A/N: This is a preliminary chapter. Based on reviews, I may post the others. I don't have a beta reader, so I hope everything is okay. If not, let me know and I'll make the changes.

They had come to call her a journeyer.

She walked wherever she needed but never seemed to have a destination. Only rarely did she apparate or floo. Such ways of travel were too quick for her intentions. People passed her on the street and looked on in curious wonder. They knew she was…or rather, who she had once been.

Long ago, just after the war, she had completed her schooling and been a mistress of potions, spells, and most of all, transfiguration. As she passed people in Diagon Alley or London, they whispered of who she used to be, or the contributions to the magical world, of her part in Voldemort's defeat, of how she once looked.

Her hair, the manifest of her magic, had once been a wild, untamable mass of brown curls. It was now straight and carefully maintained, hanging to just below her shoulders. Her eyes, once depthless pools of mocha brown, had changed. When she had achieved her animagus form, a lioness the color of gold mixed with crimson, resulting in a creature of unfathomable color, her eyes had changed as well. They had gone golden, like a galleon in the sun.

She carried her wand in a pocket within her robes, which were layered crimson and black, giving her the appearance of fading from existence before her cloak billowed back and her layered robes gave her another bloodied birth. The whisperes followed her everywhere. Some words were kind, others accusing, and some just hating.

Long ago it would have been different. Long ago, before Minerva McGonagall, it would have been different. Long ago, she was called Hermione Granger.

Now, they called her the Journeyer.