A story arc that is probably one of the most revisited in the world of fan fiction. Lucky for me (or unlucky for me) but I'm going to try and make it differently. I hope you enjoy the first chapter, short as it is.

rating is to change later on in the story.

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TWENTY TURNS

chapter one : where it all begins

Hermione Granger was incredibly different to most people she knew. For starters, she was the only child of two very ordinary dentist parents, who lived in the lovely and affluent London District of Hammersmith.

Second was the fact that she was the mixed race daughter of her Angolan mother, born and bred in the antithesis of posh, rich, snobby Hammersmith; rather the more intriguing and artistic burrows of Ladbroke Grove, home to Notting Hill Carnival and the birthplace of London's diversity. Whilst Hermione's mother was every drop British, her mother's parents were less so: holding in their hands the fascinating power of being two nationalities. Angolan and British. Hermione's mother was black, African, a West Ender and during her youth, an eager float goer during carnival.

Hermione's father however was English, having family roots tied to this country from hundreds of years ago. The country was engrained in his blood, not necessarily similarly to the way it was in her mother's. Her father was white, and certainly not the reason for her bushy hair, though definitely the genes behind her brooding eyebrows. Her father did not leave such a strong imprint on Hermione's genes, but left such a strong impression on her mind and the way she talked. she liked to think that she was an intriguing mix of both her parents.

Next was something much more strange. Hermione's parents were the most Muggle parents anyone could come across. Their idea of a wonderful evening was less Quidditch matches and more Shakespearean plays in Shakespeare's Globe. They preferred documentaries and books on The Wonders of Wisdom Teeth as opposed to articles and dissertations about The Mysticism of Mermaids. Perhaps that was why when Hermione had been a young little girl and only just starting to get to grips with her abilities, she felt like a disruption to her parents and their ordinary lives. But perhaps that was why her parents loved her so much. She wasn't boring, certainly spiced up their pristine, perfect dentistry centred lives.

And lastly, perhaps what was most important, was that the concept of Giving Up was as foreign to Hermione as thinner, much straight hair. She recognised that the Great War was over. Voldemort was dead, they had won. But they hadn't...not really. The Weasley had been torn apart, Harry had been torn apart and most worryingly, the world was not recovering as quickly as she had hoped.

It had been two years and not a day went by that she wasn't planning and plotting and scheming and dreaming up solutions. There was only one that she was finding herself constantly coming back to:

Time travel. To risk everything that they had won for a more victorious ending? Wasn't that just greed? They had defeated Voldemort, surely that had been enough.

All it had taken was the lives of thousands; Muggles and Magic lives alike. Hogwarts was not the same. Hermione knew that she had to try.

She was sat in her bedroom with two years worth of writings, plans, graphs, instructions, a manual on how to keep intruders out of her mind (like Severus Snape and Albus Dumbledore) and also…a personal biography of everyone she needed to get to know on the Halloween of 1980. She would stay in the past for just a year, more than enough time to change the course of history.

So Harry had a real family for the first time. So Ron and other friends wouldn't lose so many loved ones.

Maybe, just maybe, to give her a reason to live again.

Hermione clapped her hands together when she appraised the mountainous collection of notes and maps, all the information that hadn't readily been available in her mind having been weasled out of a very unsuspecting Harry. She had been reshuffling and ordering her notes for four days now, filling in all the blanks with a few scant paragraphs on areas that were hazy to her. Like the whereabouts of all of the horcruxes Lord Voldemort had created.

She would merely need the help of a couple of Marauders, two members of the Hogwarts Staff and a brilliant backstory that wouldn't jeopardise her future. Hermione forced her thick bushy hair into a long plait that fell down her back before she quadruple checked the order of the notes, ensuring that the dates corresponded to the folders she separated them into.

She would be leaving tomorrow, taking her Portuguese back story with her. A generic one for any person with two ethnicities; that her mother was born in Portugal, daughter to magical Angolan diaspora, where she had met the wizarding English love of her life whilst volunteering at an event. Three months later and the pregnant Mrs had moved to London with the Mr to start a new life.

Somewhere in the distance the doorbell rang and Hermione eased off the bed she was sitting cross legged on. She crept over to the window but could not see anyone.

She worried her bottom lip and felt her cheeks turn a rosy hue. Hermione moved from the window and sat back on her bed. She couldn't let paranoia get the better of her. No one knew that she was about to embark on such an endeavour.

Very slowly, she picked up the labels and began scrawling titles on them to mark the folders for their different contents; some with harmless biographies and others with the dangerous knowledge of how to carefully cast into existence and control the furiosity of Fiendfyre. If that failed to work then it was simply a matter of getting to the Basilisk deep in Hogwarts chambers and stealing a couple of its fangs.

Suddenly, she remembered her coffee and when she turned to face it, was saddened to realise it had gotten cold whilst she had been freaking out about the chronology of the horcrux notes. She hated warming up coffee with magic, it didn't taste quite the same.

Hermione heard more doorbell but wasn't entirely sure if it was really a bell ringing, or the frenzied demise of her mental health. Her anxiety was through the roof. She bit her lip and finished scrawling out titles as quick as she could.

Anxiety could wait until she was successfully in the past.

oOo

The Time Turner was a strange contraption. It essentially provides a paradoxical solution so mad that to embark on a time turning quest rarely allowed for such frugal time schedules and assumptions. Hermione hardly knew anyone she would be going back to.

She knew she would encounter things that she had not prepared for, thus why she was bringing a flagon of Polyjuice Potion with her.

Hermione knew she would achieve what she hoped if only she kept a level head. And if she got one particularly mischievous man on her side. After all, his family had closer ties to Voldemort than any other.

She had not planned to say goodbye to Harry, Ron, Luna, to any of her friends for fear that she may let slip what her plans were. If not that then let slip a few tears, surely. She was terrified that she may never be able to return if anyone whom she didn't plan on letting know her true identity did indeed find out.

With a years worth of supplies in her magically enchanted briefcase,Hermione read over her inventory once more- checking and checking and checking and-

Done.

It was all done now. Wrapped around her throat was a long golden chain with a severely manipulated Time Turner attached. Each turn was a year and she planned to return to Halloween of 1980. Twenty years from now, which was more than enough time for her to make the change that would save her friend's parents and uncles.

Another thorough sweep of the house (Hermione could be the definition of thorough) she decided at last that it was time for her to turn back time.

Hermione shrugged on her thick grey trench coat and then looked in the mirror directly opposite her. She appraised her wild bushy dark hair, her brown skin that was paler than usual; the white shock would stain her cheeks in a couple hours surely. Hermione bit her full bottom lip and then lifted her weightless briefcase.

Twenty turns and she was gone with a flash.