Prologue
Hermione Granger was never one to put stock in fairy tales or romantic legends. She believed in facts, in logic, and in the power of knowledge to overcome any obstacle. So when Professor Binns began one of his usual droning lectures about the ancient tale of "The Chosen One," she initially found herself intrigued only by the historical significance of the story. What she didn't know, was just how significant this story was to her.
Chapter One: The Legend of the Chosen One
03 September 1997
The warm afternoon light filtered into Professor Binns' History of Magic classroom, casting golden beams across the desks. Most students were slumped in their chairs, half-asleep or lost in scribbles unrelated to the lecture. Even Hermione's boyfriend, Aries Malfoy, was leaning back lazily, eyes half-closed as he idly drew patterns in the air with his quill.
Professor Binns, a translucent and ancient ghost who drifted a few inches above the floor, was deep into his lesson on a topic that few students had ever paid any attention to: The Legend of the Chosen One.
Most students would never have thought twice about it. Tales of past wizards and witches with grand titles had become common lecture fodder for Binns, and this "Chosen One" business was as dry as any. But this time, something was different.
Hermione sat at the front, as usual, her quill at the ready and her eyes fixed on Binns. For once, he wasn't just droning out facts like a broken record. As he spoke about the young, mysterious wizard known as Harry Potter, his eyes—usually dull and unfocused—seemed to burn with a strange intensity, and he was looking right at her.
"The Chosen One," Binns intoned, his gaze resting on Hermione as if he was talking to her alone, "was destined to bring balance to the wizarding world. He lived during a time of great darkness, when a powerful Dark Lord rose to challenge all who opposed him."
Hermione felt a shiver run through her as Binns continued, his tone oddly personal, as though he were sharing a memory instead of a legend. "The Chosen One did not know the full extent of his power… nor did he understand the prophecy that bound him to the Dark Lord. But the prophecy was clear: the only power that could save him was something beyond spells or magic itself."
For some inexplicable reason, Hermione felt her heart beat faster, as if some invisible thread was pulling her toward the story. It was silly, she knew—just another wizard's tale, and yet… there was something hauntingly familiar about it. Binns continued, his gaze never wavering from hers, and Hermione sat, transfixed, feeling as though he were speaking a warning directly to her.
"Tonight's assignment," Binns finally said, breaking his gaze, "is to research the prophecy of the Chosen One and the events that led to the Second Wizarding War. I want a report on the significance of the prophecy and its consequences."
Hermione barely noticed the grumbling from her classmates, nor did she hear Aries muttering to himself. She could only think of the strange way Binns had looked at her, as if he knew her, and the unnerving sensation that this wasn't just any legend—it was somehow tied to her.
Later that Evening*
Hermione sat at the Gryffindor table, idly pushing a few roasted potatoes around on her plate. Across from her sat Aries Malfoy, his sharp Slytherin-grey eyes studying her with a casual curiosity that she had grown used to over the past few months. He leaned forward, elbows resting on the table, a hint of a smirk playing at his lips. Despite his Slytherin heritage, Aries never felt out of place among her Gryffindor friends. In fact, the Great Hall tonight had a pleasant mix of all four houses scattered among the tables—an arrangement that would have been unthinkable in the old days, when blood status dictated who could interact and where they sat.
"Lost in thought again, Granger?" Aries asked, nudging her plate lightly with a fork. "You're usually devouring these by now."
Hermione shook herself from her musings and looked up at him, feeling the warmth of his teasing smile. "Sorry. I was just… thinking."
Aries chuckled, leaning back. "You? Thinking? I would never have guessed." He rolled his eyes playfully, and Hermione couldn't help but smile back. Aries' wit was sharp, but it came with a softness she found herself drawn to—a softness that made her forget the centuries of old blood rivalries and the weight of his Malfoy name.
She glanced around the hall, taking in the intermingling of students. "Isn't it funny, though?" she mused. "A Malfoy, sitting at the Gryffindor table. Two hundred years ago, they would have hexed us on the spot for even suggesting it."
Aries nodded, his gaze thoughtful. "Yeah. It's strange to think about. Back then, pure-bloods only socialized with other pure-bloods. Slytherins wouldn't have even spoken to Gryffindors unless it was to trade curses." He shrugged, flashing her a wry grin. "Guess the times have changed… thank Merlin."
Hermione smirked. "You mean, thank Hogwarts' new progressive policy. I don't think you would have enjoyed being stuck at a table of pure-bloods, Malfoy."
"Perish the thought," he replied with a mock shudder. "Besides, this way I get to annoy you without anyone accusing me of being some old-fashioned, blood-obsessed bigot."
"Lucky me," Hermione said, rolling her eyes, though she couldn't help the small smile that tugged at her lips.
They continued chatting, Hermione feeling a warmth from Aries' casual banter, his wit both familiar and endearing. In moments like these, it was easy to forget his family's legacy. He was simply Aries to her—a young man with dreams of his own, unburdened by the weight of his ancestors.
But as the hall buzzed with laughter and friendly chatter, her mind couldn't fully settle. The memory of Professor Binns' lecture lingered, pulling at her thoughts with an intensity she couldn't shake. She needed answers—more than what Binns had offered in class. She needed to understand "why" she felt this strange connection to the Chosen One's story.
Finally, she pushed her plate aside and stood up. "I think I'll head to the library," she murmured to Aries.
He raised an eyebrow. "Now? Isn't that more of a morning habit?"
"Just something I need to look up," Hermione replied, her voice distant. "I'll catch up with you later."
"Suit yourself," he said with a casual wave, though she caught the hint of curiosity in his gaze. "Don't get buried under a stack of books. I won't be there to pull you out this time."
Hermione gave him a quick smile before hurrying toward the library, her heart racing with a mixture of excitement and dread. She didn't know what she expected to find, but the thought of uncovering the truth about Harry Potter—and that elusive "power the Dark Lord knows not"—was a pull she could no longer resist.
Determined to complete her assignment, Hermione stayed late, pouring over history books in the library. But the usual tomes seemed vague, as if they were hiding something, and she felt herself growing restless.
In the dim light of the library, Hermione leaned over a thick, worn tome, tracing the lines of text with her finger as she read. She had come across mention after mention of Harry Potter—the Boy Who Lived, the only person ever to survive the Killing Curse, the child who bore a lightning-shaped scar, a permanent reminder of his encounter with the Dark Lord. But her curiosity burned deeper. She wanted to know why he had survived, how he could be so different from anyone else.
Then she found it—the prophecy. Her breath caught as she read the ominous words, written in faded ink on a brittle piece of parchment:
"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies..."
Hermione sat back, her mind whirling. She had read about Harry's story countless times, but this prophecy was new to her. It hinted at a destiny for Harry, one that was bound by forces beyond her understanding. The words, power the Dark Lord knows not, haunted her. What could it be? A spell? An ability? She searched for answers, combing through every available book in the library, even slipping into the Restricted Section. But nothing she read offered an explanation for this mysterious power.
She was left with nothing but questions and an uneasy sense that this prophecy had hidden depths. What was it that made Harry Potter so powerful? The idea unsettled her as she collected her books, deciding to return to Gryffindor Tower. Yet, even as she walked through the castle corridors, the words of the prophecy echoed in her mind.
The Dark Lord will mark him as his equal... power the Dark Lord knows not...
Hermione was so lost in thought that she almost missed it—a door that hadn't been there a moment before, materializing in the stone wall to her left. She paused, blinking in surprise. The Room of Requirement. She hadn't intended to summon it, but here it was, appearing as if it knew her thoughts better than she did. Perhaps it held the answers she sought.
Heart pounding, Hermione took a steadying breath and reached for the handle, feeling a strange sense of fate pulling her forward. Her mind spun with the story of the Chosen One and that nagging feeling of destiny she couldn't shake. She pushed it open and stepped inside, her eyes widening at the sight before her.
The room was dimly lit, filled with towering shelves of ancient tomes, relics, and artifacts. In the center of the room, a single pedestal stood, and resting on it was a book, bound in worn leather, with an incantation inscribed in gold letters on its cover.
The worn pages seemed to pulse under her gaze, the ancient ink shimmering with a faint, otherworldly light. Her heart thudded, and her fingers trembled as they traced the unfamiliar script.
The words leapt out at her, as though calling her name, resonating with that strange pull she'd felt in Professor Binns' class. Taking a deep breath, she whispered the incantation, her voice barely above a murmur:
"Duae animae, tempore divisae, iterum conveniant."
The room around her seemed to breathe with those words, the air thickening and vibrating with ancient power. A low hum filled the room, building into a resonance that was both thrilling and terrifying. Hermione's skin prickled with energy, the hairs on her arms rising as a force pulled her gaze to the stone now gleaming on the pedestal before her.
The stone shimmered, a swirling mist of light and shadow reflecting back at her. It felt alive, as though it were reaching out, sensing her touch. She didn't think—she couldn't. Some deep part of her, as if responding to an invisible thread of destiny, knew what she needed to do.
Slowly, she extended her hand, her fingers inches from the stone. Its light grew brighter, swirling with colours she had no names for, its call stronger with each heartbeat. Her hand touched the cool surface, and with that single connection, the world spun around her, pulling her down into an endless abyss of light and darkness.
The words echoed in her mind as she was swept away: Duae animae, tempore divisae, iterum conveniant. Two souls, separated by time, will come to reunite.
A New World
When Hermione's eyes opened, she was lying in a forest, surrounded by towering trees under a canopy of mist. The air smelled fresh, untouched by time, and the only sounds were the distant calls of birds and the faint rustle of leaves.
Disoriented, she stood and brushed off her robes, taking in her surroundings with growing unease. This wasn't the Room of Requirement. This wasn't Hogwarts.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, her first instinct was to make sure she still has her wand with her. Relief flooded her when she found it inside her robes.
She has to find her way back to Hogwarts. She stumbled through the thick trees and tangled underbrush, her breaths coming in shallow gasps as she pushed aside branches and ducked under hanging vines. The forest was damp, its earthy scent heavy in the air, and a strange, unsettling quiet pressed around her, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves. Every step was uncertain, her mind spinning with a thousand questions. Where am I? How long was I unconscious?
Finally, after what felt like hours, she emerged from the forest and found herself gazing at the familiar outline of Hogwarts in the distance. Relief surged through her, and she began to walk faster, then slowed as something felt... off. She squinted, her heart sinking as she took in the castle's darkened, weathered stone walls. Shadows cast over the grounds in heavy strokes, and Hogwarts seemed cold, distant—an ancient fortress rather than the warm sanctuary she had known. Her eyes moved to the figures stationed near the entrance.
Cloaked in black, floating ominously above the ground, Dementors hovered around the castle, their forms swaying as if breathing in the lifeless air. The sight froze her in place. Dementors? Guarding Hogwarts? The usual warmth and safety of the castle had vanished, replaced by an oppressive stillness that chilled her to the bone. A wave of fear swept over her, and she instinctively took a step back, glancing around for any sign of familiar life or movement. But the grounds were deserted, empty of students or professors. She felt a sudden, overwhelming sense that she didn't belong here—that this Hogwarts wasn't hers.
The uneasy feeling mounting, she decided not to approach the castle and turned, instead making her way toward Hogsmeade. The path was familiar, but the silence that accompanied her was unnerving. When she finally reached the village, she felt her heart sink further. The lively, cheerful Hogsmeade she knew was nowhere to be seen.
Shops that once displayed colourful signs and inviting lights were dark and subdued, their windows covered with heavy shutters. The cobblestone streets, once filled with laughter and bustling students, were empty and blanketed in a thick, ghostly fog. A few villagers moved about, but their faces were downcast, their movements hushed, as if a spell of despair weighed over them. Hermione swallowed, her throat dry. What happened here?
As she walked down the main street, she noticed eyes on her. People began to glance her way with a mix of confusion and suspicion. She looked down at her Hogwarts uniform, realizing just how out of place she seemed among the villagers dressed in rough cloaks, tunics, and heavy gowns. Her modern attire stood out like a beacon, and whispers followed her as she passed by. A group of men loitering near a darkened alley exchanged glances, their eyes lingering on her in a way that made her skin crawl.
One of them, a scruffy man with a twisted smirk, took a step forward and reached out, muttering, "What's a young lady like you doin' in such strange clothes? Are you a scarlet woman?" His fingers closed around her arm, his grip cold and rough.
Hermione's heart pounded, panic surging through her veins. She yanked her arm free, stumbling back and breaking into a sprint. The sound of mocking laughter and footsteps followed her, but she didn't look back, focusing only on escape. She turned sharply, weaving through the fog-covered alleys and narrow streets, her breaths coming in gasps.
Rounding a corner, she froze. Ahead of her stood a tall young man with platinum blond hair, a sharp chin, and piercing grey eyes. Relief flickered through her for a split second, thinking it was Aries. She took a step forward, about to call his name, but then stopped cold. The man's expression wasn't warm or familiar; his gaze held only cold contempt, and a sneer twisted his lips as he looked her over.
"Lost, are we?" he drawled, his voice dripping with disdain. The resemblance to her boyfriend Aries was undeniable—the same aristocratic features, the same cruel twist to his mouth. But this man wasn't her Aries. He felt harsher, older, like something pulled straight from a darker past. Hermione's heart sank as recognition dawned on her.
She had seen this face before, staring back at her from an old portrait in Aries' home—a Malfoy ancestor from centuries past. This wasn't her time, her world. And as she locked eyes with the sneering Malfoy, the truth crashed over her like ice water.
She wasn't just lost in another place—she was lost in another time.