I know I should be working on my other stories, but... my muse has decided this is a much better idea. Anyways, I'm gonna try something different here. Updates may be a little more infrequent but, they'll hopefully be longer than my usual.

Hermione sat, hunched over her desk, the light scratching of her quill on parchment the only sound that could be heard. Her fingers, stained black with ink, curled tightly around the feather, casting a long shadow against the dark brown of the wood. Her figure was small, scrunched up as though hiding, a habit that hadn't faded. She had disappeared from society years ago.

Her thoughts trailed to that night, the night the war ended, when all hope was lost.

The rain beat down on the cloaked figures, the heavy stones of Hogwarts laid in ruin around them. Voldemort had arrived, breaking through the wards, their sanctuary was no longer. A hooded figure in black robes stood next to him, his new "second in command" Hermione guessed.

They fought, splashes of light shooting across the sky as the heavens cried, a loud crack echoed across the courtyard, and she screamed as Harry fell. The life drained from his eyes, wand falling limply from his hand. Time stopped. The hooded figure standing over his lifeless corpse. He pulled his hood back as he knelt to inspect the body. A shock of red hair was revealed. He took the wand and stood, walking back towards Voldemort, he handed the piece of wood over.

She froze. Hands wrapped around her, pulling her inside. They were on the retreat, their leader had left them, and Ron had abandoned the cause. It was just her now.

A gentle voice whispered in her ear, "Come, ma belle, zis is not yet over."

Tears stung her eyes, she hadn't even realized she was crying, she nodded and with a crack the two apparated away.

Years had passed since that night and while there was still a resistance, most of the members of the Order had been caught or killed since then. It was almost 8 years later now. It was just her and Fleur now, but they hadn't given up.

She was close, she knew it, they'd worked so hard. After all the time turners were destroyed, they had had to study hard to make their own. And finally, she thought she was almost there. Only one of them would be able to go back though, someone needed to stay behind to protect the runes, if the link was destroyed she'd never be able to return.

Quiet footsteps broke the monotonous scratching of her quill causing Hermione to look up, her back cracking loudly as she sat up, having spent too much time hunched over the desk. Fingertips lightly traced across her back, she leaned into the touch.

"How long have you been working, ma belle?" The lightly accented voice of the French witch questioned.

"What time is it?" the rough, gravelly voice of Hermione responded before she cleared her throat, dry from disuse.

"A little after three AM."

Hermione's hands covered her face, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, "that late already?"

A soft hum was her response.

"Alright, I'm coming to be bed," A long, delicate hand helped her to stand, their fingers intertwining, a natural fit between them. The blonde gently led her towards their bedroom, a smile on her face.

She pulled the shorter woman into her arms, kissing her gently, eliciting a soft moan, "Fleur," she breathed.

"Shhh," came the response as she captured her lips once again as they fell into bed together.

The curly haired brunette awoke with a start, a light sheen of sweat coating her pale skin. She was breathing hard, adrenaline coursing through her veins, the death grip of fear constricting her heart. The warm body next to her slowly moving, curling up around her, pulling her back into a comforting embrace, the familiar routine calming her. "It is alright, my love, you're safe here," whispered through the darkness, sleep crawling through causing a slur to the words.

She nodded, closing her eyes, willing the images to leave her be, bodies laid bare around her, broken bones, unnatural positions, the rosy tint of blood filled skin missing, leaving a ghostly pallor behind. Eyes open, looking up at her, unseeing, asking her "why?". She carried the guilt of their deaths, she had for so long, and with sleep just out of reach, she once again returned to her studies.

It was now only a little after 7. Four hours, that was it, not nearly enough to live off of, she would go mad sooner than later. But it spurred her into a feverish drive, pushing further, unable to stop, she had to fix things, she had to change the past, she'd pinpointed the moment, the spot where everything had changed.

Memories flashed across her eyelids, swirling, dancing inside her brain, mixing with regret. Regret of having been caught, she'd been weak, too weak, having abandoned them too soon, but she'd thought then, that she couldn't continue on, she needed to recover, her body broken and destroyed. She'd sent the boys on without her, promising to catch up with them when she could.

She hadn't returned soon enough, she'd been too distracted, the peace of Shell Cottage soothing on her battered soul, a salve she hadn't known she needed. She'd managed to heal and formed a friendship with the blonde witch that soon developed into more. She'd become distracted from her goals and put too much of a burden on her friends. She failed them when they needed her the most.

Her plan was to return to that moment, to change the course of the war. She loved Fleur, of that there was no doubt, but she was already used to sacrifice, and if it took that to save countless lives, she would. Besides, she reasoned, she could still pursue a relationship with the blonde enchantress, just.. after the war was over. They could still make it work couldn't they? And in a happier world, where they didn't have to hide, where they were safe and could have a family together.

Thoughts of her failures plagued her sleepless mind, swirling around, laughing their high pitched cackle, taunting her, spurring her into action. She took one last, long gaze of the sleeping form next to her, calm, serene, relaxed and unaware of the torment next to her. A sad smile crossed her features as she threw back the covers and slid out of bed, padding back to the study, clad only in shorts and a tank top. The summer air thick and heavy around her, choking her as guilt continued to dance through her mind, just out of reach but near enough to taint her mood.

She paused, her hand resting on the cool bronze of the door, a deep breath before she readied herself, pushing through, committing to her plan. She ignored the tears shaking at the corners of her chestnut eyes, threatening to spill, full of words and emotions unsaid. Hermione didn't want to leave, didn't want to go back there, but it was the only way. And if she was successful, Fleur would never know she'd even left.

Her voice was shaky, trembling with the weight of it all, the power behind the words, the meaning they held for her, as she began to chant, barely above a whisper, a scream against the stillness. Drawing chalk runes, she had long ago memorized their order, nails upon a chalkboard, candle wax teetering on the edge, dripping and running, falling down, like the tears she would not let fall so desperately wanted. Finally, the last part, sands of time, worn down, mixed with new blood. A prick at her finger, a tear escaped, reaching for freedom, trailing, leading the path for many more, and a flash.

She was gone, a 'pop' filling the room, remnants of her work now charred.

Hermione awoke, a pale light filtering in through the curtains, the sound of birds chirping, and of something else... she was unsure for a moment, then she realized, it was the sound of a baby crying, its screams diluted through the walls, but most definitely wanting something. Why was there a baby? Hermione couldn't remember there being any baby, and... her fingers gripped the plush material beneath them, her mind drifting to her time in Shell Cottage as that was the only time they'd gotten to experience any comforts. Her mind was running a mile a minute, questions coming to light, trying to piece it together, but unwilling to leave the sanctuary of the bed.

A gruff voice, rough with sleep, sounded next to her, freezing her heart in fear. "'S your turn, 'Mione."

"W-what?" She stammered out, her eyes now wide open, adrenaline coursing through her veins, images of the last time she saw the owner of the voice flashing past, a silent movie all too real.

"Rose, I took care of her last time," his lumbering form rolled over with a yawn, pulling the covers up to shield out the light, and maybe muffle the sound a little more. It must have worked, light snores followed soon after, before Hermione had even had a chance to get out of bed. He didn't seem hostile, she mused, quite different from the Battle of Hogwarts really.

She slowly got up, trying not to wake the sleeping oaf again, unsure of how to handle him. She'd expected to be dropped back in the middle of the woods, and while she had to admit, her clothing was much better suited for this location than the wilderness, she would much rather fight off a starving bear in her underwear than wake up in bed next to Ron, who was a much different sort of starving bear.

The crying got louder as she got closer, still padding silently down the hall, unsure of which room she needed to enter. She listened intently, but the cries just echoed, bouncing off the walls as they went. She took in her surroundings, opening each door she passed, she'd found two linen closets, a bathroom, and the laundry room so far. There were only a couple doors left, she prayed one of them was the one she was seeking, the cream colored walls tinged yellow with the sunrise, mismatched horribly with the blue shag (seriously, blue shag?!) carpeting beneath her toes.

Cursing under her breath, she vowed if she was stuck here for long she'd rip up that carpet, even if it killed her. She much more preferred hardwoods, they could be easily cleaned and be visibly clean and a nice rug could do wonders. But that wasn't nearly as bad as the framed pictures lining the halls. Who had even taken them? Did they know how to use a camera- her musings stopped as her world fell out from beneath her, breath catching, tears prickling once again.

She raised a hand slowly towards a picture in front of her, fingertips brushing the frame made of small seashells. She never thought a picture could break her heart as completely as this one just had. In it, a smiling Fleur wrapped up in the arms of a stoic Bill Weasley, his chin resting lightly on her shoulder, looking calm as ever. His hands rested lightly on an unmistakable baby bump. Fleur turning to look back at him, looking positively radiant before turning to look back at the camera.

Tears that had been fighting to spill since she left came crashing over the edge. The sobs of Rose forgotten, her knees buckled beneath the weight of it all, Hermione collapsed, a soft thud unheard over the baby behind the wall.

Hermione couldn't tell how long she'd stayed there, like that, frozen beneath the picture of what should never have come to pass, head in her hands, tears cascading down her face, all the emotion she'd bottled up over the years wrenching free all at once. Soon though, her sobs were the only sounds, breaking the stillness of the early morning. She had tried to keep them quiet but heavy footfalls from behind her signaled her failure.

"Mione? What's wrong? Is Rose alright?" The gruff voice from earlier still rough from sleep but with concern mixing in. There wasn't any trace of anger. It was wrong, it was all wrong. They grew louder, somehow going unmuted by the long tendrils of the shag carpet she despised.

Strong arms wrapped around her slender frame, frail and withered from years of malnutrition, a skeleton of who she once was. She was powerless to fight the pull, wilting into his body, sobbing into his chest as he tried to comfort her, comfort her in a way no one but Fleur could.

"Shhh, shhhh" he whispered, "It's okay, I've got you." His oversized hands rubbed at her back, jarring her, bringing forth a new wave of tears. His chest hard against her cheek, so different, so unlike what she was used to. His breath heavy against her skin, pulling her down, suffocating her in this strange world.

Eventually, exhausted from her tears, she fell back into a fitful sleep, firm arms stretching around her, swallowing her whole, carrying her back to bed and gently depositing her on the plush material. She clutched at the fabrics, her brow furrowing in her sleep, curled up on herself, unaware of the look of concern crossing the face of the redhead she'd chosen to share this life with.

He tenderly brushed a long brown curl from her face, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead, before making his way out, back down the hall to check on their daughter before departing for work. It had been years since he'd last seen her like this, worried thoughts plaguing his mind as he tried to figure out the reason for her relapse.

Ron didn't know the terrors she'd faced, trapped inside Malfoy Manor, tortured by Bellatrix, she never spoke of all she endured. Her scars, unhealed and on display, were not just physical.

He paused for a moment, his hand resting on the tarnished brass of the doorknob to his Ministry office. Mind searching frantically, repeating the date over and over in his head, 10 June. 10 June. 10 June. He shook his head, shocks of orange falling in his eyes as pushed open the door to his office. Nothing came to mind. At least, nothing he thought was important enough to cause this much of a reaction from her. Maybe, he thought to himself, it was just that post whatever depression the healers had spoke of. Their daughter had been born less than a month ago after all.

Though, he thought she'd been doing fine, no real changes, but he wasn't a healer and accepted that that's probably what it was, pushing the incident to the back of his mind.

Ron sat down at his desk and propped his feet up, leaning back as far as he could in the chair without tipping it over. Dirt from the soles of his shoes flaking off, leaving specks of imperfection across the stack of parchment resting on his desk. He'd get to it later, for now though, he was going to read the paper.

Sometime later, Hermione awoke with a start, her mind racing, adrenaline coursing, she tried to catch her breath as she reached for her wand on the oak bedside table. Despite her grogginess, she knew her surroundings were unfamiliar and for a moment she wondered where she was before the events came flooding back to her. She remembered what caused her breakdown, seeing a photo of Fleur, happy with Bill. She couldn't hate the man, they'd always gotten on rather well, but she felt an uncontrollable rage towards him, seeing him with her love. A feeling of betrayal slicing through her chest, taking refuge in her heart. She shook her head, clearing the feeling. She couldn't hold it against him, he didn't know, and if this morning had taught her anything, it was that she was not with Fleur here.

Now, for the more pressing concern, she realized, her eyebrows furrowing, where exactly is "here"? She got up, the mattress sagging under her weight, a creak from the old frame breaking the silence. Her bare feet once again met with the worn blue shag carpet, she looked around, the room lit with the bright sunlight of late afternoon. A door to her left, she guessed it would be the closet, and after opening it, found she was correct.

She flicked through the wardrobe, eagerly searching for something to wear, the robes hanging within it being decidedly different from her own tastes. She wondered how she had turned out so differently, how this world came to pass. She didn't even know if Voldemort had been defeated, though, if she had a daughter, she presumed he would have been. Unless, her mind froze there, unwilling to finish that thought. She swallowed thickly, and forced the thought from her mind. No. There's no way. She sighed and selected the least atrocious robe, which unfortunately reminded her a little too much of Ron's dress robes from the Yule Ball.

It engulfed her petite figure entirely. Extra fabric hung lifelessly off her body, an unnecessary bulge at the belly. Pregnancy robes. That explains the unfashionable mess of fabrics contained within her closet. Another sigh before she reached for her wand, it should be a quick spell to fix these and look presentable. With a flick of her wrist, the hideous garment was changed to a nice black, slim fitting and while not the best looking, certainly was better than previously.

Homemaking spells had never been her forte, but she would certainly have to work on them if she would be here long. Here. She paused. Where was here, her mind once again questioned. It was time to find out. She left the room, walking down the hallway, a repeat of her trip before. She looked away, down, focusing on the carpeting rather than the images displayed on the walls, unsure of if she could handle seeing Fleur with another.

Finally, she came to the door she had reached earlier, the one she had collapsed in front of. She paused, bracing herself for what she would see on the other side. Steeling her nerves, she pushed through, opening the door with too much force, it swung open and crashed against the wall, bouncing back towards her. The room was not what she had expected, though she wasn't sure what she had really expected to be there.

The walls were a pale pink, a mural on one of the walls, a forest with a unicorn in front of it, stars glittering on the night sky. A tiny mobile hanging from the ceiling, fantastic creatures hanging from it, harmless. Centered in the room was a white crib, a tiny newborn within it, a shock of bright orange hair already present.

Her heart stopped, melting as she took in the sight of the tiny baby, her daughter, a voice chimed in. She glided to the crib, looking down in to dark blue eyes, so different from the blue she was used to looking into. Like a stormy ocean rather than the summer sky, she'd often wondered, if she and Fleur had had kids, what they would look like, and her heart broke, knowing that wouldn't happen here.

Tears ran down her cheeks, though she couldn't tell if they were happy or sad, her emotions spiraling within her, she reached out, her hands shaking as she gently took her daughter in her arms, pulling her to her chest, one hand cradling the baby's head against her shoulder.

She choked out a sob, mourning all she had given up, rejoicing all she had gained. Determined to find out what had happened. She turned and exited the room.

Hermione found herself at the library. Her daughter nestled into a stroller, snoozing lightly. Libraries, Hermione knew, would not fail her. They had helped her so many times in the past and would help her now. She chewed on the end of her quill as her eyes scanned the pages of the book in front of her. There wasn't much information out there. History books were meant to contain older history, not the more recent events. And after some searching, she'd managed to find a couple of books, embarrassment flooding over her as she realized that, being part of the Golden Trio, she'd most likely find the answers she needed in a book about herself.

And that was how she currently was, sitting at a table in the library, reading a book about herself, of course in the back, away from everyone else, hoping to avoid their curious stares.

The passage in front of her had caused a chuckle to escape from her lips as it recounted events from their Fourth Year. These events were unfamiliar to her, and obviously was based on misinformation written by that dreadful Skeeter woman.

The Triwizard Tournament, spanning the 1994 school year, brought a new level of attention to Harry and his friends. Being the youngest champion, the Boy Who Lived often became the subject of many articles in the Daily Prophet. Most notably, featuring his supposed romance with fellow student Hermione Granger. It was in the Third Task that fellow Champion Cedric Diggory was murdered, becoming the first victim in You-Know-Who's second rise to power.

Hermione thought back to her version of Fourth Year, pulling out a piece of parchment to begin messily scribbling her notes. There wasn't much information in this book, but it was a start. She scratched out a line down the middle, writing Similarities and Differences atop the two columns.

Harry was champion was quickly put under the similarities column while Cedric was murdered was put under the differences. After a pause, she quickly added Rumors of relationship to the differences column. In her timeline, or universe as she'd started thinking it, there had never been rumors of a relationship between them, and why would there be? He'd been happily dating Cho Chang at the time.

She kept reading, thumbing her way through the pages, finding the book didn't contain much useful information. She looked back at her notes, finding they were lacking in thoroughness, she frowned. A pause and a huff later, crumpling up the piece of parchment in anger, ready to throw it away, an idea came to her. She could read the papers, surely they would fill her in. It may not be the most accurate as Skeeter appeared no more truthful in this world, but it would answer what the public had thought.

And she stood, her back cracking angrily as it was forced to straighten after so many hours bent over, and she walked off to find the newspapers. Returning a moment later to collect Rose in her stroller, chastising herself for walking off without her daughter, her daughter, a sad smile crossed her features as she looked down at the sleeping bundle.

Moments later, she found the thick tome she was looking for, holding all copies of the Daily Prophet for the 1994 year. A brief thought crossing her mind that she should start before that, but she would get to that later, the biggest changes would obviously be more recent. An image of Ron formed in her mind, remembering the shock she had felt at waking next to his large form.

The library began to empty out, and soon Hermione found herself to be all alone in the large building, aside from the older witch who had sat at the front desk. Her stomach grumbled loudly and it was then that she realized, she hadn't eaten all day. It was then that fatigue began to catch up to her, her body demanding sustenance, she quietly returned the large tome to its rightful place before leaving to go to the home that wasn't hers.

Her mind drifted to the thought of never spending time with Fleur again, sadness edging its way in once again. Happy memories of a time past, a life that would never be, despite the sadness surrounding them, the constant threat of being found, always moving, never staying long, they were happy together.

She returned home, pushing the stroller through the front door, she was startled when she looked up to see Ron sitting on the couch, gesturing wildly as he carried on about the last quidditch match. Bill, sitting next to him, looked enraptured by Ron's antics.

Hermione looked around, hoping to see Fleur, but not finding the blonde enchantress anywhere. She forced a smile, hoping to hide her disappointment. Ron continued on with his story as she stepped into the room, "So there she was, the rain was coming down thick, I'd never seen it so bad, and that damn beater had just sent a bludger straight for Ginny..."

Hermione tuned him out, uninterested in the sport, she continued on down the hall, back towards the nursery. Rose, now held firmly in her arms, had momentarily woken up when her position changed, and was clinging to her mother's body. Hermione held on equally tight, unwilling to break the connection she had with the newborn, the only one equally as lost in this world as she was. The baby, though unable to understand her, had become her confidant, not judging her as she knew others would, she felt no danger as she whispered her thoughts, needing to voice them to release the tension they brought.

She shifted her hold on the baby slightly as she reached out to open the door, the white painted wood creaking slightly on its hinges. Her eyes momentarily left the face of her daughter as she looked up, observing the room and finding it occupied.

There on the floor sat two miniature versions of Fleur, both young, though older than her own daughter. They were playing with dolls, an elaborate dollhouse next to them, toys strewn about around them, discarded carelessly where their owner lost interest.

Pulling her eyes away from the sight in front of her, she looked up, her heart melting as she saw her Fleur, not her Fleur she mentally chastised herself, a third baby on her lap, a bottle in its tiny grasp. Fleur looked down, intent on her youngest child, unaware that she was no longer alone with her children. Hermione could feel her heart melting at the sight, something that had always been a dream, just out of reach. It, however, took all her self control to not rush forward and engulf her love, to sweep her up into her arms and drown her in kisses, to leave them panting and fumbling, stumbling to the bedroom as they had so many times.

Her daughter's crib had been moved off to the side to make room for the other two girls to play, now located against the window, Hermione stepped towards it, the sounds of her shuffling drawing Fleur's attention.

"Oh 'Ermione, I 'ope you do not mind, I made some room for ze girls to play," Fleur offered her an apologetic smile.

Hermione's breath caught, hearing her voice, it wasn't a dream. Her body froze, unable to move, overwhelmed in the moment.

"'Ermione, are you alright? You look as zough you 'ave seen a ghost." The blonde queried, a playful smile upon her lips, the sunlight from the window turning her silvery blonde hair a pale golden, a halo forming above head.

It was too late, out before she could stop herself, a flirty "How about an angel?" escaping. A voice that wasn't hers, but a voice that sounded just like her all the same. She had always loved the teasing nature of Fleur, had often teased her back after she learned that the cold exterior the blonde presented was just an act.

She wasn't prepared, however, for Fleur's reaction. The smile fell from her face immediately, turning cold as the blonde retreated in on herself. It felt like the temperature dropped. And the world froze once again.

AN: I've been playing around with alternating chapters between worlds or just focusing on this Hermione. If you guys would like to see it, I'll alternate and the next chapter will be the "other" Hermione- the one from the world we know. But if you guys don't want to see that, I can stick to AU Hermione in our world.