When Hermione Granger dies, she's expecting it. In fact, she welcomes it. She's lived a long and fulfilled life of one hundred years, and outlived all of her old friends and family. So she welcomes Death's cold hands, and looks forward to a serene afterlife with the ones she loves. She leaves the world gently, like the whisper of a breeze, with her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren by her side. She has a rather large family, she thinks fondly, before her breath flutters to a silent stop. Those who witnessed her death would later say that it was the most beautiful, content passing they'd ever seen.

The next thing she knows, she's opening her eyes, expecting to see Harry and Ron smiling at her, but instead gets this strange, strange, feeling. There's a dim, cozy light that illuminates the room, and she thinks dazedly, what a strange afterlife. It's not until she looks forward, and her hazy vision clears slightly, that she can see a shock of auburn hair; and then she knows something is very, very wrong. Ron's hair is ginger, she thinks suddenly, and then she's moving her eyes around rapidly, charting her surroundings; the heavy scars of the war never fully erased from her. Find out your surroundings, find out who's near you, and what's going on. Because as Moody always said, constant vigilance.

A warm smile caresses her as she glances up—she's being held by someone, who lifts her up lovingly.

"This is your daughter, Ariana." The woman says, presumably talking about her. Ariana? Hermione inwardly frowns; the name is familiar, tugging on the edge of her mind, and then she realizes with horror—she's not even Hermione anymore.

What the hell is going on? She thinks frantically.

"She's beautiful." A rough but affectionate masculine voice says, "Albus, Aberforth this is your new sister."

Holy. Shit. Did she just hear Albus and Aberforth? Hermione gulps desperately, unsure of the situation, but now deeply worried. Could she be in the past? Her mind races, connecting different scenarios and information she's gathered in her short time here. If their name turns out to be Dumbledore… She thinks grimly.

Shifting her gaze to the man in front of her, she notes that he has blonde hair and blue eyes, and is currently holding a small child—who she guesses to be Aberforth—in his arms. Albus, a short, adorable red-headed boy is gazing at her with intelligent blue eyes. Eyes that she remembers so well. They don't pierce her nightmares like they do Harry's, but she still feels a pang of grief and longing as she stares right back at him.

Tears pool at her eyes, and all the confusion and pain she feels bursts out in a single wail. And then it's like a waterfall, cascading out her eyes, her screams filling the room.

"There, there, it's alright," coos the woman, "It'll be alright." Hermione wails her lungs out; she cries for the life she has lost, and she cries for the life she must live. She cries until she is so tired that she can cry no longer, and the smooth, tender rocking of the woman lulls her to sleep.

Hermione at an old age is no different from a young Hermione—she still has her dazzling brilliance, and her sharp mind. Her inner strength and power still radiates throughout her like a blazing fire, but she's tired. The war in her young teenage years had drained a lot of her vitality—not that she ever showed it. The War took so much out of its participants, and there would always be a gaping hole in those who had suffered through the War. Time could heal that ache, but it'd never fully disappear. Even now, HermioneAriana feels the ghostly echoes of the atrocities of the War in her heart and soul. It wears down her bones, and she is not innocent. She knows. Knows the despair and death and blood and terror brought from war; she's hardened, and there's nothing she can ever do to reverse that. But she's thankful for this, because in this life, she'll need all the experience she can get.

The days pass by swiftly—she's too busy sleeping, eating, and trying to develop her almost non-existent muscles that time moves too quickly for her to keep track of. Aberforth visits her often, and at this point, she's strong enough to hold herself on her stomach and amuse him for a while. She's closest to Aberforth, mostly because they are around a year apart, and their parents often put them together. Both of them are rather mild tempered, and get along brilliantly. It feels strange to be so young again, when she had been so old. But for some reason, Hermione doesn't feel old at all. It's almost revitalizing in a way to be a baby again, with no worries except for eating and sleeping. Of course, Hermione is no normal child—she worries constantly about the future. She's time traveled into the late 1800s, and it's driving her insane. Her family is so magical, so Dumbledore, that she can hardly deny the evidence.

It's too painful for her to look at Albus in the face, and she has trouble seeing him as her brother at times. But he's okay with that because he's too busy trying to develop his magic and learn as much as he can. Granted, Hermione will probably do the same thing once she develops the muscles that allow her to sit up and read—she needs to research, and lots of it. Because if she can change something, just one thing, she might be able to save her friends from the pain of the War. She needs to survive, because she needs to change the world. And even if it twists the timeline, she won't care. Because all that matters in the end, is that everyone is happier; that everyone gets a childhood. Being reborn as a Dumbledore has its merits, because although Ariana died in the original timeline, she can feel magic thrumming through her veins, and she has decades of experience to master it. And besides, if she can change the world, she can save her brothers from a lot of suffering. At least this time, her mother won't die, and her father won't go to Azkaban.

Slowly, but surely, she gets used to her family. The fierce love of her parents and the constant presence of her brothers. They're her family now and she loves them just as much as they love her. She holds her old family in the tenderest space in her heart and locks it away. She's Ariana. Vaguely, she wonders if there ever will be a Hermione born in 1979. There are now two timelines, and time travel is too uncertain of a subject for her to completely understand. But she knows that she will never be Hermione again, so whether or not there will be Hermione, she will change time.

She likes her brown eyes. They're the only thing that remind her of her life as Hermione. She's Hermione and Ariana, but she can never be Hermione again. And she accepts this. She's HermioneAriana, but she's Ariana. She's Ariana, and she loves her family deeply. She knows how to treasure them, she knows the feeling of losing someone you love in the blink of an eye. So she holds them to her fiercely, watching over her brothers like an older sister, and her parents like grown daughter.

Of course, her parents find this strange. But the whole Dumbledore family is strange. They've already produced a prodigy son, who has the potential to become one of the greatest wizards alive. Ariana is no impossibility, and they accept her quirks. Because she's still Ariana, still their daughter, and they love her.

Progressing from a baby into her toddler years is no easy feat, but by the time she's two, she's regarded as a prodigy rival to Albus. Her intelligence and wisdom has surpassed his for now, and she reads whatever she can, whenever she can. Grindelwald is an enigma she never fully understood, and she has to be ready for when he comes. Albus begins to spend more time with her—he's noticed her cleverness, the way she catches on so quickly it's like she's already learned it. Ariana grows to accept him as her brother, and the pain fades into faint scar; because he's her brother and he's alive.

The two of them are exchanging theories and discussing the nature of the magical world and magic by the time she's four. Her parents are overjoyed and astounded by their precocious children, and they're so, so proud. Ariana feels lucky with such an amazing family. Aberforth is not quite on Albus' level, but he's extremely intelligent nonetheless. Ariana tries her best to make him feel included, but it often proves to be difficult because Albus is still a young boy and has not quite mastered the art of empathy just yet. He often launches into discussions too complex for Aberforth to understand, which fosters a bit of resentment on Aberforth's part. But Ariana spends more time with Aberforth—he's still her favorite brother, just like he had been in the original timeline. Aberforth is gruff but caring. He's always sweet to her and dotes on her like the older brother he is. She can talk about mundane things with him, and she can feel like a child around him. She's not being forced into an adult, and though she technically is one, she's missed the feeling of being a child with no worries; so she tries to enjoy it as best she can. Albus is not nearly as affectionate as Aberforth, but he is a loving brother nonetheless. Sometimes, though, he is too intelligent, and it puts him on a level that no one but herself can reach. He's an extremely talented child, but this isolation has created a sense of loneliness, and created the feeling that no one will ever be able to match him. Still, he continues to evolve every day, and Ariana watches him carefully because she's scared one day he'll break.

Accidental magic is present throughout childhood, but for Ariana, it's not accidental. The familiar feeling of molding her magic, holding onto it, and stretching its power is second nature. Her young body finds it difficult to accommodate her experience, so Ariana has to practice every day, little by little trying to reach her former level. She knows it'll take years—after all, she'd had decades to develop her magic in her past life. Albus is starting to dabble a bit in the Dark Arts, and though their parents are worried, they say nothing because they are afraid of holding him back. Aberforth is the only one who calls him out. This is the trigger to their already rocky relationship, and the two burst into an argument. From that point on, the two find it difficult to see eye to eye, and no matter how Ariana tries to reconcile them, they're too stubborn to face each other.

Finally, she turns six. Albus is out in the village with his friends, and Aberforth is too busy with his new broom to hang out with her. There's a strange sense of foreboding that nags at her, and she's too experienced to ignore her instincts—so she's on her guard as she walks out to practice her magic. The air is fresh and crisp, and though Ariana enjoys the company of her family, there are times where she has to be alone. She makes the grass stir around her feet and the leaves rustle with gusts of wind, and the hedges tremble. The air around her is shifting, moving, like a snake moving towards its prey, and she revels in the feeling of her magic. It's improving day by day, and she's confident she'll make progress enough to be competent in wandless magic by the time she attends Hogwarts. (Something tells her that Ariana never attended Hogwarts, but she's too enraptured in her feelings to fully realize).

"Hey!" Barks a young, male voice. Ariana jumps, startled, mentally scolding herself for forgetting her surroundings. She'd been so concentrated in her magic that she'd temporarily lost track of her surroundings.

There's a group of boys behind the boy that yelled at her, and all Ariana can think is shit because they're stalking closer towards her.

"What?" She asks, voice perfectly calm.

"What was that?" The leader of the boys demands.

Ariana lifts an eyebrow coolly, "What was what?" Her unaffected demeanor contradicts her inner turmoil. Shit, shit, shit. I just showed magic to Muggles.

"You know what!" Explodes the boy, face turning a nasty red, "That stuff you did with the wind—do it again!" The boys behind him nod in agreement like the mindless followers they are.

"What are you talking about? I was just sitting here and the wind just happened to be blowing." She countered.

"Shut up!" The boy shrieks, "Stop lying or you'll be sorry!"

"Nothing happened." She says firmly, almost desperately.

The boy lets out a roar of rage that has Ariana stumbling back a few inches—come on, you're a war veteran, she snarls at herself. It is the viciousness of children that she is not quite used to. Adults are brutal and ruthless, but children are ten times worse. They are merciless when they don't get what they want, and Ariana discovers this firsthand when the group of boys—the warrior part of herself warns there are seven of them—jump on her and begin to pound her into the ground with their still-growing hands.

Children are not strong, but they have no measure of when to stop. She tries to block them, tries to get up and run, but the weight of seven eleven year old boys are too heavy for her young body and she is viciously dragged onto the ground. They tear and rip at her hair, her dress, her skin. Distantly, she recalls the phantom pain of Crucio, and the agony of Mudblood being carved onto her arm. She fights back as hard as she can, and her magic fluctuates sharply, trying to protect her. A boy is blasted into the hedges and another is slammed onto the ground. But there are too many, and her magic is not fully developed.

The boys injured boys get up in anger, rage making them beasts, and fear turning the others into monsters. They dig into her, tearing her skin, breaking her bones, bruising her body, and it's so, so painful. It doesn't stop, and she's screaming, crying, calling for help. One boy slams a foot onto her mouth and she bites her tongue so hard she nearly bites through it. Blood flows freely from her mouth, and judging by the wetness of her arms and her legs, she knows her mouth isn't the only place bleeding. Her ribs flare with sharp pain, and the ache of her body is indescribable. Yet they continue on, raging against her battered body, and Ariana's body is too weak to continue its struggle against them. She lies there, feels every punch, kick, stomp, rip, and it's too painful. She wants to black out, but she can't.

You're a Lion, a warrior. You've endured torture by the hands of Bellatrix Black and survived. You can survive this. Just endure. She tells herself. Just endure, she chants. And all she can hear is her soft mantra echoing through her head, and the inhuman snarls of the boys fade.

Endure.

She distantly, hazily feels her magic brush steel itself into a shield, and then her magic explodes into a firework of rage and hatred. The magic whips violently around her, and they boys are thrown around in a mini hurricane. Don't, she thinks weakly. She doesn't want to hurt anyone, but the more she tries to control her magic, the more it rebels. There's a tornado and then all is silent. There is no sound.

A/N: I know this chapter isn't as long as my usual ones, but it'll definitely get longer. I couldn't resist trying out a new writing style, so this story was born. This will be rated T for now, but it may be changed to M later. Please point out any mistakes or problems you see, and as usual, thanks for reading!