CHAPTER ONE

Summary: Hermione's life is changed forever when she is saved during The Final Battle at Hogwarts by her Father. A man she didn't recognise. A man of great power. A man legends were written about. A man that gives her a new mission. A man that most certainly wasn't Richard Granger. Rated M for a reason.

Disclaimer: All canon events and characters belong to J.K Rowling. I'm not making any financial gain from posting this.

AN

A new fic! With several of my other fanfics coming to an end very soon, I thought I would post this and give you all a teaser of what's to come in the future. My depiction of Tom Riddle may be a little off compared to what you're expecting, but I do love changing the characters and warping them to my own liking.

This was requested by SereniteRose a while back and I've been slowly working on it for some time now. I've only got the first few chapters written so far, along with a few chapters I plan to use later on in the fic, but we'll see how it goes I suppose. This will be updated sporadically.

Page count: 10

Everyone's heard of Merlin. The Prince of Enchanters. A member of King Arthur's Court. The enemy of Morgana le Fey, a dark witch and King Arthur's half sister. He is said to be the most powerful wizard to have ever walked the Earth. But of course this is common knowledge.

But there is a legend, a legend few know about, a legend that people have long since forgotten. Merlin is said to return from the afterlife every two hundred and fifty years, for one night only. The purpose of this...To conceive an heir.

Merlin would choose a woman, witch or muggle, to conceive with. He would return to the afterlife to watch over the mother of his unborn child and he would watch his child grow, learn magic and carry on the legacy. But in those times, centuries ago, neither the woman nor child would survive the child birth, and if they did, they most certainly wouldn't survive the illnesses and harsh winters. Merlin's heir would be lost and he would be forced to wait another two hundred and fifty years to repeat the cycle.

But little do people know, legends are born from truth.

Hogwarts - Saturday 2nd May 1998

Merlin watched in pride over his heir, his daughter, as she battled and duelled; as she protected those younger than her, and those weaker than her. He watched as she fought against evil and as she destroyed one of the most horrifically dark objects he had ever seen, both in his life and death.

If he was asked to describe in one word how he felt, he would reply proud. In all the centuries he had been in the afterlife, all the centuries he had watched over his children, his daughter was the strongest. She had survived.

In over a thousand years Merlin had fathered five children. Four of them along with the mothers had died in either child birth or before reaching the age of two. But now, he watched his fully grown daughter, soon to be eighteen in age, fighting a war that shouldn't have happened. That shouldn't have been so harsh to her. That shouldn't have forced her to fight for her life, to choose her life over the enemy's.

He had watched her grow, the only child to survive, likely due to her strong magical core and the wonders of modern medicine. He watched her make her way through her muggle school, as an outcast due to her intelligence and magic. He watched her each day at Hogwarts as she continued to prove that blood had nothing to do with magical ability and intelligence. She stood by Harry Potter, the poor boy who had his life ruined because of a prophecy that never should have come to light.

He watched her sorrow, her happiness, her laughter. He watched when tears fell because of loss, because of bullying, because she was taken advantage of. He watched as her blood was spilled and she was tortured in the drawing room of Malfoy Manor. He wished he could ease her pain, he wished he could ease her suffering.

But he was proud of her. His daughter. His heir. His fighter. His Hermione. Her beauty was not recognised by those closest to her, but rather by those who despised her. Her intelligence rivalled by only one other in her year and even then she still won out with her grades and witty comebacks. Her loyalty and bravery were something he couldn't help admire. Her kindness and selflessness to those around her, even magical creatures.

He could not lose her. He had already lost four children, four sons. He would not lose his daughter, even it meant going against the rules. He would not.

Despite never actually talking to his daughter, he loved her with everything he had in him. Through watching her as she grew, he had gotten to know her. He knew her habits, he could tell when she was lying or when she was trying to put up a front and mask her true emotions. He knew that her favourite colour was purple and her favourite fruit was pears. He knew that her favourite book was Hogwarts a History and that her most prized possession was her cat, Crookshanks, who had sadly died a year ago.

No, he would not lose her, he would protect her. He would save her, and in turn save the Wizarding World. And that time had come when he saw her being hit with a fatal spell that would end her life in minutes.

Harry was a Horcrux. Hermione understood what the sick bastard, The Dark Lord, had done to her best friend and she was beyond furious. When Harry was brought to the entrance courtyard of the castle all fighting stopped. Harry was dead and in the arms of Hagrid.

Hermione could see Voldemort talking, likely taunting them, but she didn't hear a word of it. Her attention was on Harry; her fury was already at breaking point.

Fred, Ginny, Ron, Luna, Remus, Tonks and Seamus. Her friends, her family; all dead. She had watched them die in front of her.

Fred... As he was crushed beneath a wall and Percy was severely injured as Fred pushed him out of the way as she rounded the corner. He died instantly, the smile still on his face as he had laughed at Percy making a joke.

Ginny... Bellatrix killed her with The Killing Curse and as a result both Hermione and Mrs. Weasley killed Bellatrix together, overpowering her in anger and anguish. Ginny's usually vibrant aura gone, dead.

Ron... Rodolphus Lestrange killed him with an archaic dark curse, but Hermione recognised it instantly. Ron collapsed to the floor as the curse passed effortlessly through his shield, as if it wasn't even there. It hit him square in his chest and blood started pouring out of every orifice. His mouth, his eyes, his nose, his ears. He drowned in his own blood in Hermione's arms. She knew the counter curse but she couldn't reach him in time and when she did the curse was almost finished with him. Moments later, her clothing was soaked in his blood and he was dead in her arms. Hermione allowed her magic to take over and she stood and turned her attention to the elder Lestrange brother. A few short minutes later and Lestrange dropped to the floor, dead at her feet.

Luna... She died by being hit with a stray Avada, she couldn't be sure who had cast it. The serene smile and glassy eyed look was still on her face.

Remus and Tonks... They had been over powered by Fenrir Greyback and his pack. She watched from a distance as they were ripped apart, defiled. But Kingsley and a few members of The Order dealt with them.

Seamus... He was killed by Dolohov. By the same fatal curse he had thrown at her in her fifth year in the Department of Mysteries. He dropped to the floor, not five feet away from her, a pool of blood covering the cobbled stone floor and soaking her shoes as it reached her. Hermione in turn killed Dolohov.

She couldn't stop it, her magic. Hermione had always known she was different, even when she first came to Hogwarts. There was something different about her magic, something she couldn't quite explain. It was more... potent. Yes, it was stronger than other witch's and wizard's magic. When she lost her temper she could feel her magic surrounding her in the air, begging to be released and put to use. She was positive that had never happened to any other person in the school.

Her ability to learn and perfect magic was unnatural. She had always been a brilliant student, studious and hard working, but she picked up both magical theory and practical work instantly. She cast spells with very little effort; she could do it in her sleep. She knew that wasn't normal, there was something different about her, but she didn't know what, and to be honest, she wasn't sure if she wanted to know the answer.

When Hermione saw Harry's dead body cradled by the kind half-giant, she snapped, like before when she'd mercilessly killed the murderers of her friends. She gripped her wand tightly, feeling her skin burning as in protest. She could feel her magic building inside of her, consuming her, until she couldn't contain it anymore and it moved outwards and swarmed around the air. Everyone felt the strange and angry crackle in the atmosphere, but they didn't know where it came from.

Suddenly Voldemort's blood red eyes snapped to her and she saw them widen in surprise and his smug and taunting grin fell from his face as he stared at her. He looked at her strangely, slightly fearful maybe?

His eyes cut away from hers when Harry suddenly fell from Hagrid's arms; he hit the floor before he stood up and faced Voldemort. Before she knew it, they had both cast their final spells and the jet of colours collided violently. The fighting around them continued as everyone realised this would determine the end of the war and both sides wanted as less enemies as possible to deal with in the aftermath.

Hermione was drawn into a duel with Rabastan Lestrange. They were fighting fiercely, him using dark curses and Hermione using magic that would be questionable, considered grey magic at best if brought up in topics. She caught his arm with a powerful Slicing Hex and her attention was drawn away from her opponent. She saw it, four first years were being cornered by two werewolves. She couldn't understand what they were doing there; they should've been in the dungeons guarded!

Her eyes flashed and the anger that flooded during each death of her friends came back with a vengeance. She sliced her wand through the air with a considerable amount of force and dark magic. She had to resort to using certain dark spells for survival. The beam of orange light shattered Lestrange's shield and hit him in the throat, he fell to the floor in a pool of his own blood, dead. Hermione didn't have time to reflect on the fact that she'd once again taken a human life, she had to protect the first years.

She took off at a run, darting between duels and sending spells where she could to help those she past.

"Bombarda Maxima," she yelled, her wand pointed in the direction of the two werewolves cornering the first years.

They were blasted away from the first years with such a force that their backs hit against the wall and despite all the noise around her, she heard the sickening cracks of a broken neck. Two more deaths to add to her count. She steered the first years into the castle and to the first room she found, a broom closet. She ushered them inside and she closed the door and warded it the best she could, putting some of her own magic into the wards to strengthen them.

She turned and headed back to the battle outside, intent on finishing what she'd started. She reached the entrance courtyard in time to see the two spells from Harry and Voldemort fade and they both collapsed to the ground, dead.

Hermione screamed in anguish, her throat burning, her eyes stinging and her chest feeling as though it'd been split open and her heart was being ripped out of her.

In her despair she was distracted and a spell was sent her way. It hit her directly on the back and she fell to the ground. A series of crosses on the skin of her back opened up and poured with blood. She knew this curse. Sectumsempra. But this was different, she had been hit with a Sectumsempra during her time at Malfoy Manor and she could feel the difference in the spell. This was a modified version and she just knew that no one would be able to heal her. She was going to die.

'Well, I've had a good run,' she thought to herself as her eyes closed.

The Golden Trio was dead.

~000~000~000~

The Meadow

Hermione awoke with her face pressed against something soft and warm, and it tickled her cheek and nose. She opened her eyes and slowly pushed herself up until she sat up, her hands pressed against the soft surface. She looked around with curious eyes and she could feel the smile that pulled at her mouth.

She was in a beautiful meadow.

She could hear birds singing and chirping away in the distance, the bright blue sky was clear of any clouds and the sun beamed down on her, surrounding her like a warm, soft blanket. The meadow was filled with brightly coloured tulips and poppies, daffodils and daisies, sunflowers and lavender. The grass below her was the brightest shade of green she had ever seen and soft and warm, tickling her fingers as she pressed her hand further in to it.

She slowly rose to her knees and climbed to her feet, her eyes darting downwards and taking in her new appearance. She was barefoot with the grass beneath her tickling her toes, she was clad in a soft and simple white sundress that fell to her knees and it had capped sleeves. The skirt flowed lightly in the slight breeze that hit her skin, and her hair was left down in ringlets and pinned back from her face.

There was no dirt, no blood, no injuries, but most importantly... there was no pain. She remembered the battle. Where was she and why was she not in pain?

She spun on her heel and her eyes searched her new surroundings when she heard a noise, a noise she was sure did not belong in the beautiful meadow. She saw a man heading her way. He was wearing light blue robes, which he left open showing off a plain white t-shirt and black trousers. He had short brown hair and they breeze disturbed it as he approached her, his fair skin looked to glow in the sunlight and his chocolate brown eyes twinkled. He had kind features, high cheekbones and a bright smile that showed perfectly white teeth. He didn't look to be old either, Hermione would've said no older than late twenties, maybe early thirties. Hermione quickly looked down; feeling embarrassed over the fact the man was handsome, very handsome.

He stopped not far in front of her and she titled her head to look up at him, seeing as he was quite a bit taller than her.

"Am I dead? Is this the afterlife?" She asked. It was the only thing that made sense. It was the only possible explanation that would describe what she was experiencing.

"No, My Child, you aren't, and this not," he said kindly. His voice was soft and charming, she noted.

"Where am I?"

"You are in the phase before passing to the afterlife. You are not quite dead, but not quite alive either. It's difficult to explain," he chuckled.

"How did I get here?"

"I brought you here, I saved you from death," he replied.

"Why? Who are you?"

"My name is Merlin."

Her eyes widened and then she started laughing. He chuckled at her reaction.

"No, seriously, who are you?" She asked when she calmed.

"I truly am Merlin, Hermione," he said kindly. She looked at him in disbelief. "Not what you were expecting?" He asked with a raised eyebrow and a look of amusement in his eyes.

"No, to be honest, I was expecting Merlin to be wearing purple robes with gold stars and have a matching pointed hat. Given his age, many, many wrinkles, silver-white long hair and beard and a staff with a glowing glass orb."

He chuckled at her and he raised his hand and waved it in a small arch motion. Before her eyes he transformed into the exact description she had just given. Her eyes widened and he laughed as he turned himself back into his previous, younger and handsome self.

"That was me back when I was alive; this is me when I was younger. Now that I am in the afterlife I can look any way I wish to, people don't tend to be intimidated by my power when I look like this. Besides, I rather like the fashion of this century, very comfortable."

"Your dialect is different than what I thought it would be," she commented, her fingers fiddling with the edge of her dress nervously. She couldn't help it. She was in the presence of bloody Merlin himself!

"I've got to keep up the modern times, haven't I?"

She nodded dumbly, before clearing her throat to ask her next question. "Why did you save me?"

"That is a long story, My Child. What do you know of me?" He asked her, a curious look crossing his face.

Hermione bit her lip in thought. "Well..."

For nearly two hours they walked through the meadow together, with Merlin explaining in great detail about all that had occurred in his life. He explained of how for the past one thousand years, he returned to the land of the living to create an heir, and had been unsuccessful until, finally, Hermione was born and healthy.

Her head was spinning. Merlin was her Father!

No, it couldn't be, her Father was Richard Granger. She looked like him; she had inherited his wild curls, his love of books and his awful singing. Her mother was Jean Granger. She'd inherited her love of cooking, her smile and her silly, but endearing habit of rearranging the fridge magnets to leave messages every morning.

He couldn't be her Father, he just couldn't. It was impossible. Impossible!

"It's impossible," she whispered.

He looked down at her with a soft and kind smile on his face and with understanding held in his eyes.

"I am sorry to tell you that it's not. Richard and Jean Granger adopted you when you were six months old. I'm saddened to inform you that your biological Mother died in an accident. I can show you my memories if you would like."

Hermione grimaced; she did not want to see that. "No thanks," she replied. He chuckled at the look on her face. "I need a moment," she whispered and then she sank to the floor. Merlin nodded and sat down beside her, close enough to give her comfort but far away enough that she had her own space.

'Could it be true?' She thought to herself. 'Why would one of the most powerful wizards to walk the Earth lie about being my Father?' It made no sense!

She didn't know how long she sat in silence, trying to sort through her thoughts and filing away the new information she'd been given about her life, but she finally pulled her eyes from the ground and she looked up at him and her eyes searched his face, looking for any similarities between them. She wished she had a mirror. Suddenly a hand held mirror popped in front of her and floated in the air. She cautiously reached out and took it in her hand, holding it away from herself and staring at herself reflected in the surface.

She had soft mahogany curls that fell to the middle of her back, and they were a confusing mixture of wild and tame. She had delicate fair skin that had been scarred, but scars could be covered, at least her face didn't bear evidence of her years at war. She had a small button nose, large chocolate brown eyes and small, plump pink lips with a perfect white smile. She looked up at Merlin once more and saw him looking at her softly and she took the opportunity to catalogue his appearance once more, this time taking her time in doing so.

Fair skin, chocolate brown eyes, mahogany coloured hair and a perfect smile. She looked at herself in the hand held mirror once more and sighed. She admitted to herself, begrudgingly, that she did look like him, more so than she did Richard Granger.

"I'm the only one to survive, your only child?" She said quietly.

He nodded and a sad look crossed his face. "During my living years I had a son, Egbert; sadly he died at the age of two due to illness. After my death I returned to Earth to conceive an heir. He died in the womb along with the Mother. My third child died in the winter before his third birthday. My fourth child died in the womb. All of them boys. You are my fifth child and you survived. I suspect it's due to modern medicine; child birth and child development is a lot safer this century, and you have a strong magical core, stronger than most. I had already lost four children, four sons. I was not going to lose my daughter. I will not lose you."

"I am sorry," she said.

He smiled and nodded. "I am glad that you survived. I watched you grow." She looked at him in surprise and he chuckled. "I watched you say your first word, take your first steps, read your first book, your first magical outburst, your first spell. I saw it all, I was there every step of the way, watching over you. You weren't able to see me, but I was always there and you were never alone, My Child. I imagine that says a lot about you, that you survived. You are destined for great things, you have done great things."

"I have killed people," she said disgusted at herself and she could feel her eyes tearing up as every life she took flashed through her mind. Evil or not, she had killed them.

"You saved lives, you protected people, you did what was necessary. I couldn't be more proud of you."

"I used dark magic."

"There is no dark magic and there is no light magic. Magic is just magic. It just is. It's what a person does with it that counts. Just because a spell is complicated and archaic doesn't mean it's dark. Just because it can cause damage or harm doesn't mean it's dark. A simple Aquamenti can be used to drown someone. A simple Reducto can blow a person into smithereens if there is enough emotion and power behind it," he explained.

She knew that, that was how she and Mrs. Weasley had killed Bellatrix. Their emotions, their sadness, grief and anger had powered their magic and it had reacted violently when they collided, instantly killing Bellatrix. Hermione wondered if there was something wrong with her when she felt sad in knowing that Bellatrix hadn't suffered beforehand.

"But those that practice dark magic cannot cast a patronus, it would kill them."

"That is true," he nodded. "However, as I said before, it's what you do with the spell that counts. If you use the magic for horrific acts, the magic will become dark. 'Dark' magic is contaminating. It can take over a person, poison them. I am of the understanding that you have witnessed it more than once in your life."

Hermione nodded in response. She could think of a few examples; Voldemort, Bellatrix, Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange, Dolohov, Greyback, she could go on forever.

"So what am I?" She asked, changing the subject and looking down at the barley month old scar on her arm. The ugly red and jaggered lettering reading, 'Mudblood'.

His eyes fell to her arm and upon seeing the hurt that had been done to his daughter, he felt anger wash over him. He hadn't felt anger in a long time and it took him a moment to take a calming breath and reign in his emotions. "You are a Half-blood; your biological Mother was a muggle."

"Why a muggle?" She asked curiously.

"First of all, the Mothers of my other children were all witches. A pattern was forming and none of them made it, neither did my sons. I wanted to try something different. Second of all, I wanted you to understand both worlds, Muggle and Wizarding. I wanted you to experience and witness the differences, to show you that muggles are not that different. You can easily survive in both worlds; you have knowledge of magic, but also of muggle traditions, history, art, education, politics, law enforcement, travel, behaviour and mannerisms. I know that you are an incredibly intelligent young woman. What was it that Dumbledore called you again? Ah. That's right, The Brightest Witch of your Age," he grinned at her proudly. "I am proud of you, Hermione. For every smile and laugh or frown and tear. For every kind comment or selfless act. For every spell cast, 'dark' and 'light.' For every friendship made and love found. For everyone you have protected or you had to eliminate."

"What am I doing here?" She asked, feeling a blush heat up her cheeks at his words.

"The war that you fought in, it never should've occurred. The prophecy regarding your best friend, it should've never come to light. We've watched but we couldn't interfere."

"We?" She asked curiously.

"Yes, we. The Elders. We watch over the world, but we don't intervene unless it is absolutely necessary. This war was never supposed to happen but we knew that Voldemort would be defeated, we did not, however, know as to what it would cost."

"Elders?"

He smiled at her. "Always on the hunt for knowledge, just like I was in my time," he chuckled. "The Elders are made up of the most powerful witches and wizards to walk have the Earth. Light and otherwise."

"Like who?"

"I'm not supposed to tell you," he replied amused.

"You also weren't supposed to stop me from dying," she fired back.

"I see your point," he chuckled. "Besides myself there is Circe, Gellert Grindelwald, Albus Dumbledore, Salazar Slytherin, Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, The Peverell Brothers and Morgana le Fay."

"Sounds fun," she said sarcastically.

He laughed at her. "Some days there are arguments, but for the most part everyone gets along nicely."

"Again, why am I here?"

"I wish to change the events that happened, I wish to stop the suffering you, your friends and the world felt. We should've stepped in long before it happened. We had watched over Tom Riddle since his birth, his magic was different from the very moment he was born."

"I'm sure Slytherin is proud," she muttered and he frowned at her.

"Actually he was disappointed in the way the last living Heir of Slytherin behaved." Her eyes shot up to him. "Salazar is severely misunderstood."

"He wished to ban Muggleborns from the Wizarding World. He didn't think they were worthy. He kept a dangerous creature under the school. A creature that petrified me."

"He is sorry that you fell victim to the basilisk. Salazar didn't hate Muggleborns, he was just wary of them. Back in those days witches and wizards were few, they were in hiding. He was travelling when he met a witch, a witch that could manipulate things around her, including her body."

"Transfiguration?"

"Correct," he said proudly. "He wished for her to join him on his travels around the world, searching for more witches and wizards. However, before they could leave, the witch was brutally murdered by muggles, who had witnessed her changing into her Animagus form. From that point Salazar hated muggles, he realised they posed a threat to our kind. When he formed Hogwarts with the others, he didn't wish to accept Muggleborns due to their ties to the Muggle World. Ideals and beliefs were seriously lost over the years, translations were misinterpreted."

"Chinese whispers," she said with a frown. "That I can understand, but why the basilisk?"

"It was for protection. Protection of the students and the staff, to protect the castle in case there was ever an attack from muggles. That's why Hogwarts is in the middle of the Scottish Mountains, out of sight out of mind. We have witnessed that blood has no tie with magic potential, power and ability. Dumbledore, Riddle, Harry, you," he listed.

"Me?"

He smiled at her. "We both know you're more powerful than most magical folk. The reason for that being, you have a very strong magical core, as well as I being your Father."

"I've always known I was different. Even at Hogwarts. I could cast spells no one else could. I read a magical theory and I understood it completely. It took few tries to perfect a new spell. It was effortless for me."

"All the dangerous run-ins you've had over the years, most of them should've killed you." She looked at him confused. "Your fifth year, you were hit by that curse from Antonin Dolohov, despite the fact that you silenced him, that curse would've still been powerful enough to kill you. The reason you survived was your magic, it was keeping you alive until you could be healed. Malfoy Manor, that should've killed you, but your magic kept you alive until you could be healed. You're special, Hermione," he said softly. "But back to the point at hand, I wish to send you back, but this time you will be prepared."

"Back? Back to where?"

"The past, I wish to send you back to Tom Riddle's school days. Your mission is to stop him from making any Horcruxes and watch over him, prevent him from becoming what he does."

"You want me to babysit him?"

He chuckled and shook his head. "I wouldn't have phrased it in that way, but essentially, yes. For the next year, you will remain here with me." He could see the questions she wished to ask in her eyes. "You will remain here for the next year so that I can teach you. You will learn many magical skills that will aid you in your mission and keep you safe. I will teach you both Legilimency and Occlumency and you will master them, better than Severus Snape," he joked and she smiled a small smile.

"I will teach you how to harness your magic, how to make your spell casting even simpler, how to strengthen your protective shields and offensive magic. I have been dead for over thirteen hundred years. I have witnessed a lot during my life and my afterlife. I will teach you spells that have long since been forgotten, that magical folk don't even know exist anymore. I will teach you wandless and non-verbal magic because they are an incredible tool to have in your arsenal."

"Wandless and non-verbal magic is extremely difficult."

"Not really, you are powerful therefore everything comes easier to you, and back in my time wands never existed. The closest conductor we had to a wand was my staff. Wands weren't invented until after my death, therefore once upon a time, all magic was done wandlessly." Her eyes shone with anticipation and he chuckled.

"How do you know that I will accept this mission?"

"I have watched you, I have gotten to know you, I know you better than you know yourself, I know you would never turn down the opportunity help someone who needs it. And also, you don't really have a choice."

She snorted. "So you will train me in the art of magic, to be like you and after a year I will be sent to Riddle's time to change the past?"

"Precisely, the past should never be messed with, but this is now a must. Time works differently here. A year here would be twelve minutes on Earth. And you won't feel the need to sleep or to eat. It will fly by, I promise you. I'll give you a few moments to get your bearings and then we will start your training."

AN – so, what do you think so far? I hate writing the first chapter as it's the foundation of any good fic, and it's always the most difficult to write. It gets better, I promise.