Author's Note: Welcome to "If I Only Had a Heart!" (credits for this title, of course, go to Harold Arlen and E. Y Harburg, who wrote the song for the Wizard of Oz) Anyway, this is my first fanfiction, so I appreciate any of kind of feedback, good or bad. So, ready and review please!

I own nothing, all characters/places/etc are owned by J.K Rowling.

Enjoy! :)

Note (1/12/14): Chapter recently updated. A few details added and errors fixed.

Chapter 1

All was not well.

It had been five years since Voldemort had been defeated; five years since she kissed Ronald Weasley and thought her life to be changed for the better. Life would be good, removed of the constant threat of the greatest dark wizard of all time on the hunt. Alas, Hermione Jean Granger-Weasley had been wrong. Terribly wrong.

Life was a nightmare. Every night, she went to sleep listening to the sound of grunts, screams, crashing vases, her home being destroyed bit by bit. Every morning, she woke up to find Ronald, her dear husband, passed out on the couch, sometimes in the floor, reeking of alcohol, obviously hung over. At St. Mungo's, they identified it as post-traumatic stress disorder, caused by the final battle of Hogwarts, and the death of Fred Weasley. They had prescribed potions and spells of all kinds, memory charms even: nothing helped but the alcohol. Hermione was warned by the healers to stay away from him, from her own husband because he could harm her. There was nothing she could do to help him. And because she could not stand to see anyone or anything suffer, Hermione let him drink away his sorrows. She was forgotten.

"Ronald?" Hermione called on a Tuesday morning, hoping in vain that she would find the slightly plump, smiling Ron in the living room drinking tea and ready to greet her with a good-morning kiss. As she walked into the living room of their small flat, she was met with what had become the usual sight: a passed out Ron on the couch, skeletally thin and breathing in a labored manner. With a sigh, Hermione knelt beside him, gently shaking him awake.

"What?" Ron snapped, sitting up and rubbing his aching head, glaring at his wife. Hermione shrank back a little,

"I just wanted to see if you're alright." She replied soothingly, wandering for a moment if Ron would actually respond with kindness. Her hopes were quickly dashed. To her words, Ron scowled,

"Alright? How in Merlin's name could I be alright?" He questioned, attempting to stand and falling back to the couch, knocking up a cloud of dust and grime. It was all Hermione could do not to wrinkle up her nose at the noisome stench of alcohol and vomit. She pulled out her wand, casting a quick scourgify! To clean up the vomit.

"Ron, I'm just worried about you." She said quietly, grasping his arm to help him stand.

"Get away from me!" Ron yelled, pulling his arm away, his eyes wild. It was clear that the alcohol's effects were lasting longer than usual, "You don't really care about me; you can't help me!"

This accusation came up surprisingly often. The thing that hurt Hermione the most was that she knew Ron was right. She could not help him, for he had reached a place she could not follow. At this point, she could not even help herself, not with Ron constantly pulling her back down again. She loved him, most dearly, but she was sure that he no longer loved her.

That is when she made up her mind. No more countless nights like this. She couldn't stand it.

Hermione stood, brushing herself off, squaring her shoulders, looking her pathetic Ronald straight in the eye, "You're right, of course. I cannot help you where you are now. I could help you where you once were, but you've forgotten yourself, Ronald. I love you, but I can't stay married to a man that endangers my life every night."

"What are you saying?" Ron questioned, eyes narrowing.

"Ronald, I want a divorce."

* ' * ' *

Hermione bustled into the lift at the Ministry of Magic the next day, looking over to Harry Potter who was already standing in the lift. Not noticing the sad look on Harry's face, she began to speak to him in her usual brisk tone.

"Harry, I need to talk to you and Ginny, please. Ronald and I had a discussion, and-" She stopped, seeing the strange look on her friend's face, "What's wrong?"

"Hermione, you can't talk to Ginny." Harry replied, eyes downcast, blinking rapidly. Hermione stared at him, uncomprehending. The elevator came to a screeching halt at the Department of Mysteries, at which Hermione and Harry both stepped out. After graduating from Hogwarts, Harry, Hermione, and Ron all received job offers at the ministry, ranging from Aurors to Unspeakables. Harry, naturally, became an Auror along with Ron, but Hermione turned down this offer and accepted the one to become an Unspeakable. After everything she had gone through, everything she had seen, Hermione felt that she almost had to be an Unspeakable. Maybe, she could discover secrets no one else could, secrets that could prevent someone like Voldemort from ever rising to power again.

"Why not, Harry?" She questioned delicately, noting the pained expression on Harry's face. A sense of foreboding began to take hold.

"Hermione, the curse came back. Bad. She's unconscious." Harry said quietly. Of course. The curse. During the Battle of Hogwarts, one of Voldemort's curses struck Ginny. At the time, it did not appear to have any effect other than a large bruise on her abdomen where it hit. Then, several months later, she complained of a burning pain in that spot. Harry rushed her to St. Mungo's, but it was too late. The dark magic was already spreading throughout her body. The Healers managed to contain it to her abdomen, eliminating the possibility of children, but Ginny was safe. Or, so they though.

"How bad?" Hermione asked quietly. Tears began to slide down Harry's cheek, and Hermione could barely hear the words he uttered next,

"She's dying."

* ' * ' *

How could this happen? Hermione could not contain the sobs that racked through her body. Had she not suffered enough? Had she not seen enough friends and comrades die? Had she not watched her own parents killed before her eyes by a deranged escaped Death Eater two years ago? Had she not just told her husband, the man that she thought she loved more than anyone, that they needed to separate?

All of these woes- every single one- led back to one person: Voldemort. It was Voldemort who trained the Death Eaters to kill and drove them to the point of insanity with torture. It was Voldemort who tried to kill Harry, thus throwing the Golden Trio into the mad search for Horcruxes. It was Voldemort who cursed Ginny. If Voldemort had not lived, or had died long before the final battle, none of these terrible things would have happened. Hermione silently cursed the snake-like, devil. She could not bear to call him a man.

Hermione sat up a little straighter, an idea, a crazy idea, forming in her mind. If Voldemort had died earlier, none of these things would have happened.

"This is madness. . ." Hermione muttered, standing up and for the second time that day, brushing herself off. She shook her head quickly, attempting to brush off the fuzzy feeling but unable to. She was hidden in a small cleaning closet, seldom used, deep in the Department of Mysteries, sure that no one would find her there, "It is impossible." She added, attempting to banish her little idea.

Alas, it would not go away. She felt light, airy, unreal. What had she always been told? Terrible things happen to wizards who meddle in time, she had been told, but what was one more terrible thing going to do to her. Honestly? Kill her? That could hardly cause more pain than what she was feeling at the moment. She could save those she loved: great successes come with great risks.

What if she managed to come back? Would she still be married, maybe to someone else? Would she even know Harry Potter? Would he even be famous? The what-ifs were endless, but Hermione could determine one thing: if she succeeded, Ron would not be an alcoholic, Ginny would not be dying, and Fred, Tonks, Lupin, Sirius, and all of the others would be alive. Even if their fates turned out to be different than the ones she knew, they would be alive. They would have a chance to live.

A chance to live, to have a long, full life.

That was her deciding factor.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione left the cleaning closet, carefully looking around to ensure that no one was in the corridor. The consequences of being caught in her next act would be severe, making Azakaban look inviting. She walked stealthily down the hallway, gripping her wand tightly in her hand, poised to defend herself if the need arose. Old habits die hard.

After ducking and dashing through corridors, carefully avoiding any other Unspeakables, Hermione arrived at the room she wanted. Gently turning the handle, she looked around one more time before entering the room.

"Lumos." She muttered, the tip of her wand coming alight. In the center of the room was an enormous hourglass. It stretched from floor to ceiling, almost fifteen feet, and was easily twenty feet around. In it, silvery mist swirling, taking on vague shapes from time to time. It was essentially a giant time-turner. Long term time travel: the newest unproven exploration of the Ministry. Luckily, Hermione was working on the project, and had special access to the room, and the giant time turner. Well, Hermione thought, Let's hope it works.

The uncertainty should have unsettled her, but something inside of her had snapped. Uncertainty be damned. She had a chance, and she was going to take it.

Hermione carefully walked up to the hourglass, hoping that no one entered the room. As a precaution, she cast a ward that would alert her if anyone was within ten feet of the room. Upon closer inspection of the hourglass, Hermione saw that there was a rope, similar to a bell pull, that turned the hourglass on its huge axis, along with a silver rope to drape around the person that was doing the time traveling. Hermione picked up the silver rope and tied it loosely around her waist, hoping that it would be sufficient. Then, clutching her trusty beaded bag, she grasped the rope that would turn the hourglass. For a moment, she hesitated, not knowing if she would ever return to this time. Then, she thought of Ron laying on the ground, withering away amongst empty bottles, strengthened her resolve. She would go back in time, to when Voldemort was weaker, when he was in school. As a baby would be too soon; everyone was innocent as a baby. But the Hogwarts student Voldemort was not innocent. She would kill him.

And with that thought, she pulled the rope.

The room began to swirl around her as she thought of Hogwarts, of the 1940's, of Tom Marvolo Riddle who would one day become Voldemort. The fuzzy feeling in her head slowly began to fade and she began to panic; what if this didn't work?

The room was extending and Hermione felt like she was choking. Spinning, that's what she was doing, spinning. Suddenly, an alarm went off and Hermione knew that someone had entered the room, but she was spinning too fast to see who. Someone tall, short dark hair, male or female she could not tell.

Blackness settled over her, she felt soft ground beneath her feet and remembered no more.