a way that she must have thought to look good at the man. What did I ever do to deserve all of this? She asked herself for the tenth time that day, desperately praying for someone to wake her up from this nightmare.

"Hear that, lass?" O'Malley asked. "You should thank Mrs Cole for her generosity and stay out of trouble from now."

He looked expectantly at her, and Hermione realised that he had meant his words quite literally. Suppressing the urge to roll her eyes at him and the Matron, she forced herself to smile.

"Of course, thank you for taking me in, Mrs Cole."

"At least that one has manners. Can you read, girl?"

Hermione had noticed that the Matron still hadn't asked her for her name. She knew at that moment that this woman couldn't care less if Hermione suddenly vanished overnight. Perfect.

"I can read and write, Mrs Cole. I am also able to do basic calculus."

The Matron seemed to be genuinely pleased with her answer.

"Marvellous. You can teach the smaller ones then as well. Tom and Amy are the only others that can write properly. With over fifty children, it's quite difficult to teach everyone the basics."

Hermione was appalled by the apparent lack of education. She was once more reminded that these were indeed different times. I could stay here for a bit and see that the children can at least spell their names correctly. She shook her head. I can't meddle with time any more than I already do.

"Well, duty calls. Thanks for taking care of the lassie." Officer O'Malley tipped his hat and quickly took off before the Matron could engage him in more exciting conversation.

Hermione watched Mrs Cole's face fall as the Officer excused himself before clearing her throat and looking down at the newest addition to the orphanage.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Ask Mary for a clean uniform and then come to the hall for dinner," she began. "Tomorrow, I'll introduce you to the other children. Your room number is 11. You'll be sharing it with Amy for now."

With that, Hermione was effectively dismissed. Not entirely sure where she could find this Mary, she walked around the orphanage aimlessly for a while before another malnourished boy showed her how to get to the woman's office. It's best to wait until everyone's asleep. After that, I'll leave and search for a telephone box

"You need to wear your hair in a braid or short, always wear your tights and clean your shoes on Sunday for church." Mary was a young woman with thin blonde hair and a mousy face. She must have been around Hermione's age in the future and had a no-nonsense attitude that rivalled one of her old transfiguration professors.

"I understand. Anything else I should know?" Hermione asked, ready to get to her room, lie down and cry for a bit.

"Breakfast is at seven, dinner at four. Don't be late, or there will be no food left." The older girl's expression was stern. "Your room must always be tidy. Personal belongings have to be put in your locker."

Since Hermione had nothing but the clothes she wore, she didn't see any problems with this rule. She thanked the girl, grabbed her worn uniform and left, searching for her room. After climbing up the narrow stairs to the third floor, she spotted a door with her room number on it and eagerly entered the small space—what a dreary place. There wasn't much to see. Two beds stood at the opposite ends of the room, a single small window between them. The walls were as colourless as her new uniform. They blended in nicely with the metal bedframes and identical small lockers on the walls behind them.

"Well, at least there are no murderous death eaters around." She told herself before sitting down on the bed that looked unused.

Looking down at the uniform in her lap, she absentmindedly pulled at a loose string on her grey tights. I need to get away before they return from their trip to France. Hermione's thoughts were interrupted by the shrill sound of a bell. She heard doors around her being opened and countless voices filling the corridors. It must be time for dinner, then. Hermione quickly changed into her uniform, wanting to blend in with the other children as best as possible. The last thing she needed was to draw even more attention to herself than she did earlier that day…


"Is this seat free?" Hermione asked the pale boy in front of her, carrying a small bowl filled with bland porridge in one hand and a metal container filled with water in the other. The boy regarded her with an icy glare that made her flinch, his dark locks standing in stark contrast to his ashen skin, the lack of nutrition evident on his gaunt face.

"No." Was all he said before returning to his meal, clearly not wanting to interact with the startled girl.

Hermione rolled her eyes, glaring at him, then at the unoccupied seat opposite him. What a little shit. Smiling sweetly at the boy, she spun on her heels in search of another table.

"Don't mind, Tom. He doesn't like other people." Whispered the older girl, who'd offered Hermione to sit with her. She just nodded, exhausted to the bone from the ordeals she'd been put through that day.

The young witch finished her meagre dinner and excused herself from the table before the other girls could hound her for more insights into her life…


Yawning, Hermione crawled under her flimsy blanket. Before she could stop it, hot tears clouded her vision. Her entire body shook as she shamelessly sobbed into her pillow, wishing to be anywhere else but this dreadful orphanage.

It had finally hit her, she was alone and utterly helpless, and none of her friends would come to save her.

She thought about Ron. How he fell next to his older brother's body as Rockwood's curse hit him in the back. Hermione's heart clenched painfully in her chest when she felt the despair that had built up in her finally spill over, consuming her entirely. It physically hurt to breathe.

Fearing that she might faint over the lack of oxygen reaching her brain, Hermione nearly missed the sound of the door to her room opening again.

"If you keep crying for the rest of the night, I'll slap you, silly." A gangly girl that couldn't have been much older than Hermione herself closed the door behind her and proceeded to take off her shoes.

Hermione tried to regain control of her shaking body, but the tears wouldn't stop. God, I must look pathetic. She furiously wiped away her tears with her blanket, trying to tune out the nagging of the girl on the other bed.

"Suck it up. I don't want a crybaby for a roommate." The girl – Amy, if Hermione remembered correctly, put on a simple nightgown after brushing and braiding her hair.

Eventually, Hermione felt her heart rate slowing down to a manageable level and the world stopped spinning around her. She drew in long shaky breaths to push her tumultuous emotions back down. I can do this. Just a little longer and everything will be back to normal.

She turned to face the wall, determined to wait until the sun went down so she could leave this horrible place. Hermione listened to Amy's quiet breathing as the girl finally fell asleep and carefully turned on her squeaking bed. Just when she was about to get up, she heard someone stop in front of their door and turn a key in the lock. Hermione's mind came to a screeching halt as she registered what had just happened.

They lock the doors overnight. Feeling dread pooling in her stomach, she skitted to the door and carefully pushed down the handle. It was indeed locked. Utterly furious, Hermione put her hands on her hips and turned her gaze to the ceiling. This is a minor setback. I'll leave tomorrow after breakfast when everyone is washing up. Hermione repeated those words in her head until she eventually fell into a restless slumber…


"No. Don't write it like that. This is what an A looks like." Hermione explained to the six-year-old girl that sat at the table in front of her, looking at the young witch like she'd just told her her pet rabbit had died.

One Week. She had been at this dreadful orphanage for a whole week! After six days of numerous failed escape attempts, she finally gave up. Hoping to regain Mrs Cole's trust by teaching the younger ones, she searched for different ways to get away from this place.

During her stay, she tried to steer clear of the other children, only occasionally chatting with Amy in the evenings or, to be more precise, listening to Amy's rantings. To her surprise, Tom was another person she often spent her days with. They sat together in the pitiful excuse of what Mrs Cole liked to call a library. He was a quiet boy who obviously had some issues, seeing as he scared away any kid who dared to cross his path in the hallway. Unfortunately, he was also the only other child in this place that liked books. So, Hermione found herself more than once in his presence, discussing the few novels the orphanage owned. Like Charles Dickens and some worn down Encyclopaedia that looked like they had been printed before Mrs Cole had even been born. Tom was also the only one she had ever told her full name, so when another child came into the library looking for a Hermione, she was caught off guard.

"Mrs Cole wants you in her office." Offering no further explanation, the boy ran back to his friends. At the same time, Hermione excused herself, unaware that this would be the last time she would ever see this room again. On her way to the Matron's tiny office at the back of the house, she tried to think of a reason why the woman would request her presence but couldn't think of anything that warranted this visit. Intrigued, she knocked and waited for an answer.

"Come in." The strict woman opened the door and ushered the girl inside.

Hermione turned to see who the other person at her desk was. She nearly suffered a minor heart attack when she recognised the imposing figure of Rabastan Lestrange, looking down at her with an unreadable expression.

"Hermione, your uncle, is here to pick you up," the Matron sounded flustered. "Why didn't you tell me you had relatives in the countryside?"

Hermione attempted to maintain a pleasant façade while avoiding the man's eyes. I should've tried to get away sooner.

"I'm sorry, Mrs Cole, I wasn't aware of any relatives of mine." She could barely hide the tremble in her voice.

Even though the woman wasn't the most righteous human, Hermione didn't think she would send a little girl on her merry way with a stranger.

"Don't be daft, girl. Your ludicrous curls clearly run in the family."

Scratch that. Mrs Cole would definitely give her away to a strange man she'd never met. Hermione's insides twisted at the thought of how many boys and girls this woman might have already given away, exposing them to God knows what horrors.

"Sorry, Mrs Cole, our Hermione here ran away after a disagreement with her father. She's quite the stubborn thing." Rabastan sounded so convincing. How he was carrying himself - Hermione could practically see the bribes being thrown at the Matron to overlook any discrepancies. What a horrible person.

"Of course, you deserve a reward for keeping my niece safe." As if he had heard her thoughts, the wizard handed the terrible woman a tiny envelope with what Hermione knew must have been enough money to feed the orphanage for a month.

Disgusted, she curled her lips and watched the Matron count the notes.

"How very kind of you, sir," the woman spoke without looking up from the money. "Hermione didn't bring anything, so feel free to leave Mr Lestrange."

Hermione flinched at the sudden pain of his grip as the man dragged her out of the office, not even bothering to bid his farewell to the greedy Matron. Once outside, she struggled to get away from him, but before she could call for help, he apparated them away…

"Let go of me, you bastard!" Hermione screeched the moment they appeared in front of an imposing manor.

Taken aback, she looked around for a split second before continuing her efforts to get away from the man.

"Where are we? What are we doing here?" she asked.

Rabastan dragged her through the dark gates of the estate and proceeded to pull her up the wide stairs to the double-winged front doors. Merlin, they're going to kill me.

"Will you stop struggling? We won't kill you, little witch."

Scoffing at his words, Hermione tried to pry his fingers from her pounding wrist.

"As if I'd believe anything you say. I demand you let me go." She hissed when he tightened his grip on her even more, completely aware of the pain he was causing her.

He led her through a large hall with dark wooden walls and even darker rugs on the floor, making the whole house seem sombre and oppressing. What is this gloomy place? They went up an impressive set of finely carved stairs, illuminated only by the enchanted stained-glass windows above them, the moving mosaic figurines turning their heads as they passed them.

Rabastan saw Hermione's apparent wonder at the large windows and hummed. "Welcome to Lestrange Manor, my family's original home before we moved to the continent."

Hermione sucked in her breath as she looked up at the man still dragging her through the winding corridors of his ancestral home. So this is where they grew up? Figures. This house practically oozes dark magic.

The younger Lestrange brother stopped before a broad set of wooden doors and knocked. A moment later, they swung open by themselves, and Hermione was pushed towards Rabastan's brother, who lounged behind an imposing mahogany desk.

He sneered at the girl as if she was somehow offending him with her mere presence. "The mudblood has finally arrived. I see you kept your promise to keep your mouth shut."

Hermione bit her tongue to prevent herself from telling him about her countless attempts to escape the orphanage. She needed to keep her calm. Rodolphus looked surprisingly put together without his intimidating Death Eater robes billowing behind his every step. Like his brother, he had trimmed his hair so it didn't fall back into his hollow face every time he turned his head.

His eyes, though, still made her skin crawl, his cold gaze stripping every protective layer from her person, leaving her bare and vulnerable.

"What do you want, Lestrange?" Swallowing down the mounting dread in her stomach, she was determined to show them that she wasn't afraid of being in their presence. They won't hurt me. The voice in her head sounded suspiciously like Harry's.

"You realise that no matter how hard you try," Rodolphus taunted. "You still look like a scared little girl, right?" After letting her stew under his piercing gaze for a few more seconds, he was impressed by the girl's acid glare.

"Gryffindors," he spat before continuing. "After thinking over our situation, I've concluded that this is, over anything else, an opportunity."

Hermione watched the man absentmindedly play with what she instantly recognised as her wand. "You know my stance on this matter. Give me back my wand."

As if he'd just noticed what he'd been holding, the older Lestrange brother's lips pulled into a predatory grin. He inspected the wood in his hand carefully before suddenly grabbing it with both hands and snapping it in two.

"No!" Furious, Hermione leapt at him to retrieve her broken wand, but Rabastan grabbed her from behind and pulled her back.

"I don't like how you look at me, mudblood. You should respect your superiors."

Tears threatened to spill from her eyes as Hermione watched Rodolphus throw her broken wand to the floor without wasting any more thoughts on his action.

"Now, where was I? Oh yes, our reason for being here." Leaning back in his green leather chair, he looked first at his brother and then Hermione. "It has come to my attention that our Lord is still but a child in this time."

Hermione wiped at the tears that had finally spilt from her eyes and tried to listen.

"This is the perfect opportunity to change the war's outcome and ensure the Dark Lord's success."

"Are you actually insane?" At his words, Hermione felt sick to her stomach.

Rodolphus dared to laugh at her incredulous voice. "Wouldn't you like that as well?" he asked. "Save your friends and prevent war if our Lord just…I don't know"- he paused, seemingly trying to think of the right words, "-assumed a more conservative position of power. Like becoming the Minister of Magic, for example?"

And suddenly, Hermione knew why they'd kept her alive.

"You want to use me as a tool to get close to Tom Riddle during his school years."

A manic gleam took over his eyes as the older man leaned over the desk and grabbed the front of her dress. "What a clever little mudblood you are." He pulled her closer, "Rabastan told me you were a bright thing."

Disgusted, she freed herself from his loose grip, hastily stepping out of his reach. She knew that these men were insane, but this plan of theirs? She couldn't even fully comprehend the tremendous ripples their involvement would cause in the fabrics of time.

"This is madness!" she seethed. "Are you even slightly aware of the consequences this 'plan' might have?" Hermione crossed her arms and began pacing. "For all we know, we could completely rip apart the strands of time." Then, momentarily forgetting her fear of the two wizards, she threw her hands in the air. "You can't do this, Lestrange. We have to stay low. Keep out of other people's businesses!" Hermione took a deep breath. "Not change the entire God damn future of the wizarding world!" she exclaimed, her cheeks stained crimson.

Before she could continue, Rodolphus spoke up: "It's either that or you watching history repeat itself." A heavy pause followed his words.

"And I will ensure you'll watch every one of your friends die." he spat. "Painfully."

Her breath hitched. This can't be happening. Hermione felt all the anger leave her petite body as it was replaced by all-consuming dread. She had no other option. Her wand was broken, and even if it weren't, even with all her battle experience, the young witch wouldn't be able to take both brothers out at the same time.

Hermione suddenly felt as if the world was going to swallow her whole. She paled considerably when the hopelessness of her situation became apparent…

The Lestrange brothers watched as the girl curled into herself, her hands deeply buried in her sparkling hair to control her wavering magic. Without a wand, she was prone to random outbursts again. It was only natural at this age.

Rodolphus didn't flinch when the windows in his office shattered. He let the girl have her moment, as he knew from the antics of his manic wife that after her outbursts, she'd always seemed to calm down considerably.

Rabastan stepped away from the mudblood when she suddenly turned and fled from his brother's study.

"Let her go, Rab."...


Hermione aimlessly stumbled around the dim corridors before eventually breaking down in the backyard of the manor. She pulled a few patches of grass from the ground and threw them away with a hoarse yell. I need to get away from those madmen. She told herself but couldn't find the strength to get up from her crumpled position on the ground. Her tights from the orphanage were stained from the grass, and her hair sizzled around her head, her neat braid long gone. She hadn't had a burst of accidental magic in years, and angry at her loss of control, she punched the ground a few times before wiping the grime from her face. She had never felt so helpless in her entire life.

"Damn it!" She wanted her parents. She wanted her mother to hug her and tell her everything would be okay. "Well, guess what? They don't know you anymore, Hermione," she chuckled humourlessly, her voice sounding hollow.

Would she even be born now? What if her presence in the past somehow changed her parents' future? What if they never had her now? Maybe it's for the better. They could finally live normal lives without worrying about their freak daughter and magical wars. Hermione failed to suppress another sob. Instead, she fell back to the ground and stared at the cloudy sky.

"What am I doing?" she asked herself. "I must prevent those people from presenting Voldemort the world on a silver platter." She closed her eyes and tried to calm herself enough to think of a plan. "Screw it. I'll have to try my best and hope Gamp's Theory of multiple timelines is accurate." Remembering the numerous books she had read on that subject during her third year, Hermione contemplated the different outcomes of their presence in the past. Unfortunately, no one had ever successfully performed a jump that far back, so there were no references she could fall back on.

Seeing that they were still very much alive and did not disintegrate the moment they had interacted with other people, Hermione figured that if one didn't exist in the first place in the current timeline, the possibility of causing a paradox was vanishingly slim. But, of course, she still didn't know if she could trust Gamp's theories. Still, as of now, it seemed they were the only ones even remotely close to what she was experiencing. It calmed her considerably to assume that no matter what they did, it would not affect the timeline they originated from, instead forming a new string entirely disconnected from her original time.

Right, I can read more about this theory later. She got up again, ready to face her enemies, uncaring of her stained clothes and tangled hair. This may be my chance to help everyone who didn't make it the first time. She imagined her parents' happy smiles and Ron's warm arms around her shoulders. She was Hermione Granger, the brightest witch of her age. She could do this...


Sitting back in Rodolphus' study, the traces of her magical outburst long gone, Hermione mulled over the older man's plans.

"You'll get close to our Lord."

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Make him see the benefits of ruling wizarding Britain from the comfortable position as our Minister," Rodolphus ordered, brushing over her petulant behaviour. "You'll support him in this endeavour, do you understand?" The older wizard lounged on the sofa across from her, his arm casually dangling from the side of the armrest.

In contrast, his brother watched her calmly from his place next to Rodolphus.

"Why would he talk to me? I'm a muggle-born with no family ties to boast with," Hermione argued.

"I already took care of this little inconvenience and registered you as my illegitimate daughter from a fling back in France."

Hermione choked on her breath at his words. "Are you serious?" Coughing, she looked towards the two men across from her. "Why would you do this without my consent? I'm proud of my heritage!"

Her supposed father clicked his tongue condescendingly while uncrossing his legs before answering. "First, you're a child again. No one gives a fuck about your consent."

At Hermione's attempt to argue back, he warningly raised his hand, effectively shutting her up. "Don't interrupt your elders. It's rude."

Hermione scoffed.

"Second, I don't care that you're proud of your filthy blood, Tom Riddle wouldn't even look twice at a mudblood, so I had to improvise." Rodolphus levelled her with a glare. "Don't think for a second that I'm happy with letting filth like you carry my house's name." he hissed.

Hermione had to suppress a shudder. His hatred for her 'kind' still stung, no matter how hard she'd fought against these prejudices in the past.

Contemplating his absurd scheme for a moment, Hermione sighed in exhaustion, deciding to play along with their spiel for the time being. She was weary from the strain her accidental use of magic had put on her body, so she just nodded tiredly.

"I'm forever grateful," she drawled. "To be part of such a"- Hermione curled her lips, "-noble house."

His fidgeting showed that the older Lestrange had to keep himself from lashing out at her again.

"I'm tired. Do I get a room, or am I to sleep with the house elves in some kitchen cupboard?"

The brothers had the decency to look appalled at her question, and it was Rabastan instead of his brother who answered her question. "Of course, you'll have your own rooms"-

Hermione was surprised at that statement.

"-The elves prepared the west wing on the second floor for you." he finished.

Hermione wondered if she'd still gotten the nice rooms if she'd told them to fuck off…


Finally, alone in her admittedly impressive bedroom, Hermione sat on one of the two armchairs in front of her ridiculously large fireplace. It was nearly as high as her adult self was tall. Hermione could already see herself with a good book in one hand and a hot chocolate in the other, sitting in front of the crackling fire on a cold winter night.

"Does Missy need Winny to assist her in any way?"

Cursing, Hermione jumped from the chair and stared down at the little elf next to her. Clenching her rapidly beating heart, Hermione pulled her messy curls from her face and smiled kindly at the elf.

"Merlin, you scared me – Winny, is it?"

The little creature nodded, "yes! Winny is sorry for startling her, Missy. Please forgive Winny!" she wailed pitifully.

Hermione was very much tempted to incite her new family's wrath by freeing all their elves.

"Of course, Winny. Don't worry," she said. "Would you be so kind as to run me a bath while I go and search for something to wear?"

The little elf turned its big eyes to her new Mistress's face, "Winny will run the bath!" And pointed her bony fingers at a door beside Hermione's bed. "Missy's dressing chamber is right through the door there."

Hermione sceptically raised an eyebrow at the thought that the two men she was now staying with were buying her dresses.

"Master Rabastan told Winny to get attire for Master Rodolphus' daughter, so Winny brought everything the Master has ordered."

Hermione dully nodded, making her way towards her supposed dressing chamber. A sea of shades of black assaulted her tired eyes when she opened the door. "They can't be serious about this." Reluctantly stepping into the dimly lit room, she combed the endless amounts of fabric in search of something lighter than a dull grey.

Her nightgowns and underwear were the only things not completely colourless in her wardrobe. What kind of person buys a child nothing but black robes? What went wrong in their childhood? Dumbstruck, she pulled out an incredibly gaudy piece that looked like it went out of fashion when Victoria was crowned queen.

"Merlin, I'm fated to look forever dressed for the next funeral." Not able to deal with Rabastan's apparent lack of fashion sense, she grabbed one of the many nightgowns to her right and went to the bathroom opposite her bedroom.

Dismissing the little elf, she tried to drown her worries in the bathtub for a few hours before burying herself under her heavy comforters, instantly falling into a dreamless sleep…


In the following days, she mostly hid in her room or the library, trying to avoid the brothers as much as possible. Rodolphus coerced the three of them to eat their meals together, but other than that, he had left Hermione alone. September was around the corner, and Hermione had decided to ask Rodolphus to let her visit Diagon Alley for her birthday.

"Take Rabastan with you. I don't trust you."

When she'd argued that she was a grown woman and didn't need a chaperone, he had just whirled his wand in her general direction, forcing the irritated girl to dodge away under his nasty stinging hex. So finally, on the 19th, she reluctantly asked Rabastan to accompany her to Diagon Alley. Together, they used the tall fireplace in the entrance hall to travel to their destination.

Nearly forgetting about the gloomy wizard next to her, Hermione took in the lively street around them. It looked almost identical to the one in her own time. Her eyes wandered over a group of giggling children running through the crowd, their colourful robes billowing behind them. Suddenly feeling very self-conscious, Hermione looked down at her black ones.

"Come on; I don't want to be here all day." Rabastan pushed her forward.

Hermione grumpily made her way towards her favourite shop in the wizarding world, Flourish and Blotts. Her supposed uncle followed her through the happily chatting crowd of wizards and witches, unaware of the number of glances thrown their way.

"Maybe his wife died." Rabastan heard one witch whisper to her friend as he urged the little witch to walk faster. He wasn't used to being around people who didn't know his face from the wanted posters anymore.

Hermione felt a familiar sense of calmness settle over her in the bookshop. Then, with a content sigh, she took off before Rabastan could stop her.

Browsing through the Herbology section, she nearly bumped into another boy skipping quietly through a book about mandrakes.

"Oh, excuse me, I didn't see you there."

The boy looked up to find a pale girl with wild curls standing close to him. He instinctively took a step back, and Hermione smiled awkwardly.

"Hermione G-Lestrange pleased to meet you."

He looked at her outstretched hand, wondering why she was still talking to him. "Antonin Dolohov," he murmured.

Hermione pulled her hand back as if it had been burned. She scrutinised the future death eater across from her and tried to dispel her sudden discomfort.

"Well, it was nice to meet you, Dolohov, but I'm afraid my uncle is getting a little impatient." Before he could answer, Hermione hastily turned around, trying to walk as fast away from him as was socially acceptable.

Dolohov just watched her retreating back and wondered what kind of witch would wear such gloomy robes on a sunny day...


"Who was the boy you were talking to?" Rabastan asked when she'd finally reached him.

Hermione grimaced at his question as they went to the register to pay for her books. "Antonin Dolohov," she answered curtly.

Rabastan whirled around and stared back at the little boy he knew would grow up as one of the Dark Lords' most loyal subjects.

"Bloody Hell, who would've guessed?"

Hermione just rolled her eyes, her excellent mood instantly ruined, as she remembered what was to come. She was certain Rabastan would tell his brother about the death eater to be the minute they arrived back home…

A few more weeks passed without any significant disturbance, and Hermione had grown tired of the oppressive feeling of the manor.

Deciding to take a risk, she snuck out to visit a nearby muggle village. She wandered through the cobblestone streets of the idyllic town, which reminded her of the ones from the postcards her grandparents always sent. A nostalgic smile ghosted over Hermione's lips at the memory of her grandma's enthusiasm for everything inherently British.

"Excuse the strange question, but are you, by any chance, a witch?"

Surprised, Hermione turned around. A young girl stood right behind her. She must've been around her age and wore her copper hair neatly pulled up into a bun.

"Come again?" she asked to make sure.

The girl across from her nervously chewed on her thin lips. "Your robes. I only ever saw my mother wearing those in her childhood pictures." the girl answered.

Hermione's brows shot up her forehead. "Your mother's a witch? Are you as well?"

To her surprise, the girl pulled her into a quieter alley. "I am." she nodded. "Mother says I'll get my Hogwarts letter soon."

Hermione grinned, overjoyed to have found someone else to talk to finally. "That's amazing! Hermione Lestrange, pleased to meet you."

Slightly startled by Hermione's sudden enthusiasm, the other girl eagerly shook her hand. "Minerva McGonagall, it's so great to have another witch around my age in the neighbourhood, finally."

Hermione's grin faltered for a split second before returning in full force. She couldn't believe it. The young witch had to restrain herself from throwing herself into the other girl's arms. Instead, looping her arm around McGonagall's own, she quickly pulled her to the nearest café.

She hadn't had a normal conversation in weeks and couldn't wait to get to know her younger Professor. Finally, fate seems to mean well for once. Hermione ordered a piece of apple pie for herself and happily sipped on her Tea. "So, Minerva, is it all right if I call you Minerva?" Hermione asked excitedly while the other girl just nodded.

"If I can call you Hermione"-

"-Of course!" Hermione interrupted her.

Minerva raised a brow at the girls' brash behaviour. "Well, Hermione, do you live around here?"

Hermione nodded while chewing on a piece of cake. She pointed towards the looming structure of the old manor that sat on top of a hill on the outskirts of the village.

Minerva seemed a little taken aback at her gesture. "Wait, someone actually lives in this creepy house? My mother told me it belonged to a family of bad wizards until they moved away a few decades ago."

Hermione chuckled into her teacup. "We just moved back from the continent, but don't worry, some of us are not that bad."

Even though she tried to sound cheerful, Minerva picked up on the underlying resentment in Hermione's voice, wondering what the girl had meant with her words.

"Anyways, enough about myself. Tell me something about you. Where do you live?"

The girls continued chatting about the most trivial things until it started to grow dark, the fading sunlight reminding Hermione that she had to return soon.

"I'm afraid I have to leave now. Rod-father might notice my absence if I'm late for dinner."

Minerva bid the pale girl farewell, and the two made plans to meet again over the weekend.

Hermione waved one last time over her shoulder before hurrying back home, cursing herself for losing track of time. Just as she entered the house through the kitchen, Winny appeared and announced that dinner had been served. Relieved to have made it back in time, Hermione tried to cool her flushed cheeks from the cold evening air outside and hurried to the dining room…


"You look flustered. Are you feeling unwell?" Rabastan asked after a few minutes of uncomfortable silence.

Hermione nearly choked on her dinner. Her fine silverware awkwardly clattered onto her plate. "I was exploring the gardens; it was quite a mile back."

Seemingly satisfied with her answer, the three continued their meal in stifling silence.

Just as Hermione went to get up from the table, Rodolphus cleared his throat. She froze in her seat.

"You need to learn how to behave yourself around other purebloods. So starting tomorrow, Rabastan and I will teach you how to walk, talk and act like a proper pureblood witch."

Hermione screwed up her face at his words. As if those two would know anything about being a proper witch. "I think I know how to behave around other people, thank you very much." she snapped back.

Rodolphus instantly lost his calm. She prepared herself for any hex he might throw at her and discreetly moved her chair a little further away from the table.

"I don't have the patience to listen to your incessant arguing," he growled. "So I advise you to shut your little mouth if you know what's good for you." He gripped the sides of the table until his knuckles were devoid of colour.

Hermione's inner Gryffindor encouraged her to defy him even further. Still, she knew she couldn't antagonise the man every day until he snapped. She wouldn't survive a week in this house if she did. So, Hermione gave in and apologised before storming out of the room, unbothered by Rodolphus' angry cursing. The bare minimum of compliance. That's what she was ready to offer, nothing more. I will not let this man walk over me as if I'm nothing better than a doormat. Like a mantra, she told herself the exact words every night before going to bed…


With the weekend finally here, Hermione put on the least daunting dress she could find in her closet of endless joy and proceeded to sneak back into the village to meet Minerva again.

"Why are you always wearing black, Hermione? Is it like a pureblood thing?" she asked. "My mother told me the older families have some odd quirks."

Hermione dramatically put her hand over her heart, "Minerva, you hurt me. Maybe it's just what I like to wear."

Her friend rolled her eyes at Hermione's antics, taking a sip from her teacup before clicking her tongue. "Well, it makes you look sick. You should try some colours for a change."

Hermione moaned, "believe me, I would, but the one time I asked my uncle for new dresses, he threw a hissy fit and called me ungrateful."

Sighing, the two girls continued to chat over their Tea.

"How about your family? What do your parents do?"

"Well," Minerva nervously played with the handle of her cup. "My dad is a Presbyterian minister, and my mum stays home. He nearly had a heart attack when he found out mum's a witch."

Hermione furrowed her brows. She'd been unaware of McGonagalls non-magical upbringing. It felt wrong that the strong woman from her memories had to hide her abilities in her youth. She'd always assumed that her teacher had grown up in the magical world.

"And your father is fine with you being a witch?" Hermione leaned forward in her chair.

"Well, not in the beginning, but he quickly got used to it. My two brothers are also magical, so he just went with it one day."

McGonagall had siblings. Her heart ached at the affection in Minerva's voice as she continued to talk about her younger brothers. She wondered what would happen to them in the future. Probably Voldemort. He's good at murdering entire families. She thought bitterly but continued to listen to Minerva's endearing childhood stories.

When it was time to return home, Hermione seriously contemplated asking her friend if she could stay with her family for a few days and pretend that life was okay. But instead, she

watched Minerva skip home and suddenly felt very old in her young body. She most certainly had too many things to worry about for an eleven-year-old…


"Never speak up when not spoken to. Nobody cares for the opinion of a little girl, so try not to offend anyone with your loud mouth," Rodolphus told her for the umpteenth time.

Hermione had to resist hissing at the older wizard and his obnoxious lessons. Instead, she bit her tongue and gave him a curt nod to show him she understood.

"Good. Remember, you must blend in with the other brats in our Lord's circle," he told her sternly, scanning her face for any signs of defiance.

Hermione just returned his calculating gaze and huffed. "You told me to get close to Riddle. So why do I have to suck up to his followers as well?"

"Stop questioning me and just do as you're told," the man said. "I know Gryffindors are daft about things like that, but I expected better from the smartest witch of her age."

Hermione groaned at his blatant provocation. The man had less patience than a child. "I'm proud of my house and will not let the hat put me anywhere else."

Her sorting was a touchy subject with Rodolphus. He wanted her in Slytherin, whereas Hermione wouldn't accept anything but Gryffindor. When Rabastan had tried to compromise once and suggested Hermione get sorted into Ravenclaw, the girl had stormed off the table.

"Not this again. You'll tell the hat to put you in Slytherin, end of discussion," Rodolphus said with a finality that did not leave room for arguing.

"Forget it. I'm already doing everything you told me to do," Hermione scowled. "I won't let you take the last place I feel safe away from." She wouldn't let him win this particular argument.

Rodolphus' eyes turned into slits as he watched the girl, not a single trace of fear in her amber eyes. "Don't try me, girl. I'm not in the mood." His admittedly handsome face scrunched up in discontent at her continuous defiance.

I'm a Gryffindor, and no amount of threats can convince me otherwise. "No, you can't force me. I'll most certainly not leave Minerva for those slimy snakes!" She pushed herself up, her chair falling back at her aggressive move. Seething, she stalked towards the doors, determined to stand her ground.

Just as she was about to reach the doors, they closed with a loud bang, making Hermione, in turn, jump at the jarring noise.

Rodolphus' eerily calm voice made the blood in her veins run cold.

"Minerva?" he asked, and she knew she'd messed up.

Desperately trying to find an excuse, Hermione inched as far back away from the seething man as possible. Given no time to defend herself, Rodolphus hit her with the excruciating pain of the Cruciatus, robbing her of her ability to stand in an instant.

Her knees hit the ground with a resounding thud, her entire body convulsing under the sudden onslaught of liquid fire coursing through her veins.

"I knew it. You were far too quiet in the past weeks." He lifted the curse and left Hermione gasping for air for a few seconds before casting it again, listening to her hoarse screams.

"Who are you seeing? Where do you meet them?" He finally lowered his wand, waiting for the sobbing girl to find her voice. When she took too long, he strode over to where she was lying and pulled Hermione up by her tangled hair. Hermione cried out; her small body was no longer used to the after-effects of the unforgivable curse.

Not able to take another round, Hermione gave in. "I met her in the village. We didn't do anything, I swear. We just talked!"

Her body shook when Rodolphus let go of her hair again and furiously whirled around to look at her. "Who? Whom did you talk to?" he asked through gritted teeth.

Hermione tried to get her mouth to function correctly again. "Minerva McGonagall, for Merlin's sake! She will go to Hogwarts next year as well!"

"That batty professor? She's that old?" Rodolphus, seemingly forgetting about the crying girl on the floor, furrowed his brows deep in thought. "Wasn't she a filthy halfblood?" he asked.

"She was a war hero who killed dozens of Voldemort's men."

The slap echoed through the silent room. Hermione could already feel her cheek tingling where his hand had connected with her face.

"We don't associate with filthy blood traitors." Rodolphus eyed her balefully. "Go to your room before I change my mind and just kill you."

He clearly left half his mind back in Azkaban. Hermione pulled herself up from the floor, determined to go before he could change his mind. Still, her stupid Gryffindor brain forced her to speak the words she knew she'd regret the instant they left her lips.

"Your ancestors must be so proud of you then, raising a muggle-born as your daughter." she jeered, positive that he would end her life right then and there.

Blind rage overtook his face. Rodolphus stalked over to where she was seemingly rooted to the spot.

"Why won't you just shut up?" He grabbed her chin, leaning down just a few centimetres away from her face.

"I despise you more than anything in the world." Hermione spat back at him, feeling his fingers digging harder into her cheeks.

Her body was exhausted, but her mind was on fire. She was done with this farce of a life. It had been over, the moment that man had murdered her in cold blood. Whatever their return to this time meant, she didn't care anymore. She just wanted to move on and be with Ron again.

But Rodolphus had other plans, and she watched in horror as his eyes cleared up again and found hers. A sane Lestrange was probably even more dangerous than their deranged counterparts. Hermione knew that the man was anything but stupid. Whatever suddenly made him look at her with those cold eyes, she knew it was probably worse than death.

"Well, well." He caressed her cheek with his thumb. "Do you think I don't know what you are trying to do?"

Hermione shuddered at the foreign touch.

"I'll not give you the peace you so desperately wish for." He grabbed one of her hands. "Oh no, you'll stay with us until we're done."

Before she could stop him, he had turned it over and cut her palm with a muttered slicing hex. She yelped at the sudden pain and tried to pull away, but he held her arm tightly, continuing to cut his hand as well. Then, before she could take a step back, he put his bloody hand in hers.

Horrified, Hermione felt a burning sensation where their blood mixed and listened as Rodolphus chanted a string of ancient verses, hissing when their hands began to glow. Fiercely shaking her head, Hermione tried to escape his vice grip before he could finish what she suspected to be an ancient and probably illegal blood ritual.

"Sanguis sanguinem meum, Os et os. Make this child of my house and name." He whispered feverishly, confirming Hermione's worst fears.

She felt her magical core expanding, feeding on Rodolphus' own before suddenly snapping back into herself, nearly knocking the girl off her feet. The world was spinning around her, and she felt his magic burn through her system, purging it of the remains of her own magical trace. It felt like liquid fire was coursing through her stomach, scorching her from the inside out. Everything hurt.

Hermione curled into herself to lessen the searing pain in her midsection…


Rodolphus breathlessly watched the witchling. She held her still-bleeding hand to her chest. Her eyes tightly screwed shut. Then suddenly, the girl went to grip her stomach. He watched with sick fascination as her brown curls turned darker and her already pale skin changed to the shade he and his brother had inherited from their mother.

"What have you done?" she asked hoarsely.

Finally, he had her where he wanted—broken at his feet. A manic laugh escaped his lips as he watched the girl trying to collect herself.

"There is not a single drop of filth left in your body, girl. You're truly a Lestrange now."

Her strangled sobs filled the room.

Rodolphus inhaled a deep breath. Potter's mudblood, the golden girl, was no more. No matter how much she would fight it, she was his now. Soon she'd realise what it meant to be a Lestrange. The ways of their society were stacked against her. No one would come to her aid.

They were a family now, the same ancient blood flowing through their veins. It was a strangely exhilarating thought…


Hermione felt like she was going to be sick. She had managed to escape from the hall back to her room. Her dress was stained with the blood from the cut on her throbbing hand. He's lying. There is no such spell. She desperately tried to tell herself.

After reaching her bathroom Hermione immediately fell to her knees, heaving over her toilet. Then, at the thought of the man's blood in her body, she threw up.

"Is Missy all right? Should Winny bring Missy something for her wound?"

When Hermione heard the high-pitched voice of her elf, she was overcome with the strong urge to smash something.

"Fuck off, Winny!" Throwing a roll of toilet paper at the shocked elf, the poor thing broke out in tears and apparated away.

Hermione shut her eyes and tried not to think about the little elf while she flushed the toilet and attempted to get up. For once grateful to live in a magical house, she commanded her bedroom doors to close and not let anybody else into her room. Struggling to get out of her sullied dress, she drew herself a hot bath, still feeling sick to her stomach…


Downstairs, Rabastan found his brother sitting entirely still at his desk, not even blinking, when he stormed into the room. "What have you done, brother?" He had felt the blood magic coursing through his body and knew something terrible had happened during his absence. He watched his brother's face contort into what he must've thought to be a smile.

"Well, I broke her spirit once and for all, Rab," he chuckled. "I don't think she'll be making any more problems."

Rabastan wasn't so sure about that but chose not to express his thoughts on this topic.

"By turning her into your damned daughter, really, Rodolphus? Was that truly necessary?" he asked, exasperated, but his brother just laughed.

"She kept gloating about her oh-so-great heritage. I couldn't hear it anymore." He abruptly stood up from his table, not even bothered by his still bleeding hand or ruined robes.

Rabastan felt like shaking his brother. He was very aware that his brother had never fully recovered from their thirteen-year stay in Azkaban but had prayed that he would regain some of his senses after their escape.

"What if she decides she can't take anymore, brother? What then? We still need her."

Rodolphus shrugged. He stood and poured himself a drink at the small bar on the other side of his study. Offering his brother a glass. "She won't. Her bleeding Gryffindor heart would never allow her to do such a thing."

He was throwing his head back as he downed his entire drink in one go and dropped the empty glass on his desk. "Trust me, Rab, I did the right thing. I know you think I've lost it back in that horrible prison, but I'm still not a fool."

Rabastan watched the retreating form of his brother for a while longer before rolling his eyes and pouring himself some more whiskey...


Back in her rooms, Hermione had finally calmed down enough to feel like she could face her reflection in the mirror next to the bathtub she was still soaking in. She pulled herself up and turned around to face whatever the consequences of that archaic spell were.

A young girl with bruised bags under her eyes looked back at her. Her hair was darker than Hermione's own, and her skin several shades lighter than hers had ever been, but other than that, she still looked like herself.

A wave of relief washed over her. Whatever Rodolphus had done to her, it hadn't changed who she was. Hermione felt like an enormous weight had been lifted from her shoulders. I'm going to be okay.

While she had been wallowing in self-pity, the sky had turned dark outside her windows. A glance at the small clock on her bedside table told her that dinner would be served soon. She pulled herself together and threw one of the ugliest dresses she could find in her wardrobe over her head, not caring about her crazy curls or dark circles.

She stomped out of her room and down to the dining hall. At her entrance, both brothers looked up, surprise written over their equally pale faces.

Rabastan swallowed audibly at Hermione's uncanny resemblance to his brother's late wife before he hurriedly caught himself.

Hermione ignored him, instead glaring at Rodolphus. "Your barbaric ritual means nothing to me."

One could cut the tension in the room with a knife as Rodolphus watched his new daughter thanking one of the house elves with a grim look on his face. She looked like a ghost in that dreadful black dress. No, he corrected himself. She looked like his awful wife. He would've laughed at the thought if he hadn't despised that witch so much.

"Finish your dinner and then go to your room. You'll not leave it until I permit you so." He played with her charade and watched the girl stabbing her food.

"As you wish." Hermione smiled bitterly at him and imagined the man suddenly combusting into flames. Never in her life had she loathed a person as much as Rodolphus Lestrange.

She counted the days until they would have to get her a new wand. Then, she'd finally be able to defend herself from his hexes or, even better, throw his curses back at the man…


Edited December 2022 - This is my attempt to imagine a "darker" picture of Hermione's life in the past... I focused more on Hermione's growth over the years and her achievements. Tom Riddle will still be a sociopath, and the Lestranges will still be…unhinged. So, consider this a warning for violence, swearing, PTSD, etc. I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters and make no profit from this story, except for maybe some nice reviews. Hermione will have different romantic interests over the years but not, e.g., two at the same time. Xoxo.