In case old readers have not noticed, I've been revamping this trilogy for quite a few months now. There are a few major changes, most are minor. I have finished revising Back in Time as of now, and am on to reworking this story! Plot points will be altered and characterizations improved—I hope no one is too upset with my changes, but as the first two stories in this trilogy were written when I was a preteen/young teen, it would just make me feel better to improve them, do better by some characters, and overall make this a better read for new readers!

Enjoy, and reviews are still very much appreciated!

Hermione made one last mental check of all her items, ticking off the list in her head to make sure she hadn't forgetten anything. She pulled her large trunk out of the very neat yet creaky room she'd occupied in the Leaky Cauldron all summer long and down the polished wooden flights of stairs at the end of the corridor. The shaking caused by the passing trains in the building didn't affect her at all as she made her way down to the ground level.

"Good-bye, Hermione!" said Hannah Abbott, glowing in her third month of pregnancy. She and Neville owned the Leaky Cauldron as they'd taken over after the war, and now they were happy soon-to-be parents.

"Bye, Hannah!" Hermione waved, forcing a smile onto her face. The skin around her mouth felt tight when she smiled. She didn't do it often.

The door to take her outside swung open easily. Hermione received a few odd stares as she lugged the trunk along to walk to King's Cross Station, a small rucksack on her back. Trudging down the streets of London in the leftover summer heat with a large trunk that rattled loudly wasn't exactly very low-key. Hermione ignored the stares and pulled along, sweating in the sweltering heat. Even in a t-shirt, denim bermuda shorts, and trainers, Hermione wasn't exactly comfortable.

Better than wearing a long dress with layers underneath, she thought caustically. Her stomach tightened at the thought. She could remember clearly the swishing of layers of fabric around her legs as she walked, the elegance of it all. But she didn't want to remember—the whole point had been to force all those memories away. Avoiding them was the only way to stay in one piece after months of being in shambles. It all became too much for Hermione at that moment, and she was forced to sit down on a bench and breathe.

"It doesn't matter," Hermione muttered to herself.

She'd told herself that for three months. She almost believed it sometimes, too.

Standing up, Hermione wiped the sweat from her brow and forced herself to keep going. She'd miss the train to Hogwarts if she didn't. King's Cross came into sight soon enough and she was utterly relieved. Platform nine and three-quarters was not far. She tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear and was eventually standing between platforms nine and ten. Taking a calming breath, Hermione glanced around, and seeing no witnesses but other wizards and witches coming along, went through the bricks.

In a second she reappeared on the other side where a crowd of mothers and fathers kissed their children good-bye for either their first time to Hogwarts or return. A longing filled Hermione as she remembered when her parents had done the very same thing with her before she had boarded the Hogwarts Express for the first time. She smiled to herself at one good memory and made her way through towards the train. People were boarding already and guardians gave their last good-byes.

Tearing her gaze away from the sight, Hermione put her trunk in the train, got on, and looked for an empty compartment. She passed many already filled with groups of kids and teens, talking and laughing. She stopped in front of a compartment and, for a strange moment, Harry and Ron seemed to be there, waiting for her. They smiled at her, but as soon as she tugged open the door, they vanished. She was alone.

Thinking it might help get her mind off her solitude, she did what she'd always done—she pulled out a book. A few minutes after reading the same line over and over, a knock echoed through the compartment as another distraction that brought some relief to the witch. Hermione set the book aside and looked up. A pretty girl with auburn hair, persistent freckles, and a height that could have related her to Ron was smiling outside the doors.

Hermione got up to open the door.

"Can I sit in here? Everywhere else is taken, and you seemed the least irritating," the girl chuckled nervously. "Hermione, right?"

"That's me. Go ahead," Hermione allowed, already pulling open the book again in a way that very clearly said "I'm not interested in conversation". It was silent for only a minute as the redhead got comfortable across from the bushy haired witch.

"You probably don't recognize me, I've changed quite a lot since we were in school before," the tall girl said with another timid laugh. "I'm Vicky Frobisher."

Hermione glanced up briefly, and had to admit to herself that, indeed, she hadn't recognized the other woman at first because she looked quite different since they'd been in school together. She was much slimmer, and the pair of large, round glasses which used to obstruct the upper half of her face had disappeared.

"I remember," Hermione said as her eyes fell back on her book, not wanting to perhaps offend and agree that Vicky definitely looked different than when she'd last seen her.

"You look different as well," Vicky added, flicking her ponytail over her shoulder. "I mean, not in a bad way of course, I guess I just... remember you a little differently."

She finished her sentence with a sudden humility, as if realizing that, yes, war indeed tended to change people. Hermione didn't even have to glance at the window to see the face which was so unlike the one Vicky seemed to remember. She knew she wasn't the same Hermione—there was a sallowness to her complexion, a missing sparkle in once lively eyes. Though nothing could beat it out of her entirely, the warm aura that had once enshrouded her had definitely dimmed.

Feeling suddenly embarrassed by the noticeable affects of all she had undergone in the past year and a half, Hermione said tightly, "Yeah, it happens."

She had hoped that alone would stifle further conversation. No such luck.

"Anyway, I should have graduated already but my parents pulled me out during the war so I missed my seventh year," the girl tried once again. "I wanted to come back for my N.E.W.T.s."

Hermione remained silent, thinking it might discourage Vicky, although she wasn't paying the slightest actual attention to the words on the pages before her. Conversation had become tiring these days—this was in part due to her 'fame' after the great war. People who didn't know her before could now suddenly pick her face out of a crowd, and didn't seem to realize that bringing up one of the most horrific events in the history of the wizarding world to a girl who had been involved in the worst of it just might take a toll on her.

Before, she'd had Harry and Ron to lean on when it got too much. But then they'd become preoccupied with their romantic relationships and new careers, and she couldn't bear to bring them down with her own loneliness. So, she kept it all inside, pretending she was mending herself at the same pace as them because they had been through so much and they were finally happy. Yet, she still struggled constantly with the memories—the memories of Camelot, the war, both good and bad.

Vicky now appeared a bit miffed, and crossed her legs one way before crossing them the other.

"You know, you could just say you don't want to talk rather than rudely ignoring me," the redhead said loudly.

Hermione had enough decency to feel some guilt for ignoring the girl. She did actually know her, after all—not well, but they'd practically grown up together. This wasn't just some stranger pretending to know who she was—Vicky had seen the girl she had used to be. Maybe it would do Hermione some good to make friends with a somewhat familiar face.

"I'm going back as well," the witch spoke finally, somewhat quiet compared to the stubborn, bossy tone she'd once embodied. "I missed my seventh year, too."

"I know," Vicky replied in a suddenly meek tone. Hermione fidgeted with her book, looking away.

In a far too hopeful tone of voice, Vicky added, "Maybe we'll have some of the same classes."

"If we're lucky," Hermione agreed, turning to look at her again with a fairly genuine smile.

As the train pulled out the station with a sharp whistle, the tension broke and both girls fell into a more comfortable silence. The ride remained quiet apart from the occasional flipping of a page as Hermione worked her way through the book. She went to change into her robes when they neared the castle, as did Vicky, and she held her book up once more.

"What are you reading anyway?" Vicky asked curiously.

"Rereading—Jane Eyre," Hermione answered distractedly. "I don't know why I picked this one to reread, considering how absurd the ending is..."

"Absurd?" Vicky was scandalized. "What do you mean? It's the perfect ending!"

"Perfect is overrated."

"Oh, come on!" Vicky laughed. "She chose true love and happiness over duty and practicality—wouldn't you do the exact same? I know I would."

Hermione suppressed a scoff, shutting her book. "No, actually, I wouldn't." She had made, or almost made, the mistake once—never again.

"You're joking," Vicky accused in disbelief, unable to wrap her head around Hermione's distaste for a happy, romantic ending. "You're telling me you wouldn't prefer a happy ending?" For some reason, despite the lightheartedness of the entire topic, Hermione's blood had begun to boil. She was attempting to shove the unfinished book back in her rucksack as Vicky spoke, and finally, she lost control of her emotions.

"Of course I would!" Hermione snapped, turning a sharp gaze on the unwitting witch. "But sometimes you don't get the choice, Vicky. Sometimes duty is more important than true love or happiness, or whatever else, and people are in trouble and are relying on you for help. And you can't just turn your back on them because of your own selfish wants, so you do the right thing, the practical thing, because they need you."

She paused, recalling how she had eventually chosen true love over her duty to her friends. Like the books, it should have all fallen into place from there—but it hadn't. She never should have entertained the idea of a happy ending over doing the right thing. She gave an almost pained, light scoff then.

"And besides... you might choose true love and it all just falls apart anyway. Then all you've done is disappointed everyone, including yourself."

Vicky was staring at Hermione with shrewd but pitying eyes during her rant, and the brunette found that tears had risen to her eyes and she was shaking. She had to look out the window at the passing mountains so as not to burst fully into tears.

"So no," she added in a slightly unstable voice, fighting against the painful lump in her throat. "I wouldn't have done the same as Jane."

To think, if she had been this resolute back then, maybe she would never ended up with an irreparably broken heart. But what was done was done, and all she could do was be careful not to make the same mistake ever again.

Things were quiet for the next few minutes before Vicky finally broke the silence.

"Want to split a tart after supper?" she asked softly. "I'd have a whole one, but I'm sort of restricting my sweets consumption."

Hermione looked up from her lap, sensing the desire for resolution. She was glad to forget her little outburst had never happened, so smiled gently at the redhead.

"That sounds lovely."

When Hermione stepped off the carriage and entered the castle gates, she noticed some outside parts of the castle were still under reconstruction. They'd fixed it up quite well, considering all the damage. Eventually she was seated at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall along with Vicky, and she looked around for some familiar faces, though saw very, very few. She was pleased to see Professor McGonagall still sitting at the head table with Hogwarts' other professors, and the two shared a glance which brought Hermione some comfort.

Watching first years get sorted brought a smile to her face as they each ran excitedly to their designated house tables, welcomed warmly by older students. When it came time for everyone to dig in and eat, Hermione found herself digging in quite heartily. The cooking was still just as wonderful as it had always been, and she was starving after the long train ride. After a few cups of pumpkin juice, she found herself needing to use the loo, and excused herself.

Wandering down the corridor, she was drawn towards the girls' lavatory which had so conveniently held the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. No doubt it had been sealed up as a safety measure by now, but she couldn't help but pause at the sink when she walked in regardless. All of a sudden she was back in May of 1998, standing in the chamber below—not alone, but right beside Ron as they gazed down at Helga Hufflepuff's cup.

"I can't," Hermione pleaded. She didn't want to. What would she see if she were to stab the cup?

"You can do it," Ron egged her on. "Harry and I have both destroyed one already—it's your turn."

Hermione licked her lips nervously and took the basilisk fang, gripping it so hard in her fist that her fingers were numbing. She kneeled down in front of the goblet and raised her arm, then quickly brought the fang down.

Something halted her in the middle of her action—thick black figures rose up from it the cup, swirling in and out of existence before taking a more solid, dark shape. Arthur stood in front of her, glorious and haughty. Another figure stood beside him, Merlin. Lastly, Morgana stood off to the side, otherworldly and utterly wicked with red eyes.

"Why would a man like Arthur love you, a simple girl who doesn't even deserve the gift of magic?" Horcrux Merlin asked sharply. "He, destined to be king of the greatest kingdom in history, love someone as insecure as you?"

Hermione's breath caught in her throat and her heart fell to her stomach.

"Stab it, Hermione!" Ron urged.

"I was right all along about you," Horcrux Morgana hissed as she stepped forward. Hermione backed up, trembling. "You were never worthy of Arthur's affections. It's a pity you escaped, although you weren't even smart enough to do that on your own, were you?"

The thing that tore at Hermione was when Horcrux Arthur began to speak. She wanted to die.

"I know you hope every day that I miss you as much as you miss me," he began, walking forward and hissing black smoke from the edges. "But the truth is, I've long forgotten about you. You were a liar, you betrayed me, almost got me killed—I'm relieved you're out of my life. But I've moved on."

Hermione's eyes glistened with hot, painful tears. She walked closer to him, aching.

"Hermione, you've got to kill it!" Ron said with more urgency, looking with fear at the figures peering evilly upon them.

"But you said you loved me," Hermione whispered brokenly. "I thought you loved me."

Arthur looked down on her with malice in his features, and gave a cruel, cutting laugh.

"You truly believed that? Did you really think you were the only one lying that whole time?"

He might as well have wrenched her heart right out of her chest and squeezed the life out of it.

"STAB IT!" Ron yelled after her, watching as the water in the chamber began to rouse from the ground, turning into growing waves.

"You put Arthur's life at risk and interfered in my destiny," Merlin scoffed, coming forward with alarming intensity. "You are useless."

"I'll make sure Arthur finds someone truly worthy of him," Morgana swooped in, standing close to the haughty prince. "Not a worthless little liar like you!"

"No!" Hermione sobbed as she brought the fang down. Just as quickly as they'd appeared the smoke broke and a ear-splitting screech sounded. Ron covered his ears and Hermione winced. A large tsunami wave grew from the rising water in the chamber and Ron pulled Hermione up. They started running backwards towards the entrance as the wave came closer, Voldemort's screaming face rippling in it. It fell on them like a waterfall. Dripping with water, Ron gaped. He faced Hermione, who still looked traumatized. She was shaking, obviously not from the cool water, and her lips quivered.

"Let's go find Harry," Ron said slowly.

Hermione nodded numbly and followed him back out of the chamber.

She blinked, wondering for a moment how long she'd been away from the hall for. She quickly utilized the loo and hurried back to the Great Hall, finding her spot beside Vicky again. Dessert had appeared on the table and the redhead witch offered the half of the treacle tart, as pre-determined, but Hermione felt suddenly unwell. She shook her head and insisted she was full, and Vicky ended up eating the whole tart after all.

Hermione was relieved when it was time to retire to the dorms, and tried to ignore some of the stares of her fellow classmates. It was going to be a long year. Hermione quickly got ready for bed and tucked herself in. Vicky soon came up and followed suit, which surprised her. Soon they were both in bed, though the other three girls seemed to still be in the common room.

"Thought you were staying up," Hermione said while staring up at the fabric over her four poster bed, arms resting over her duvet.

"I didn't want to leave you alone."

"I'm going to sleep, Vicky," Hermione said sharply. "I'm not lonely."

There was a pause. Hermione felt vile.

"Good night," she offered as some kind of apology. Vicky didn't respond, though from the sound of shuffling Hermione assumed she had turned on her side. Sighing to herself, the forced her eyes to close. Behind her lids was one image: her last view of Arthur Pendragon.