Disclaimer: If it were in any doubt, I'm not creative enought to have invnted any of this rich and detailed world where we can let our imaginations run wild. I own nothing.

Destiny's Past

Prologue

Hermione felt the familiar sensation of gravity reasserting itself on her body as the laceless trainer that had served as her portkey released it's hold on her - she instantly wished it hadn't. The feeling of weightlessness had brought with it blessed, if all too brief, relief from the burdens of being nearly eight and a half months pregnant. She placed a protective hand over her belly and was rewarded with a swift kick from her unborn daughter; that reaction brought a Mona Lisa smile to her lips.

"Mrs Weasley?"

The unfamiliar voice startled her, although she knew it shouldn't - she was expected after all. An honoured guest in fact.

Hermione turned and found the source of the voice. The speaker was an adolescent, perhaps just old enough to be called a young man - just. He wore the black robes synonymous with Hogwarts students, paired with a blue and bronze tie, marking him out as a student of Ravenclaw house. Whilst, pinned to his chest, a small silver badge read; 'Head Boy'.

Hermione realised that she didn't recognise the boy, and, she reflected, that realisation saddened her somewhat. This young man had begun his magical education after she and her peers had completed their own. It marked the end of any tenuous link to her own childhood school years – she was now separated by a generation from those who now lived and studied in these august halls.

The young man, stood on the lowest step of the castles main entrance, a few metres from the spot designated for portkey arrivals. He was tall and lean, with sandy hair and bore the air of someone who was about to meet royalty. It was a reaction that Hermione was now well used to, although one she still felt a certain degree of unease with.

She tossed the used trainer onto the pile of other discarded items that had served as portkeys for other guest, having elected to travel to to the castle for the eighth anniversary of the end of the war in that manner herself, in no small part due to her advanced stage of pregnancy. Not so funny now the shoe is on the other foot, is it? her inner voice questioned, sounding very much like the voice of her best friend, Ginny Potter, who Hermione had subjected to a fair amount of of good natured teasing during her first pregnancy three years earlier. During that time Harry had become extremely over protective of her and their unborn son, James; now a delightful and mischievous two year old.

Although pregnant again herself, Ginny was now repaying Hermione's playful taunting in kind, as Harry, although still very much the protective Father-to-be, had mollycoddled her noticeably less this time around. He had however, Hermione remembered abruptly, still insisted, as Ron had for her, that Ginny travel to the memorial via portkey, rather than have the long trek up the school driveway from Hogsmeade village.

"Mrs Weasley?" the head boy queried again, still clearly in awe of who he had been tasked with meeting. "The next portkey is due to activate in ten seconds," he concluded, confirming Hermione's own train of thought, and she move aside from the arrival point.

Ron had even gone so far as to suggest that Hermione might be better off staying home this year, rather than exposing herself to both the physical and emotional strain of the day. She had of course rebuffed that suggestion immediately, but even she could not say why. Yes, there was no doubt she wanted to pay her respects to her fallen friends, but there was something ... more. She couldn't rationalize it, but somehow she knew she needed to be at her former school today.

Ginny's equally rotund frame - she was due the week after her - sprang into existence a few seconds later.

Dropping her own portkey - a dogs plastic chew toy - onto the pile that Hermione had deposited hers, she turned on the spot and caught sight of her Brothers wife.

"Hermione!" she squealed with delight, as she caught sight of her oldest friend and sister-in-law, and pulled Hermione into a tight embrace that suggested they hadn't seen one another in weeks, rather than just the previous evening, the two woman leaning awkwardly into the hug as best they could manage, what with the addition of so large a bump in front of their normally slender frames.

"Where are the boys?" Hermione asked, referring to Harry and Ron, as they pulled apart.

"They're apparating to the village once they have dropped James off at the babysitters," Ginny replied matter-of-factly.

The head boy nervously cleared his throat to gain their attention. "M-Mrs Potter?" he began falteringly, sounding, if possible, even more nervous than when he had addressed Hermione. "Your parents wanted me to tell you that they are already inside. I can take you to them if you like," he added almost as an afterthought.

"Coming Mione?" asked Ginny, nodding her head towards the open double doors of the castles main entrance.

"No Gin, I think I'll wait for Ron. You know how he gets if I try to walk up stairs by myself!" Hermione replied, almost succeeding in keeping the mild tone of irritation out of her voice. There was after all, a grain of truth to what she said.

By way of reply, Ginny rolled her eyes in a sympathetic and long suffering manner. As Ron's baby sister, she was of course very familiar with the youngest Weasley son's over protectiveness.

Once her friend had waddled out of sight, Hermione began to walk the grounds of the castle she had first visited over fifteen years beforehand. It was something of a ritual to her; one she had partaken in every year since the wizarding world had first gathered at the school to remember loved ones lost during the wars.

She walked slowly past the main entrance, her minds eye still clearly able to picture the missing chunks of masonry after the battle. To Dumbledore's grave, a site that also housed the memorial stone to those who had perished. Past the greenhouses, the scent of roses catching her attention as it wafted through the air - she would have to ask Neville why he was cultivating such thoroughly non-magical plants. Finally she made her way down the slopping lawns towards the lake, as always gravitating towards the same spot she so often had as a student; a spot she had always thought of as 'hers'.

But, as she neared the ancient oak near the shoreline, she noted that 'her spot' was already occupied. However, she noted absently, she was not particularly surprised by that fact. It was as if she expected to meet someone here today.

Slightly out of breath from carrying the extra weight of her unborn daughter on her annual walk around the grounds, Hermione silently approached the woman sat in the shade afforded by the trees wide stretching canopy of leaves, lowering herself gingerly to the ground as she did.

Hermione recognised her companion instantly, although she had aged considerably since the two had last met. To a casual observer, her companion bore the appearance of a woman of very advanced age - even for a witch. A shock of grey, almost white, hair framed her pale, lined face and her extremities trembled slightly; most would adjudge her to be well into her second century of life.

The woman had not acknowledged Hermione's presence, instead she gazed toward the horizon, her eyes unfocused. They sat like this, in companionable silence for several moments; silent, save for the gentle lapping of water against the rocky shore bellow and the muffled snatches of unidentifiable voices arriving up at the castle behind.

Presently Hermione spoke; "I knew you'd come."

The elder woman did not answer aloud, although she did nod her head once in silent acknowledgement, a knowing smile creasing her features as it spread across her aged face.

"We did it," Hermione continued. "Its over."

The other woman's smile did not so much falter; more that it took on a tinge of an emotion Hermione couldn't quite place. Sadness perhaps? But that didn't quite seem to fit. It was something more - sorrow at something lost?

For the first time the elder woman turned her gaze away from some unseen point on the horizon, and instead allowed it to settle on Hermione, her eyes instantly falling on Hermione's swollen abdomen. "Harry's?" she mouthed.

Hermione blushed. True enough, when she had first met Harry and Ron as an eleven year old first year, it had indeed been the raven haired Gryffindor to whom she had first formed a schoolgirl crush – or perhaps hero worship was more accurate. But, as most pre-adolescent fancies do, it had faded soon after, replaced instead by something arguably far deeper. Love of the unspoken kind shared between siblings.

Despite a couple of brief romances, she had long held a flame for her other best friend; a love she had once assumed would never be reciprocated. How wrong I was, she thought, cupping a hand under her bump, recalling Ron's eventual declaration of love in return - eight years to the day in fact, she recalled happily.

To the elderly woman she replied; "No. It's Ron's. Ron Weasley. I'm due next month - a girl."

The woman nodded once more, her brown eyes glistening with unshed tears of joy, falling back into silence, which although stretched for many seconds proved not to be an uncomfortable one.

Hermione regarded her old friend, and noted that the older woman's breathing was short and laboured, each inhalation a short rasping gasp. "Do you need a healer?" Hermione wanted to know, concern lacing her words. "I can call up to the castle," she added reaching into her robes to retrieve her wand.

The elderly witch shook her head vehemently, evidently denying medical assistance, even as Hermione extracted the shaft of wood from her maternity robes pocket. But instead of pulling out her own wand, her fingers wrapped around another; coarser and shorter than her own. It did not belong to her, instead she had taken to carrying it with her every time she had travelled to the memorial since she had found it lying on the ground - in this very spot no less - eight years ago.

She said as much to her companion, who was eyeing the wand hungrily, extending a trembling, age spotted hand, as she did so - clearly requesting the wand to be placed in it.

Hermione acquiesced without hesitation.

"Memorha Mihi." The spell was cast with an almost wheezed incantation, the woman pressing the tip of the wand into her temple, before, with a speed of movement that seemed to defy her condition, she quickly touched the tip of the wand to Hermione's own forehead.

Hermione gasped as her hand shot to the spot where the wand tip had made contact with her skin. The point on her forehead feeling hot to the touch; a heat that seemed to be radiating through her entire body. She felt no pain, but her vision was greying at the corners and she sank to the floor feeling dizzy and disorientated. Finally her vision blackened completely and Hermione Weasley knew no more.

Author Musings

Hello everyone. This was my very first piece of Potter fanfiction and I've decided to re-edit it as I have learnt a great deal about writing during my time on ffnet and I wanted this story to be as good as it can be.

Anyway, this little tale was inspired a throw away comment from Hermione in book 5 (I think) where she mentioned the sorting hat had seriously considered placing her in Ravenclaw. It got me thinking, and Denstiny's Past was born.

I know at first glance it appears to be a R/Hr pairing and not the H/Hr it is billed as, but in fact there are no romantic pairings at all. I know that puts some people off, but what can I say, I write what my muse tells me to.

Oh and BTW, obviously I haven't killed off Hermione - she is my lead character after all ;)