The heavy aura of residual magic flooded the area, crackling in ribbons through the cool air above her and tingling her skin. Face down in what felt like grass, a strangled gasp suddenly tore out of her. Oxygen raced through her blood as she coughed, tasting ozone. She sputtered through a mouthful of dirt and finally breathed deeply as the awful dizzy feeling of asphyxiation faded.

Her body felt dreadfully heavy and for a moment Hermione considered if she might be partially buried.

Startled into action, her eyes flew open and she tried to master her limbs to sit up. Sliding her elbows and knees beneath her through the crushed debris went slower than she intended. Hunched over, Hermione paused a moment to press her pounding forehead into the scratchy mix of grass and leaves. Her body ached with every breath but remaining unaware and vulnerable was unacceptable. She took another steadying breath to gather herself then stubbornly pushed her torso upright. Kneeling, she cautiously lifted her head above the grass line and methodically scanned her surroundings.

Tension straightened her spine and sent sharp sparks of alarm to clear the fog in her mind. She recognized where she was though the trees were younger than she remembered and the cobblestones were freshly laid. Her eyes widened and shock threatened to shatter her cool evaluation. She had thought she failed. Further down the lane, she watched the last muted flickers of magic as they dissipated into the darkening night.

Even with evidence apparent around her, she had to be sure.

Hermione kept her gaze firmly on the quiet houses nearby while her trembling fingers pulled down the zipper on her old leather jacket and slid beneath the top of her camisole. The icy touch ghosted over warm, clean skin, old scars and one new addition; a thin, faintly raised line several centimeters long just above her breasts in the center of her chest.

Horror filled her and she was unable to suppress the shudder that ripped through her body. Hastily, she tore her hand away and clenched her jaw as her throat tightened around a scream she refused to release. Her eyes stung with unshed tears and her body began to shake. Hermione realized she was in danger of losing control. She curled forward over her knees and tried to slow her panicked breaths. Automatically, her hands fumbled first for the reassurance of her wand then her ever-present beaded bag. Terror stalled her mind and the world seemed to slip out from under her when only the first could be found. Wand gripped tightly in one hand, her other slapped wildly down her body in search of the little purple bag that might be her saving grace here.

Whipping around to search the ground behind her, Hermione felt thin leather straps tighten across her hips and left thigh as she stretched. She deflated in relief as she finally remembered that before departing she had cleverly made a new version of her charmed bag from an understated hip harness that she could wear tightly strapped to her body. It was intended to be more accessible and allay her perfectly reasonable fear of losing it. Maybe she should have practiced wearing it earlier so she could have avoided that entire moment of gut-churning panic. Cleverness only helped if you could remember you were being clever. Exasperated, she patted the bag and rolled her eyes at herself.

When she had arrived, flat on her face, her core magic reserves were a breath away from entirely depleted. While a magical being could survive with their power bound, certain death awaited those who were so foolhardy as to completely overestimate their magical capacity. It took a series of strong replenishing potions or at least several weeks rest to recuperate that much over expenditure.

She had nearly killed herself to get here and had felt like death warmed over at first. Her muscles had felt overexerted and fatigue had slowed her mind before alarm shot adrenaline through her system. She frowned as her skin continued to tingle oddly. At first, she had thought it was blood flow rapidly returning to numb limbs but too much time had passed for that to still be the case. It wasn't just her limbs tingling either but all over, even her face. Maybe it was a reaction to the excess magic still in the air; whatever was left of those softly crackling ribbons of light and power.

However, even allowing for that, she shouldn't feel so good. At best she should be barely cognizant and supine in the grass after that much unintentional loss. Instead, something was causing her sore muscles to unclench, her pounding headache to ease, and her energy to progressively rise.

Suddenly it clicked in her mind that she must be absorbing the residual magic left over from the ritual she had performed. There had been so much lingering magic when she appeared that it visibly disturbed the air. She reckoned the excess swirling about was drawn to her like a magnet, seeping in through her skin to replenish her magical core. If she kept absorbing it at the current rate, there was a theoretical probability that it would temporarily overfill her core, leaving her practically bursting with more raw power than before.

Well, sweet Circe, that was a glorious positive. Now she might not die a horrific death after all.

Hermione debated rising from her knees to begin the next step in her plan and judged the steadily darkening sky to be nearly shadowed enough to obscure her movements. Still, she wordlessly cast a disillusionment charm on herself. She hadn't seen a single soul yet she could faintly discern the catchy tune of a popular old wizarding song drifting on the wind from the pub down the lane.

She had to keep in mind that, though she couldn't see it, the confusingly arbitrary space beside her grassy arrival point cleverly concealed a cottage. Hidden within were the first two people she planned to save and her best friend. The one person that she had given up everything for. The man that she loved fiercely as her family, her brother, her platonic soulmate. Life without Harry Potter simply wasn't a life she wanted. But here, now, he was only a baby.

Complacent from months on end of what amounted to house arrest, his young parents won't be ready for death to calmly walk up to their door. But this time she would be here to stop the monster. Failing that, she could at least stall him long enough to give the family a chance at preparation, perhaps even escape. While she was betting on them seeing the danger from their windows, after the commotion she would likely cause, it didn't seem wise to alert them beforehand. They would have no reason to listen to her or, if they did, their early departure from the scene could potentially cause Voldemort to seek them out at a later time she would then have no foreknowledge of. She had concluded that careful manipulation of the known factors was safest. If she was successful in this single act, it would throw nearly all other factors into disarray for better or worse.

She swiveled on the spot to consider the young alder tree several meters behind her. If it was too near when she cast the rather dark ritual spell she intended, its own innate magical properties would most likely cause the spell to falter. There was nothing to be done about the proximity of the roots embedded deeply below but she encouraged several of the branches above to gently turn aside. A handful of dead leaves fluttered around her with a whisper of sound but she banished them before they could reach the grass. Those already fallen and crushed into the earth should have withered passed the point of being able to adversely affect her spellwork but she wouldn't risk her chances by adding to the pile.

The shadows had grown dark and blended with the night around her as she drew one knee up and settled into a crouch. Hermione gently slid her treasured vine wood wand into the braided mass of curls at the back of her head before dipping the fingers of her left hand into the deceptively small leather bag attached to her hip. A significant length of her forearm disappeared within before she retrieved what she was looking for and reverently cradled the objects in her cupped hands.

Each no larger than dice, the seven precious stones were painstakingly etched in delicate ancient runes. Hermione could feel the resonating connection she had fostered in each one as they warmed in her palms. She lined them up in precise order along the center of her left hand then, without hesitation, she brushed a knuckle hard across her open zipper. A warm trickle of blood slid down to gather at the tip of her finger. Before it could fall, she lightly dabbed a crimson fingerprint on each waiting stone then whispered basic cleansing and healing charms to plaster the tiny wound shut. Slowly the rune stones began to align their sedentary magic with her own to create a joyous yet inaudible hum that she could feel in her steadily strengthening magical core.

Several of the ancient texts she had referenced specifically stressed the importance of inscribing the ritual runes on the type of gemstone most in tune with the caster. With a dark spell such as she was about to attempt, the connection had to be unwavering. If the connection between the caster and the stones wasn't deep enough there was a very real possibility of the 'focus', or more appropriately termed 'prey,' breaking free. Once her spell was activated, if all went to plan, only she, as the caster, would be left unhindered. Wisely heeding the warnings, she had carefully selected the type of stone and then each of the seven precious gems individually for a resonating connection with her specifically.

Fidelius Charms were tricky and supposedly impossible to circumvent through natural or magical means. However, no one had ever taken time travel into account. Leaving her original time after the protective spell on the Potter Cottage had been destroyed, she was free to blend her awareness of the precise location of her target site with her knowledge of arithmancy and geomancy. If her calculations were correct, she should be crouched just outside their garden gate.

Mindful of her footsteps in the fallen autumn leaves, and wary eyes scanning her surroundings, she resolutely began to lay her trap. Each labradorite gemstone was lovingly placed with purpose in a wide ring around her arrival place. The tall untended grass conveniently hid her rune stones and in the dark of night they appeared as dull as any other rock upon the ground.

As she drew the wand from her hair, a single unruly curl managed to pull loose and bounced frustratingly beside her cheek. Ignoring it, since fussing would only cause it to worsen, she paused once more and meticulously triple-checked the exact placement and orientation of the seven gemstones. Reassured she was on the right track, she first sent a gentle sticking charm to each stone to be entirely sure that a more forceful spell wouldn't dislodge them in any way. Then she followed it with a much stronger one to solidify them all in place. Satisfied with her rune stone arrangement, she silently strengthened the disillusionment charm on herself and rose to stand.

Balancing gracefully, she lifted her feet high with each step directly forward and then passed the invisible ring of magic she had set into the ground. Sticking charms blessedly in place, it was actually impossible for her to jostle them now but prudence called for her utmost effort.

Turning back around to face her perfectly camouflaged handiwork, she realized there was nothing left for her to prepare but her nerves. Her Adamantine Circle was ready and waiting for its prey.