I have been resisting posting the first chapter to this long multi-chaptered time travel story for weeks. WEEKS I tell you.

I am also trying something I haven't really done before. I am writing this all in the present tense, so that just adds a challenge to this story for sure.

I want to get some more chapters of this written before I post anymore, because I tend to write and post, chapter by chapter with my other stories, and until I finish It Was Her Ginger Hair (which is soon done I just have maybe, maybe five chapters left) I don't want to write this story on a regular basis just yet.

Please leave a review and let me know what you think ;)

This is for my Remione loving ladies, and ever since I had this idea I knew I wanted to dedicate this story to two of my favourites, Sable (sableunstable) and Lais (laisvega) my loves xxx All of my other Remione ladies know exactly who they are! I love you all! So let's freaking do this.

My tumblr: indiebluecrown. tumblr. com

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.

Wednesday, August 19th, 1998

Grimmauld Place

Islington, London, England

She stares into the piping hot liquid in the hot cup, but she ignores the stinging feeling on her palms; she knows that her skin is most likely a vibrant red now from the heat. She is almost entranced by the way the steam curls and billows from the black liquid. Her coffee is black, with a slight sweet tinge from the two sugars she had plopped into the cup a few minutes ago.

Currently she was sitting on the kitchen counter-mug in hand-noticing that her companions had been addressing her, she tilts her face upwards, light brown eyes darting from one boy to the next. Letting out a soft sigh through her nostrils, she lowers her mug until it is resting against her thighs-feeling the heat through the denim material of her shorts.

"Hermione?" the raven haired boy's eyebrows shoot up, almost disappearing underneath his messy mop, his bright green eyes are shining from behind his round, wire-rimmed glasses. He is twirling a sickle between his fingers, his forearms are resting on the granite counter beside her, bent at the waist as he rests all of his weight on his arms.

"Sorry, Harry, what did you say?" Hermione purses her lips, cocking her head to the side.

"We were just talking about the rubbish Ministry function that Mum wants us to go to," Ron snorts, "since we're 'war heroes' and all that hogwash."

"Thought you enjoyed all the attention, Ronald," Hermione teases lightly.

"It was nice...for the first couple weeks, but blimey Hermione. A bloke can't even go out for a pint before being hounded by a swarm of people," Ron scowls, his ginger hair is cropped close to his head, and there is a bit of a scruff along his cheeks and his jaw, his bright blue eyes are shining with annoyance.

Even sitting on a counter that is almost four feet tall, Ron is still a lot taller than her.

It is just over two months since the war had ended and Voldemort was defeated. At first the initial euphoria was enough to keep the nightmares at bay, but all too quickly they were reminded that getting back to normalcy was going to be a long, arduous road. Slight, sudden noises make them jump, and they always draw their wands and hurriedly turn towards the source of the sound. All too often had they been greeted by a creaking window or one of their close friends heading into the kitchen for a snack.

Their wands are never out of reach, and it isn't unusual to find the golden trio as many like to call them, all sharing a bed. The nightmares that terrorise their dreams skulk back into the shadows and darkness from whence they came when they cling together at night; or at least that's what they like to tell themselves.

Hermione taps her index finger against her wide, white ceramic mug. Something feels off.

"Does anyone else feel weird?" Hermione wonders aloud, glancing from Harry and Ron, who had been joking about one thing or another whilst she was drifting off into thought.

"No, I feel fine," Ron answers after a moment of thought, but his hand is still hovering over his wand that is resting on the counter beside Hermione's thigh.

"Hermione...you look kind of glowy," Harry frowns.

"Glowy?" Hermione asks skeptically, "Harry, that's absurd."

"No, he's right, Hermione, it's like there's this-"

Ron is cut off when the faint, white glowing light that was surrounding Hermione, pulses brightly. He takes a step back, flinching, blinking in shock as spots dance in front of his eyes. Ron grabs ahold of his wand, his other hand fumbling to grab onto Hermione's arm.

"What the hell-" Harry says, eyes squeezing tightly shut.

Hermione blinks blankly, she wasn't seeing this bright light they keep going on about, it wasn't until she looks down at her hands that she notices her skin looks slightly translucent, as if she is fading in and out of existence. She glances to her left and sees that Ron is also undergoing whatever is happening to her. She turns to her right and notices Harry still looks solid.

"Harry!" Hermione cries, spilling some of her coffee on her thigh in her haste to grab onto the raven haired wizard. She barely feels the scalding liquid soak through her jeans, or the way her wand is pressing into her side from her front pocket.

"What's happen-" Harry says, but he is cut off as a bright burst of pure white light erupts from Hermione's abdomen around her bellybutton-a weird tingle scratching incessantly from inside her-engulfing the two boys.

When the light fades, all that is left in the kitchen to indicate that they had even been there at all is a few drops of spilled coffee that are littered to the left of where Hermione had been seated.

There's a faint buzzing noise and she swears that she hears a whistling sound. Her head is pounding, she can feel her temple pulsing.

She blinks rapidly, but there are small blue spots dancing in front of her eyes, she can see what looks like a thick layer of ash covering the cracked bits of concrete that are scattered on the outskirts the dirt patch.

It makes no sense, there should be dark-stained wooden floors around them, she should be sitting. However she's standing upright, and as the spots begin to clear she looks left and right and sees that Harry and Ron look just as out of it as she does.

There's a familiar metallic smell in the air, it's tangy and the very memory of it makes a ball of dread curl up tightly in her gut.

It feels like she's not quite in her body, the soles of her feet itch, her head feels light and woolly, as if it's been stuffed full of cotton.

"Get down!" A voice that she knows all too well yells, pushing her behind them as they throw up a protego, she can sense someone else behind her and the distinct smells of dark magic is clinging to the air around them.

Sharply, she snaps back into her body, her eyes finally coming into focus and she sees that they are in the middle of a crumbling building, huge chunks of broken walls surrounding the dirt below their feet. The ceiling is no longer there, and she feels the cold wind whistling through the building, and a raindrop falls on her cheek.

She can vaguely hear the sound of the ceramic mug breaking apart as it falls from her hand, the hot liquid flying everywhere.

Hermione's instincts kick in, and it's almost as if they're right in the thick of the war again, all too easily do they ward off the attacks that are flying their way. Flashes of multi-coloured light are flying back and forth, and the memories of everyone's deaths are still too fresh, and she sees listless eyes and bloodless faces in her mind as she wards off curse after curse.

Harry and Ron's shoulders are both brushing hers as their backs are all turned to each other, forming a defensive triangle, protecting each other as they have for years.

Hermione spots another mess of raven hair, and she catches a glimpse of his face as he pops up from behind some rubble to fire a curse off into the other direction.

The Death Eaters are letting up, or at least she guesses they have to be Death Eaters from the familiar masks they are wearing. So she gently prods Harry with her elbow and jerks her head in the direction of the wizard she had seen a few moments prior.

"No bloody way," Harry whispers, and she exhales deeply. No bloody way is right.

Moments later the Death Eaters are all fleeing, their numbers greatly diminished, and Hermione takes a deep breath, and the confusion is back. They simply can't be where...when she thinks they are.

Then Hermione feels a hand wrap around her throat, a wand presses into her side, and out of the corner of her eyes she sees whoever is going to grab Harry freeze in their tracks.

"Fuck, Prongs, he looks just like you."

*broad grin* I am happy with this, are you happy with this?

Love,

Indieblue xxx

P.S. If this is the first thing you've ever read from me, I have plenty of other stories, including two other time travel stories. I am slowly being dragged into rare pair hell, really I am.