"Avada Kedavra!"

There was complete silence as Death Eaters and Order members alike watched Harry Potter, the boy-who-lived, fall to the floor, dead. She would swear that time stood still in that moment.

Hermione Granger froze, unable to comprehend the scene before her. She couldn't accept it, it couldn't have happened. He couldn't be dead. If Harry died, it would mean the end of the war. But as a sob erupted in the eerie silent, the brightest witch of her age blinked, and blinked again. Mind racing, she hurried to think of a new plan.

But her best friend was dead. Lord Voldemort won the battle. He had managed to kill Harry, despite all his Horcruxes being destroyed. The Light had lost. What more could she do?

Dumbly looking around, she saw her other best friend Ron Weasley on the ground covered in blood, staring up at the ceiling glassy-eyed. His sister, Ginny, was crying over his body as she watched Harry fall. All around her, Death Eaters erupted into cheers. Her knees ached from the multiple impacts they'd dealt with earlier that night.

She knew she needed to act fast. It would take a great lump of courage to do what she was prepared to do. Luckily Hermione Granger wasn't known for lacking courage. All she needed to do was get to the doors of the Great Hall, which were less than twenty feet from her, and then she could make a run for it. Hermione slowly got to her feet, remaining in a crouch. So long as she could stay low and limit her movements, no one would see her act.

Hermione kept her gaze on Bellatrix Lestrange, the closest Death Eater to her. The insane witch cheered and cheered, oblivious to the half-crawling teenage girl behind her. Seconds dragged on for minutes, heartbeats pounded so loud she could audibly hear them, but she wouldn't lose her control.

Finally, thirty long and terribly drawn out moments later, Hermione reached the heavy-set wooden doors. Unfortunately at that moment Bellatrix Lestrange came to her senses. Whirling around, she sniffed the air, reminding the Gryffindor of a hunting dog honing in on their prey. Gray, wild eyes met her own brown ones and all hell broke loose.

Hermione jumped, shoving the nearest door open with her shoulder as she ducked her head, narrowly dodging the bright green jet of light that tore into the paneled wood. She ran for it, sprinting as fast as she could, faster than she had ever run before. Down the hall she went, throwing open a tapestry at the very end of the ground floor just as Bellatrix seemed to catch up to her in the corridor.

"Silly, icky, fickle little mudblood!" she roared, the sound echoing off the stone walls. Hermione chanced a glance back before she darted up the circular staircase: the Azkaban escapee was just barely entering the long hall. Perfect, she thought. It would give her a lengthy headstart.

Curses and hexes flew at her as she reached halfway up the circular stairs, possibly the third floor, but time seemed to slow down enough to where she could dodge them easily. Flying up the stairs Hermione made it to the top in record time, bursting out the closet door that the hidden passageway led to.

"Wait till I get my hands on you, little girl! This game is only the beginning! Perhaps I shall give you a new tattoo!" Bellatrix cackled, this time much further away than before. Hermione sprinted faster, not taking any chances.

It was her only shot. She kept chanting this in her head as she passed the dead bodies of her fellow classmates in the corridor. Luna, Neville, Dean, Seamus, Lavender, Cho, Parvati, Padma, Ernie, Fred, George, Charlie, Molly, Tonks, Remus; they were all dead. It was left to her.

Hermione was panting heavily as she reached the statute of the gargoyle before Dumbledore's office, but that wouldn't stop her.

"Cockroach Clusters! Fizzing Whizzbees! Bertie Botts! Ice Mice! Sugar Quills!" cried Hermione frustratedly, glancing back every few seconds. She kicked the stone irritably, unsheathing her wand from her hair, where she used it as a safekeeping. "Bloody open up or I will blast you to pieces!"

The gargoyle sprung to life and she smirked, rushing up the stairs into the office. "Dumbledore!" she called. "Dumbledore please! I-I need help!"

The portrait of the man she'd admired stared at her neck. Glancing down she noticed the hourglass necklace that she'd taken to wearing after working on it with the ex-headmaster before he'd been murdered. She frowned. It was unlike the previous time-turner she owned. This one was a one-shot only kind of device. It would take the wearer back to the time they wanted, but there would be no way to return them. Hermione had reasoned if someone were desperate enough to change things, they'd be willing to live in that time period for the rest of their life. It had to be activated by breaking the glass.

"Of course," she murmured, nearly smacking herself in the forehead for her stupidity. She looked up at the twinkling blue eyes. "When should I go?"

Dumbledore stared down his crooked nose, giving her a mysterious smile that held more meaning than she could decipher.

"To the beginning, my dear."

Hands shaking, palms sweaty, brow twitching, Hermione Granger nodded. She could do it. She would do it. Back to the beginning, she chanted. The beginning of the war wouldn't be so difficult. Or did Dumbledore mean before Harry was born, in the first war? Bollocks.

She knew enough about the seventies to manage in that time period, the Gryffindor decided. Hermione twirled back the dial two and a quarter times, just enough to land her in 1976, or so. It would give her ample time to develop a strategy and get in contact with Dumbledore once more.

The door burst open, breaking Hermione's concentration and knocking her hand off the device, sending it spinning back on it's own. She cried out as Bellatrix aimed a Crucio at her, sending her to her knees.

"Silly, worthless, stupid mudblood," Bellatrix crooned, lifting the curse, as though it bored her. Hermione let out a strangled gasp through the grit in her teeth.

"Now, now Bella," a hiss came from behind the crazed woman. "We do not wish to frighten the girl."

Bellatrix pouted as Lord Voldemort himself slithered into the room. Hermione's veins burned as hatred consumed her. He studied her for a moment, tilting his head as though she was interesting to stare at. No matter the times she had to face him, his appearance still frightened her to the core. Burning red eyes leeched over her face.

"Potter's mudblood," he drawled, long fingers caressing the wand in his left hand. Hermione glared. "How terrible we had to meet this way."

His gaze shifted as he stared at the wall behind her, a sneer playing across his bloodless lips.

"Dumbledore," Voldemort hissed, reminding Hermione of a snake. "Death suits you more than life ever could."

"Life appears to be doing you an injustice, Tom."

Hermione's lips twitched as she held back her chuckle at Dumbledore's comment. Bellatrix bared her teeth angrily as Voldemort nearly looked taken aback.

"Perhaps. But alas," the Dark Lord replied in a mocking tone. "I am alive, and you are not.

"Now, let us deal with the matter at hand." Bright eyes snapped back to her own quickly. "You are Hermione Jean Granger, are you not?"

Hermione took a deep breath. "You're the one who's been trying to kill me. You tell me," she shrugged offhandedly.

Bellatrix snarled, taking a step forward with her arm raised. Hermione closed her eyes, anticipating the curse from the woman's wand, but it never came. A peek from under her lids showed Voldemort restraining the mad woman. No expression showed on his face but Hermione could see the curiosity in his gaze.

"So brave for such a young age," he mumbled. "Tell me, mudblood, what causes you to be so loyal to Potter? After all you've gone through by simply being his friend?"

Hermione stayed silent, causing Voldemort to become impatient. He threw a short cructiatus at her, reveling in Hermione's apparent pain. Her body felt bruised and broken by the end of it and she was left panting, darkness prickling the edge of her consciousness.

"He deserves it," she gasped. Voldemort tilted his head curiously. "He's kind, and brave, and worthy of loyalty. Not like you," spat Hermione, ignoring her gut telling her opposite. "You use fear and scare tactics to control your supporters. Except for loony over there," she gestured with her chin toward the insane woman. "No one actually cares for you."

White fingers clenched the hilt of the long phoenix feather wand. It slowly rose until it was directly at her heart, millimeters from her flesh. She stared unwaveringly into the owner of the wand. Voldemort sneered.

"I pity you, Tom Riddle."

For a moment, the bloodthirsty eyes dimmed. In the vivid colors place came a dark, almost human forest green that shone with a desperation Hermione couldn't place. For a moment, she could pretend that Lord Voldemort was human.

"Avada Kedavra."

The curse smashed into her chest, crushing where she knew the hourglass pendant was, and Hermione spun into darkness.

She crashed with a loud breaking sound and Hermione groaned as the pain coursed through her body. Blood seeped on the cold stone floor below her back. Her eyes fluttered open wearily.

A loud gasp altered her to the presence of others in the unfamiliar room she was in. Feet shuffled into place next to her head and Hermione's head lolled to the side as she gathered all her strength to look at the owner of said feet. She blinked the face of a very attractive boy swam into view. He had raven black hair, combed to perfection off to one side, mesmerizing forest green eyes, and sharp features that made him incredibly handsome. Those eyes struck a chord, reminding her of something.

"My word!"

Hermione glanced behind the towering boy's body. An aging man stood behind a large desk, dark gray robes hanging loosely off his body. The man seemed familiar, but not in an immediate fashion. Movement drew her gaze to the right, and Hermione's heart nearly stopped. Standing there with bright orange robes, a vibrant purple wizards hat, and piercing blue eyes looking at her behind half-moon spectacles was Albus Dumbledore.

Not just any Albus Dumbledore. A very alive Albus Dumbledore, with auburn hair and a matching beard. There was no way that Hermione had only gone back two and a quarter decades. He was too young with not enough wrinkles and too bright of hair to be in the seventies. She must've been sent back much further. Her head swam and her vision swirled.

"Bloody fucking hell," she managed to get out before darkness consumed her again.