Disclaimer: All characters and situations other than my own are sole property of J.K Rowling and publishers alike.

Chapter 1: Perfectly Disastrous

Hermione bit back a wretched sob, fighting back to fall back into tears. Her attempts proved useless as, only a few seconds later, she fell to her knees bawling to the point of choking. She was no longer aware of her battle scars and injuries from the war, painful though they were. All she could feel was her broken heart, a heart that seemed no longer there, ripped to shreds. Like someone had grabbed into her chest with their bare hands and tore out the organ and then proceeded to Crucio it.

Her eyes were swollen shut, red with the countless tears, her nose dripping with snot and tears combined, all of that covering her face like a gruesome mask.

She foolishly pinched her right forearm in a foolish gesture, a futile attempt to wake herself up from this horrid nightmare. Yet as she scanned the environment around her once more; her eyes landed on the strayed fallen bodies of her classmates, some known while others unknown, their features ravaged beyond possible recognition, their mutilated corpses strewn across the floor, she, unable to control herself and gave an anguished cry, much like the cry of an animal when wounded, before lapsing hunching back into helpless sobs. She knew there was no escaping this nightmare.

To her far left she could make out the fiery red hair of Ginny Weasley, her trademark curls distinguishing her even in death. Her body laid lifelessly, tossed upon the rubble and remains of fallen Hogwarts. Dried blood, the bright crimson now a tarnished brown, stained Ginny's creamy thighs, standing out in detail against the pale flesh, some even forming a puddle beneath her still form.

Hermione clenched her fists together and turned away only to have her gaze fall upon yet another pale body, skin waxy and pale. The carcass could only be determined as Luna Lovegood's by the string of butterbeer caps tied around her neck. Hermione noticeably shivered at the gruesome sight. Even in death, Luna still managed to look permanently surprised, as though she knew something you didn't.

Hermione's breath hitched; swallowing uneasily as she steeled herself to face what was before her, to act like a true Gryffindor, like Harry, like Ron, would have done, and would have wanted.

But why was she looking around? After all, death was everywhere; everywhere she'd turned she'd only see bleak death, forever cold. Whether it was a friend or foe, a deceased person wasn't something she'd want to see quite often, a sight she'd never want to see again.

I should go. She thought to herself. Yet she stayed completely still, unable to will herself to go, to move away.

Hermione just sat there, her eyes blank and unseeing, glassy with thoughts of far away; she remained motionless, not even wiping away the tears or the mucus that were beginning to stain her face and formulate from her excessive crying or rubbing off the dirt and blood that marred her war-ravaged features on her face. She just stood there, immobile, not doing anything. Perhaps it was the fact that she was injured and had been tortured to a desperately weakened point where she felt like giving up. Or maybe it how much the countless battles had sapped her strength, both physically and mentally, leaving her tired and without the will to live she was. She was worn down from the Horcrux hunt, the battle, the war, the fighting, and the loss that it had all brought. The loss…Hermione swallowed painfully, a lump forming another lump in her throat.

They had lost. Harry…dead, and by the hands of the Dark Lord himself, who they had believed to be in his death throes. Oh, how they had been mistaken, how they had been fooled. She couldn't believe how gullible they had been, believing what was easiest, not what was true, not what had made sense.

Hermione banished the image of Harry's glassy, lifeless eyes away from her mind, refusing to allow anything, anyone, to distract her from the task at hand. Fighting, once again, the urge to curl up and just weep, her thoughts drifted to Ron…Ron…Hermione felt her heart break into smaller pieces, felt it wrench. She let out a heartbreaking wail. Ron was gone. The words were so hard to get through her head. They were all gone. All of them. Remus. Tonks. Molly. Fred. Charlie. Fleur-

The list just never stops! Heck! Why was she left behind? Why wasn't she one the list, the list of the dead and deceased? Why wasn't she with Harry and Ron? She let out an audible scream and slammed her fist on the closest object first thing she could hit, which happened to be a piece of crumbling brick that stood barely at knee height. She could feel the sting of the newly formed cuts and the dull ache of bruises spreading from the act, but she didn't care; the skin that covered her protruding knuckles seemed beyond repair, yet she spared them not a glance, she simply could care less. They were gone! Her best friends were gone. Her family. Her world! They had lost! And yet that to didn't seem to register. Her mind refused to register the fact, refused to accept, to believe the hard, cold truth. She didn't want to believe it. It seemed impossible that everything and everyone she had cared for and loved for had been wiped clean from the very face of the Earth.

I should go. She repeated to herself, the thought running through her head like a mantra. Perhaps if she were away from this…this…monstrosity, she'd be able to make a run for it and, if she made it, go into hiding. She'd be able to find some of the other survivors and she would hopefully rebuild the Order of the Phoenix and defeat Lord Voldemort and…

Who was she kidding? There were no known survivors. The rest of the Order had perished, gone missing or fled the moment the Dark Lord had sent struck the third Unforgivable at Harry. Hermione shivered. She wrapped her arms about her frozen form.

She didn't want to be here, and she shouldn't be here. By all rights, she should have been there with her friends, whether celebrating their victory, toasting the fall of Voldemort, or lying dead side by side.

The sound of a cackle returned Hermione to reality. They would find her soon enough. They were searching for survivors. She could hear their cheers and whoops of sick victory as they pulled out the lone survivors from their hiding spots, and torturing them to comparatively blissful insanity, or something along the lines of that, probably worse if she knew them at all.

She had to get out of here. But how? She couldn't Apparate. She didn't know whether or not the Hogwarts wards were still in place or not. And even if they weren't, even if she had the option of simply Apparating away, she was far too weak and drained to do so, and could thus risk getting splinched.

She just needed time to think, to formulate a plan of action. Planning had always been her strong point, what Harry and Ron relied on to get them out of trouble. Yet in the distance she could already hear Bellatrix's infamous cackle in the distance nearing and Hermione instantly knew that she didn't have the luxury of time.

Hermione ducked behind a pile of rubble and debris, clearly recognizable as having once belonged to of Hogwarts. She took a deep ragged breath, trying to pull herself together so she could think. However, those niggling little thoughts lingered into her mind, persisting in distracting and wearying her, killing her already low spirits, keeping her from thinking straight.

Harry's dead. The forbidden thought swept into her mind. The Wizarding world…will never be the same. Hermione winced at the thought. She didn't want to think about what would happen now that the Death Eaters had won. Muggleborns would be slayed for mere sport, people, fellow human beings, debased for their twisted amusement. Perceived blood traitors, whether real or imagined, would be tortured and then thrown in Azkaban. The Order members- that is, if there were any left- would be sentenced to the Dementor's Kiss, without a doubt, probably facing torture beforehand too.

It was all that stupid snake-faced man- no, monster-'s fault! So many lives could've been spared, so many deaths could have been made not to pass, if it weren't for Voldemort and his greed. So much could have been avoided. Families could have been safe. Lives could have been lived to the fullest, free of the dark shadow of death. Innocent people could have been able to walk out of their homes without fear of getting torture or killed. Harry would still have had his parents. And Hermione and Ron…they'd be able to be together.

If there was some way, anyway, that she'd be able to stop Voldemort. Preferably in a weakened state, Hermione added thought tartly, lips curving at the thought. Save lives that were destined to be ended. But how? Voldemort was seemingly all-powerful. Only an idiot would, and could, deny that. Now that he'd won they, the Death Eaters, would be on guard for any form of resistance, whether weak or organized.

She needed to find a way to get him in a vulnerable state, a state where she'd be able to destroy the remaining Horcruxes without fear for her life, and the lives of those around her. But that was ridiculous! It was like asking Harry and Ron to come back to life and go out for tea. Impossible.

There was only a certain time Hermione knew of where Voldemort wouldn't be so ridiculously powerful, so indestructible. Where his vast group of followers would be in small numbers, just beginning to gather and form around him, their all- mighty figurehead. The only problem was that that time was about sixty years ago, practically a whole lifetime ago. Then the wheels in her head began to turn and hope once again began to fill Hermione, suffusing her tiny form with hidden power. Her heart seemed to roar to life, breaking out of its icy shell.

She fished about in her pockets for a certain item that would be the solution to everything, rummaging with undue haste, upsetting what order had been left. Finally, pulling the beaded bag from her sock she wrenched it open with unnecessary force, taking her wand and pointing it at the bag.

"Accio Time-Turner!" She shouted, her adrenaline pumping in her veins, bolstering her, giving her courage. The cool, metallic feel of the device slipped into her palm.

"There's someone here!" She heard someone call. Panic strung into struck Hermione as she heard the sound of rushed footsteps coming close, dangerously close.

Without another thought or deliberate plan of strategy, she stuffed the beaded bag into her left pocket and wrung the Time Turner around her neck, uncaring as it bounced on her breastbone, the motion sure to leave its mark.

She should've calculated approximately how many times she should turn the device before actually doing so, but as the footsteps closed in on her she spun it around the dial, hoping that she would fall it would take her somewhere in between 1943 and 1947. As she saw the world around her swirl and twirl in a dizzyingly rapid movement, the last thing she consciously felt was a tug at her robes before she landed in 1944.

A/N: Well there you are. My first chapter. I feel like there are some glaring mistakes here. So if you are a Beta Reader and would like to correct my errors, well I would be delighted if you would help me. Let me know what you think and if I should continue or not. I do not own any of the characters.

~We're All Just A Little Mad~