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Chapter Text

James loved loudly.

When he loved, it was never silent. Whether through words or actions, he loved so loudly—so obviously—that it was hard for others to deny nor unsee his acts of love. He was never the type to hide what he truly felt, whether it was joy, anger, and sadness. It was the same when he loved someone. From singing every cheesy love song in the middle of the corridor, raining flower petals in the Great Hall, and presenting an engagement ring every other Sunday in the hopes that the recipient would say yes, James had done it all and some.

It never occurred to him how embarrassing some of his actions were. It never simply crossed his mind because he believed that expressing what he truly felt was never shameful. It was in the way he would snuggle into Sirius’ arm whenever he felt sleepy, or when he would throw an arm over Peter’s shoulders to mess his hair, or when he would jump onto Remus’ back for a piggyback ride. It was also in the way he would sneer and confront his enemies, particularly Snape, never backing down whenever he perceived that the ones he loved were insulted or threatened.

James grew up in love. It was no wonder why he would act the way he did because he had been showered with so much love that there was plenty for him to give away.

So when he fell in love with Lily Evens, he threw so much love to her that he hadn’t realized that he no longer had any love for himself in the end.

A boy with an abundance of love had not realized that he had taken it for granted, so when there was none left, James felt himself adrift in a vicious cycle of the highs and lows of unrequited love.

That was the reason why he found himself wandering around the castle hours after curfew, the map and Invisibility Cloak helping him evade authority figures. As his legs carried him to whatever destination ahead of him, James couldn’t help but obsess over the events that happened earlier that day.

It had been a normal day, of course. The sun was shining brightly in particular, making him think that it there would be a good day ahead of them. When he saw Lily at the Gryffindor table first thing in the morning, he thought that it was going to be his lucky day. It wasn’t often that they would bump into each other so early in the morning, so it must’ve been fate that had allowed them to see each other.

So, James fixed his hair—so that it wasn’t messier than usual—puffed his chest and approached Lily in confident strides, glasses glinting atop his nose and his grin gleaming with muted mischief.

“Morning, Evans,” James said loudly with a cock of his head, hopping onto the bench to sit at the table, legs spread together to bump onto her shoulder. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and ignored the blatant disgust across her face as he said, “Have I told you today how pretty you look in the morning? As if I need any more reason to fall in love with you.”

Lily clenched her jaw, refusing to meet his eyes, determined to ignore him as she slid further away from his legs. James didn’t particularly care, used to it as he was, so he continued talking.

“So, I heard that there’s going to be a new tea house at Hogsmeade. Wanna go out with me to see it this weekend? I’ll guarantee to give you a good time.” James grinned wider, showing his glinting canines, to which Lily ignored again. Again, he ignored her ignoring him. “I already have the day planned, to be honest. We’ll go to that tea house and then afterwards we’ll go to that bookstore you want to visit since ages ago, then we’ll go to Madam Rosmerta’s for drinks, then we’ll walk around Hogsmeade, then maybe we’ll kiss and then we’d get married and then—“

“Oh, for god’s sake!” Lily suddenly snapped, effectively shutting him up.

She sharply turned to give him steely-eyed stare, green eyes as deadly as the killing curse. James knew that whatever would come out of her mouth would be devastating, and couldn’t help but brace himself, his body tense and his shoulders raised to his ears, as if hiding his head to protect himself from her deadly tongue.

“Are you simply not tired of the amount of shit that comes out of your mouth?!” Lily seethed, nose flaring as the disgust across her face grew more pronounced. She stood up, hands clenched to her sides, glaring fiercely at him. “I just need one morning—just one!—before I get harassed by your arrogant, stupid ass! How many times do I have to hear you prattle on before you realize that I don’t care?! I don’t care about you or what you like or whatever idiocy you come up with. When will you get it in your head that I will never have feelings for you?! Seriously, just back off! Your so-called love is suffocating me!”

James paled.

Lily stormed out before he could utter a retort, leaving him on the Gryffindor table with his head hung low.

Suffocating—

Until now, many hours later since that morning, the word continued to taunt James’ every step.

He hadn’t realized that his love felt like that to Lily—that it was suffocating . He thought that if he tried hard enough, if he put more effort into wooing her, she would start to see that he was serious about her and his feelings for her. He thought that the more he tried, the more she could see that he was sincere about her. He thought that if he loved her harder and fiercer, it would be enough to cover the lack of love she had for him, until the day she’d return his love. So how come it became suffocating?

He stopped in the middle of the corridor, a frown tugging his lips downward, the darkness seemingly mirroring his emotions.

The sudden sound of footsteps broke him out of his daze.

He jerked his head and looked around, realizing that he was in the middle of the corridor where anyone could stumble into him. He immediately hurried to the side, near the wall, trying to find an alcove he could hide into, when he saw the person heading towards his direction and promptly froze.

The beam of the Lumos spell was a familiar sight, so did the witch holding it up with her wand. With curls reminiscent of a Devil’s Snare and doe eyes that would be like a puppy’s except for the sharpness it held, she was a sight that left a lasting impression wherever she went.

It was Hermione Granger.

As in, Hermione “if you think of even sabotaging my potion for a prank, I will castrate you” Granger. As in, Hermione “threatened to set a professor on fire (and actually did it)” Granger. As in, Hermione “three times Dueling Champion” Granger. As in, Hermione “stickler for rules unless provoked” Granger. As in, Hermione “forever alone because everyone else is an idiot” Granger.

All the blood drained from his face once he saw her. Getting caught by her was the last thing he needed right now. Because she would kill him. She would absolutely kill him, but not before toying and humiliating him to her heart’s content, of course. Everyone knew that you’d rather be caught by a professor than be caught by one Hermione Granger. It didn’t matter whether they were in the same house or not, because Granger didn’t discriminate whatsoever.

So, James pressed himself closer to the wall, staying as still as he could, holding his breath as she came closer to his side, and praying he would stay unnoticed. While he was invisible to the eye, the sounds he make couldn’t be hidden.

Her steps echoed louder, the light highlighting her expressionless face in an almost haunting image. She looked like a ghost as her robes fluttered over her ankles, the Gryffindor sigil on her left chest concealed by the tangled curls she called her hair.

Then she stopped.

She stopped right next to him.

The hairs at the back of his neck stood up and he willed himself not to make any sound to alert her of his presence.

But it seemed that the mighty Hermione Granger had a nose like a bloodhound because with one swipe in the air using her hand, she managed to grab his Invisibility Cloak and snatch it from his head without even looking at his direction.

He could only watch, dumbfounded, as she held the Invisibility Cloak in her grasp, looking at him with an unimpressed stare that threatened to shrivel his insides once the cloak revealed his state.

“Granger…” James uttered awkwardly, a sheepish smile plastered across his face. She remained expressionless, though she did raise one eyebrow that perfectly conveyed her judgment. He ignored it. “Fancy meeting you here, so late at night. What’s up?”

Her eyes iced over, prompting James to shut his mouth.

There was a saying among them.

You could mess with anyone you wanted at Hogwarts, but messing with Hermione Granger would be the last thing you did as a human being.

Ever since she pointed her wand at Mulciber’s crotch back in their First Year, threatening him under her breath with eyes that spoke of death, no one wanted to get into her bad side. Not even Sirius could, as carefree and rebellious as he was, and not even Slytherins despite knowing her status as a muggleborn.

James couldn’t understand how she was so different from Lily. At least Lily made an effort to be friendly with other people. She loved magic as much as the next pureblood wizard in Hogwarts. She was as eager as the other muggleborns to learn magic, and she held the same enthusiasm to share it with other people, whether by study sessions or one-on-one practice. With Lily, you could see on her face how much she wanted magic and how much she was fascinated by it.

But not Hermione Granger, oh no.

From the very first day, she never interacted with people, as if they carried a plague she didn’t want to catch. Granger was always quiet, but frankly, she didn’t need to say a word to tell them that she hated them, because they could all see it on her face how much she did. She looked at everyone in contempt, though some professors were exempted (surprising, Dumbledore wasn’t one of them). She did magic as if it was expected of her to do so, with no surprise nor fascination across her face—as if everything was just what she expected and anticipated.

For a muggleborn, Granger was such an anti-muggleborn.

Just like right now, Granger didn’t need to say anything to James. Even with the dim Lumos light, he could see the distaste adorning her face as her gaze roamed all over his body. Not in a way a woman would examine a man, but rather how a Healer would examine a dead body.

James didn’t know what to do. He was facing the so-called dragon of Hogwarts, the one even Dumbledore held a tiny bit of fear for.

“I didn’t even realize that it’s past curfew,” James said despite knowing that it was a vain attempt. Still, it was better than nothing. “I’ll return to the tower right away. Just, you know… maybe return my cloak to me?”

He flashed a boyish grin, awkwardness tinged at the tips, making her furrow her eyebrow, her eyes screaming her scorn for him. Other than Lily, only Granger looked at him like that. It rankled him a bit. Just a tiny bit.

Not saying a single word, Hermione turned on her heel and started walking. James blinked for a moment, before hurrying after her. He didn’t have much of a choice since she still had the cloak with her.

He couldn’t help but stare at her as he followed a few steps behind her back, the silence between them stifling. He was never one to be comfortable with silence, so his fingers fidgeted as he mused over what he could talk about without Granger biting his head off.

“Ah, have you finished the potion assignment that Slughorn gave to us?” James said, figuring that schoolwork wouldn’t land him onto Granger’s bad side, at least not this evening. “To be honest, I’m still having a hard time making those potions, especially the Draught of the Living Death and the Memory Potion. It’s so difficult to even do, don’t you think so?”

“No.”

James was nearly startled to hear Granger’s response, stumbling onto his feet, until he regained his balance and he seamlessly continued. “Really? You didn’t find it difficult at all?”

She turned her head and looked at him over her shoulder, and he pursed his mouth when he saw the way she stared at him. Those doe eyes had narrowed, her eyebrows slanted, and her lips pursed.

Basically, Granger just looked at him like he was an idiot. He wanted to protest a bit but figured it wouldn’t change her perception of him. Really, Granger had the talent to make you feel like you had not done enough in your life no matter how hard you tried with just one glance.

“Ah, right,” James muttered sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Of course, you’re the top student in our year. I forgot about that.”

Granger wasn’t only the top student in their year but from first year to sixth year, she held the title of the first rank, and he reckoned it would be that way when they would take the NEWTs next year. He even heard that her OWL scores had bested Dumbledore’s, which was admittedly not entirely unexpected. It had been this way since they were in their first year. She wouldn’t be the three times Dueling Champion otherwise.

It was part of the reason why she was chosen to be their year’s Prefect as opposed to Lily, who was brilliant in her own right. Everyone held a tiny bit of respect and a healthy dose of fear for Granger, which made her a perfect prefect candidate. While Lily was more approachable and friendly, Granger’s ability to freeze someone with just one look came in handy especially when handling the Slytherins.

It was kind of scary when he thought about it carefully.

“Shut up,” she said, although it lacked the heat of a reprimand.

She didn’t say anything else, but James got to gist of it. So, he pressed his lips together and obediently trailed after her, enduring the silence since it was better than the alternative of her potentially murdering him. He knew that Granger disliked talking to people, but he never figured that she was quiet. Now, he knew, and he didn’t know what to do with this information now.

They got to the moving staircase, Granger stopping at the bottom to wait for the stairs to move back in place. James still didn’t know where they were going, but he wasn’t about to ask her of that especially if she hadn’t considered it carefully. Who knew if he would give her ideas if he asked?

On a second thought, maybe she was silently luring him to Filch so they could hang him by the ears?

“Excuse me, Granger, you’re not thinking of ways how to murder me, right?” James asked behind her, his voice a bit weak with the thought of what the capable Hermione Granger would do to him.

Once again, she glanced at him over her shoulder before turning ahead to stare at the moving staircase.

“Not yet,” she said, and James nearly sighed in relief if she hadn’t continued with, “But now that you’ve mentioned it, you’re giving me ideas.”

James sucked in his breath. Yeah, he shouldn’t have said anything from the start.

“Can you do it painlessly?” James murmured, a bit of a squeak at the end, watching as Granger stepped into the stairs once it aligned itself in front of them.

He could hear the smirk in her voice when she replied, “Where’s the fun in that?”

James decided that it would be best to keep his mouth shut if he truly wanted to live to see tomorrow.

Granger started walking, and he immediately walked to catch up to her. Each staircase seemed willing to accommodate her as they swung and twisted to the path that Granger wanted to take. He knew this because not once did Granger pause since she started moving up in the staircase.

Heck, was Granger so formidable that even a centuries-old castle was willing to listen to her?

As if James needed more reasons to remember why messing with the prissy and uptight Gryffindor Prefect  was a bad idea.

He thought of the scars on Sirius’ hands and couldn’t help but shiver. Once upon a time, Sirius thought it would be funny to hide Granger’s assignments that she left on the common room table one night. All those assignments were due the day after. It turned out that the parchments were all hexed, and when Sirius had touched them, boils erupted all over the skin on the back of his hand, popping into a messy, green pus whenever he tried to touch them. Not even the new mediwitch, Madam Pomfrey, could help Sirius.

They had all been angry then when they confronted Granger about the hex after leaving the Hospital Wing. The witch in question had sat on her wingback chair—the one everyone knew was hers, despite it being a property of Hogwarts—when they approached her. Sirius hadn’t hesitated to demand for the cure, blaming her for his pitiful state.

“I didn’t even do anything!” Sirius had bellowed at that time, holding his hands mid-air for them to see the angry round boils, his skin tinged a nasty purplish-red. “I only just touched it! Who in their right mind would put a hex on their parchment?!”

The witch had merely casted them an indifferent glance, not even taking note of the popping boils all over Sirius’ hands as she raised a cool eyebrow.

“It’s funny how you think this is all my fault,” she had drawled, cocking her head to the side, her hair curling over her neck, “when you were the one who triggered the hex because of your malicious intentions. If you didn’t have malicious intent over my things, you wouldn’t have boils all over your hands.”

Sirius had sputtered, trying to defend himself, and even Remus—the reputable good boy of the Gryffindor house—had expressed that Granger had overstepped. James had remembered being too distracted at that time because Lily had been watching them then, voicing out her concerns and trying to convince Granger to heal Sirius in the background.

Granger, at that time, kept her cold demeanor despite being peer pressured, and with a voice as sharp as a deadly cursed blade, said, “Be grateful that the boils only appeared on your hands. If you had truly tried to sabotage the contents of my assignment or tried to destroy it, the boils would’ve been on your balls.”

Needless to say, they all paled—and went even paler when, with a flick of her wrist—with no incantation or wand—the boils disappeared in a flash. As if it healed, silvery streaks now decorated the back of Sirius’ hands where the boils had been.

“It’s a reminder,” Granger said, eyes trained on the scars. Then her lips curled—it was the first time they’d ever seen her smile—and it was terrifying . “Now, whenever you look at your hands, you’ll be reminded to keep your hands to yourself.”

They were only in their third year at that time, and Hermione Granger had successfully terrified them all into submission. She wasn’t even a Dueling Champion at that time, not until next year when fourth years were encouraged to join the Dueling Club.

James—for all of his bravado and Gryffindor courage—knew when to avoid a tough opponent when he saw one. Granger easily topped in his “don’t-mess-unless-you’re-suicidal” list, next to his parents and Professor Dumbledore.

He still didn’t know where they were going, until he recognized the familiar surroundings they found themselves in when Granger hopped from the last step of the staircase into the hallway.

He casted a suspicious glance at Granger who never acknowledged him again after he went quiet. He kept his questions to himself, silently trailing after her, eyebrows furrowing deeper when they turned around the corner and he saw the familiar portrait of the Fat Lady ahead of them.

Granger hadn’t led him to his death. Rather, she led him back to the Gryffindor tower.

The relief that came over him was swift, but he still remained on guard when Granger suddenly spun on her heel to face him. James drew back, eyes wide with wariness that she narrowed her eyes at.

Granger pursed her lips before pushing the cloak into his arms. Too shocked to even register what was happening, James could only accept it silently.

Her hands dropped to her sides, head cocked to the side. “I’m sorry about Lily.”

His eyes grew wider, his breath stuck in his chest. Wait, what? He couldn’t believe that she knew about what happened earlier that morning, but she actually knew. James knew that most people in Hogwarts probably knew that Lily ripped a new one into him that morning, but he was startled that even Granger had heard of the news.

She knew and she was… apologizing for it? The Hermione Granger was apologizing to him about it? What in the world was going on? Words couldn’t even convey how astonished he was. He and Granger weren’t even close to begin with. In fact, this was probably the first time they spoke to each other because Granger just didn’t approach or speak to anyone ever since she came here. But now she was speaking to him? Pitying him?

Had Lily’s rejection addled his brain? Because he was certain he was hallucinating.

She endured his scrutiny, making no attempt to show a hint of whatever she was feeling. Her eyes remained impassive, her face devoid of creases. “That’s why you’re walking around so late at night, right?” She shrugged her shoulders, looking away from his startled eyes. “Next time, don’t get caught.”

James gawked at her retreating back, confused why she hadn’t deducted points or led him to Professor McGonagall or strung him on his ankles to drain his blood from his open head. But more than that, he was glad he was still alive and relieved that Granger hadn’t done anything aside from leading him back to the Gryffindor common room like some naive firstie.

Perhaps, there was more to Granger than being the scariest witch of the age.

Chapter Text

Hermione always thought that death was the end.

She didn’t believe in the saying that you only lived once; rather, she believed that you only died once, and every day was a life she had to live. She had every day to live for herself, by herself, and being herself, because life wasn’t so short when you had lived it the way you wanted to.

And lived, she did.

She lived by devouring every word and information that she stumbled into. She lived by passionately defending what she believed was right. She lived righteously fighting for the weak, the oppressed, and the minority. She lived fiercely protecting her friends and family. She lived by loving wholeheartedly, whether they were people, animals, or books.

For every laughter, tears, sweat, and blood she shed, she did so without a doubt of who she was and what she wanted and what she would be in the future.

Death was the end; everyday was an adventure; she didn’t want to waste it by doubting every decision she made or regretting the choices she came up with. She didn’t waste time doubting, not when failure was the very thing that she feared. If she doubted, if she didn’t try hard enough—if she didn’t try at all—then she would truly be the failure she feared she was.

The war—and their subsequent capture and her torture—only cemented the fact that there was more to life itself, that not taking advantage would only be a waste.

She didn’t want to die regretting the things she hadn’t done. She wanted to die content with the life she led.

So, when she died at the age of 134, she did so with a smile on her face, knowing that she had lived a full life, that she did not waste every day being afraid to take a chance.

She closed her eyes, and when death came, she knew that it was her end.

She was wrong.

It was her beginning.

The second Hermione opened her eyes as a young girl, she wondered if all the memories that she had in her head—the memories she had living as Hermione Granger, the muggleborn witch, the first muggleborn Minister of Magic, advocate for the better treatment of half-breeds, werewolves, and house elves, former Head of the Unspeakable, the brains of the Golden Trio, war heroine, and the mother of two—was a fantastical dream.

When she went downstairs, saw her parents, and saw the Hogwarts invitation letter on the table, she wondered if she lost her mind and was having delusions.

But then she saw the year.

1981.

Then she realized, no, it wasn’t delusions.

It was hell.

This was her hell.

Hermione used to be loud.

Many years before—a lifetime ago, to be frank—when she was still a young, impressionable girl who just found out she was a witch, Hermione would not shut up. She could talk for hours, jumping from one topic to another, regardless of the company present. She was a person whose opinions demanded to be heard, whether they were welcomed or not. She never heard of anyone’s voice aside from her own, because she was an endless stream of the English alphabet.

As she grew older, under the tongue lashing of one Professor Severus Snape, Hermione learned how to stay silent, to curb her own tongue because she knew that while she had her own insights and opinions to speak of, not everyone would be willing to listen or accept them. At that time, she thought how unfair it was for people to dismiss her words so easily. She thought it was because she was young, she was a muggleborn—or at least she had a dozen excuses why.

The truth was only found on the later stages of her life, when she was getting older, wiser, more open-minded, more patient, and more experienced.

They never cared to listen, because she herself didn’t.

They never accepted her, because she herself didn’t.

Because how could they open their doors to her, when she herself locked the door and threw away the key?

Thus, she was never heard.

It was something she failed to consider when she was younger.

But just because she failed before, didn’t mean she couldn’t try again.

Sometimes, people fail—but most of the time, they learn.

What else could she do other than learn?

So, she learned, she tried, she failed, and she mastered.

So, when she died, she was content knowing that she hadn’t failed. She made her peace with the life she led.

Because you only died once.

How wrong she was.

There was no Hermione Granger born in 1979.

She didn’t go back in time.

She was reborn in the past.

Her parents were still the same people she had in her first life.

Richard and Helen Granger were still dentists, Shakespeare and Greek Mythology enthusiasts, and non-magical people who loved her more than anything else in the world even after knowing what she was.

She still had the same name. She was still Hermione Granger and she remained a muggleborn witch.

Only her time was wrong.

She wondered if this was punishment for messing with time, for defying time itself when she saved the lives of an innocent hippogriff, a criminal under false charges, and returned a lost godfather to his godson.

An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.

A life for a life.

Perhaps, the first life was for Harry’s.

This was her second life.

This would be for Sirius.

James and Lily Potter died, Peter Pettigrew escaped, Remus Lupin disappeared, and Sirius Black was captured.

Lucius Malfoy evaded prison, Petter Pettigrew became a spoiled rat, and Barty Crouch Jr. was hidden and Imperiused. All of them were safe and sound.

Molly Weasley lost her brothers, Severus Snape lost the love of his life, Remus Lupin lost his friends, and Neville Longbottom lost his parents.

Harry Potter was still the Boy Who Lived, the prophecy child, who was sent to live with his abusive relatives who hated magic.

Just the way Albus Dumbledore wanted.

She watched everything fall into place, burning to do something—to change anything—but she was too young and too vulnerable. If she did anything, she would put unnecessary attention to herself. Now was not the time to move. Not yet, at least.

You only died once (twice), and everyday was a new day to live.

It was never too late if she never tried.

It took a long time for her to heal the wounds—both physical and mental—she gained when she was at war in her first life. By the time she had died, the war no longer touched her, although the experiences and insights she learned during was still present. She could not forget, but she did forgive, accepted, and moved on. It was a footnote in her history that was a part of her, but not the entirety of her.

The war didn’t make who she was; what she was made the war.

It was still jarring to see the people she fought with and against in the war in her second life. Once, she considered them friends and mentors. Now, they were nothing but strangers.

They were all younger.

They were still war torn.

She was eleven years old in 1981, a new muggleborn enrolled at Hogwarts Academy; a new muggleborn in a country that had just ended— postponed —a war due to her kind.

Everyone was kinder. Everyone was more cautious. The purebloods who participated in the war but blackmailed, threatened, bribed, and lied their way out of Azkaban swaggered in the hallways but mostly kept to themselves. The blood traitors, half-bloods, and muggleborns who survived the war walked in groups, unsure if their next step would be their last. Laughter was scarce and fear permeated in the air like an awful smell.

It was 1998 all over again.

She was still a Gryffindor.

Professor Severus Snape was welcomed as a member of the Hogwarts staff as a new Potions Master.

Professor Minerva McGonagall looked grimly at Severus Snape.

Hermione wondered if she could also see the haunted look in his eyes, the devastation etched across the hard lines of his sneer, a gaping hole where his soul should have been.

“Is no one going to answer?” Professor Severus Snape hissed at the first years, narrowing his eyes at the ones ignoring him at the back—purebloods—while the rest cowered and refused to meet his gaze—muggleborns, especially.

Professor Snape might not have mastered teaching the same way the old Snape had, but he did master the art of intimidation. Everyone from first to sixth year were all afraid of their new Potions professor who was also a renowned Death Eater. The older years remembered him as a schoolmate, regardless and didn’t treat him seriously as the other professors, the seventh year especially.

In a way, she could see why Professor Snape turned out the way he did, if this was what he was dealing with in his earliest years of teaching.

She looked around and reluctantly raised her hand once she determined that no one seemed willing to answer him. Professor Snape’s eyes slitted; hers remained calm.

“If I may, sir?” She parried with a nonchalant, detached voice, devoid of any judgment or prejudices.

“If you are able, Miss Granger,” Professor Snape intoned, sneering.

She inhaled slowly, and opened her mouth to answer.

She was the first one who answered Professor Snape’s question since he started teaching.

Hermione was wandering around late at night after curfew when she stumbled into Professor McGonagall.

She was a cat.

Hermione pretended not to know as she crouched down, her lips tipped into a soft smile. “Hello there, are you lost, sweetling?”

The cat-professor blinked luminous eyes at her, most probably startled by such address from a student. Hermione cocked her head to the side, curly hair falling over her shoulder.

“Or are you a ghost, as well?” She whispered, gaze sliding to the side, her vision seeing nothing but darkness. “There are a lot of ghosts in the castle, some are hiding beneath their skins of flesh. The living today are echoes of the ones who left. It’s not surprising. War has a way of tearing apart even the purest of souls. People are walking around, but all I see are shells that has trapped empty air inside, the remnants of the past.”

Within the darkness, she could see a torch on the wall blazing in the distance. It was nothing more than a speck but Hermione couldn’t help but see it as an omen.

“But I like to believe that there’s always a light at the end of the tunnel, just like that one speck of light in the distance,” Hermione nodded towards the dimming light. “One just has to look to find it. They just have to be brave to see it. If we can’t live for ourselves, we try to live for the people who died. If not for them, then we will live for the ones that they left behind. They won’t be trapped in grief forever. They might take a while or none at all, but such is life.”

Hermione’s gaze returned to the cat-professor, who stared at her with wide eyes of green. She could feel herself smile wider.

“But you’re not lost are you, nor are you a ghost,” Hermione uttered, eyes glowing with an all-knowing light, looking as if she had secrets that only she knew and everyone was scrambling to find out what it was. “No, you are alive. I daresay you’re more alive than most people here. That’s good. The dead has to be reminded that there is still something to live for.”

Having said what she wanted to say, Hermione rose to her feet and skipped past the cat, the darkness swallowing her whole.

The next day, Professor McGonagall looked at her with new eyes.

Hermione found herself drenched in cold, dirty water, a gasp escaping her mouth at the sudden strange sensation engulfing her. Malicious stares drilled into her back, a group of purebloods—not only Slytherins—surrounding her like a pack of hungry wolves. She closed her mouth, careful not to swallow the dirty water dripping from her head. The unshed tears stung her hot eyes but she willed herself not to cry, to remain calm and keep her cool.

A war had barely ended a year or so ago. People were still bigoted over muggleborns.

They were children.

Hermione wiped her face with the back of her hand.

But then again, so was she.

“You ruined my homework,” she muttered, lifting her gaze to let them see the steel that had entered her eyes.

“So, what?” One of them sneered. “What are you going to do about it, mudblood? Cry?”

Hermione blinked her eyes.

She did not need to brandish her wand to cast a sticking charm on their feet, making them unable to move out of their place. Running her fingers through her tangled, wet curls, she casted a Stupefy from the front to the back, effectively immobilizing them to the ground, since the sticking charm helped them keep themselves upright.

By now, they must’ve realized that they couldn’t move, that she was able to cast a spell on them without lifting a wand or needing one.

Still, to avoid problems, she raised her wand in the air. While she preferred wandless and non-verbal spell casting, she still kept her wand at all times to have all of her options open. Not everything could be done wandless or/and non-verbally. While wandless and non-verbal casting was quick and efficient, effective especially with Charms, Transfiguration, Apparition, and DADA, casting with a wand was more precise and controlled, most needed with Potions, Arithmancy, and Ancient Runes.

Hermione also liked for her opponents to underestimate her if they managed to successfully take her wand, not knowing that she was as deadly wandless.

Hermione might be older than the rest of the people in the castle, but that didn’t mean she would take slights against her person and choose the high ground because of age differences. She wasn’t a complacent person who would forgive transgressions unless she was sincerely apologized to. She never claimed to be kind or considerate, not when people hated and killed.

It might be cold, dirty water today, but what about tomorrow? It might be her today, but what about tomorrow? It might be them today, but what about tomorrow?

Sometimes, you needed to take the high ground. But other times, you needed to stand your ground. Hatred needed to be cut the moment it was revealed, otherwise it would only take root and foster.

“Now…” Hermione blinked her eyes to them, snapping her tongue. “What would be a fitting punishment for you?”

Albus Dumbledore looked at her sometimes, with those twinkling blue eyes of his, and the beaming smile across his face.

Hermione could feel his attempts to read her mind, his magic brushing against her shields, probing the contents of her head, whenever their eyes met. It happened since she bumped into the cat who was actually Professor McGonagall.

Instead of avoiding his gaze, she kept their eyes locked.

And she opened her mind.

She let him see an image of a young girl standing in front of a mirror. It was herself, from the curls down to the little toes. She let him linger on that image before she gently eased a new image, one that was unexpected but casual enough that he would be none the wiser.

The next images showed a young girl, a young Hermione, slowly undressing herself.

At once, the moment a sliver of skin was shown, Albus Dumbledore withdrew, looking nauseous. The Headmaster was a lot of things, but a predator wasn’t one of them.

Hermione flashed a smile at his direction, as if she hadn’t done anything untoward. He quickly looked away after returning her smile that lasted a millisecond.

He never attempted to look into her mind again after that.

She never approached those she once knew, especially not the Weasleys, and she never interacted with the rest of her peers.

It was lonely, at first, but she grew used to it by her fourth year.

Being alone wasn’t necessarily bad. She found solace in her silence, in the quietness of the night, and in the comforting words of her books. People didn’t approach her either, not when they found out what she did in their first year when she retaliated against her bullies. Everyone knew not to mess with her after that event. In some ways, she was as infamous as Professor Snape.

Whenever she saw friends interacting with each other, she would not feel a pang of envy or regret. Rather, she was too busy reminiscing on her friendship with Harry and Ron, and with the rest of their group whose friendships blossomed after their common ground: the war. While her love life left nothing to be desired—despite having two children, she and Ron still divorced, thankfully in an amicable way—she found the greatest friendships and connections. She wouldn’t trade them for anyone else.

Thus, like all other things, she accepted and moved on.

Though this was her second life, every day was still a new life. There was no point dwelling what it could’ve been.

1981 soon turned to 1982 then it turned to 1983 then 1984—

Soon enough, she graduated from Hogwarts with the highest marks, completely setting a new record and beating Tom Riddle’s—or rather, Lord Voldemort’s, but it wasn’t like everyone knew who he was, not when his records were all kept under wraps and everyone forgot the brilliant boy at Hogwarts, not the monster he became after.

Although she wished she had beaten Albus Dumbledore’s scores, she figured she would have to settle.

“Hermione!” Harry Potter, age 10, ran towards her and immediately wrapped small, thin arms around her waist. Those green, green eyes looked at her with a hopeful shine that made her heart throb in her chest. “You came, just like you promised!”

Hermione couldn’t help but smile, winding her fingers through his messy hair. “Of course, I did. I missed you after all.”

The tips of his ears reddened, and Harry averted his gaze in embarrassment. But his arms still tightened around her waist, pulling her closer, silently telling her that he liked what she had said. Harry said more with his actions than with his words, Hermione knew that more than anyone else.

“How are you, my love? How are the Dursleys treating you?” The question was softly spoken, but Hermione’s eyes reflected a bottomless pit of emptiness, wiping away every hint of emotion.

But Hermione knew that Harry knew that his answer would determine the Dursleys’ fate.

Hermione had visited the Dursleys during the summer the moment she started attending Hogwarts. The wards around his relative’s property, courtesy of Albus Dumbledore, wasn’t truly a challenge for Hermione, considering that she had been researching magic for the better most of her life. Before as a young child, she only left Harry with good food, well-maintained clothes, and new toys without showing herself to him, taking care of him even from far away.

It was only when he was four that she introduced herself and to the Dursleys, making sure that they wouldn’t mistreat him now that he was more aware and sensitive to the people around him. Harry was a particularly perceptive child, so Hermione wanted to make sure that the Dursleys didn’t treat him badly.

She wanted him to grow up in love, or at least, with more love than what he was given in their last life. Although many years had passed since she last protected him, since he died earlier than her, the protective urge was a welcome weight on her shoulders nonetheless.

Hermione could never see Harry as a burden. He was her friend, brother, and son. In this life and the last, he was still the one she loved the most.

“They’re okay…” Harry answered, burying his face into her stomach, still not letting her go. “They’re not hurting me or anything. They mostly leave me alone, although nowadays, Dudley asks me to play with him sometimes, when aunt Petunia or uncle Vernon aren’t there.”

The emptiness disappeared, filling her eyes with warmth as she stared at Harry. “That’s wonderful, darling. Are you having fun with your cousin?”

Harry nodded his head. “He’s okay. Last night, he asked aunt Petunia why she was being mean to me, and she went quiet…”

Harry stopped, probably feeling how the temperature suddenly dropped.

“Oh?” Hermione drawled, her fingers scratching his head. “Hmm… it seems I need to talk to your aunt again.”

Harry blinked his eyes at her. “You don’t have to, though?”

“Harry, I don’t want you to learn to tolerate bad treatment or bad people,” Hermione explained softly, placing both palms on his cheeks, eyes staring earnestly into his. “Everyone deserves to be treated kindly, and that includes you. At the very least, if someone dislikes another, because trust me when I say that not everyone will like you, they should just leave them alone rather than make ways how to antagonize or terrorize them. You can’t please everyone, true, but that doesn’t mean that you should just accept it when someone mistreats you. So, I’m going to talk to Petunia and remind her why being mean to you is not tolerated.”

Hermione decided to go back to being an Unspeakable in this life. In her last life, she had asked to be assigned in the Space and Time Division. This time, she decided to turn to the Creation, Destruction, and Restoration Division.

Creation. Destruction. Restoration.

Life. Death. Resurrection.

It didn’t take long for her to lure Remus Lupin out from his cave, or wherever in hell he had been hiding.

It only took an advertisement printed in the Daily Prophet, about a free wolfsbane potion for the ones who were willing to take a chance. At first, others thought it was a scheme to catch every wizard and witch infected with lycanthropy. But then, one of them got desperate and sought Hermione out. Word travelled once the validity and reliability was confirmed.

When Remus met her outside of her tiny apartment near Gryffindor Hollow, he had been skeptical at first. Hermione knew that she looked young and, without a master’s degree in Potions, she appeared like a crook, so she didn’t take it to heart.

Hermione merely shrugged her shoulders and handed him the potions.

“Take a chance,” she said as she waved him goodbye in the doorway. She leaned one shoulder against the wooden frame, curls spilling over her back and shoulders like writhing snakes. “If you find that you dislike it, then you don’t have to come back.”

Remus left.

He came back a month later.

“Why are you doing this?” Remus asked the third time he visited Hermione for his potion.

For him, he didn’t understand what compelled her to help people like him. Wolfsbane was such an expensive potion, not only because of the time and dedication needed to brew it, but because of the rare ingredients itself.

While everyone else was selling it for profit, she was giving it away for free.

Hermione had just handed him the potions. She blinked at his question, thought over it for a moment, and shrugged.

“It’s not really particularly hard for me to make, so why not give it away for free?” She said to a surprised Remus. “Besides, it helps other people. I don’t really care as long as others are feeling better because of this.”

Remus swung a startled glance at her direction. “You… consider us as people? You don’t think we’re… animals?”

Less than human? Less than vermin?

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “We’re all animals inside, some even more so. Even the most normal person can be the cruelest when pushed to the corner, what more a werewolf? Have you seen a girl who stays sane during her period? No, I don’t think so. It’s the same with a werewolf, you just happen to transform during that time of the month.”

Remus gawked at her.

Sirius was a difficult case to consider. One that needed careful planning and perfect execution. One wrong move would prove to be fatal. So far, she remained undetected for the most part since she began her plans with Harry. Not even Albus Dumbledore had detected her connection with his prophecy child.

It was good if others still hadn’t realized that another player decided to play war games with them.

Sirius once mentioned that he escaped using his Animagus form, citing that it muted the effects that the Dementors had on the mind. In her last life, while earning her master’s degree in Transfiguration under Professor McGonagall’s tutelage, she was required to attempt an Animagus ritual to become an Animagus. She passed, after a few months or so.

She was aware that one’s Patronus didn’t necessarily reflect one’s Animagus form. She thought she would be a cat, at first, and fancied the thought of herself being a lioness. She was surprised when her Animagus turned out to be bat.

A black bat.

It was still the same in this life.

After months of careful preparation, she was still a bat.

Guess she didn’t have a choice but to embrace it.

She flew to Azkaban, flapping her leathery wings low while maneuvering through the throng of Dementors floating around the prison. It took a few turns around the prison for her to find Sirius Black. He was sitting with his back against the wall, wearing tattered clothing, his bones jutting out from his skin to reveal his half-starved state. His expression of hopeless abandon would’ve broken someone’s heart.

Hermione slid through the gap between the steel bars and transformed in front of him.

Needless to say, he freaked out.

“What the fuck?!” Sirius exclaimed, jolting out of his numbing thoughts—or whatever horrors he had been suffering through.

Hermione patted her dress before rummaging through her beaded bag to find some clothes for him. Once she found a decent outfit for males, she threw it at his direction. “Get dressed.” She wrinkled her nose. “You smell.”

“Who are you?!”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Someone who knows the truth. Now, hurry up, before the Dementors sense my presence.”

She turned her back to him, giving him the privacy he deserved. Still, she was on her guard in case he did anything to her. Who knew if his mind was still intact after spending many years in this hellhole?

“I’m decent,” he announced, his voice rough.

Hermione looked over her shoulder and raised an eyebrow at him. “Good. Now transform into a dog.”

“What?!” It was clear Sirius was baffled by her orders and the fact that she knew he was an Animagus.

“Ask your questions later and turn into a dog if you want to see Harry again and kill the rat.”

Well, Sirius didn’t need more convincing than that.

Once Sirius washed the grime and dirt worth of nearly a decade, he sat across Hermione with a cup of steaming tea in his hands, a blanket around his shoulders to stave off the chill from the Dementors that lingered over him.

“So, who are you?” Sirius asked the moment Hermione sat opposite him. “How did you know about me?”

Sirius looked at her with narrowed eyes, suspicions flitting across his face. Hermione raised the tea to her lips, as serene as a monk in the mountains. Perhaps, he found her actions infuriating, if the scowl that crossed his lips was any indication.

“My name is Hermione Granger,” she said after a few sips, meeting his gaze with her own. “And I am a researcher. I like history. The civil war is a part of our history. I found some things that are off and decided to mend the strain. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Sirius stared at her for a moment before he snorted. “Do you really think I’ll believe you?”

Hermione tilted her head to the side. “Oh, I don’t know, Sirius. I doubt you’re right in the head.”

“How fucking dare you—“

“Ten years in Azkaban,” she continued, ignoring the way Sirius seethed in front of her, “certainly leaves a mark on someone. Any longer and you would’ve lost your senses completely.”

“I’m not crazy!” Sirius screamed, fists pounding on the table, his veins bulging in his neck.

Hermione blinked at him. “How do you know? How do you know that you’re still not rotting in your prison cell right now, stuck in the endless cold, with Dementors breathing down your back? How do you know if this is really in your head and I am merely a figment of your imagination, a person you created to save your mind for the last time?”

He looked stricken, his eyes wide and his face devoid of blood. Still, Hermione persisted.

“Tell me, Sirius,” she said, leaning her head closer, making her eyes bigger, “tell me if you believe that I am real. Tell me if you haven’t lost your mind yet.”

“I…” Sirius breathed in, and out, in, out, in, and out. “I’m not… I’m not crazy… You’re real. I know you are, you mind fuck. Stop fucking with my head…. Don’t—Fuck.”

Hermione drew back, her eyes narrowing back to its original shape. “Am I real? Are you? Who knows? But wouldn’t you like to find out for yourself if you are, if I am?”

He glared at her.

“Tell me, Sirius.” She smiled, eyes bright with an otherworldly allure. “Are you alive?”

The reunion between Remus and Sirius was a happy affair once things were explained to them.

Their reunion with the rat, Peter Pettigrew, was not so much.

After practically torturing him for days, Remus and Sirius came back to her holding a dead man. For them, justice wasn’t enough, not when they had dead two friends and one orphan child to consider. It wasn’t enough to bring him to trial and put him in Azkaban, especially knowing that Animagi were somewhat immune to Dementors.

So, they killed him. Finally, they had avenged not only themselves, but the boy who would never see his parents again.

Hermione looked at the dead body and raised an eyebrow. “You couldn’t have just killed him in his rat form?” She sighed.

They looked at each other.

Sirius shrugged and Remus rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

“We’ll clean this up for you,” Remus said politely.

Hermione nodded in satisfaction. “Go on, then. Be sure to scrub the floors off of blood, thanks.”

The wanted posters of Sirius Black circulated like fiendfyre around the Wizarding World a few weeks after she helped him escape Azkaban. She grabbed one on her way home and showed it to Sirius at the dinner table.

“You look even better in the picture than right now,” Hermione remarked, watching in rapt attention as Sirius in the picture screamed silently at her, madness lurking in his eyes as long, messy hair framed his angular face.

The Sirius in front of her—not the picture—gave her a disturbed glance.

Remus and Sirius watched as Harry flung himself into Hermione’s arms once he saw them, snuggling close to her stomach like a touch-starved baby. Despite him being nearly eleven years old, he was still thin and small, smaller than most children his age. Hermione knew he would undergo a growth spurt when he was sixteen, so she didn’t worry so much.

“Hermione, you came!” Harry exclaimed, eyes gleaming with wonder, as if he was still in awe that she would appear before him. “You didn’t tell me you’d visit.”

Hermione’s eyes softened, her lips arched into a gentle smile. She could feel Remus and Sirius’ silent astonishment at seeing her genuinely smile for the first time. She ignored them as she brushed a thumb over Harry’s scar, before slipping her fingers through his hair.

“This is a special surprise,” she told him, “because I want you to meet someone special.”

Harry tilted his head in bewilderment. “Who?”

“The people who should’ve raised in the first place.”

He was shy at first when approaching Remus and Sirius, but Hermione—who was usually the one who’d stay silent in the corner—filled the air with chatter as she asked them questions and made comments that would rile Sirius and prompt Remus to answer. It helped that Harry was quite curious to know about his biological parents, and Remus and Sirius could provide him countless stories about them.

By the time that their visit was over, Harry promised to write to both Remus and Sirius. As they bid themselves goodbye, Harry stuck close to Hermione, holding her hand with both hands, looking at her with those big, green eyes.

“Will you come back?” Harry asked, like always.

“Will you wait?” Hermione asked, like always.

“Yes,” he answered.

“Then I will,” she returned.

“I don’t trust Albus Dumbledore,” Sirius proclaimed suddenly during their dinner.

Remus shifted in his seat, uncomfortable with the topic at hand. Sirius continued as if he didn’t notice Remus’ discomfort, although the way his eyes darkened and the way he clenched his jaw meant that he did take note of his friend’s reaction.

“I don’t want him involve in whatever plan you have,” Sirius told Hermione. “It’s suspicious enough already that he left Harry at the Dursleys knowing that they hate magic. He basically set Harry up to be abused by those pieces of shit if you hadn’t stepped in.”

Hermione chewed on her food slowly and swallowed before she answered, “What makes you think I have a plan?”

Sirius glowered. “Do you mean that you don’t have one?”

“I don’t have a plan,” Hermione said, softly dabbing a napkin over her lips, “I have plans. There’s a difference. Which plan are you talking about exactly?”

“Stop it with your fucking word games,” Sirius snarled.

It was then that Remus decided to step in. “I don’t think we should left out Albus Dumbledore.”

“Seriously?!” Sirius exploded. “He left me in prison! Me! A fucking member of his fucking Order! He let fucking Severus Snape, a known Death Eater, become a teacher! He left Harry at the Dursleys, with Lily’s muggle sister who fucking hates magic! Why the fuck should we let him be involved in Hermione’s plans when he, himself fucked us over for his plans?!”

Remus’ frowned, tugging the scars across his face. “He was the one who helped me go to Hogwarts despite knowing what I am. He’s the reason why I was able to learn magic. When everyone else died or escaped or went into hiding, he was the only one who offered me somewhere to stay. I can’t ever forget that kind of debt.”

Sirius scowled darkly at Remus, gritting his teeth, unable to oppose his words. Hermione cocked her head to the side, inclining on her seat with her arms crossed.

“Do you know how long since Dumbledore fought in this war?” Hermione asked to no one in particular. When she was met with confused frowns, she continued with a shrug. “He fought in this war since 1945.”

There was silence and then a baffled, “What?” between them.

Hermione looked away and stared at the wallpaper like it was an interesting piece she hadn’t seen before. “I mean that Albus Dumbledore has been fighting a war with Voldemort since 1945. He knew that Voldemort had plans to take over the Wizarding World and he bided his time before he countered him. He has been strategizing and planning longer than most of us were even alive. One of his plans involve recruitment of wizards and witches—do you not wonder how you fall into his plans so perfectly, you cannot even escape it?”

Remus paled. “What…?”

“Have you ever wondered why Hagrid is the only half-giant he helped?” Hermione asked, a new light glinting in her eyes, a strange smile across her face. “Or why you’re the only werewolf he enrolled into Hogwarts? Why he was quite fond of Sirius being a Gryffindor himself? Why Snape is the only Death Eater he helped escape Azkaban? Why the Weasleys who are blood traitors remain loyal to Dumbledore after all these years? Why he left Harry at the Dursleys despite knowing the consequences it would bring to a child?”

“He didn’t help you out of the goodness of his heart,” Hermione mocked, “he was collecting his champions to fight his war against Voldemort. A half-giant so grateful for his help that he would even try to plead his cause to the purebred giants who had already labeled him a fool years ago. A werewolf so guilty of his own affliction that he would be beyond grateful for the first kindness he would receive, to the point that he, himself would plead his cause to the werewolf responsible for his so-called curse. A child from a blood purist House, who became a Gryffindor, who seeks approval, meets a wise Headmaster and a caring Head of House, and suddenly all he aims is to please them.

A Death Eater who has not known kindness, who hadn’t known love, suddenly has a person on his side, and you can bet he would fight tooth and nail for his cause. A poverty driven family, all sorted into the Gryffindor house, fostered since they were under the care of Albus Dumbledore, has deeply ingrained their loyalty into their children and their children’s children in the hopes that they would not be left behind. And of course, a child in an abusive family suddenly learns about magic, and is now surrounded by people telling him that this Headmaster is caring, loving, and powerful. Of course, this child would devote himself to the Headmaster whose the reason why he’s able to leave the abusive family in the first place.”

All the blood drained from their faces.

“What are you if not his champions?” Hermione asked, blinking her eyes. “He cared for you and he loved you, because he planned for you to fight his war for him. He was the shepherd and you are his sheep, and one day, he’ll send you to slaughter. Remember, Albus Dumbledore isn’t only known as the Headmaster of Hogwarts, he has also has a bunch of other titles that he could’ve used and he could’ve taken advantage of under the threat of Voldemort.

But no, what he did was make an illegal organization of all the people who were indebted to him, to fight a war that should’ve never existed in the first place. And it’s all because Voldemort, when he was a student at Hogwarts Academy, refused Albus Dumbledore’s help.”

“How do you know all of this?” Remus asked quietly in the dead of the night.

Hermione blinked her eyes. “I read it in a book called the Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore.”

“That book doesn’t exist,” and Remus would know, being a scholar and bookworm himself.

“Not yet, at least,” she responded with a strange smile.

Hermione was strange, Sirius thought.

She was also fucking crazy.

“You stole this from the bank?!” He exclaimed, pointing at the gold goblet that Hermione had placed in the middle of the table.

“I didn’t steal it,” Hermione explained patiently, “the Goblins were more than gracious to give it to me after I offered my services to them. They were quite happy when I pointed out a tablet and deciphered the glyphs on it. They asked for payment, and I said I wanted this.”

Of course, out of all things, she didn’t ask for riches, she asked for a fucking goblet.

“Why do you have that?!” Sirius exclaimed, pointing at the silver locket in her palms.

“I like jewelry,” she answered with another shrug.

“I haven’t seen you wearing one since I met you,” Remus remarked from his seat.

“I haven’t found the right jewelry to wear,” she answered.

“I’ll be gone for a fortnight,” Hermione announced suddenly at the table a few days after, her beaded bag tied around her waist like a belt. “Don’t get yourselves caught or killed. You know who you are.”

Sirius glared and Remus grinned softly.

“Stay safe,” the werewolf said.

“No,” Sirius snorted. “The others be better safe around you.”

Hermione blinked. “I’ll try.”

When she came back exactly two weeks after, she presented them with a gaudy ring.

“What is that even?” Sirius gasped, grimacing at the ring.

First a cup, second a locket, and third was a ring?

“You found another jewel?” Remus asked, despite knowing she had never worn the locket since she showed it to them.

“Yes, the right jewel,” Hermione replied with a nod of her head.

“You got yourself a crown next?” Remus asked, surprised when Hermione came home with a silver tiara in her grasp.

“Fancy yourself being a princess?” Sirius snorted in his cup of steaming tea.

“It’s not a crown, it’s a diadem,” Hermione explained with a shrug.

“It looks familiar,” Remus muttered as he eyed the item.

“Does it?” Hermione asked with a tilt of her head. “It’s a replica I made of Rowena’s diadem.”

Remus brightened, recognizing Hermione’s statement. “You’re right, it does look like Rowena’s diadem. Your attention to details are impeccable.”

Sirius made a gesture once he realized the value of the diadem. “Give it here, let me wear it.”

Hermione tossed her head with a loud laugh, curls spilling like waterfalls down her back. “You admitting you’re a princess, Black?”

Sirius lowered himself in his seat with a disgruntled frown.

The diary was at Malfoy Manor, the same place she had been tortured for hours. Contrary to her expectations, obtaining the diary had been easy. Tricking Lucius Malfoy into giving her his elf was also easy. Seeing Dobby again, after he had died helping them escape, wasn’t easy.

The young House Elf looked confused when Hermione dropped on her knees to hug him.

“Is Missy Mione alright?” He asked, flapping his long ears in worry.

“I’m alright,” Hermione answered before releasing him from her grasp. “Now, your name is Dobby, right? I am your new master. Do you want to be a good elf and help me?”

Malfoy Manor might be as old as Hogwarts Academy, but the wards neglected one fact.

It didn’t keep out House Elves.

Barty Crouch Jr. was as difficult of an issue to deal with as Sirius Black, but not impossible.

Being an Unspeakable meant she would be able to come into contact with Barty Crouch Sr. in the Ministry of Magic with none the wiser.

The Invisibility Cloak (that she nicked from Albus Dumbledore’s rooms) concealed her every move, and with the silencing charm placed on her footsteps, she was nearly undetectable. She followed Barty Crouch Sr. from the moment he left his office down to the Floo Networks. He yelled out his address, enunciating it carefully, and disappeared into the green flames, Hermione stood in silence as she contemplated the wards surrounding his home.

She returned to her office at her department, taking off the Invisibility Cloak. “Dobby,” she called out, and waited the familiar pop of her House Elf.

“Yes, Missy Mione?” He asked, eager serve and eager to please, big eyes shining with his need to serve her.

“Can you take me near Barty Crouch’s place?” She gave him the address and he took her hand.

They disappeared with a pop.

Hermione and Dobby appeared in an alleyway across the Crouch’s residence. She requested for him to stay out of sight before crossing the street. The wards brushed against her skin, thrumming fretfully. It wasn’t as complexed as Hogwarts Academy but it did have a ward against unknown House Elves, which ruled out the possibility that Dobby could pop into the house for her.

What a paranoid fucker.

No matter.

Hermione took out her wand and muttered an incantation under her breath, the wards yielding to her forceful magic. Once she inserted her magical signature onto the wards, she let herself in the house once she managed to hide herself under the Invisibility Cloak.

It was easy to find where Barty Crouch Jr. was when all she had to do was follow Winky, the House Elf who had nearly drank herself to death in her previous life if she hadn’t offered herself to act as its owner.

Winky was in charge of taking care of Barty Crouch Jr., who was under the Imperius of his father.

She watched the youngest Crouch in morbid curiosity as he stared at the ceiling with useless, lifeless eyes. After a few moments of observation, she took out a phial of eternal sleep and pried his pliant mouth open. She made him drink contents of the poison and left as quickly as she came.

By the time that Barty Crouch Sr. visited his son, he was already dead.

“You’re fucking crazy!” Sirius screamed at her as fiendfyre erupted from her wand and engulfed Voldemort’s horcruxes.

Screams echoed in the air, making both men pale. Hermione blinked her eyes and easily vanished the flames, as if they weren’t summoned from the depths of hell itself.

“What?” She asked as both Remus and Sirius gawked at her. “I had that under control.”

Nagini still didn’t exist. The only Horcrux left was Harry.

Hermione was a bit disappointed. She wanted to go snake hunting.

Hermione cradled Harry close to her chest, lovingly patting his head. “You have to die, do you know that?” She whispered to his ears like it was a loving spiel. “Dumbledore left you here, so that in the future, you’ll sacrifice your life for his cause.”

Harry went quiet. “Will I see you again after I die?”

Hermione tugged him closer to her body. He was now eleven years old. A few weeks later and he’d leave for Hogwarts. She had to get rid of the horcrux before then.

“If you want to see me, then you can fight to live,” Hermione said, rocking him back and forth. “But if you want to see your parents again, then you can choose to stay with them. It doesn’t matter which choice you choose, because I love you all the same.”

She didn’t want to kill him, but death was the only option for living horcruxes. Two souls couldn’t remain in the same body. One had to be sacrificed. The stronger soul would be the victor.

Hermione had no doubt that Harry would fight tooth and nail for his own life.

She supposed that Albus Dumbledore and her weren’t so different in this matter. While she genuinely loved Harry, she was also asking him to sacrifice himself so that he could live a decent, full life. Maybe she was a hypocrite for it.

“Will it hurt?” He asked quietly in her arms.

“No,” Hermione answered, remembering Harry’s expression in her previous life when she asked if the killing curse had hurt. “It’s painless, as if you’re falling asleep. You won’t feel a thing.”

Harry was quiet before he lifted his head and looked at her in the eyes. “Then, will you wait for me to come back?”

Hermione pressed a kiss on his forehead. “Even if it’s forever, I will wait for you.”

Harry’s arms tightened around her shoulders. “Okay,” he said. “Do it.”

One quick spell. Green light flashed. Harry slumped over her shoulder.

Hermione looked at the sky and hummed a song under her breath. A few minutes later, he stirred in her arms, green eyes fluttering open to meet her soft smile. Seeing her, Harry’s smile widened.

“I came back,” he said.

“Welcome back, my love,” she hummed.

No more horcruxes. Voldemort’s soul had likely dissipated from Professor Quirell’s head now that there were no more horcruxes to tether him to the living.

That didn’t stop Hermione from hunting him down, only to find him dead in his Hogwarts quarters.

What a let down.

“I’m leaving,” Hermione announced to no one in particular, ignoring the way both grown men startled in their place on her couch.

“To where?” Sirius asked after a brief moment of silence.

“Somewhere,” Hermione answered with a shrug. “I have my research to take care of. I want you all to look after Harry. I’ll send letters.”

“You won’t be coming back?” Remus asked quietly.

“I’ll visit,” Hermione replied vaguely, “for Harry.”

“Why are you even leaving in the first place?” Sirius looked quite confused.

“Because the world is a big place,” she said with as much patience that she was capable of. “There are many things to discover, and many places to explore. I won’t be stuck in one place. Don’t miss me too much.”

She already said her goodbyes to Harry. Now, the one thing she would have to do was leave.

Hermione spent her second life traveling around the world, in different communities, learning about other people’s cultures and traditions. She spent time exploring and discovering the wonders of magic. She published her discoveries and got herself a hefty sum, which made her life quite easier to manage.

Hermione sent letters to Sirius, Remus, and Harry, and visited them at least once a year, bearing gifts and stories of the things she had found.

Meanwhile, Albus Dumbledore waited for a war that would never come.

On Harry’s graduation day, Hermione met Professor Snape. He looked older but less exhausted, with less lines across his face. He sneered at her when Harry stuck close to her side the moment she showed up, not even leaving her side even after she approached Professor Snape.

“I didn’t know you like them younger, Miss Granger,” he drawled in that curt, velvety voice of his.

Hermione looked at Harry, who had shot his Potions professor a vicious glare, before she turned back to Professor Snape. “Harry’s like a son to me,” she said. “I watched him grow up, the same way you did. How are you, Professor? Still terrorizing students?”

Harry looked confused when he saw the flash of a smile across Professor Snape’s face.

“Terrorizing students no longer held its appeal the moment you graduated, Miss Granger,” answered the professor, “but then again, they were more afraid of you than of me, so you ruined all the fun.”

They chatted for a few moments, before Professor Snape left for his Hogwarts duties. Harry turned to Hermione.

“I didn’t know you were close to Snape,” he remarked as he led her back to Sirius—in his dog Animagus form—and Remus.

“I doubt anyone can claim to be close to Snape,” Hermione commented lightly under her breath. “I was the first student who wasn’t afraid that he was a Death Eater. I made teaching enjoyable for him, I think. I was the only person he congratulated on my graduation day.”

“Are you ever afraid of something, Hermione?” He asked quietly.

“I was afraid when I killed you,” she answered casually, as if commenting on the weather. “But I was more afraid that you would live a half-life without knowing a soul resides in your scar.”

His hand tightened around hers.

Eventually, like all things, Albus Dumbledore found out about her.

“You ruined things,” he accused, his blue eyes burning with a heat of a thousand fienfyres. He sat in his throne in the Headmaster’s office, looking as mighty as a righteous king, attempting to make her feel like she was a criminal accused of treason.

“I ruined things, or I ruined your plans?” Hermione asked, just to clarify.

“I had planned for every outcome, Miss Granger,” he mused, rage simmering below his voice. “Things shouldn’t have gone the way it did. I prepared, Miss Granger. I had hoped you would trust me to lead you all to safety.”

“I prevented a war,” Hermione remarked innocently, batting away his poor attempt at emotional manipulation. “Harry gets to grow up surrounded by love, which he deserves after he lost so much. People are safe. No one is dying, unless you count those who died naturally. You’re just bitter because all your plans have become useless. Then again, you’re a warmonger, so I’m not surprised.”

“Miss Granger!—“ He slammed a fist on his arm rest.

“Yes, sir?” Hermione answered blandly.

“Where is Sirius Black?” The Headmaster asked, somehow knowing that she had been the one to help him escape.

“How should I know?” Hermione countered with a non-leading question.

Truthfully, she didn’t know where he was at right now. Last she heard, he had been at Harry’s place last week. At present though, she didn’t know.

“Now that we have this fun conversation, may I be excused?” Hermione rose to her feet. “I still have lots of things to do. I can’t spend all day planning for a war that would never come after all.”

She left before Dumbledore could say a word.

She lived her second life in the same way she lived her first—with no regrets, no doubts, and no hesitations.

She lived the way she wanted to, never pleasing other people aside from herself, and being true to herself most of all. She watched the world moved on, as she herself moved on. No war happened, since Voldemort had died with no one knowing, and gradually the Wizarding World forgot their fear of the Dark Lord, and Voldemort became nothing more than a footnote in their history.

She spent her time learning and gaining knowledge, exploring avenues of magic that she hadn’t known before in her previous life. She learned and studied until her mind became a library that would rival Hogwarts itself. She published books and wrote her research. She became the Head of Unspeakable Department again and although she no longer ran for Minister of Magic, she was considered a candidate if she hadn’t turned it down.

Instead, she retired from her post at age 30 and decided to publish books and write her research for a living. She also spent time advocating for werewolves, half-breeds, and house elves, because this was her cause—her calling—and she would never turn down the opportunity to fight for them.

She was never alone all throughout her journey. Dobby was following her every steps and she had Harry, Remus, and Sirius to welcome her back home whenever she visited.

She died again, surrounded by Harry’s children, with his hand in hers, happy and content with the life she had led.

You only died once.

And everyday is a day you have yet to live.

The year was 1971.

She died for the second time.

She opened her eyes just like the first time.

This was the third time.

It was her third and last life.

It was for Buckbeak.

Chapter Text

It became a habit for James to wander around the castle after curfew whenever Lily rejected him.

After that time Lily had rejected him—calling his love suffocating—James became obsessed over every word she uttered after, sleep eluding him until late into the night. Rather than stare at the canopy of his bed, James decided to make use of his Invisibility Cloak and Hogwarts map to roam around. Since he couldn’t sleep, he might as well do something out of it.

Of course, the first time he did, he was caught by Granger, but that was only because he wasn’t alert and conscious enough to notice her presence or name in the map. He figured that the second time wouldn’t be too bad, as long as he paid attention to the names in the map, particularly Granger’s.

And true to his assumption, it wasn’t so bad after. He hadn’t been caught after the second or third or fifth time, so he unconsciously made a habit of his newfound past time. None of the others knew about his new activity and he didn’t seek to inform them about it.

It felt nice to have something that was his own, without having the need to share it with Sirius or the rest of the marauders. It wasn’t because he was afraid that they wouldn’t understand this hobby of his, but rather because he didn’t find the need to give an explanation.

Most of the time, in the late night, all alone in the darkness, James appreciated the quiet serenity of the castle. It was rare for Hogwarts to be this silent, bustling with noise as it was with young wizards and witches, old professors, sentient portraits, and strange creatures. It rarely had a moment of peace, even in the cold and dusty corners of the library. But Hogwarts at night was a different scenery, in the looming darkness and slumbering stones.

It was calm and quiet—something his mind had never been.

The peace of the night afforded him with the chance to think things carefully—things being Lily. He would sometimes go over their interaction, berating himself for acting the way he did, finding a million other ways to respond differently now that the situation had come to pass. He also couldn’t help but take notice of all the things she said just to spite or hurt him, as if her rejection and palpable disdain for him alone weren’t enough to stab his heart.

Lily took the chance to hurt him in the most brutal ways, unapologetic in her speech and actions, since the moment he revealed his feelings for her. He wondered what was so wrong with him that she detested his existence. Even when he hadn’t started his rivalry with Snape, Lily had always disliked him.

James always thought that his sincerity and dedication would win her over eventually. He thought that her dislike over him would change over time, once she saw that he was a capable and worthy wizard of her, but it only steadily became worse after.

Not for the first time, James wondered if his love was worth it—if she was worth it—but she had to be, right? He longed for her the same way a werewolf longed for the full moon, the same way the sky longed for the sun. He thought it—his pain, suffering, loneliness, and insecurity—would all be worth it in the future when she realized that he truly, sincerely loved her.

All that he wanted was to become the person who made her smile the widest and laugh the loudest. He wanted to take care of her, to have her depend and rely on him from time to time, and to be her strength when she had none. He wanted to be one of her people, the ones she considered precious to her.

Lily could give him a single drop of water after a long heatwave, and he would only utter thank you.

What was so wrong with him? What made him so appalling to her?

All James ever did was fall in love with Lily Evans, so why was she punishing him so harshly for it?

James stopped in the middle of the corridor and sighed deeply, his heart heavy thinking about Lily. He knew that she didn’t owe him anything, that she wasn’t entitled to love him just because he loved her. She had already made her feelings and stance clear with her rejections, so he knew that the one thing he had to do was let her go. Otherwise, whatever scrap of affection she could muster for him would vanish, and he’d be nothing more than the wizard who harassed her when she was at Hogwarts.

He couldn’t help sulking near the wall, leaning one shoulder against a portrait of a snoring medieval knight slumping over its sword.

And of course, just as he was wallowing in his own misery, distracted by his own damning thoughts and depressing feelings, the one person he wanted to avoid the most came bearing down on his neck

“James Potter”—Hermione Granger’s voice intruded into his thoughts like alarm bells, startling the shit out of him, nearly to the point of jumping out of his skin. Luckily, he had managed to contain it with a dignified yelp instead—“You got caught.”

He turned around, the hairs of his neck standing up when he saw Granger standing behind him, one arm behind her back and the other arm raised to bathe them in the warmth of her Lumos spell. James could barely pick up his jaw from the floor. How did she manage to stay stealthy when she was holding a light in her wand?!

“I’m a bit disappointed,” she continued with a tilt to her head, a light sigh leaving her pursed lips, one brow raised containing her dismay. Her gaze remained intense under the moonlight, glowing like the murky reflection of the moon over the Black Lake. “I thought you would do better than this.”

“I’m sorry for disappointing you?” James’ raised his voice questioningly at the end, snapping out of his trance.

“Apology accepted,” she accepted with the same blank expression that was plastered on her face every single day for six years straight. She shifted her feet, turning sideways, “now, shall we?”

James scratched his hair, jostling the glasses perched on his nose when he dropped his arm after. “You’re not going to deduct points?” He asked. “Or make me go to Professor McGonagall? Or… hang me by my ankles?”

He was sure there was a rumor somewhere about Granger casting a sticking charm on the feet of at least fifteen students.

The sticking charm wasn’t the problem.

The problem was that the students were stuck on the ceiling, with their wands below them on the ground like spikes ready to pierce them when they fall.

The ceiling that was at least fifty feet high.

Granger blinked her eyes at him, looking at him like he was a bug at the bottom of her shoe. He tried not to take it personally since truthfully, that was the usual way she looked at people.

“Do you want to?” She asked.

“No,” he answered hastily with a shake of his head.

She just gave him another look before turning on her heel and walking away, expecting him to follow her.

Which he did.

He wasn’t a coward, but he held a deep respect and fear for Granger. His instincts—only made sharper when he became an Animagus—practically screamed at him to listen and obey her orders, no matter how silent they were.

Granger had always been a different species from the rest of them. While they were learning tickling charms and lumos spells, she was already able to cast without using a wand. While they were flying on brooms, she was flying on thestrals (which honestly scared the shit out of them because everyone knew thestrals were bad omens). While they were goofing off and playing pranks on other houses, she put the fear of death in everyone else with just one stare.

It didn’t matter that Granger had isolated herself from them, because unlike the rest of them, she was capable of being alone. When friends needed each other to rely on a number of things—like knowing where the bathroom was or what the next assignments are for next week—she didn’t need people to figure things out, independent as she was.

She had shown at the mere age of eleven that she was confident with her abilities and with herself, while everyone else was stumbling around trying to find a place. She walked in the hallways with the certainty of belonging outside of the sea of insecurity. She mostly kept herself alone and distant from everyone else, but in no way was she incapable of taking care of herself.

In some ways, James admired that part of her. But he always wondered if she ever felt lonely being alone all the time, with no one to talk to aside from a few perfunctory phrases to people you could count only in one hand. Fear of her kept them at bay and it was truly a justified fear. Granger might not have a reputation of being cruel, but one couldn’t deny her ruthless and cold methods when she was provoked, as evidenced by the scars across Sirius’ hands.

He remembered that they had tried retaliating once after what happened. Sirius had wanted to avenge himself, for the slight against his person, and James had been all too willing to help his friend, although Remus nor Peter wanted nothing to do with it. But when all of their retaliations rebounded on them instead, and never on her, it became an eye-opener for the rest of them, especially when she became a Dueling Champion the next year after and the next years after that, and the rumors of her ruthlessness sprang up.

Hermione Granger was a person not to be messed with, not when you wanted to graduate from Hogwarts with all of your body parts intact.

“Do you usually patrol around these parts of the castle?” He asked, just to mark it on his map to avoid her, the sound of her footsteps a neat “click” against the floor.

She didn’t answer him. James would usually be annoyed whenever someone ignored him—case in point: Lily Evans—but he tried to push down his own annoyance, not wanting to get into Granger’s bad side tonight.

With the darkness of the castle and stillness of the night, her footsteps blended with the serene ambience as if she belonged to the peace that only existed as soon as the sun disappears and night reigns. It was quite strange to think of peace and Granger in one sentence, but James relaxed nonetheless, his shoulders dropping.

Once again, Granger brought him back to the Gryffindor tower. She watched as he stood in front of the Fat Lady and for some reason, he paused just after whispering the password, waiting for her to say something.

And she did, eventually, after making him sweat a bit.

“Wallowing won’t do you any good if you want Lily to take notice of you,” Granger told him, eyes casting a familiar serious glow. “Lily likes the chase as much as you do, except she’s not willing to admit that she’s getting tempted and swayed by you. Seeing as you’re so eager to throw yourself into her shit and thank her for it, she’s not going to respond anytime soon, and you’ll always be that guy who’s pathetically in love with her to the point of stupidity. If love is a tragedy, then yours is a Shakespearean play, and that is an insult to Shakespeare.”

A frown pulled the tips of James’ lips downward, creases forming between his brows at her words. “That’s the longest thing I’ve ever heard you say to someone,” he said, nodding solemnly to himself, not pointing out the insult or the right points that she had pointed out for him.

Granger shrugged her shoulders, one stray hair curling on the curve of her shoulder. “Not as long as you chasing after Lily, apparently. It’s tiring watching the two of you. I want to end it already and get it over with.”

James cleared his throat. He didn’t think that something as trivial as this was bothering Granger, who appeared to be so unattainable and untouchable to everyone else. It was a bit embarrassing.

“Didn’t think it would bother you,” he mused aloud.

“It’s shoved down my face everyday for the last six years,” Granger remarked, voice as bland as a stream of water. “Do something about it.”

“I am,” James insisted, shifting on his feet to face her fully. “It’s just… Lily is rejecting me.”

She raised one cool eyebrow. “If she rejected you, then stop.”

“I can’t.” He couldn’t believe that he was whining to Granger of all people, but here he was. “I love her so much. I can’t let go of her when I’ve already spent so much time trying to pursue her.”

“So, you don’t only continue to chase after her because you love her, but because you’ve spent so much time and effort investing on her that you think it’s a waste to stop now?” Granger summed up his thoughts perfectly, making him press his lips tightly against each other. “You don’t think you’ve wasted enough time as it is? You had plenty of time trying to convince her to say yes to you, which has failed over and over again, and now you’re not willing to give yourself or Lily enough respect on yourselves to stop

So, what if you invested years waiting for her despite her clear rejections?” Granger snorted. “That’s on you, not on her. If you truly cared about her, you should’ve stopped the moment she said no. At this point, you’re either forcing her to be with you despite her clear dislike for you, or you’re tiring her to the point that she’ll have no other choice than to yes, which is not the best way to start a relationship, mind you. What? You think your efforts and sincerity will win her over? Please, it’s been six years. Everyone knows you’re sincere, and Lily’s not exactly stupid either not to see it, so it’s only a matter of time before you give up or she gives in, and honestly, I don’t see the latter happening so soon if you don’t have enough self-respect.”

His ears felt hot as he listened to Granger’s damning words. As if his thoughts alone weren’t enough to put him down, Granger had to add her piercing and unapologetically sharp tongue as well.

“What do you know about love, Granger?” James couldn’t help but shoot back, sulking, his shoulders slumped.

“More than you, since you’re the one who couldn’t get the girl after six years,” Granger retorted, crossing her arms over her chest, still with that inscrutable expression across her face, not letting him glimpse her thoughts or hint it at him. “You’re a lovable guy, James. You’re an idiot, too, but that’s neither here nor there. You have so much love to give, but you have to remember that you have to give some love for yourself as well. A person like you shouldn’t beg for someone’s affections, and a person like Lily shouldn’t be forced to be with someone she doesn’t even like. Do us all a favor: either give up or change your plans to actually appear likable in front of her. Don’t waste her time, or ours.”

She shrugged on her shoulders, as if she hadn’t dropped bomb after bomb to leave him as hollow as a moon’s crater. James didn’t want to dwell on her words—which sounded so right that he could barely muster the right words to correct her—so he merely muttered something unintelligible before storming into the Gryffindor common room, the portrait shutting close behind him.

It was only when he left that it dawned on him that he was still wearing his Invisibility Cloak.

And she still managed to find him.

Chapter Text

James found something to occupy him at night other than his delusional thoughts about Lily.

It was Granger.

Granger with her dead-eyed stare and her unapologetically blunt demeanor and her quiet but deadly presence. Granger with her “you’re lovable”sentences and her “get it over with” commands. Granger who could probably kill him using her pinky and who was always quiet except when she was approached and provoked into saying the most damning things.

Granger was a lot of things—quiet, abrasive, harsh, vengeful, responsible—but she was also the biggest enigma that James had ever encountered in his life. He didn’t fancy himself as a curious sort of person, but he couldn’t help but be intrigued by the witch everyone else was afraid of.

It was weird because this was Granger. For all intents and purposes, James should be staying away from her, especially knowing what she was capable of. He should be angry at her for hurting Sirius and leaving the scars on the back of his hand. He should be wary due to the rumors surrounding her, all of them worse than the last. He should be more cautious because there were some truth to those rumors, a few times he had witnessed them himself.

But Granger was more than what other people said about her. She was more than the rumors that followed after her heels. She was more than the vicious spark of her wand and her deadly stare and her quietness. James had only spoken to her twice, but she had shown him that she was simply… more.

And he wanted to see what else she’d unravel before him.

There was something exciting at the thought of knowing something that others didn’t, especially when it pertained to a living legend. Not that Granger was a legend by any means, not like Dumbledore at least, but she was exceptional in ways that made her into an infamous figure in their year. Everyone saw what was on the surface, but none had been brave enough to venture deep below. But James figured that rather than bravery, it was idiocy and curiosity driving him forward towards Granger’s route.

It wasn’t like she was talking to him in the middle of the day. It wasn’t like she was advertising the fact that they knew each other after the first night, and James wasn’t really going to be the one spreading the news that Granger approached him and hadn’t murdered him yet. It wasn’t like they were friends. Two conversations didn’t make a friendship; even an acquaintanceship was a bit too familiar. James didn’t think that Granger wanted to have friends, considering that she stayed away well enough for six years.

It was just Granger being a nice distraction from Lily. Whenever he thought about her, Lily tended to disappear and become background noise while thoughts of Granger blared in all directions. Granger didn’t hurt him the way Lily did. He never felt the visceral pain in his chest whenever he thought of Granger as opposed to thoughts of Lily. She was safe and comfortable while Lily was tumultuous and torrid.

Thus, James found himself in the Grand Hall, on his usual spot in the Gryffindor table with his chin on his palm, elbow propped on the table, watching Granger further down from him.

As per usual, she sat alone in the Gryffindor table, not talking to anyone despite being surrounded by their housemates. People were talking to one another, but she seemed as if she existed outside of their bubble and no matter how close they sat, they couldn’t penetrate her barriers. She existed in a world they could never dream of becoming a part of.

With every delicate stroke of spread on her toast and a dainty nibble on her breakfast, curls spiraling around her small frame like unruly roots, Granger was far too meticulous and elegant that morning. She chewed slowly, fingers dabbing on the corners of her mouth to wipe away the bread crumbs stuck on her skin, every time she took a bite. Three books hovered in front of her, obscuring most of her face from everyone else. She read them all as she ate, the withered pages flipping periodically on its own with magic.

It was a familiar sight since their first year, because since when was Granger not ever reading? James suspected that she learned how to read before she could learn how to walk. It wouldn’t have made sense otherwise. Wherever Granger went, at least a dozen books hovered mid-air and trailed behind her figure like a bride’s trail or eager puppies following after their master. It had fascinated them as eleven-years-olds; it was still the same now at sixteen.

As if sensing his stare, Granger paused, one of the books lowering to reveal a pair of inscrutable golden brown eyes, instantly locking into his. He felt a sudden jolt at his spine when he got caught redhanded, heat spreading across his cheeks. He wouldn’t be surprised if he looked like a cherry at the moment with his embarrassed blush.

James didn’t know why he did it, but he found himself straightening his back and waving a hand at her, rather than looking away and avoiding her eyes after getting caught. Just a short wave of greeting that wasn’t as discreet as he should’ve probably made it to be. But Granger didn’t seem to pay his attentions any mind, merely raising one brow before her eyes disappeared behind the book that had risen itself upwards again.

His chest warmed, his stomach clenching, and where there should’ve been disappointment—for not even waving back or a little silently mouthed “good morning”—there was giddy anticipation instead filling him up.

Because she didn’t ignore him like she did with the rest of them. That one eyebrow raise was enough for James to understand that she was acknowledging him, that she saw him, that he wasn’t entirely delusional. It was an acknowledgment and for Granger to do so meant that she was paying attention to him. He couldn’t help but see that as a sign that she was letting him into the bubble that separated her from everyone else.

And wasn’t that a dangerous thought? More dangerous than thinking of Granger at least.

He felt warmth spreading from the center of his chest to the tips of his fingers. It warmed him from inside out, before passed slowly, but surely. He hardly felt that warmth before, not when he had done a successful prank, and not even when Lily was concerned. It felt familiar but at the same time, it felt strange, as if he was seeing a lost friend after a long time spending apart from them. He missed it once the warm feeling left him.

He wondered what he could do to grasp that warm feeling again.

Then he saw a flash of red, and his attention was immediately drawn towards that familiar shade of red, enraptured as Lily walked towards her spot in the Gryffindor table with Marlene McKinnon. When she looked away and noticed him watching, her expression twisted into a brief flash of a scowl, before indifference replaced it.

James ignored the churn in his stomach, his heart sinking, when she turned on her heel and stormed away, as if she didn’t want to spend time in his presence, as if seeing him had sickened her to the point of losing her appetite, as if his existence was the very thing she detested, and he couldn’t deny that her actions hurt him. It wiped away the traces of the good feeling that he felt when Granger acknowledged him earlier.

Granger’s words had never rang clearer until that moment.

She was right. It was either he let Lily go or continue wallowing in his own misery. While he still felt so madly in love with her to the point that it hurt, he couldn’t deny that staying in love with her wasn’t the healthiest. Throughout the years, the good feelings she evoked in him dwindled until all was left was a hallow, gaping wound in his chest, growing bigger and bigger to the point that it nearly swallowed him whole.

He had done it to himself as he continuously forced Lily to accept his affections despite knowing that she didn’t want them. There was no one to blame other than him.

For his good and for Lily’s as well, James couldn’t dwell on a love that left them both adrift. Because Lily was never going to be his, and Lily would never agree to becoming his, and he had to stop his delusions before he could destroy them both with it.

He looked at Granger again, but she never lowered her books to give him any mind.

No one noticed his sudden fixation on Granger, but they did notice him avoiding Lily Evans. It took a few weeks, a few tries, but James had successfully ignored her at least 3 out of 10 times. He considered it a success, and they considered it an oddity. After all, when did he ever ignore Lily when he was in the same room as she was?

“What happened between you and Evans?” Sirius asked one time while they were getting ready in their dorm room. One of his perfectly plucked eyebrows were raised, his glittering gray eyes transfixed on his face.

“What do you mean?” James avoided his friend’s gaze as he shuffled around the room, trying to find his left shoe.

“Come on, Prongs,” Sirius huffed with a roll of his eyes, slumping lackadaisically against the poster of his bed, and crossing his arms over his chest, the hint of silver scars peeking through the sleeves of his robes, “don’t pretend that we don’t notice you acting strangely. You ignored Lily yesterday at dinner, which is something you never do. Did something happen? Did she do something to you?”

“She never did anything to me,” James was quick to defend, clenching his jaw as he shifted his gaze away. He didn’t like the implication that Sirius had, that Lily was to blame for his strange behavior. She hadn’t done anything wrong; it was James who was always stepping out of the line. “There’s nothing wrong, Padfoot. She’s not at fault. If anything, I’m the one to blame after all this mess.”

Sirius straightened his spine, his eyes going sharp. “What mess? What mess are you talking about? Why is it your fault?”

James pursed his lips. “Come on, Pads. You really don’t think I’m not at fault, do you? You know that I’m always the one pushing Evans to do things she doesn’t like. I’m the one always forcing her to notice me, when she doesn’t even like me. I’m not… I’m just saying that I’m not blameless, you know. However Evans treats me, it’s well-deserved.”

He flexed his fists, pursing his lips when he remembered how Lily had looked at him yesterday. Her eyebrows had been drawn together as she gazed at him with suspicion, the lack of trust visible in the curl of her scowl. It had hit him then that, Lily had always looked at him like that. Never once had she smiled at him, unless he counted the times she only smiled because she was forced to. Never once had she given him a kind look, not like the ones she gave to Remus and Snape.

How could she, when she thought that his love for her was suffocating?

James had lived in a delusional world for six years, and it was only now that he was waking up.

“Prongs…” Sirius’ brows furrowed, clearly confused and worried for his well-being, which James appreciated but didn’t think he deserved.

He knew that Sirius would always have his back, even when he was in the wrong. The same was for James as well. Sirius was seriously fucked up in the head, but he had a good heart and a fiercely loyal streak. He would sooner turn his wand on himself than betray his friends. Sirius was a Black, and Blacks were loyal to the people they chose to be loyal with.

James didn’t know what had earned him Sirius’ loyalty, but it was there, and he would make sure to be worthy of it.

“It’s not your fault why this happened,” Sirius began, pursing his lips when James shook his head.

“It is,” James insisted. “It’s my fault, anyways. Evans doesn’t owe me her consideration or love. She doesn’t owe me anything, Padfoot. It has been six years, Pads.” His lips curved into a gentle, if not sad smile. “I think it’s about time that I start moving on, yeah? Evans is never going to return my feelings, and I got to, you know, I got to live my life outside of her. I can’t keep on loving her, not when it doesn’t even make me feel good about myself most of the time.”

And love was a powerful force, James believed in his entire heart. He saw that with his parents, Charlus and Dorea Potter, who overcame odds and made sacrifices just to be together. Dorea, one of the princesses of the Black family, a prestigious pureblood house, falling for a Potter, known as a prominent house of muggleborn sympathizers—a title away from blood traitor. They didn’t have the easiest time, but they overcame that, got married, and had him after a series of unfortunate miscarriages.

And with them both as parents, James was showered with so much love, he’d nearly drown in it. Love, for him, had been easy to receive and easy to give, in whatever form it was—whether they’d be admiration, fondness, or adoration. He knew love as early as he was born, because he was made out of it.

He thought he would have that with Lily.

After six years, he was starting to get that he would never have that with her, and it was about time to accept that and move on.

And maybe, Sirius could see his resolve, his determination, and his stubbornness, because he backed off with a nod of his head.

“So, what are you going to do now?” His best friend asked, because the both of them knew how much James relied on a future where Lily was involved, how much he had dreamed of it. Now, to throw it all away, all the plans he’d made with her in it, Sirius must’ve thought he was now lost.

In some ways, he truly was.

James shrugged his shoulders, relief making the tension drain from his stiff posture. “I’ll just do what I want to do and live the way I always meant to.”

Unbidden, the image of Granger flashed across his mind, and he went quiet.

Granger who had lived the life she always wanted to, and lived in the way she always meant to. She never gave attention to what people said about her, too busy living her life to care about the rumors surrounding her. She had never been anyone else other than herself. In some ways, James admired that part of her, but he also envied it too.

“Well…” Sirius pursed his lips before shifting his gaze to the side. “Just so you know, if you need help, Prongs, you have us. We won’t let you down.”

James blinked at Sirius, stupefied by his offer, before he smiled softly. “Thanks, brother.”

And really, James was truly lucky to have met Sirius at the mere age of eleven, because now he knew there was someone at his back, ready to defend and fight for him if he needed to.

“James Potter, are you stalking me?”

It was late at night, James had just been caught, and Granger’s question was so startling that he nearly choked on his own spit.

“Stalking?!” He gawked at her, before he pulled the Invisibility cloak from his own head, revealing himself under the cloak. “No, no, I’m not!”

Because he really wasn’t! James knew he could be quite over the top sometimes, but there were lines he wouldn’t cross. For all that James liked Lily, he had never stalked her nor forced himself in a way that would damage their friendship irreparably.

Her sharp eyes narrowed in suspicion, making him fidget in his place. The glow of her Lumos spell made her appear deadlier, more intimidating with her curls appearing sentient. “I can’t help feeling I’m seeing more of you these days.”

“That’s a given, considering we live in the same castle and we share the same common room,” he couldn’t help but point out, and what world was he living in now, pointing things out to Granger of all people?

“Good point,” she admitted without much fanfare than he anticipated. “Except, I’m seeing you 30% more in the last few days than in the few years I’ve known you as a housemate.”

James could feel his cheeks heat up at her insinuation. “Granger, I’m truly not stalking you. It’s just that you’re awfully good at catching me during curfew, and now you’re noticing me rather than ignoring me like the times you’ve ignored everyone else.“

“Another point,” Granger said shortly, lowering her wand. “Except, you’ve been watching me for a while now. Don’t think I haven’t seen nor felt your gaze drilling a home into my back. For someone who claimed not to stalk me, you stare a lot.”

James opened his mouth before he snapped it shut. He couldn’t deny that, on top of breaking curfew every once in a while, he did stare a lot at Granger these past few days. Granger was a nice distraction when he was avoiding Lily.

“You’re fascinating to watch,” that was all he could reply because he couldn’t say that he was using her to distance himself from Lily, not unless he didn’t want to leave with his balls intact.

Besides, it was the truth. She truly was fascinating to watch, although she spent most of her time reading. For a person who was the subject of nearly most of the gossips and rumors in school, Granger was more low-key than he thought. She went on her way and never bothered people, but she had the uncanny ability of appearing to be the most knowledgeable and smartest person in the room. Her presence was overwhelming to begin with, to the point that standing next to her nearly made you invisible.

She never interacted with people, but James had noticed a few younger years talking to her when everyone else wasn’t looking. He only just realized that she had a soft spot for children, because she never turned them away whenever they needed help. She was also more kinder and more patient with them, than with her classmates and seniors.

Her eyes would go soft as opposed to sharp, her doe eyes shining through. Her voice would turn tender as opposed to bland, each syllable of her words laced with care. Her movements would turn gentle and graceful, long fingers guiding them through their problems with an ease that would put the professors to shame.

James couldn’t help but feel that she was more beautiful and more approachable in those moments. She wasn’t scary when she was surrounded by eager and happy children.

She was only like that with children though. The rest of them could go fuck themselves for all she cared.

She narrowed her eyes at him, and James thought she would give more comments, but since when had Granger ever given in to someone’s expectations?

Instead of saying anything more, she gave a flick of her wrist, and James watched as the light flickered from her wand—growing bigger snd bigger—until it broke off from the tip and floated above their heads. It flooded the hallway with a weak, but stable light that not even a few candles could provide.

James’ jaw dropped while Granger tucked her wand into the sleeve of her robes. “How the hell did you do that?” He couldn’t help but demand.

She just did it non-verbally!

She just raised an unimpressed brow, her eyes lackluster as she turned away from him, expecting him to follow.

As it was expected, he did.

They reached the Fat Lady’s portrait a few moments later, their entire walk filled with silence. But it was a comfortable one, as opposed to the first time where he was filled with anxiety so bad, he was nearly shaking. Now, his shoulders were slumped, his Invisibility Cloak tucked inside of his pants, and his map hidden in his sleeves. His eyes trailed after Granger’s back, walking away without a word once she fulfilled her duty of sending him back to their common room.

“Why don’t you ever report me, Granger?” He asked after her.

He didn’t expect an answer, so he stiffened when Granger paused and turned sideways. She tilted her head, making her see at least more than a half of her face. Shadows danced across her face, but her eyes had never appeared as bright as it was now.

“Do you want me to?” Granger asked. Why did she always do that, he wondered? Why did she always respond with a question when she was the one being asked?

Granger was a bad person to interrogate, he decided.

He shook his head at her question. “Not really, but I just find it strange. You’ve caught me at least three times now. You should’ve reported me to McGonagall, or taken me to Filch. But, you’ve been helping me get back to the common room instead.”

“Will reporting you help?” Granger asked in that bland tone of voice, gaze detached, appearing as though she couldn’t care less about their conversation even when it puzzled James to near madness. “I’m not blind. It’s obvious you’re figuring things out since the first night I caught you. Reporting you won’t help you right now, and I doubt it can stop you from doing it again.”

“I am breaking curfew though,” James remarked, unable to stop himself. He should consider it a blessing that Granger didn’t decide to punish him—because, undoubtedly, punishment from Granger was worst than everything and everyone else—but it was odd that Granger was letting him get away with it.

“I can’t blame you for breaking curfew,” Granger replied with a shrug of her shoulders, indifference masking her face. “Hogwarts is more peaceful at night. In the morning, everything seems so… loud. It makes it hard to think. That’s why I became a Prefect.”

James blinked his eyes. “You became a Prefect just to wander around the castle after curfew?”

Huh, Granger was getting more and more interesting. No wonder she remained the sole subject of at least 80% of the gossips and rumors around school. She was simply that intriguing.“What do you think?” Granger snorted, letting her head fall sideways. “At night, I can think. It helps me calm myself, knowing that everyone is sleeping and safe in their beds. Morning at Hogwarts is far too loud for my liking.”

James couldn’t help but drop his shoulders, his lips pulling into a gentle. “Yeah,” he replied just as softly. “I never realized how loud Hogwarts is in the morning until I spent time after curfew.”

“Of course, you don’t notice how loud Hogwarts is, considering you’re the one contributing most of the noise,” she pointed out, her lips curling up in a sneer.

James’ lips twitched. It was a good moment until that comment.

“Anyways, you were troubled when I first found you, not so much right now, though,” Granger noted without any prompt, which was another success, James supposed. “I take it you’re now seeing things more clearly than the first time.”

James shied away from her gaze, rubbing the back of his neck as he felt himself blush. He was thinking a lot these past few days, although it surprised him that Granger noticed that with just one look at his face.

“You put things a lot in perspective for me,” James confessed unashamedly, not hiding the fact that her words from the last time they spoke had resonated within him. “You were right when you said that I should do something about Lily.”

Granger stared at him for a moment before turning away, not saying a word of any kind. Strangely enough, James was more comforted by her silence than whatever statement would come out of her mouth. It was the Granger Effect, he supposed.

“Do you think I’ve changed a lot?” He asked before she could leave.

“You’re growing up,” Granger refuted in that confident way that left no room for denials or arguments. “Not changing to the point of unrecognizable, but growing up in a way that you always meant to. Everyone goes through these things, putting things into perspective and thinking things through. It’s good that you’re doing it earlier than the rest. It makes you appear less of an idiot.”

James’ mouth went agape. He could only stare at Granger’s back when she turned on her heel and left, the darkness swallowing her whole.

Leaving the light with him.

Chapter Text

James was the type to be singleminded and obsessive at the same time, which did not bode well for him—or for others—sometimes.

How else would he have stubbornly clung onto Lily for the past six years, tragically waxing poetry over a love that was unrequited, and humiliating himself with every public proposal and equally public rejection, if he wasn’t the singleminded and obsessive idiot that he was? Others would’ve caved under Lily’s wrath, but no, James had thrived in it.

Or at least, he thought he was thriving in it.

Nowadays, whenever Lily made him remember the worst parts of himself, whenever she made him feel wretched for the ordeal that he had put her through for the past six years, and whenever she showed how much she hated him because of the way that he acted like an immature tosser, it left him dispirited for the entire day.

Even though he had decided to move on, to ignore her and no longer become the pest that she thought he was, six years of habit was still hard to break.

There were times when he forgot about his own choices and decisions, when he would look at Lily and try to impress her with a cheeky smile or a ruffle of his hair, when he would shout her name regardless of the place they were in and call her every pet name under the sun to get her attention, when he would weaken at the sight of her smile and he would find himself trying to carve a piece of himself into her by subjecting her to whatever plan he could think of.

Sirius was often confused by his behavior, after the conversation they’d just have, and James couldn’t blame him.

James was an addict, and Lily was his addiction.

How could he let go and move on, especially when looking at her would bring him back to the beginning?

James tried though. Whenever he caught himself, often through Lily’s blatant dislike, disregard, and rejection, he would retreat and start the cycle again. Her apparent dislike of him was enough to bring him back to the present, to remind him that he should stop bothering her and start moving on.

So, he stayed away, and like an addict, he suffered withdrawals.

It wasn’t easy knowing that the person you admired, the person you loved, the person you wanted to die for, hated your entire being. The more Lily showed her dislike, the more James suffered the blow.

Oftentimes, even watching Granger wasn’t enough to distract him anymore.

Lily held a powerful sway over his emotions to the point that he needed a proper distraction to get away from the churning in his stomach, the burden that pressed against his chest, and the failure hammering into his head, again and again.

Distractions were good. It made James divert his focus from Lily—from the gut wrenching pain—to other matters—not related to Lily, most preferably.

Sometimes, he took up flying. There was nothing more distracting than flying in the air, broom between his legs, chasing the clouds, and aiming at the sun, as the wind tousled his hair, robes billowing noisily behind him, and glasses fogging with cold air. Quidditch players had free reign over the pitch, as long as they put a reservation ahead of time. James, the Quidditch Captain, had taken advantage of his captaincy to reserve a spot in the pitch for an indefinite period of time.

In the sky, among the clouds, it gave James time to shake off the remnants of Lily’s disdain from his system.

Other times—when his emotions got the best of him—James would take up dueling. The Dueling Club had long been established in Hogwarts Academy, a revered club that encouraged students from fourth to seventh year to join. It wasn’t mandatory, but a lot of people joined every year, with the new Ravenclaw Head of House, Professor Flitwick, as the coordinator. James and the other Marauders had participated in the Dueling Club since their fourth year and hadn’t missed a meeting since.

They did not have a fixed schedule regarding club activities. Rather, it was lax, although they were still required to attend meetings. It was a fun club to visit when they needed a partner to help them with the practical aspects of magic. Sometimes, they visited to polish their skills, just to prepare themselves for their chosen careers in the future. Other times, it was because dueling was fun, especially when it was against their friends and rivals.

James initially joined because he wanted to be an Auror in the future. Joining the Dueling Club seemed like the smart choice. Overtime, the reason why he kept coming back changed. The Dueling Club served as an instrument and outlet to his more volatile emotions. Besides, there were least chances of him finding Lily there when she had quit two years ago to focus more on her academic studies.

Most of the time though, James would hunt Snape down and start tormenting him. He didn’t even realize that he was doing it, covering his pain by causing pain to others.

It wasn’t until recently that James began to see that his coping mechanism whenever Lily hurt him was malicious, bordering on cruelty.

Because when Lily hurt him, James hurt others instead, and he hurt himself most of all.

When he took up flying, he would make threatening, death-defying stunts and attempts, to the point that when Professor McGonagall saw him, she had berated him for being careless. When he took up dueling, he would, more or less, be sloppy with his wand work until he left the battle with more bruises and wounds that Madame Pomfrey would tsk at.

He truly hadn’t realized it until he found himself taunting Snape and the rest of his snakes. One hand in the pocket of his robes as he twirled his wand, his head cocked to the side, arrogance in his posture as if he owned the very walls that made up Hogwarts. He had his friends with him, as loyal and steadfast to protect and defend him.

James didn’t even know how he got there, but he knew that he sought out Snape after Lily had called him an “arrogant, obsessed pig who couldn’t take a hint” to one of her friends, derision and scorn coloring her lilted voice. It was instinctual. It had been easy to turn to Snape, most of all.

He hadn’t realized until he found himself in a skirmish against the Slytherins, throwing hexes and curses left and right with nearly mindless and careless casting. He hadn’t realized until he ended up floating upside the head, wand clattering on the floor below, his hair singed by the Incendio one of Snape’s friends casted to his direction.

Looking around, he found that he wasn’t the only one floating and flailing mid-air, their wands out of reach, and looking ahead, he found that the person responsible for his state was none other than Granger.

He felt a shiver down his spine when she surveyed them with cool, lackluster eyes, her arms crossed over her torso, exposing her dainty thin wrists when the sleeves of her robes slid up her arm. Her curly hair was as wild as she was cold, haphazardly cascading down her back in rich brown tones. No amount of pins and accessories could ever tame it down.

Nearly all of them had gone silent, blood leaving their faces when they saw Granger standing before them.

She did not have her wand out. She did not utter a charm or a spell that would’ve alerted them of her presence. Her steps had been as silent as her casting, and James realized how stupid he’d been to get into a fight with the Snape in the middle of the corridor where anyone could see them.

Anyone, meaning: Granger.

Because Albus Dumbledore might be the most powerful wizard known to Wizarding Britain, but he also favored Gryffindors to a degree that they could escape punishment if he willed it to.

Because Professor McGonagall might be impartial at times when handing out punishments, she was also the Head of House and could be lenient to Gryffindors.

Because Lily might not be a Prefect and was the epitome of righteous fury, she would still choose to defend Gryffindor because it was her house and any points taken from them meant points taken from her and she could not have that.

But not Granger.

Granger didn’t do favorites. She didn’t do lenient. She wasn’t impartial nor was she righteous. She was fair and just, and they were all going to pay if she had anything to say about it. She did her job efficiently and no amount of bribes, threats, and blackmails could crumble her sense of responsibility. It made her a good Prefect, and it made her a terrifying force of nature.

James could feel himself trembling, and he tried to plaster a cheeky smile, concealing the fear beneath. “Hey, Granger! Fancy seeing you here!” He called out, like the dead wizard he was.

“James, shut up,” Remus hissed somewhere behind him, and really, his fear was understandable because he saw what Granger was capable of.

Granger had proven to them that she was still deadly even when she wasn’t in the same room as them.

Granger opened her mouth and spoke in a dry remark, her voice as soft as Egyptian silk, “Just when I was hoping for a quiet morning, I happened to find you.”

Someone—likely Peter or maybe it was Mulciber?—let out a whimper.

Granger sighed, looking rather put out to have found them. She snapped her fingers, and James let out an “oof!” when he fell in a heap on the ground, along with the rest of them. Their wands flew in the air and they watched, silent and dry-mouthed, when their wands landed in Granger’s waiting hands.

“I’ll be taking these,” Granger said when she was presented with gaping mouths and wide eyes, “since you all seem so eager to become mindless, idiotic barbarians than capable, civilized wizards.”

“Oy! You’re not allowed to do that!” Yaxley exclaimed, scowling at her.

Granger slid cool eyes towards him and he snapped his mouth shut. She didn’t speak for a moment, her stare piercing through the Slytherin who squirmed under her scrutiny. After a while, Yaxley bowed his head down, avoiding her eyes, and when he did, Granger looked away.

James would’ve been impressed if he wasn’t as scared as Yaxley.

“20 points will be taken from each of you and will be deducted from your house,” Granger began, her voice bland, her face casted in a neutral glow, “for unsupervised and unethical dueling.”

She went silent for a while, surveying them, before she said, “You’re supposed to be Slytherins.”

Her gaze bore down on Snape’s group who all looked down on their feet. It was so strange to see a house known for their pride and prejudice against muggleborns, unable to look at a muggleborn in question because she was honestly more terrifying than any of their preconceived notions. Then again, it was hard to think as Granger as a muggleborn when she didn’t act like it at all.

Every rule had an exception. Maybe, Granger was theirs.

“Aren’t Slytherins supposed to be discreet or, at least, cunning?” Granger raised an eyebrow at them. “You weigh the odds and find an advantage to situations, especially when it comes to combat. That’s why your house is known to prioritize self-preservation. There are three of you and four of them—does that look advantageous to you? No wonder Slytherins get a bad reputation, because not only do you have bad characters, you’re also stupid.”

The Slytherins in question—Snape, Yaxley, and Mulciber—all winced, scowling at their shoes but not offering a word of protest.

“And you”—she turned to James and the rest of the Marauders—“are you all so eager to embody the worst of Gryffindor qualities by acting reckless, hotheaded, and arrogant? Have you all forgotten honor? Because, there’s no honor in this duel—only a blatant disregard for life and a palpable prejudiced hatred against another house. For a moment, you made me feel ashamed to be a Gryffindor.”

James flinched and couldn’t help but shift on his feet when Granger’s eyes landed on him and said the next words, “I’m disappointed.”

She sighed then uttered coldly, “If you’re so eager to kill each other, I suggest to do it at the Dueling Club. At the very least, you all won’t be charged with going to Azkaban if you manage to kill the other.”

“They started it—“ Snape tried to defend themselves, only for Granger to cut him off.

“Oh, I’m sure they did,” she said and there was something damning about the way she said it so confidently that James froze on his feet. “But I don’t particularly care. All I know is that I found seven crazy wizards who wanted to kill each other in the middle of a corridor, in broad daylight. It meant that my peaceful morning has been ruined, and I don’t like having my mornings ruined.”

Snape didn’t look happy with her statement, pursing his lips and scowling to himself, but Granger ignored him, turning to address them all.

“I’ll be handing your wands to your Head of House,” she said, and it reminded them that they were currently wand-less and defenseless, vulnerable without access to their magic, “You may now leave.”

She didn’t wait for them to respond. She simply turned on her heel and walked away, brown curls trailing after her. Snape and his gang gave them vicious glares before they stormed off as well.

“Well, that could’ve gone better,” Sirius grumbled, disgruntled that he was without wand.

“I’m alive,” Peter squeaked.

James didn’t utter a word. He merely stared at Hermione’s retreating back. The more the distance between them grew, the more James’ heart sank to his stomach.

He couldn’t help but think that he had messed up, that he had done something unforgivable, and that he needed to make up for Granger.

They met later that night, completely by coincidence. He immediately pulled the Invisibility Cloak from his head and stuffed it inside of his pockets, smiling hopefully at her. But Granger merely looked at him dismissively before turning on her heel, and James couldn’t help but scurry after her.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted out as he tried to catch up to her until they were walking side-by-side. When she didn’t respond, he continued, “I… what you’ve seen earlier this morning, I’m sorry. I’m… I’m not that type of person—“

“You mean you’re not the type to bully people or corner them when they’re outnumbered?” Granger cut him off, eyes cold, ruthless with her words as usual. “Because from what I’ve seen, you’re the exact person. And here I thought you were growing up.”

A twinge in his heart prompted James to speak hurriedly. “I just… I wasn’t in a good mood. I-I know it was wrong. I shouldn’t have done it. I wasn’t thinking right. But you have to understand. Lily—Evans, I mean… she… and I—she said some things that hurt me and it put me—I was in a bad mood—and Snape, he was… he was there.”

He felt a lump in his throat, finishing his statement lamely. A dawning sense of horror engulfed him. Why had he done that? He knew that he’d been suffering from another one of Lily’s more scathing rejections and words, but it was ultimately his fault—his choice—why he had attacked and cornered Snape.

“He… was there?” Granger repeated, one brow raised, a flash in her eyes that he wasn’t versed enough to identify. “Do you know what you sound like? You sound like a tosser, an insensitive little boy who couldn’t handle his emotions and decided to take it out to the next convenient person.”

James pursed his lips, his eyebrows furrowed, the sting of Granger’s words lacerating him. “I… was hurt,” he said, voice quiet.

And he didn’t quite know who he was speaking to with his last words: Granger or himself.

“Your pain is not an excuse to hurt someone else.” Granger stopped in the middle of the dimly lit hallway, and turned to face him, brown eyes glinting with steel.  It made him stop as well, reluctant to face her, but he did meet her eyes regardless. “Just because you were in pain, doesn’t mean that you’re allowed to freely hurt someone else and make them feel the same pain you felt. Take a good look at yourself in the mirror and ask yourself if what you did was the right, honorable thing.”

James gulped down the lump in his throat. “But, he’s Snape…”

Snape. Lily’s first friend. Lily’s best friend. A Slytherin. The one who yelled and called her a mudblood. That Snape. For as long as he could remember, they disliked each other.

“You’re a hypocrite,” Granger was quick to ruthlessly say, rendering him speechless. “You think you’re a good person, but you’re not. You think you’re one of the best examples of being a Gryffindor, but you’re not. You pride yourself on being a Gryffindor, but you couldn’t even exhibit one good quality about it. Look at yourself. Seriously, look at yourself, and ask: do you like what you are and what you’ve become?”

James inhaled sharply and looked away from her damning eyes and her painful words, his shoulders slumped.

It wasn’t fair. Why was Granger defending Snape right now? Why was she taking his side? Couldn’t she understand that he was hurting, that despite his efforts to move on from Lily, he would always be subjected to the pain of her dislike for him? Why couldn’t she understand that?

“I’m trying,” James uttered after a while, a grimace crossing his face. “I’m trying to… to move on, from, you know. Evans. I want to give her the space that she wants. I want to finally stop, just stop being in love with her. But… she continues to look at me like… like I’m the scum of the earth and it just hurts, Granger.”

She looked at him for a moment, before replying quietly, “and who’s to blame for that?”

James flinched.

Of course, the person to blame was himself, in the end. It was a vicious cycle where the victim was the still the one responsible in the end.

“Don’t turn your love into a reason to become cruel, James,” she continued, making him look at his own feet, wishing that he was still wearing his Invisibility Cloak to hide himself from her piercing eyes. “Most of all, don’t become the person that you, yourself hate.”

They went quiet for a while, before Granger sighed and started walking away.

And James didn’t have the heart to follow her again for the first time.

He couldn’t help but remember what happened earlier, the way Granger had agreed so readily, so easily, that it was James and his friends who started the duel, as if she knew without a doubt that they were the perpetrators. He couldn’t help but frown to himself when he remembered how confident she was with her answer as if it was just another easy question from the professors.

She didn’t even ask. She didn’t even try to confirm. She just agreed…

James understood right then and there that loving Lily hadn’t been the dream that it was, but rather a nightmare in disguise. His love for her had twisted him into a malicious and cruel person who would hurt people with casual disregard. It wasn’t Lily’s fault—all she did was reject him, which she had been fully right to do since she didn’t return his feelings—but ultimately, it was himself who made the wrong choices and did those things to other people.

It didn’t matter that Snape was a Slytherin, or that he’d been Lily’s best friend up until last year when he had called her a mudblood. It didn’t matter if Snape was the next coming of Grindelwald. It didn’t matter if Snape was a shitty person with a shittier personality.

Snape hadn’t done anything to him or to anyone when James had encountered him earlier. It was James who pulled his wand out first and struck the first hex. It was James who had thought it would be a good idea to distract himself from Lily by tormenting Snape once again. It was James who had wanted to hurt Snape when he was hurting as well.

James knew love.

But how could this be love when it wasn’t returned? Shouldn’t love be a two-way street? Wasn’t it a cycle between the lover and the beloved? Didn’t love make you want to be a bigger, better person or version of yourself? Was he a bigger, better version of himself when he had maliciously tormented and bullied other people?

He felt drained. He felt tired. But most of all, he felt empty.

This wasn’t love.

It couldn’t be love.

This was a fake imitation, a small remnant and piece of what it once was. Once, it had been great. Once. But now it had withered and rotted into something unrecognizable instead.

James thought he knew love.

But the more he thought about it, the more he realized that he didn’t know what being in love meant.

He chuckled mirthlessly to himself.

Granger was right.

He was a hypocrite.

Chapter Text

She came back to Hogwarts a third time, in a different era, surrounded by different and familiar strangers.

Professor McGonagall had less wrinkles over her face but still had the same stern expression and authoritative demeanor. Professor Flitwick was still small in stature, but was a middle-aged man brimming with vigor and vitality. Professor Sprout was thinner, yet her plump cheeks hinted at the beginning signs of a more robust figure.

Headmaster Dumbledore still looked at people with that twinkle in his blue, blue eyes, dressed in his garishly neon bright robes, as if to say “look at me! Don’t look away from me!”, but his back was straighter, and his beard shorter.

They were different. They were familiar.

She was the same.

The moment the Sorting Hat was placed on her head, it went quiet.

Hermione looked ahead at the Great Hall, lackluster eyes seeing and looking at nothing. People began murmuring among themselves when the Sorting Hat remained silent as it sat on her head.

Professor McGonagall eyed her with concern, alternating her stare between her and Headmaster Dumbledore who merely looked intrigued. While everyone else was either confused, puzzled, worried, and fascinated, Hermione looked completely at ease—bored even.

When Hermione exceeded the five minutes mark—the first ever Hat Stall since Professor McGonagall—the Head of House Gryffindor walked over hesitantly towards her, opening her mouth to say something.

Hermione didn’t get to hear it, as did everyone else, as the Sorting Hat exclaimed with a loud boom that resonated throughout the entire Great Hall.

“Gryffindor!”

Finally, she was sorted.

Professor McGonagall sighed in relief.

The Gryffindor house cheered after a few stunned moments of silent. Hermione rose from the seat as soon as Professor McGonagall took the Hat off her head.

Hermione glanced at the Sorting Hat and tapped on her lips lightly before heading towards her House.

Only the Sorting Hat knew of her secret, that she was a returner from the future, who came here to make things right… the third time.

There were more students enrolled into Hogwarts, than in the future. There were 64 newly-sorted Gryffindors alone, both girls and boys alike, and yet, Hermione still found herself sharing a room with Harry’s mother, along with three others.

Lily Evans (future Potter) was a pretty little girl with long, sleek red hair and doe green eyes. The same eyes as her Harry. The same green as the flash of the Killing Curse.

Lily was the one who approached her first, as they settled in the dormitory.

“Hi, I heard you’re also a muggleborn!” The redhead exclaimed, smiling brightly, showing two full rows of healthy, white teeth. “My name is Lily Evans, I’m a muggleborn too.”

Hermione blinked her eyes at her friendly smile. Lily was kind and hardworking; she was also righteous and short-tempered. As a bonus, she was very pretty. It would not take long for Hogwarts to eat at the palm of her hand.

Just like Harry.

Lily’s son.

Hermione’s Harry.

“Yes,” Hermione responded after a brief pause of silence. “I know.”

She turned her back to her and finished arranging her clothes, as well as other assorted items she brought with her.

Hermione could feel Lily lingering behind her back, making her stiffen, unable to shake the instincts and caution that the war had instilled in her, even after three lifetimes. She looked over her shoulder to raise a brow at the redhead.

“Is there anything you need?” Hermione asked, voice bland.

A red blush coated Lily’s cheeks. “N-nothing. I was… I was just excited to speak to another muggleborn. I mean… like… how did you feel when you found out that you were a witch?”

Hermione wasn’t inattentive. She knew Lily wanted to make friends with her, an attempt to find someone that related to her situation, especially since the only magical friend she currently had was Snape, who was sorted into Slytherin.

Even if Lily wanted to make friends and Hermione allowed herself to open up, there was a part of her that rebelled against the idea itself. Her stomach turned with the thought of befriending these people.

Maybe it was because she had memories of her past lives. Maybe it was because she experienced far too much; growing up, fought in a war, marriage, motherhood, travelled to different magical communities, researched obscure magic arts, and even death. Maybe because in some ways, she knew what their futures held. Maybe because while she looked like a child, her mind was far too old to be one.

Whatever it was, she felt a sense of distance between her and other people.

Even if she wanted to befriend them, Hermione found that she couldn’t.

So, Hermione merely blinked at Lily’s question before shrugging her shoulders, an air of nonchalance in her voice as she answered, “It was fine, expected even.”

Lily furrowed her brows, confused. “Expected? I thought you were muggleborn…”

“I answered your question,” Hermione replied, sighing tiredly. “What more do you want from me?”

Once again, she turned away and continued unpacking her trunk.

Lily left and made no attempts to speak to her again that night.

“Watch where you’re going, mudblood!” Mulciber snapped at Hermione when she bumped into him.

It was the first day of school. They were outside at Hogwarts, heading towards one of the Greenhouses for their Herbology class. Gryffindors were paired with Slytherins.

Others surrounded them. She could spot Gryffindors bristling when Mulciber called her a mudblood and Slytherins smirking to themselves.

No matter what time. No matter the people—Hermione was still subjected to discrimination. The most heartbreaking thing of all was that they were still children.

“Oy! Don’t call her that!” Someone shouted from the crowd.

When she darted a sideways glance, she froze when she saw hazel eyes and round glasses.

James Potter, Harry’s father.

He was staring at Mulciber with a scowl, coming to her rescue as if she was a damsel in distress. It was touching, if not unnecessary.

Ignoring James Potter, Hermione looked into Mulciber’s eyes and wordlessly dug the tip of her wand to his crotch. His eyes widened when he felt her wand.

“Say that again,” she said, her eyes set in an apathetic mask, her voice as bland as a gloomy sky, “say that again, I dare you.”

She could see the fear in Mulciber’s eyes the longer she stared at him, but he quickly concealed it with a bravado, especially when they were being watched by everyone else.

“Or what?” He spat, fear flitting in and out of his eyes.

Hermione sent a stinging hex at his crotch, causing him to howl and double over, dropping to the ground from the pain between his legs. It startled everyone else, retreating away from the scene when they realized that Hermione had done something to Mulciber.

Hermione ignored everyone else as she loomed over Mulciber’s figure.

“If you ever call me or anyone else a mudblood again,” Hermione began, no inflection in her voice, but a silent death in her stare as she held his gaze, “I’ll personally make sure you won’t be able to have children, and you’ll be nothing more than a defective pureblood incapable of bringing heirs to his house.”

After all, a pureblood unable to produce heirs for their house was as good as broken, worse than a Squib even.

Mulciber swallowed on dry mouth, unshed tears brimming in his eyes, unable to look away at Hermione’s eyes as if he was trapped into staring at the abyss.

Finally, he gave an imperceptible nod, and Hermione turned her back to his and walked away without saying another word.

The crowd wordlessly parted when she got close, making a path for her.

The sense of distance continued…

The rise of the Marauders was slow and steady, but like a storm, the moment they appeared, they left behind a devastation. They were clever and mischievous—two combinations that made for a deadly group.

They took delight in practical jokes and funny pranks. With James as the frontman, Sirius as the mastermind, Remus as the researcher, and Peter as the watcher, they were like an unstoppable force of nature.

Hermione didn’t know how but it seemed that Lily had taken the task to berating them all whenever they got caught doing one of their pranks. She only did so whenever their house took the brunt of the Marauders’ schemes; otherwise, she would leave them alone.

As Hermione sat in the chair she claimed as her own in the common room, watching Lily scold James and Sirius—the former staring at her with adoration in her eyes and the latter rolling his eyes and scowling at her—she wondered how this would all play out in the future.

Perhaps, this was destiny at work.

Everyone began to form into groups as they found their friends and bonded with their classmates.

Hermione remained the way she was—alone but not lonely.

A trail of books hovered behind her whenever she went, and people parted whenever they saw her, cautious of the strange muggleborn who dared threaten a pureblood the first day of her first year.

Hermione took delight in this strange, peaceful place. Although Voldemort was likely biding his time, increasing his followers and gathering more power to fight against Dumbledore, currently it was tranquil.

For the first time in a while, she felt like a normal schoolgirl whose worries involved when to finish her homework and how to earn more points for her house. There was no Death Eater. No threats of war. No worrying over Harry.

It felt like a dream.

She didn’t know if she wanted to wake up or continue sleeping.

Nobody bothered Hermione, either because of the presence she gave off or because they learned quickly on not to mess with her. Even her roommates stayed away when they realized that Hermione wasn’t opening up to them, rarely even responding unless they asked questions.

She remained alone, but that was alright.

She didn’t need friends. She had two, years before. She would have them again after this was all over and she lived the life meant for Buckbeak.

A series of sparks erupted loudly in the Great Hall. When Hermione looked up, she found the words written on the sky: “LILY EVANS WILL YOU GO OUT WITH ME?”

When she looked down at the Gryffindor table, she saw Lily Evans shoving James Potter to the floor before storming away, a furious shade of red spreading across her cheeks.

She watched as Sirius laughed at James who sheepishly rubbed the back of his head. Remus merely shook his head at their antics while Peter helped James up to his feet.

Hermione looked away.

And so, the love story of James Potter and Lily Evans began.

What did it mean to live for a hippogriff?

The third life she had was entirely different from the previous two.

Those two were riddled with a sense of impending doom in the horizon, and the stench of fear and terror permeating in the air. Voldemort remained a threat in those life, especially with his Death Eaters walking away from their crimes, free and unscathed.

1971 was a peaceful time. No Grindelwald, no Dark Lord, no war. At least, not yet.

It was filled with petty house rivalry, nonsensical Quidditch squabble, and relationship drama.

It was peaceful, normal, and quiet—

All except for James Potter.

1971…

“Hey, Evans, you look so pretty today! Do you want me to help you carry your books?”

“No, thank you.”

“Come on, I promise I won’t do anything to it!”

“I said, no.”

“Please, I just want to help you carry them!”

“Leave me alone!”

“But, Evans, you’ll miss me!”

“I’ve noticed that you don’t interact with your housemates, Miss Granger.” Professor McGonagall peered at her with barely concealed concern in her eyes. “I understand that a new environment can be quite startling for a muggleborn, and if you worry you might not acclimate to your situation, I’m certain that others will help you in this regard. Are you aware that Miss Evans is also a muggleborn?”

“I’m aware,” Hermione answered flippantly, looking at sky outside the window, a cup of steaming tea in her hand.

“If you’re worried that you’ll be alienated, I’m certain you can find a common ground to share with Miss Evans,” Professor McGonagall shared with a slight smile across her face, trying to reassure her with her voice and expression alone.

“I’m not worried,” Hermione answered, quietly sipping her tea, before lifting her gaze to her Head of House. “I understand and appreciate your concern, Professor, but I simply do not wish to interact and socialize with my peers. I function quite well on my own. I might be alone, but I’m not lonely, Professor. There’s a difference.”

“It’s not about being able to… to function despite not having friends, Miss Granger. It’s about making memories and enjoying your youth. You’re quite young and talented. You have the makings of a formidable witch, if you’re not already. The other professors all sing your praises, as am I. We have not taught a student like you before, and you seem so mature and knowledgeable. I’m certain that others will take notice of your brilliance and want to share in your enthusiasm for learning and magic.”

Hermione sighed. “Professor, the reason why I stay away from other people is because they’re all idiots.”

Professor McGonagall’s mouth slackened. “I beg your pardon?”

Hermione leveled her a blank look. “They’re all idiots, Professor. No offense to them, of course.“

1972…

“Fancy meeting you here, Evans! Don’t you think that it’s fate making us meet again?”

“We’re classmates in this class, Potter. I don’t think it’s fate at work.”

“Well, it’s fate that made us classmates and housemates, Evans. Don’t you think?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Evans, had I told you how pretty you look today, so pretty I can stare at you all day.”

“Go to hell, Potter!”

“Why? Are you coming with me?”

Marlene McKinnon hated her guts.

She was also her Potions partner that year.

Hermione ignored her sulking in the corner, brewing the required potion that Professor Slughorn had assigned to them. Frankly, she could do this potion alone, but she knew that in order for Marlene to get a grade, she also had to put in the work.

So, Hermione gave her the task to dice the ingredients needed. Marlene scowled, but followed her suggestion nonetheless. After all, Marlene might not like her but there was no denying that she needed the grade.

“That’s not a dice,” Hermione was quick to interrupt once she saw Marlene’s work.

“What do you mean it’s not a dice? It is!” Marlene insisted.

“No,” Hermione drawled. “It is not. If you knew what a dice is, it would not look like this.”

Hermione sighed and promptly vanished the ingredients that Marlene insisted she had ‘diced’. Marlene’s jaw dropped once the ingredients vanished.

“Hey, I worked hard on that!” Marlene scowled.

“Not hard enough,” Hermione countered as she stirred the contents of the cauldron. “I suggest grabbing a fresh set of ingredients at the potions cupboard at the back and start dicing. For real this time.”

“Why are you so mean to me?” Marlene snapped, pouting at the cauldron.

Hermione reminded herself that she was only eleven-years-old, and patted her head gently, as if to comfort her. Marlene was startled by Hermione’s touch, flinching at the hand rubbing her head, her jaw dropping slightly once she realized that Hermione was trying to soothe her ire.

Then, Hermione dropped her hand to her side and regarded her with a narrowed stare. “I’m always mean to everyone, Marlene. Don’t expect to be an exception. Now, get the ingredients and start dicing.”

Marlene didn’t need to be told a third time.

1973…

“So, I was thinking of calling you a nickname. How about my Lily of the Valley? Or better yet, my Lily-pad?”

“Do you even hear yourself right now?”

“You’re right, they’re awful. How about my Lady of the Night?”

“That’s how you call a prostitute, idiot!”

“What?! Oh, shit! I didn’t know that—Wait, Evans, how did you know that’s how you call a prostitute?”

“It doesn’t matter. Get away from me!”

“I promise I don’t see you as a prostitute!”

It wasn’t often that she would encounter the people she’d murder and kill in the future.

But considering that Barty Crouch Jr. was one of her classmates—although he was sorted in a different house—this was bound to happen sooner rather than later.

“I want to challenge you in a duel,” was the first thing the Ravenclaw—and future Voldemort worshiper—said to her the moment she came inside the Dueling Club room.

This was the third pureblood who challenged her in a duel and she had not even been a member of the club for a month. The first one was Mulciber, of course. She had been waiting for him to retaliate and didn’t think it would happen two years after their altercation. The second one had been Sirius, after the incident with the hexed parchment.

They all lost.

Now, it was Barty Crouch Jr.

She was starting to think that these purebloods were masochists.

Hermione sighed and propped a fist on her waist. “How much?”

“Pardon?” Barty looked confused.

Hermione stared at him. “How much will you pay me to duel with you?”

His jaw dropped. “W-what’s that got to do with anything?” He sputtered.

“If I’m going to waste my time fixing your ego and daddy issues, I might as well get paid.”

His eyes widened, blushing profusely at her words.

Nonetheless, he paid her five Galleons.

Hermione beat him in under sixty seconds.

1974…

“Hey, Evans, do you want to go out with me this weekend? I know this really good tea place in Hogsmeade. Don’t worry, my treat!”

“I would rather eat toads, Potter.”

“That’s alright. I can buy you lots of toads to eat!”

“What the heck is wrong with you? Leave me alone, and stay away! I don’t like you!”

“Well, not yet.”

“Not. Ever!”

Hermione requested to be a Prefect next year, much to Professor McGonagall’s surprise. It wasn’t often that students approached professors inquiring about these positions. Mostly, everyone else expected to be appointed, but no one dared to ask.

“It’s a big responsibility, Miss Granger,” the Head of House Gryffindor told her. “While it is undeniable that you’re one of the candidates for the position, I found myself unsure whether to give you the post or not. After the conversation we’ve had back in your first year, I thought you would avoid becoming one.”

After all, aside from classes, Hermione was always quiet and alone, surrounded by a number of books that served as a wall separating her from everyone else. She would read in the corner all day long, shutting the entire world out, content to lose herself in the words written across yellow pages.

Even when someone tried to speak with her, Hermione would only respond to a question or statement that she, herself chose to respond to. Everyone else had already gotten used to her behavior. She did her own thing, away from everyone else, never allowing herself to open up—never allowing them to welcome her.

Perhaps, Professor McGonagall assumed that, with her indifference toward her classmates, Hermione would’ve refused the responsibility of a Prefect.

But knowing that a few years later, their world would be subjected to Lord Voldemort’s torment, Hermione wanted to savor the peace and quiet of this era. As much as possible, she wanted to keep the peace for herself.

She wanted the quiet to last.

“I avoid people, but I don’t avoid responsibility,” Hermione responded smoothly to Professor McGonagall’s concerns, raising the steaming cup of tea to her lips. “I understand if there are people far more deserving than I. Contrary to popular belief, I am aware of my shortcomings, Professor. But people listen to me, even Slytherins. I also know that I can and will be able to handle this big responsibility. I won’t disappoint you nor my fellow peers. Of course, only if you appoint me to be the Prefect next school year. I understand if you do not think I am the appropriate choice.”

Professor McGonagall frowned. “Miss Granger, you are more than qualified to be granted this responsibility. I just worry that it is more than you can handle. I have heard that Professor Flitwick plans to appoint you as the Dueling Club President next year. Add that with your responsibilities as a Prefect, I am unsure how you will shoulder these burdens.”

Well, she had once shouldered the burden of governing Wizarding Britain as the Minister of Magic, while also being the mother of two magical children. Compared to those two situations, being a Prefect was a piece of cake.

“Professor, I won’t be inquiring about the position if I did not think that I can handle it,” Hermione assured, holding her stare. “Like I said years before, everyone is an idiot, so they need all the help that they can get.”

Hermione saw the twitch pulling the corners of Professor McGonagall’s lips, as if she wanted to smile but stopped herself from doing so.

“Let me think about it,” Professor McGonagall answered in the end.

That summer before her fifth year, Hermione became a Prefect.

1975…

“Hey, Evans, so I heard that you went out with Diggory. Why did you go out with him when you can go out with me?”

“Well, for one thing, Amos is pleasant and kind, unlike you.”

“I can be pleasant and kind!”

“Please, we all know you’re full of yourself. Look at yourself in the mirror! You’re an arrogant pig who can’t even reflect on your actions. You think you’re all that because your family is rich and you’re a pureblood. What, you think you’re so special that everyone will just fall for you the moment you smile at them? Please! Get your head out of your own ass. Do you think that I’m just going to fall for you just like that? You annoy me so much, I wish I can just make you disappear, and stay out of my life!”

“… I… Wow. You feel so much… for me…?”

“Ugh, did you even hear what I just said?! Get it into your head already; I don’t like you! I won’t like someone like you! Frankly, I would rather jump from the Astronomy tower than fall in love with someone like you!”

Hermione crept into the night, robes fluttering behind her, the glow of her Lumos aiding her in the darkness.

It took a few turns before she arrived at her destination: the Hospital Wing.

She pursed her lips as she softly pushed the door open, careful not to wake the occupant inside. She didn’t bother closing the door, since she didn’t plan to stay long anyway. She went inside the room and headed towards the person sleeping at the back.

The Lumos light at the tip of her wand dimmed as she got close. When she peered at his sleeping face—scarred and tired from the full moon the night before—she turned to the table next to his cot. She pulled out the chocolate bars from her robes and left it on the table, humming softly.

“Are you not going to say anything?” Hermione asked to no one in particular. “Or are you going to pretend you’re asleep?”

It took a few minutes before Remus’ eyes opened, a sheepish smile lingering on his lips. “I’m sorry. I, uh, didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I doubt you’re expecting anyone,” Hermione retorted, turning to give him a look, one of her eyebrows raised. “How are you feeling?”

Remus’ shoulders jerked at her question, startled eyes meeting her tranquil ones. “Uh, I… I feel fine,” he stammered, likely surprised that Hermione was asking such a compassionate question. “Thanks for… for coming here, even though it’s late.”

Hermione stared at Remus, who avoided her gaze. They both knew she had been coming here since their third year. They both knew that she knew that his ailment wasn’t a weak constitution but, it was his lycanthropy affliction.

But neither said anything.

“Take care of yourself. Goodbye,” Hermione said after a brief moment of silence, turning on her heel and preparing to leave, but then Remus called out behind her and she turned around with a puzzled look on her face. “What is it?”

“Why are you doing this?” Remus asked quietly. “You know, don’t you? You know what I am, but you’ve never treated me differently. Why?”

Hermione blinked her eyes. “It’s because of my advocacy.”

“Advocacy?” Remus seemed startled by her answer.

“Yes. I advocate for the better treatment of house elves, half-breeds, and werewolves.”

“Not muggleborns?”

“And make myself a martyr?” Hermione raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think so. Lily can do that fine on her own. She can be our representative if she wants; well, she already is. As for me, I want to fight for other people that have no one fighting for them.”

“Even people like Fenrir Greyback?” Remus asked, looking down at his lap.

“I said better treatment for werewolves, not murderers and child predators,” Hermione retorted with a snort. “Besides, if it makes you better, better treatment also means he can get a fair trial and sentence to Azkaban, rather than killing him on sight.”

Remus went quiet, before he lifted his gaze and held her stare. “Thank you for not treating me any differently.”

Hermione didn’t say anything. She merely nodded and left.

1976…

“When will you get it in your head that I will never have feelings for you?! Seriously, just back off! Your so-called love is suffocating me!”

Snape was standing outside the Gryffindor entrance, pleading to the Fat Lady to let him in to speak to Lily Evans. It was already a year since that incident, since Severus Snape called his childhood friend a mudblood in front of everyone, driven by hate and humiliation.

Lily Evans refused to speak to him and acknowledged his presence again. From the moment Snape had called her a mudblood, he was dead to Lily.

Hermione was standing behind Snape’s back, watching him as he begged on his knees to the Fat Lady, who only looked on with sympathy in her eyes.

It was so strange to see the professor who had beaten her with his own vicious tongue and temperamental rage had become a schoolboy who sought an adult’s validation and who was desperate for a friend.

But she supposed that Snape was still human despite it all. Just like any man, he too would succumb to human follies. He hated as much as he loved.

“Please, just one time,” Snape said, clasping his hands together, looking gaunt with his sunken cheeks and dark bags under his eyes. “I just need to speak to her one time. If you can’t let me in, then… then please call for Lily. Please, I just need to speak to her once.”

“I’m sorry, dear,” the Fat Lady said, her tone gentle. “But I simply cannot adhere your request. Miss Evans dissuaded me from calling her if you ever come.”

Snape looked stricken, his breath hitching at the Fat Lady’s words. Hermione crossed her arms over her chest, the movement calling the attention of the Fat Lady.

“Oh, Miss Granger! You’re back!” The Fat Lady exclaimed with a nervous laugh. “Would you like to come in?”

She started walking closer towards them, stopping beside Snape’s kneeling form. “Not yet,” she answered the portrait.

“Come here to laugh at me?” Snape asked, a quiet venomous tone in his voice, looking down at the concrete ground with his fists clenched tightly on either of his sides.

Knowing his prideful streak, Snape must’ve felt humiliated that Hermione witnessed him begging for Lily. Of course, his first response was to lash out.

“Do you see me laughing?” Hermione retorted, frowning, looking ahead and seeing nothing. “Get up already before someone else sees.”

Snape didn’t respond nor move for a second. But then, he slowly rose to his feet, staggering as he tried to regain his balance. Hermione pulled his arm when he stumbled forward, helping him stand without looking at his direction.

Snape snatched his arm back from Hermione’s grasp, awkwardly patting his robes off of dirt. He stood still for a moment, darting a confused glance at Hermione when she didn’t leave.

Snape opened his mouth, and hesitated, before he spoke, “Can you… call Lily? For me?” He cleared his throat. “Please?”

Hermione gave him a sideways glance. “Even if I call her, what do you think will happen? Do you think she will forgive you for what you had done to her?”

“W-we’re friends,” Snape insisted. “I’m… I’m sure that she will forgive me once she realizes that I’m sincerely sorry. Lily is kind. She won’t turn me away. I know she won’t.”

“You’re forgetting that Lily is human, Snape,” Hermione told him. “Just like any human, she is flawed. She’s not some saint who will forgive the friend who betrayed her and reduced her worth to her blood status. Even friendship can’t save you that one.”

She wondered what it felt like to be called mudblood by her friend. She imagined Ron calling her one and she felt a twinge in her chest. She imagined Harry calling her that word, and her heart throbbed painfully. She could see why Lily refused to see Snape again, not after he had taken her weakness and used it against her.

“I didn’t mean it,” Snape muttered quietly. “I… I was hurt and… and I was thoroughly humiliated. I was blinded by rage that… that I hadn’t even realized what I said until it was too late.”

“So, you were so angry that you took it out on the only person who truly cared about you?” Hermione retorted, a frown digging deeper on her face. “Lily only wanted to help, but you threw it back to her face because you couldn’t stand that a muggleborn would defend you against your perpetrators.” A pause. “Or is it because you couldn’t stand that the person you’re in love with witnessed your moment of weakness, so you used her weakness against her to make it even?”

“That’s not—that’s not how it is!” Snape sputtered, a bright red blush blatantly covering his sickly, pale skin.

“Then, what is it?” Hermione asked, gazing at him with wide eyes. “If not that, then what else could it be? Are you so hateful of us, muggleborns that even you would turn your back against your friend?”

“No, I don’t hate you,” Snape pressed on. “You and Lily… you two have proven that blood status doesn’t matter, that everyone magical can become brilliant and formidable regardless of their blood. I don’t believe in that nonsense about blood purity or anything like that.”

“Then why call Lily a mudblood?”

Snape paused, mouth agape.

“There are so many words to hurt someone, but you chose that one specific word,” Hermione said, turning to the portrait who was watching them with keen eyes. “Perhaps, it’s time for you to look at yourself and see where your ideals lie.”

She muttered the password, the portrait opening wordlessly at her words. She left Snape standing alone in the corridor, surrounded by darkness, the portrait shutting close behind her back.

There was a bird in the sky.

It soared so high, it looked like a dot as it flew into the horizon.

She stretched her arm outward, reaching for the sky, but only grasped air in the end.

Hermione lowered her arm, looking at her closed fist, before unfurling her fingers and opening her palm. She stared at the lines across her palm, knowing that these were the same lines that decorated her hand in two of her previous lives.

The same body, the same identity, the same Hermione, but a different witch in the end.

She heard a rustling noise behind her, startling out of her daze. She turned her head, peeking over her shoulder to witness Lily Evans emerging behind the curtains that concealed a bed, red hair rumpled with sleep.

Lily paused when she saw Hermione watching her, a pink hue blooming across the fair skin of her cheeks.

Hermione avoided those familiar green, green eyes and turned to look at the sky outside the window.

“Good morning,” Lily greeted, hesitance laced around her voice, knowing that Hermione would never—had never—greeted her back.

This time was different.

“Does he know?” Hermione asked in an idle tone.

“Does who know?” Lily responded with a confused lilt to her voice.

Hermione looked at her again, meeting her eyes for the first time, making the redhead pause. “Does James know?”

Lily pursed her lips, distaste flashing across those eyes of hers. “He doesn’t have a right to know. Why should I care about what he thinks anyways?”

Hermione stared at her for a moment before she looked away. She never said anything else.

But Lily and her both knew—after all, Lily had come out of a bed that belonged to someone else.

How could one live for a hippogriff?

The answer to that question continued to elude Hermione since she came into 1971 as an eleven-years-old witch, with memories worth of two lifetimes in her head.

Now, at sixteen, the answer remained hidden.

She sensed someone staring and lowered the book from her face. She wasn’t surprised to meet James Potter’s gaze, who was staring intently at her as if she was a puzzle he was desperate to solve.

He smiled and gave an exuberant wave.

She raised a brow and lifted the book up to conceal her face.

Hippogriffs… how could she live a life for a hippogriff? This question haunted her the moment she woke up in this strange, peaceful time.

When she looked at James Potter, she couldn’t help but think she would find the answer soon enough.

Chapter Text

What was love, and what did it mean to love someone?

James asked himself this question for the first time in his life.

As a person born out of love and had so much love to give, James thought he knew more than anybody else what that four-letter word meant. It turned out, that the more he thought he knew, the more he knew nothing.

He used to think that love was easy—for him, at least. It was easy to receive and it was easy to give. He was spoiled with love, almost to the point that he grew used to it. Whether it was from his parents or from his friends, he felt an abundance of love from every direction, he thought he wouldn’t run out of it. But then he met Lily, and for the first time in his life, the “love” he expected to receive didn’t come.

With Lily, love did not come easy. In fact, some—scratch that, most—might say that love did not exist at all. While everyone else showered him with endless affection and praises, all she threw at his face were fierce scorn and insults. While everyone else treated him with indulgence, she treated him with contempt. While others would’ve caved and surrendered to his smile, she would rather poison herself than be subjected by his presence.

Everything he did right with people was wrong with her.

And as someone who had never fought for love before, James had been enthralled.

Maybe it was the challenge that drew him in.

Everything came so easy for him—making friends, getting good grades, Quidditch—that it felt like a breath of fresh air when Lily suddenly stumbled into his life and presented a challenge nearly impossible to overcome.

He fell in love just like that.

But it was a love that poisoned him from within.

It was a love that burned, but not the passionate kind like his parents had. His parents had a love so fiery, it had raged a fiendfyre blaze all over the Wizarding World. For him and Lily, their love—or rather, his love for her and her hatred for him—burned them so badly, the wounds never healed and the scars never recovered.

Lily made him irrational at times.

In his quest to make her fall in love with him, he had disregarded even his own self-respect for a chance to see her smile. He lowered his head—like some kind of mutt—and let her stomp all over his pride and dignity, because he wanted her to acknowledge him. He put away his pride as a pureblood, as a Gryffindor, as a person, and made himself small in front of her, just for a single possibility that she might start to like him back.

And in the process, not only had he hurt himself, but he had also hurt others.

He liked to believe that he wasn’t the type of person who would maliciously taunt and bully another, but he knew he’d only hurt himself more if he continued burying into denial. He knew what he’d become just by looking at himself in the mirror and he didn’t like what he’d seen.

He didn’t like who he’d become—who he was.

After being loved by others for so long, it seemed to be an inevitable conclusion that he could no longer find one thing remotely likable about himself.

“You’ve been quiet for a while now, Prongsie.” Sirius’ voice snapped James out of his daze. “What’s gotten into you?”

James looked at his best friend and for the first time, he genuinely wondered what Sirius saw in him. They had struck an easy camaraderie from the first moment they met, them being in the same house only made it stronger, but James couldn’t help but be submerged in doubts. What made Sirius his friend? What made him stay by his side for six years straight?

“Just… thinking,” James struggled to answer, looking down at his untouched plate.

The noise from the Great Hall might as well be a muffled buzz in his ears as his thoughts drowned out most of them.

“Seems like you’ve done an awful lot of thinking this past few days,” Sirius commented. “You know, if you have problems, you can talk to us, right?”

A faint smile spread across James’ lips. “Of course, mate.”

Of course, he knew they had his back. They had been friends for so long, through thick and thin, and they knew so much of each other already. James considered Sirius his brother in all but blood, and Sirius considered the same. But why, was the real question.

James saw a flash of brown from the corner of his eyes and unbidden, the image of Granger’s hair tore through his mind.

He snapped his head towards its direction, anticipating the tangled mess she called her hair, only it wasn’t her but someone else. His shoulders began to sink, his heart dropping to his stomach, a dizzying sensation of disappointment making him feel lightheaded.

Ever since that night, James didn’t dare to wander around carelessly again. He never approached Granger during the day, and he never tried to seek her at night. He kept his distance, remembering those solemn brown eyes, the dismay etched across her face the last time they spoke, and he stayed away, lost within the confounding thoughts clouding his head.

But just because he stayed away, didn’t mean he hadn’t missed her.

And wasn’t that crazy? For him to miss her? Except, he really truly did. It was only recently that he started talking to Granger, but during the short time they spent together, James felt himself change in ways he hadn’t anticipated.

Talking to her had made him see the parts of himself he hadn’t realized existed. She had opened doors for him that he didn’t know were there in the first place, and she offered the key to the cage he locked himself in. She had made him brave enough to face his fears, realize his insecurities, and acknowledge his mistakes. Talking to her was freeing in a way, although the conversations they had weren’t always pleasant.

He valued the advice and the insights she shared with him. He valued her honesty, no matter how merciless and sharp it was. He valued her patience when dealing with him and his moods, when she could’ve perfectly avoided them and he wouldn’t judge. He valued her direct approach, her no-nonsense attitude, when people around him beat around the bush.

What they had—he couldn’t exactly call it friendship. They weren’t friends. James doubted Granger had one of those, and he wasn’t so shameless as to call her a friend when she would likely hex him in disagreement. He couldn’t imagine joking or laughing or pranking with her the same way he did with the Marauders.

But he also couldn’t imagine going back to a time when he used to ignore her out of fear, and she used to ignore him because she hadn’t cared enough.

And Granger cared—he knew more than most. She cared enough to lead him back to the Gryffindor tower without reporting him to  McGonagall. She cared enough about being a Prefect that she immediately stopped and actively prevented rule breakers. She cared enough that she always made time for the younger years even when she was busy with her other responsibilities.

Sure, she might hate them—well, disliked them, more like, since hate was a strong word—and she might be indifferent to most people, but that had never stopped her from caring in her own way.

Granger had opened a new world to him, and James felt like he had taken it for granted—this new world—when he had thrown it back to her face. So, even though he missed her and wanted to speak to her again, he stayed away.

“Oh, by the way,” Sirius’ voice slid through his troubling thoughts and caught his attention. James looked up to find gray eyes staring at him, “remember how you said you’re moving on from Evans?”

James blinked his eyes and nervously gulped on dry throat, unconsciously ruffling his hair. “Uh, yeah?”

“Well, I know someone who likes you,” Sirius continued. “Figured you’d want to go out sometime in a date with a pretty girl this weekend, you know, to stop thinking about Evans. I mean, it’s been ages, mate, you got to start somewhere.”

James felt the tips of his ears heating, his lips curled into a crooked grin aimed at his friend, yet his eyes strayed around the Great Hall—stopping on the familiar sight of red, gleaming hair. They looked like fire, and James always longed to burn in them.

He burned, alright, and he never recovered.

Sirius was right. He had to start somewhere. He had to stop thinking about Lily once and for all, or else he would venture into a path he wouldn’t want for himself or for his worst enemies. Loving Lily and being hated for it just didn’t seem worth it—not anymore. The years he spent chasing after her and loving her from afar would only be a part of his history, not the entirety of it.

But, to be honest, James didn’t think that turning his attention or affections from Lily to someone else was the right answer.

He just couldn’t find it within himself to love someone new, when he could hardly love himself nowadays.

So, he shook his head at Sirius, who sighed and didn’t argue, as if he expected that answer from him. James felt bad for turning down his friend, but for the first time in a while, he felt something light settle in his chest and knew he made the right choice.

Besides, he needed a way to stop thinking about Granger as well.

After curfew hours—where everything and everyone in the castle was silent and asleep, except for the ghosts and poltergeist—James found himself wandering around as per usual. He didn’t worry about professors or prefects finding him; it was already late at night, most of them had already gone to bed.

James felt like a ghost, or a wraith, as he wandered aimlessly, his feet taking him to where he needed to go than to whatever destination his mind could think of. He yawned as he turned around the corner, blinking bleary eyes in the dimly lit corridor. Exhaustion weighed his tired lids, and just as he contemplated going back to the Gryffindor dormitory—without having Granger find out about him—he heard giggling in the corner.

He looked around and found no one in the same corridor as him, although he supposed that they were hiding in a nook somewhere. He thought he was the only person around, so he whipped out the Marauders Map, curious to see who could it be.

He hadn’t expected to see Lily’s name.

He especially didn’t expect to see the other name next to hers, his blood ran cold as he realized the way the two names seemed to overlap each other. He felt his heart pounding in his chest, the map trembling in his grasp.

“Shh, you’re going to get us caught.”

James heard Lily’s voice, with a series of footsteps going increasingly loud towards his direction. He looked up, his throat closing up, when he saw Lily giggling as she stumbled out of the hidden nook beside a crude statue. She pulled the other person out, giving her a sweet smile that he hadn’t seen before.

A smile that she had never given to him.

And she gave them all to Marlene McKinnon, as she draped herself all over Lily’s chest, giggling and smiling—and looking so damn happy, with her lips swollen—gazing at Lily the same way James would.

He just never expected for Lily to return the same gaze—all to Marlene.

James froze in his place, unable to look away from this nightmare unfolding before him.

“That was fun, we should do that again,” Marlene said breathlessly, as both girls began walking closer towards his direction, hands holding each other with their fingers entwined.

“We almost got caught by Filch,” said Lily, but her voice was light and unbothered, her gaze darting periodically over to Marlene as if she couldn’t look away for longer than a minute. “But it had been fun, I’m not going to lie.”

“We usually just stay in our dorms, so it’s a nice change of pace.” Marlene swung their hands together, looking at Lily with starry blue eyes. “Oh, we should go to the Astronomy Tower next! That’d be fun too.”

Lily casted a quizzical glance at her companion. “You’re already planning out next spot? Why are you so eager to hook up at the most popular hook up spots in Hogwarts?”

“Well, we never get the chance to do anything outside of our room. Sometimes, I want to do normal, couple stuff with you, the same stuff those other couples do all the time. Just because we’re both girls, doesn’t mean that we can’t do them as well, right? Please, Lils? I promise to save a treacle tart for you next time, please?”

And James felt himself falling under as Lily paused and gave Marlene a kiss on her lips.

“Alright,” Lily said as she pulled back. “Just because you look cute. Now, let’s go back before Hermione finds out we’re not in bed.”

“Knowing her,” Marlene snorted, “she definitely knows we’re not in bed right now.”

“That’s why we have to hurry. Come on.” Lily tugged Marlene as she walked faster.

They passed him by, the distance between them so close, he could almost feel Lily’s robes over his own despite the barrier from the Invisibility Cloak. Their footsteps grew faint, until he could no longer hear it completely, and he felt his own legs give way under him.

He fell on the floor, hands cradling his head, unable to comprehend what he’d just found out.

Lily was in love.

She was in love with someone.

Someone that wasn’t him.

And most of all, that someone was a woman.

He wanted to laugh. He wanted to cry. He wanted to scream. He wanted to throw up. He wanted to fucking die.

“I never wanted you to find out this way.”

He flinched when he’d heard her voice. He felt the silky garment of the Invisibility Cloak moving, his heart skipping a beat when warmth suddenly invaded the space on his side.

He slowly turned his head, and found himself staring into Hermione Granger’s solemn gaze. She had just crawled under the Invisibility Cloak and tucked herself on his side, legs bent with her knees pulled to her chest.

She had never been so close to him before, not to the point of touching. Heck, he didn’t think she ever got personally close to people, not when she never allowed it to. He didn’t know what compelled her to sit next to him.

However, this time, as he felt his whole world crumbling apart and tearing at the seams, the warmth she provided as they hid away under his Invisibility Cloak, was the only source of comfort he could find.

For someone so cold and detached, she was so warm by his side.

“You… knew?” James choked out, his entire body numb, his spine trembling. When he blinked his eyes, stray tears spilled from the corners—this time, he couldn’t even blame exhaustion.

Granger nodded her head, her gaze steady.

“Does everyone?” he croaked out, wanting to laugh hysterically until his stomach hurt—just so he could stop hurting in his chest.

“No,” Granger replied with a shake of her head. “Only a few people know. Not everyone is open to same-sex relationships these days. For the most part, most consider them close friends, if not best friends.”

And James had been one of them.

“How… how long?” he asked, scrubbing his eyes with his hands.

“Their relationship hasn’t been long, but the feelings were always there since third year,” she replied.

So, it had been long—God, James wanted to ram his head against the wall.

“And—and how long have you… known?”

She paused for a moment, then chose to be honest with him.

“I’ve always known, long before they got together.”

A sharp pain sliced through his chest. No wonder Granger had told him to let go of Lily. Yes, she gave him the options to either move on or start anew with Lily, but knowing how brilliant she was, she would’ve guessed that he would choose to move on instead. She must have. Or else, why would she try to save him from this heartbreak?

“I’m an idiot,” he muttered, his voice breaking at the end. “God. I’m such a fucking idiot.”

Granger didn’t say anything to refute that statement and James couldn’t even muster an ounce of care, knowing that she was silently agreeing.

“Has she always liked girls?” he asked quietly, looking at Granger through his fringe.

“She likes both boys and girls,” she answered. “She just happens to be in love with a woman, that’s all.”

James grew quiet at her answer, sniffling pathetically, trying to wipe away the tears catching on his cheeks. He wasn’t a fucking child; he was nearly seventeen. He was almost an adult in the Wizarding World, but he couldn’t stop crying, and he didn’t know what to do.

Through it all, Granger remained quiet by his side while he cried to himself.

“Do you think I’m pathetic?” James asked through hiccups, his voice slightly hitched.

“Love is never pathetic,” she said, voice quiet. “And you loved her fiercely. But, I told you before, didn’t I, James Potter?” She raised an arm and reached for his face, where she proceeded to brush the fringe falling over the side of his forehead, making him flinch, his swollen eyes widening. “You have so much love to give, so you should give some love to yourself.”

She dropped her arm and he stared into her eyes for a moment. He didn’t know what compelled him to say the next words, aside from the fact that he needed it so goddamn much—and he needed to say it before cowardice and self-preservation took over.

“Can I… I know I’m overstepping but,” he sniffled, “can I have a hug?”

And Granger never needed to say anything more, because when she opened her arms and lowered her legs until they laid flat on the floor, James understood that this was an invitation—a rare gift that she would only give to only a few.

James didn’t waste a second hesitating or questioning. He just dove straight into her arms, burrowing his head onto her shoulder, his upper body leaning heavily against her front. But she never offered a protest, weaving her arms around him, one hand on his back and another on the back of his head.

Then he cried, sobbing heart-wrenchingly into her shoulder.

He cried for the love he nurtured and harbored for six years, only for it to crumble unreturned and unwanted.

He cried for the love he thought he would get to have if he tried hard enough.

He cried at his unfulfilled dreams of a great love with his first love.

He cried at the promises and plans he made for the two of them, only for those promises to lay broken at his feet.

And she was quiet throughout.

She was quiet as he cried and sobbed into her shoulder.

She was quiet as he clung onto her in his desperation for comfort.

She was quiet as his entire body trembled and clutched her closer.

She was quiet as he draped himself limply on her chest, staring into the wall opposite them, as silent tears dripped down the side of his face.

She didn’t scream and rage at his suffering and pain, not like Sirius would. She didn’t offer him words of support and sympathy, not like Remus would. She didn’t panic at his tears and ask about his feelings constantly, not like Peter would.

She merely held him in her arms.

And somehow, James wouldn’t have it in any other way.

Her silence was the only thing he needed.

Chapter Text

This was how the story went:

James Potter and Lily Evans first met at Hogwarts Academy.

James was described by most as a charismatic young man too clever for his own good. Not only was he very talented in magic, but he also sought trouble everywhere he went. He was undeniably charming, so most of the time, he got away with the things he had done. People either hated him or loved him—there was no in between.

Lily, on the other hand, was a promising muggleborn witch who excelled at many areas of magic. She was fiery and vivacious; righteous and empathetic. Her different upbringing with her muggle parents offered her a different view and outlook that was refreshing to other people. Everyone who knew her instantly liked her.

Despite their many differences, however they had something in common: they were loud.

Loud with their actions, loud with their opinions.

Just loud.

James fell madly in love with Lily almost immediately after they met. He didn’t waste time before chasing after her, wooing her to the point of self-abandon. Lily, for her part, disliked James’ arrogance and interest on her. Not only did she dislike his character, but she also hated him for bullying her first friend, Severus Snape.

She constantly rejected him throughout the six years he spent chasing after her. She wasn’t being coy with him; she was firm with her rejections and dislike. Undeniably, there was still a thrill to the chase. It was flattering to be admired ardently by someone like James Potter, and she couldn’t deny that she did like the attention at times, but she never gave him false hopes nor did her dislike for him waver.

Then their seventh year came, and both James Potter and Lily Evans became Head Boy and Head Girl respectively. James came back as a more thoughtful and mature man that year, brought about by the sudden deaths of his parents, Charlus and Dorea Potter, the summer before.

He apologized to Lily for the years he spent ignoring her feelings and trying to force her to go out with him. Lily saw this new, strange side of him, and was curious. When she saw his sincerity, she accepted his apology. The both of them began a tentative friendship soon after.

It didn’t take long for them to fall in love—or rather, for Lily to fall in love with James.

They got together before the end of the year. Married after a year. And then had Harry James Potter, the Prophecy Child.

That was how the story went.

Hermione looked at the budding love between Lily Evans and Marlene McKinnon. Two young girls not yet fourteen had found something precious between them—previous, but forbidden.

And Hermione wondered.

Where did it all go wrong?

Years passed since she came to 1971.

The story continued with no end in sight, the words written too murky to understand.

Since when had reading begun feeling difficult?

Peter was surrounded by a number of Slytherin boys—older, stronger, and bigger than him. His face was deathly pale with fear, his trembling limbs clutched the wall behind him, and his eyes were wide with terror. One of the Slytherins was pointing a wand at his face, hissing something far too low for anyone to understand. With none of his friends in sight, surrounded and outnumbered, it would be too late to save him.

It was finally starting, she thought.

Peter Pettigrew—the rat—the traitor—the coward.

Hermione merely flicked her wand and the Slytherins were immediately thrown back in response, their backs slamming against the wall in a painful thud. Their wands flew in the air and into her grasp with her silent command. The Slytherins hissed and began shouting, but when they saw her, they paused, looked at each other, and promptly shut their mouths.

She looked at their faces and mentally took note of their names: Burke, Goyle, Parkinson, and Yaxley.

She expected Mulciber to be with them but considering that he was constantly looking to fight and duel her, she figured he didn’t have time to bully someone else.

“I really dislike bullies,” she intoned, her voice quiet, as opposed to her eyes that were flashing with the promise of their impending deaths. “This kind of cowardice makes me ashamed that you’re Slytherins. You’re all not worthy of being one.”

They all flushed with anger.

As if to reiterate her statement, the Slytherin emblem on their clothes suddenly burst into flames. They panicked, shouting and struggling against the invisible binds that held them up the wall. It was only when the flames vanished—and left behind a dark, dirty spot where the Slytherin emblem used to be—that they quieted.

Next, she pointed a wand at them, ignoring how they braced themselves for whatever spell she planned to aim at them.

She merely wrote in the air: COWARDS.

The word burned itself into the black spot on their robes. Starkly red against the cool, sleek dark green silk of their outfit. She made it so no amount of tearing or magic could take it away. It would always appear, even when they bought new robes for themselves.

“There,” she said, “that’s a more fitting house for the likes of you.”

“You dare—!”Parkinson barked out, glaring heatedly at her. “You dare—!”

“Yes,” she answered, quirking one cool brow. “I dare.”

His face reddened, but he didn’t say anything else.

She looked at Peter, who had slumped against the wall in his relief and now straightened his spine when he saw her.

“Come,” she said, jerking her head to the side. “Let’s go.”

Peter eyed her and the Slytherins still stuck on the wall. “A-are we leaving them…?” he asked hesitantly, slowly peeling himself off the wall.

“Why? Do you want to take them with us?”

He immediately shook his head, watery blue eyes wide. He reminded her of a doe—skittish, wary, but with eyes that gazed back with innocence and curiosity.

Peter Pettigrew—the rat—the traitor—the coward.

“So, let’s go and leave them be,” she said, already turning on her heel and walking away, knowing that he would follow after her.

What other option was there anyway?

It was already late at night. Everyone else was returning to the dormitory after having dinner at the Great Hall. It was likely that Peter was doing the same until he was caught by bullies.

Hermione led him to the Gryffindor Tower, stopping in front of the Fat Lady, before turning around to spot Peter lingering behind her back. He jumped when she turned, gaze darting to the side, his cheeks pink. She eyed him silently.

“T-thank you,” he whispered, squirming on his feet. “You didn’t have to… to save me back there. I know you dislike talking or interacting with people so, really, thank you.”

“Stop thanking me,” she said. “Any decent person would stop them.”

“N-no… not really. Before you came, there were two other people who found me but when they saw the others, they kind of… ran off,” Peter finished with a bitter note to his voice.

Hermione raised a brow. “I said decent people. They’re not decent if they left you alone without helping you.”

Peter stared down at his feet, shoulders bunched up, looking so small.

“You must think I’m a coward too, huh?” he said so suddenly, that she wondered where he got the idea from. “I know I’m not exactly… the epitome of a Gryffindor. I-I’m not James or Sirius or even Remus. I’m… I’m just me.”

Well, for Hermione, he was more than a coward.

He was the rat.

He was the traitor.

So, he wasn’t just a coward.

“So, what if you’re not them?” Hermione said, crossing her arms over her chest. “Nobody asked you to be and if everyone’s thinking that, then I’m the only sane person here. I doubt this world needs another James Potter, or Remus Lupin, or god forbid, another Sirius Black. One of them is already enough. So, you don’t have to become one of them; you just keep being Peter.”

Peter Pettigrew—the rat—the traitor—the coward.

He snapped his head upwards, looking at her with impossibly huge eyes that the blue in his irises almost resembled the sky. His cheeks went redder, reaching up to the top of his ears.

“That’s one of the nicest things anyone ever said to me,” he said, sounding awed for some reason.

A pity, since what she was doing was merely the most basic, decent thing a person could do to another.

“I don’t doubt it, which is sad, because if you took the time to open your eyes, you’ll realize that your friends like you for the reason that you’re Peter and not someone else,” Hermione said with a shake of her head. “There is no need for another carbon copy, when the original is already worth enough. You’re doing your best, Peter, and nobody can take that away from you.”

She then turned on her heel and walked away, her footsteps the only sound she could hear in her mind.

Peter Pettigrew—the rat—the traitor—the coward.

Peter Pettigrew—a friend—a stranger—a boy.

When the story you knew became so twisted, it was hardly the same story you had expected, what would you do?

“You were the one who hexed my brother.” A young, gray-eyed Regulus Black came up to Hermione one afternoon in the library.

Hermione flipped the page of her book, waited for a moment, before she looked up and met his impatient gaze.

“Well? Were you the one?” he prompted.

He was a year younger, with sleek black hair, except for a thin strand falling over his forehead. Everything else—from his robes to his shoes—were pristine and orderly. He looked so much like Sirius except for the serious gleam in his eyes and the clean appearance.

The only one who valiantly tried to defy against Voldemort, only to meet his demise in an unknown and gloomy cave with the Inferi.

“Correction: he was the one who hexed himself,” Hermione retorted, turning her attention to her book.

She could practically feel him bristling when he hissed, “Didn’t anyone ever teach you to look at someone when they’re talking to you? You’re rude.”

“And you’re not?” she asked, her voice as steady as an undisturbed water. “If you’re going to berate someone about manners, take a look at yourself first. You’re the one who approached me and accused me of hexing your brother without introducing yourself first nor asking if there is truth to your accusation. You didn’t even bother to excuse yourself, seeing that I’m busy reading. So, if you think I’m being rude, I’m merely returning the favor.”

Silence ensued until—

“I apologize for my rudeness.”

Hermione simply closed her book and decided to grant him her attention.

“Say that next time without spitting,” she said, and watched as Sirius’ little brother blushed in front of her. “Now, what is it that you want to know?”

Regulus’ lips tightened. “My brother came home one day with scars across his hands. I only recently found out that you were the one responsible.” He paused. “Are you?”

“That depends on the person telling the story,” Hermione answered. “Some will say that it’s my fault for putting a hex on my parchment to prevent theft and other malicious intentions. Others will say it’s Sirius for meddling into someone else’s affairs and trying to prank an innocent which had gotten him hexed in the end. I will say one thing though. The scars were deliberately left there.”

“Deliberately?” Regulus mouthed out, then asked aloud, “What do you mean, deliberately?”

“When I healed him, I intentionally made the wounds scar. It serves as a reminder for him to stay out of someone else’s business.”

Regulus’ eyes flashed. “My mother threw quite a fit when she saw the scars.”

Knowing Walburga, she must’ve been more worried about what other people would think and say about the scars, than the well-being of her own son.

“I imagine so.” Hermione nodded her head, cool and indifferent. “He deserves it nonetheless. Actions have consequences. It’s time for Sirius to realize that not everyone will cater to his whims, especially not me. Not everyone is willing to be pushed over. That event will serve as his reminder.”

“A reminder to keep out of everyone’s business?” Regulus snorted.

She gave him a look. “It’s a reminder to keep out of mine.”

“I know you’re hiding there,” Hermione called out, sighing under her breath.

It took a moment or two before Barty Crouch Jr. walked out from the corner he was hiding in, his lips pulled into a pout. Hermione scrutinized him as he shuffled his feet, heading closer towards her.

It was strange, so strange, to watch the man she had killed in her previous life act like such a child in front of her.

“How did you know I was there?” Barty demanded with a stomp of his foot. Such a spoiled little kid. “I even vanished the sound of my footsteps!”

Hermione couldn’t help but let her lips quirk into a tiny smirk. “It’s a womanly secret,” she told him with a dismissive wave of her hand, before she turned on her heel and started walking away.

“W-wait!” Barty called out from behind her, catching up to her in a slightly faster pace. He slowed down next to her, peering at her at the corner of his eyes. “Seriously, how did you know I was following you?”

“Are you a woman?”

“What—Of course not!” he sputtered.

“Then, why should I tell you a woman’s secret?” She quirked an eyebrow at him, without a pause in her step.

Nearly a year since she had beaten Barty in a duel and he seemed to be intent on not letting her go. He constantly followed her everywhere, giving her gifts she didn’t ask for, and challenging her in a duel (where he always lost). He would give her books she asked (after hinting heavily that he had it) and pay close attention to what she did, just so he’d know what she liked.

She left him be, because fussing over him stalking her was a waste of her time. Besides, she knew that he would lose interest soon enough the moment he was recruited into Voldemort’s cause.

She was almost sorry for Voldemort in the future, when the time came Barty would take his mark and he’d become so obsessed with the Dark Lord, it bordered insanity.

Admittedly, she was looking forward to it.

“You’re acting so mysterious again,” the fifth year next to her snorted. “Is this what happens when someone becomes a Prefect?”

“Ah,” Hermione uttered dryly, “yes, now you’ve found out our secrets. How did you know?”

Barty narrowed his eyes at her and took one good look at her face, before he deigned to respond, “You’re fucking with me again, aren’t you?”

Hermione didn’t look at him as she raised her left hand and smacked him upside the head, ignoring the way he yelped.

“Language,” she admonished quietly.

“This is abuse!” Barty whined, but continued following after her.

Hermione hummed to herself.

Peter Pettigrew was a traitor to his best friends. He was the one who stayed by Voldemort’s side, whose fear had been so great that he had resurrected the Dark Lord rather than strangle him when he’d been nothing more than a baby. His only act of kindness towards the boy he orphaned earned him death in the end.

And yet, he was also the one who made himself an Animagus to accompany his friend during the full moon. He was the one who would give her a shy smile whenever their eyes met. He was the one who gave her knitted gloves to convey his gratitude. He was the one who blushed whenever she caught him watching her.

Barty Crouch Jr. had locked up Mad-Eye Moody in a trunk and impersonated him for nearly a year, befriending Harry and earning other people’s trust. He was so good that he even slipped past Dumbledore’s defenses. He also killed his own father and buried him in the Forbidden Forest.

And yet, he was the one who tried to ace his exams to make his father proud. He was the one who constantly tried to beat her in a duel to make her acknowledge his strength. He was the one who gave her gifts, even when she didn’t ask for them.

Regulus Black had spurned his own brother and gained the Dark Mark immediately after graduating from Hogwarts. He was so devoted to Voldemort that he was chosen to be his companion when Voldemort decided to hide his Horcrux. Although Regulus tried to amend his mistakes, his efforts were rendered futile, and he died for his troubles.

And yet, he was the one who admired his big brother and couldn’t understand where everything went wrong between them. He was the one forced to act like an adult just to gain the love his parents weren’t capable of giving. He was the one who sought her out just because he wanted to study together.

She wanted to kill them.

She wanted to save them.

What had she gotten herself into?

“Hey, Granger.”

Hermione merely flicked her gaze upwards, meeting Sirius Black’s gaze for a millisecond, before she dismissed him immediately by returning her attention to her book.

Her dismissal didn’t seem to deter him as he grabbed the unoccupied seat across her, pulling the chair noisily against the floor—no doubt to try to annoy her. Hermione’s response was flipping the page of the ancient book in her hands.

Silence ensued, neither party willing to speak first.

One minute passed.

Sirius fidgeted in his seat, twisting his body around to get himself comfortable.

Hermione merely hummed under her breath.

Two minutes passed.

Sirius drummed his fingers on the table between them.

Hermione flipped another page.

Three minutes passed.

Sirius began tapping his foot on the floor.

Hermione added a bookmark on a particular interesting page.

Four minutes passed.

Sirius began sighing in frustration, staring intently at her.

Hermione brushed a stray strand of curly brown hair away from her face.

Five minutes passed.

“Okay, enough,” Sirius hissed, finally breaking down. “I came here for a reason, not to waste my goddamn time.” He didn’t wait for her to respond—not that she would—as he immediately asked, “I saw my brother with you earlier. What’s with that?”

So Regulus was the reason why he came to the library and disturbed her? Ever since that time in their third year—with him receiving her hex after a failed attempt at sabotaging her assignments, and him trying to retaliate except they never worked—Sirius never tried approaching her again.

It was almost like she carried a plague he didn’t want to catch. He always kept his distance, no matter the setting or circumstance they found themselves in. If Hermione didn’t know any better, she would’ve thought he was afraid of her.

But no, Sirius was one of the few people among their age group that wasn’t afraid of her.

What he felt for her was much worse—she intimidated him.

Hermione knew this because she could read it plainly from his expression alone. She had spent a long time with the older version of Sirius and this younger one was easier to read than the other.

Right now, Sirius looked at her like he wanted to crack her skull open just to get the answers he sought.

“He wanted to ask me something,” she replied, a bland note to her voice.

“That’s it?” he asked, scowling at her. “Regulus never speaks to people unless he considers them worth his time. What did you do to catch his attention?”

Hermione tilted her head to the side, her eyes moving from the words on her book to the deep lines between Sirius’ eyes.

“Do I need to do anything to catch attention?” she retorted.

Sirius’ jaw dropped, stunned by her response, before he scoffed. “Yes, because Merlin forbid that you don’t get attention wherever you go.”

“A statement that applies perfectly for you than for me.” Hermione leaned against her chair, crossing her arms over her chest. Her book levitated in front of her now that she wasn’t holding it. “Why else have you approached me, Sirius? Worried that I’m going to do something to your brother?”

Sirius’ eyes flashed and he hissed, “You know damn well that I’m worried about him when you’re the one involved.” His fingers flexed on the table, the silver scars stretched taut across the back of his hands. “You’re a crazy and ruthless witch. You’re not right in the head, Granger, and everyone knows it.”

Hermione didn’t disagree with his statement. After all, there was bound to be something wrong with her head after spending three lifetimes, where two of those times were full lives reaching up to a century.

Hermione stared at him for a moment, then said, “You and your brother have a habit of hissing at me.”

She leaned forward slightly and gave him a slight smile. Sirius froze in his seat.

“I wonder what sound you’ll make if I transfigure you two into cats?” she commented with an idle tone of voice. “All the hissing and the bristling—I always wanted a familiar.”

Sirius bolted out of his seat and high-tailed out of the library without any word. Hermione frowned to herself.

Sirius left far too early for her to enjoy taunting him completely. But then again, there was bound to be a next time. She was looking forward to it.

Terrible things happened to wizards who meddled with time.

But what about a witch who stumbled through the past? Not just one, but twice? What about a witch who lived her life for three times?

What would happen to her?

What terrible thing awaited her?

Crazy gray eyes. A crudely drawn scar. Mudblood. Shrilly laughter of a madman. The dead body of Harry Potter.

Hermione opened her eyes and bolted from her bed, heaving lungful of air into her lungs as cold sweat dripped from her face. Her eyes adjusted in the dark, grateful that the curtains around her bed silenced her loud screams. The last thing she needed was for the other occupants in the room witnessing her crying for her ghosts.

It had been a long time since she’d dreamed of her first life. It had been longer since she dreamed of the war.

Her body might be unmarred and untouched by the horrors and tragedies of a war, but her soul carried thousands of scars that remained unhealed.

People oftentimes feared death, but Hermione thought they were being stupid.

People should fear life itself.

Because it would never grant them the reprieve that only death could give.

She would know.

You only died once.

Everyday was a life yet to live.

How many days did she still have?

How many tomorrows would she still have to greet?

What would it take to stop this madness?

How many deaths would it take to end this nightmare?

Hermione read books, not because she was researching or entertaining herself, but because she wanted to see the disparities of information between the past and the future.

She noted the errors. She wrote about improvements. She discovered hidden gems. She explored ancient relics and artifacts of the past.

The magic during this time was undeniably more potent than it was in the future. Spells were casted faster and easier; magical creatures and plants were more abundant and stronger.

Everything appeared more vibrant with the force of magic cackling in the air like electric current.

Magic had never been like this in her other two lives. It was more muted, more condensed, like a thick fog too hard to inhale.

The decline of magic—a possibility that muggleborns were always blamed for.

What could she do, Hermione wondered, to save something that was already dying?

Lily and Marlene sprung apart when Hermione came into their dormitory. The girls were sitting on the couch, their clothes disheveled and their lips swollen. Guilty eyes darted to the side as they were unable to meet her gaze.

Lily—with her Gryffindor tie askew and tangled red hair—clutched at the hem of her robes. Marlene—whose skirt had ridden up to reveal her mid-thighs—looked down at her feet.

Hermione merely closed the door shut, and said in a detached sort of voice, “Congratulations.”

Both of their head snapped towards her, eyes wide.

“W-what?” Marlene sputtered. “What are you talking about?”

Hermione tilted her head to the side. “Aren’t you two together already? If not, then I apologize for misunderstanding. Have a nice day.”

She was about to walk to her side of the dorm, when Lily suddenly stood up and called for her name. Hermione had no choice but to look back, one of her eyebrows raised.

“Y-you aren’t…” Lily seemed to struggle for a moment before her face hardened, determination urging her forward, “You aren’t uncomfortable with Marlene and I being a couple? That we’re together? That we’re in love with each other?”

“Should I be?”

Marlene also stood up. “Why shouldn’t you?”

Ah, she had nearly forgotten that this time wasn’t particularly kind to same-sex couples. The Wizarding World had a conservative view when it came to relationships. Birth rates among purebloods were low and the number of muggleborns were dwindling. They would never accept same-sex relationships when it meant that the couple could no longer produce healthy, magical children.

Hermione had something to add to her list once again. Namely: surrogacy and magical transference. She would have to research rituals later or improve the one she already studied about in one of her lives.

“Well?” Lily’s voice intruded into her thoughts, and Hermione realized she hadn’t answered their question, too busy thinking about important things.

Hermione’s brows furrowed for the briefest moment. “Are you happy?”

Both girls were stunned by what she asked. She waited for them to reply, turning around to face them with a patience of a saint.

It was Marlene who recovered first to answer her.

“We are,” she said, glancing at Lily.

Lily looked back at her girlfriend and nodded her head, her green eyes soft—the same way Harry’s eyes used to look when he fell in love.

“That’s good, then,” Hermione said with a shrug.

“You don’t think we’re… freaks?” Lily asked, hesitating.

Hermione’s blood ran cold.

Freak—she never liked that word.

For a long time, Harry had been called a freak by the Dursleys. No doubt, Petunia—Lily’s muggle sister—had first started that moniker. It seemed that Hermione’s list of priorities would continue to grow.

“Listen here and listen well,” Hermione began, her eyes darkening, her voice deep and low in a way that commanded everyone’s attention. Both girls couldn’t help but pay extra close attention to her. “You are not freaks, both of you. There’s nothing wrong with you just because you happened to fall in love with the same sex. You just happened to fall in love, that’s all, and there’s nothing wrong with that. Many people will state otherwise, but those people aren’t you. You shouldn’t be ashamed nor should you be shamed for knowing what love is.”

Hermione didn’t wait for them to react, turning on her heel and going towards her bed. She drew the curtains closed and laid in her bed, her mind racing, a touch of pity taking root in her heart for the love that Lily and Marlene harbored for each other.

For how long would this love last, if James Potter and Lily Evans were destined to be together?

What would happen to her Harry then?

They said that a tiny flap of butterfly wings could cause a hurricane on the other side of the world; that the tiniest actions might have the deadliest consequences.

When Hermione came to 1971, she knew she had to change things.

But what could she change when the story was already changing without her interference?

Was it even the same story in the first place?

“I love you.”

Hermione heard Lily whispering in the dead of the night, behind the curtains surrounding Marlene’s bed. Her quill paused above her parchment, eyes staring at the words she’d written.

Hermione heard Marlene giggle and she couldn’t help but smile to herself.

Such youthful innocence—such simple love.

“I love you too,” Marlene replied.

It was almost a pity that it wouldn’t last.

"Are you simply not tired of the amount of shit that comes out of your mouth?!" Lily’s scream punctuated the air with a shrill.

It had been such a fine morning as well, before Lily’s loud noise had pierced it into something ugly.

Hermione lowered her book and watched as Lily stood up from her seat, towering over James who sat on the dining table. With his shoulders raised, his head lowered, and his face a mask of pure hurt, he looked far too small and meek for someone so loud.

"I just need one morning—just one!—before I get harassed by your arrogant, stupid ass! How many times do l have to hear you prattle on before you realize that I don't care?!” Lily continued, either oblivious to James’ pain or just plain ignoring it. “I don't care about you or what you like or whatever idiocy you come up with. When will you get it in your head that I will never have feelings for you?! Seriously, just back off! Your so-called love is suffocating me!"

Lily stormed away, the shade in her cheeks matching her hair, a scowl twisting the pretty features on her face. Hermione looked back at James, who had hung his head, hands limp on his thighs. But then he snapped his head up, his face cleared off of pain or worry, his lips stretched into a confident grin.

Hermione wondered if she was the only person who thought that his smile looked particularly painful.

After all, it didn’t match the sorrow lingering in his eyes.

They said the third time was the charm.

The Power of Three had always existed in the Wizarding World.

Invisibility Cloak. Elder Wand. Resurrection Stone.

Harry. Voldemort. Dumbledore.

James. Snape. Lily.

Harry. Ron. Hermione.

Three destinies entwined.

Three times she lived her life.

Life. Death. Resurrection.

She intended to live her third life with the plan to change things, to save lives, and to prevent wars.

To give Harry the future he deserved with the parents he lost in both of her lifetimes.

As she watched Lily hold hands with Marlene, a shy smile gracing both of their lips, both discreet with their actions. She glanced at James Potter staring Lily on the side, too blinded by his own love to notice Lily’s affections turning to someone else.

And she wondered what terrible things the future held for them.

James. Lily. Marlene.

The Power of Three decided to strike again.

What did it mean to live for a hippogriff?

Answers continued to elude her and she found herself at a loss of what to do in this strange time of quietude.

In the process of trying to find a purpose during each life, Hermione had forgotten one important thing.

She forgot herself.

Hermione felt the brush of an ancient artifact in the air as she rounded into an otherwise empty corridor. She walked forward, her face devoid of any expression, her feet gradually stopping beside the area where the magic was the strongest.

She swiped her hand in the air, felt a silky—invisible—garment in her grasp, and pulled.

It was the Invisibility Cloak. That meant—

She looked at the person hiding beneath the cloak.

James Potter smiled sheepishly at her.

Harry’s smile.

He had Harry’s face.

Her best friend’s face was being worn by a familiar stranger.

Hermione’s eyes burned. She spent so long trying to avoid him, not even letting herself look at him, not even for a split second.

Because his face made her realize that her memories of Harry was starting to fade, and she could handle anything but that.

“Granger…” he said, shuffling his feet awkwardly. “Fancy meeting you here, so late at night. What’s up?”

Hermione’s eyes iced over.

Fate really had a funny way of toying with the tormented.

What did it mean to live for Hermione Granger?

Hermione let James Potter cling to her as he sobbed his heart out, the Invisibility Cloak hiding them from view. She casted a Muffliato to hide their noise, and let him embrace her as if she was his last hope.

And she, in turn, allowed herself to wrap both arms around him.

This was the first time she’d ever been close to someone; the last person she embraced was Harry, before she succumbed to death.

The floor was cold under her, and the walls were chilly against her back.

But James Potter was warm.

It was the warmest she’d ever been since she came to 1971.

Chapter Text

James turned around the corner and stopped when he saw the flash of red hair and heard a familiar laughter. Dread pooled in his stomach when he saw Lily walking towards his direction, talking animatedly with Marlene.

Her green eyes sparkled like the shimmering depths of the sea. Her lips pulled into a smile that rivaled the radiance of the sun. Her cheeks glowed like a newly blossomed rose.

All while she was staring at Marlene, who was chattering about something.

She looked so in love—wearing the same expression he wore when he learned he fell in love with her—that it hurt.

As if sensing his presence, Lily’s gaze jumped to his.

He bolted.

James felt like he could see everything so clearly now.

It felt like the rose-tinted glasses he viewed the world with had finally shattered under the weight of his newfound discovery. He felt as if he was standing in the eye of the storm, and all he could do was watch as the entire world swept and tore itself apart while he remained in his place—unmoved, untouched—but changing within.

It hadn’t been that way, at first.

The first few weeks after learning about Lily’s true relationship with her (female) friend, he’d spent them in a daze. He honestly couldn’t remember what he did during those times; all he remembered was what he felt.

He alternated between deep, intense sorrow and cold, hard determination. Sometimes, he found himself unable to get out of bed, unable to sleep, and unable to eat. Sometimes, he found more energy to laugh, to cause trouble, and to be loud.

Like the tides, his emotions ebbed and flowed. Sometimes tremendously crashing and overwhelming his senses; other times, it was gentle and slow.

It hurt. It was a pain like no other. He woke up with a weight in his chest and every damn time before he slept, he would wish it would be gone the next day.

But no longer would he try to risk his life to wash away the pain, not by flying nor dueling. He would no longer seek someone else out to cause hurt just because he was. He knew better. Causing pain to others or to himself would only be a temporary fix, but not a permanent solution. In the end, it would all come down on him until he crumbled apart.

His friends helped.

After discovering Lily and Marlene’s relationship and crying his heart out to Granger, he returned to the dormitory he shared with his best friends with swollen, red eyes, and dry tear stains across his cheeks. As soon as he got to their room, he collapsed on the floor, prompting his friends to panic.

Sirius had been alarmed when he saw his state. He ranted and raved, pacing and waving about the entire room, asking loudly and incessantly what happened to make James look like a wreck.

Remus had taken a place by his side, wiping his face and murmuring consoling words to his ears, ushering him to his bed and urging him to change his clothes.

Peter had alternated between trying to calm Sirius down and fetching James a few things to comfort him, like a blanket around his shoulders and the cup of steaming tea he asked from a House Elf.

They all worried while James could only stare listlessly at his hands.

It took a while for him to answer, enough for his voice to pierce through the noise Sirius made.

“I’m tired,” James said, voice hoarse. Everyone went quiet, until his words were the only sounds they could hear. Broken and wretched, they came out of his mouth in erratic syllables. “I really, really want to move on from Evans. It hurts. I don’t want this pain anymore. Please, please, take me away from this pain.”

Sirius reddened with fury. “What the hell did she do to you, that fucking bitch?”

Of course, of course, their go-to assumption was Lily doing something to hurt James again. They knew how vicious Lily could be. Just as James was unrestrained from showing his affections, she too was unrestrained from showing her dislike.

Sirius disliked her out of loyalty for James. He thought Lily didn’t deserve James, but had no other option but to help his best friend when it came to pursuing her. Still, James wasn’t going to let Sirius call her names when Lily was utterly innocent and blameless.

James shook his head, his heart tugging inside of his chest. “She never did anything to me. This is all my fault. I’m just… I’m the one that keeps on holding on and making things difficult for myself. I’m the one who wants to move on, but not doing anything about it. I’m the one to blame for my own heartache. I’m the one who keeps on wanting, and Evans is perfectly entitled to reject me. I just… want to stop, because I want to know and feel what love truly is. I… want that,” he finished with a quiet sigh.

Merlin, he truly wanted.

As a child, he had always been in love with love itself. How could he not be? He had the prime example of such unconditional love in the form of his parents. They were the epitome of love overcoming odds themselves. He’d heard the stories from both family, friends, and strangers, and he wanted. The reason why he held onto Lily for as long as he did was because he wanted to fight for the love he believed in.

The love that only he believed in.

“What brought this on, James?” Remus asked beside him.

He chuckled, bringing a hand up to his hair to mess it up. “I… I just discovered how pathetic I am, wasting my life away for someone who would never return my affections.”

He wasted so much time, but he didn’t want to think that it was nothing more than wasted time. His fierce loyalty and his blazing passion for Lily couldn’t be a waste, even though the ending wasn’t the outcome he’d expected.

It couldn’t be wasted time when he’d been open with his interest and affections, not shying away or backing out despite Lily’s rejections. The only thing he regretted was not stopping things earlier than he should’ve. But the rest he could not regret, because he did love.

He loved.

That was more than what people could feel or experience.

Because of Lily, he knew how to love ardently—selfishly and inconsiderately—and he learned the kind of love he no longer wanted to give, may it be to Lily or to someone else.

“I want to experience a love that isn’t at the expense of losing myself,” James continued. “I want a love that is reciprocated, a love that doesn’t make me feel wretched. I want a love that grants me… peace and quiet. Someone to tide my storm, when everything else is hopeless.”

Because for a long time, loving Lily hadn’t brought him the good high one would get when flying. All the good feelings associated with love had swiftly vanished throughout the years until all that remained was a bundle of nerves, anxiety, and remorse.

“Please…” He looked at his friends, his eyes tinged red at the corners. “Help me, please.”

And they did—in their own ways—as delicately as they could.

They helped James avoid Lily, or at least stop him from acknowledging her in his own, stupid fashion.

Sirius would introduce and talk about other people, although he stopped when James told him it was far too soon, so now he would distract him with Quidditch and pranking. Remus would talk about new, interesting information about their shared favorite subjects. Peter would encourage him to find new hobbies. They did all they could to help him.

They didn’t speak or talk about Lily, at least not around him. Sirius would ignore her presence, and was even hostile whenever he encountered her. Remus and Peter were more cordial, except of the new distance they insisted upon her. James was grateful, although it was unnecessary to put so much pressure and blame on Lily when she’d done nothing wrong.

Lily was confused by the new treatment the Marauders were treating her with, baffled by the way James continued to ignore and avoid her. James knew as much when others began asking about it, mentioning how Lily was bewildered by his strange behavior.

He merely told him that he was moving on, which most of them found surprising.

It seemed that most of Hogwarts population were certain he would continue chasing Lily to the ends of the earth with the way he was throwing himself at her feet.

James didn’t and couldn’t blame them. He had felt that way before.

But now Lily was in love, was in a relationship with someone, and James needed to move forward otherwise he would rot in his stagnation.

He couldn’t bear with himself to wait for her or to wish for her and Marlene’s break-up. It would be too cruel, too heartless. He would never forgive himself if he wished for someone’s—reciprocated—love to fade.

He loved Lily enough to let her go.

And he loved himself enough to move on without her.

“People really don’t like me,” a first year Slytherin boy whispered to Granger, one hand grabbing her robes in a fist as they walked down to the dungeons.

It was late at night. James was trailing after Granger once again, having muffled his footsteps and cloak. Earlier, Granger had found the Slytherin boy hiding behind an alcove and decided to usher him back to his house.

“Why do you say that?” Granger asked, looking ahead.

“They say so,” the boy muttered, walking closer to her as the hallway lights turned dim. “My roommates… I’m a half-blood. When they found out I’m a half-blood, they didn’t like me after that.”

He watched as Granger placed a hand on top of the Slytherin boy’s head, her lips a terse line across her face, but her icy eyes radiated a warmth he’d only ever seen directed at children, never at them. The little boy ducked his head when he saw her expression, a deep blush dusting his cheeks.

And really, James couldn’t blame him for his reaction.

In the darkly lit hallway, Granger shined like a star, and they were nothing more than planets orbiting and making her their sun.

“If they can’t see your worth,” Granger said, rubbing his head, “then prove yourself to them. If they continue to remain blind, then stop. Don’t chase another person’s approval; only chase your own. If you spend your whole life trying to please everyone, then you will please no one. Not everyone is going to like you, and this time at Hogwarts will only be a blip in your story, not the entirety of it.”

They stopped in front of the dungeon. A large snake statue ready to lunge bore witness to Granger sitting on one knee, placing a forefinger under the boy’s chin. She looked at him with placid eyes that seemed to glow in the dark.

“You are in Slytherin because you are worthy of it, make no mistake. Don’t let them make you feel otherwise because they don’t know better. The Hat put you here for a reason, you chose Slytherin for a reason, so prove to yourself that you deserve to be in Slytherin. Work hard, be smart. They will rue the day they ever doubted you.”

The boy looked at her with stars in his eyes, inhaling a deep breath before giving her a decisive nod.

“Thanks, Miss Granger,” the boy said before he scurried towards the dungeons.

James waited for a moment before taking off his cloak while Granger stood on her feet, dusting off dirt from her knees.

“You really don’t discriminate, huh?” James muttered as he walked next to her. She gave him a sideways glance, prompting him to elaborate. “Slytherins, Hufflepuffs… There’s stigma when it comes to associating with people from another house, but you… you don’t really care about that. If another Prefect found that boy, they would’ve deducted points and went to a Slytherin Prefect to make sure that boy is punished, but you—you offered him… comfort. You didn’t threaten him with punishment nor did you punish him just because he’s in a different house. You tried to help him instead.”

“He’s a child,” Granger said, looking ahead. “We all are. We’re allowed to have moments of weaknesses, and we shouldn’t be punished for it. He’s a young boy who’s struggling to find his place in this very strange system Hogwarts placed us in. I can’t punish him for being a child learning how to grow up.”

James went silent. Together, they marched towards Gryffindor tower, the silence accompanying them the entire way.

Aside from his friends, another person was helping him through the painful process of—genuinely—moving on.

It was Granger.

Whenever he found himself unable to sleep, he sought her out at night. No longer would he avoid the corridors or spaces that showed her name in the Marauders Map.

Rather, he would seek her presence in the dead of the night, finding peace and comfort in her when the world fell quiet. He found comfort in the silence with her oddly enough.

And Granger never complained.

She would take one good look at him then look away, and he knew that meant he could stay. She’d continue her duties as a Prefect and he would trail after her under his Invisibility Cloak. Once she was done, she would pause and wait for him to fall into step beside her, before they would proceed to the Gryffindor tower.

She never said a word.

She didn’t need to.

Granger was an unconventional entity he found himself drawn to. He couldn’t still call her a friend, but he found himself with her most nights. Theirs was a connection made and forged in the dark halls of the castle stone walls. It was a relationship found and thrived in the dark.

The more he spent time with her, the more he got to know that Granger was… something else. Her heart might be made out of stone, but it didn’t stop her from reaching out to the lost.

It was strange. He’d known Granger for six years. She was his housemate and his classmate for a lot of subjects, and yet, this was the only time he felt he had ever truly gotten to known her.

He found comfort in her silence; a sanctuary that he hadn’t expected he would found in her; a type of personal haven—his personal haven. His pain didn’t lessen, but his restless thoughts quieted in the presence of the formidable Hermione Granger. With Granger by his side, he felt his mind went clearer—his thoughts less chaotic—and he could think and ruminate over his actions for the next day.

With Granger, he didn’t feel the need to vocalize his feelings or thoughts loudly. He didn’t need to jump through hoops or act in a certain way to get her attention.

He could just be.

James never thought he would even want to just be, but with Granger—only with Granger—he found himself wanting and needing it.

Her presence was a soothing balm to his soul, even when he wasn’t certain she felt the same way. She must’ve tolerated him if she let him break curfew with her.

Granger was Granger.

She was righteous and a stickler for rules, but she was willing to bend them and make compromises for the sake of one’s well-being. She took care of people her own way, and never tried to ask anything in return. She kept to herself most of the time, and was completely antisocial, but she’d returned the courtesy and energy given to her.

She never tried to be anyone other than herself, living by the ideals, values, and standards she held herself to. She humbled him in that way.

In her consistency, he found himself changed.

And really, it almost felt like the beginning of another tragedy.

It was a full moon night and James found himself in the Shrieking Shack as Prongs, along with Moony, Padfoot, and Wormtail. Normally, when they accompanied Moony during the full moon, he would settle around them and be calm throughout the night until the moon passed.

However, this night was different. Moony seemed agitated as he paced in the Shrieking Shack, sniffing and howling as he went around and back. He constantly bounded to the trapdoor in the shrieking shack, sniffing at the lock and scratching at the hinges, growling occasionally before whimpering and back to scratching. It admittedly made them nervous.

Padfoot tried distracting him with games, but Moony merely huffed and ignored him. Padfoot and Prongs shared a confused look. It was harder to communicate when they were in their Animagus form, and considering that Moony was a werewolf, they couldn’t exactly transform back to being humans without getting mauled.

After many years of building trust with a werewolf, they were now considered pack—Moony’s family—but that didn’t include their human counterparts.

When Moony paced back to the trapdoor again, Padfoot barked, wagging his tail and bumping into the werewolf playfully. On Padfoot’s head was Wormtail, scurrying over to Moony’s head to his shoulders. Moony huffed and ignored Padfoot as he scratched at the trapdoor.

It was all too sudden for them to comprehend.

But then the trapdoor swung open with one of Moony’s scratches, and without hesitation, the werewolf leaped out of the room, leaving the Animagi stunned. Padfoot barked, breaking them out of their stupor, and the three of them immediately darted towards the werewolf.

It felt like fifth year all over again, except Snape was no longer on the other side of the door, and they were all desperately trying to prevent Moony from creating a rampage.

Moony was running far ahead in the Forbidden Forest, evading the Whomping Willow’s swinging branches with his keen senses. They wouldn’t have been able to catch up if it weren’t for Wormtail, who scurried from Padfoot’s head and tapped on the spot that froze the Whomping Willow.

It must’ve been comical to see a dog looking eerily similar to a grim, a harmless deer, and a scurrying rat trying to chase after a werewolf when it was usually the other way around.

Prongs could see Moony halting a few feet away from them, making him huff in relief. Except that relief turned to horror when he saw the reason why Moony stopped.

Granger was standing in the middle of the Forbidden Forest as if she was taking a midnight walk. Prongs’ mind paused.

What was she doing here?! What was she doing?! She wasn’t supposed to be here—she was supposed to be inside the castle where there wasn’t a werewolf ready to fucking maul her!

Granger paused when she met a looming werewolf just ahead of her. They all froze. Time seemed to cease. Moony huffed at Granger’s face. Something in Prongs’ brain cracked, and Granger—Granger fucking frowned.

“You stink,” she commented—out of all things she could say with a werewolf in front of her. As if not caring the ramifications of her situation, she hummed in contemplation, her eyes half-lidded in a lackadaisical manner. “I should really create a new candy for werewolf breaths.”

Who had time to think about candy when they had a werewolf in front of them?!

Moony growled. Prongs held his breath, digging his hoofs into the ground, readying himself to jump in between the witch and the werewolf. But then Granger grabbed Moony’s snout shut with one hand without even sparing him a glance, cutting off his growls. Prongs nearly had a heart attack.

“Shut up,” she snapped, “I can’t think when someone’s being too loud.”

Prongs’, Padfoot’s, and Wormtail’s eyes met, each of them conveying the same thought to one another: Granger was fucking insane.

But Moony, oddly enough, didn’t snap or maul her as they had assumed. Instead, the werewolf sat on his hind like an obedient dog, and Prongs felt another crack on his brain when Granger let go of his snout and just stood there—didn’t even run or cry or scream for help.

What the heck was going on.

“I see you’re out and about once again, werewolf,” Granger said, her gaze darting towards them. She tilted her head. “I see you’ve brought friends as well.”

Moony huffed, his tail wagging.

What the actual fuck.

Granger hummed lightly under her breath. “You should’ve been at the shack, but you must’ve gotten a whiff of my scent to have come here.”

Moony stuck his tongue out, breathing through his mouth. Granger wrinkled her nose and stepped back.

“Don’t breathe in front of my face,” she said, and Moony shut his mouth.

Really, what the fuck.

Granger’s face smoothened over to her normal, neutral expression. She then rummaged into her messenger bag and took out what Prongs could see was a fat, juicy steak. Even Padfoot perked his ears up seeing the food. She then threw the steak at Moony, who caught the meat with his mouth.

“Don’t stray from the shack too much,” she said, raising her hand to pat—pat!—Moony’s head. And the werewolf let—let!—her. “And don’t go near the trail. Other students might see you, and might cause a ruckus. The last thing I want is to babysit grown children.”

Moony whined under his breath but Granger merely turned her back and walked away, unafraid and bold, leaving them all stupefied, staring at her back.

Really. What. The. Fuck.

“She really did that?” Remus asked in disbelief the morning after the strange incident with Granger. “That can’t be possible…”

They were surrounding the werewolf in the Hospital Wing. James was sitting at the end of Remus’ cot, the curtains closed around them, granting them a bit of privacy.

“I’m telling you, it was real, and it was freaky,” Sirius replied with a shudder, flexing his fingers as if reminding them of the scars at the back of his hand. “I mean, I’ve always known that Granger was insane, but it was really unhinged how she just… recklessly approached you. And she even gave you steak! What the fuck is up with that witch? She’s not human, I’m telling you.”

James pursed his lips, his stomach churning at Sirius’ statements about Granger. While they were mostly true, he couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable at his friend’s negative view of the elusive witch.

Remus squirmed in his place, gaze darting to his side table, before looking back at them. “I…” he began, hesitation lacing around his voice. “I’m… actually not surprised.”

“What do you mean?” Peter asked, watery blue eyes wide.

Remus gave them an apologetic twist of his mouth. “Granger knows… what I am. She knows that I’m a werewolf.”

James’ jaw dropped and Sirius shook his head in denial.

“She’s been visiting me for as long as I can remember,” Remus continued, voice subdued. “Ever since third year, she’s been coming over in the Hospital Wing after the full moon to give me chocolate. She doesn’t even say anything. She just gives me chocolate and then leaves. I… she’s…”

James didn’t know what to think nor feel. He could only stare at his friend.

“That can’t be right,” Sirius muttered, looking as though he’d been struck by a Bludger, unable to fathom Granger’s actions.

Most of the Wizarding World considered werewolves to be dangerous, lethal, and dark creatures. People shunned them, even most of the muggleborns, for the sole reason that werewolves were cursed. Even James, Sirius, and Peter struggled to accept Remus for a while before coming into the idea that their friend was slightly different from them.

But Granger—Granger knew Remus was a werewolf and never treated him differently.

Remus’ voice turned quieter as his gaze lowered to his lap. “She’s one of the first people who treated me kindly after knowing who and what I am.”

“Again.”

Expulso. Confringo. Petrificus Totalus.

“Again.”

Aguamenti. Bombarda. Expelliarmus.

“Again.”

James was heaving heavy breaths of air into his lungs, having just finished his duel. Across him, Sirius was sitting on the makeshift podium, tie askew, dripping of sweat. Turning his head to the side, he watched as Hermione and her victim of the day—er, her dueling partner, rather—faced off with each other on a much taller and longer podium.

Barty Crouch Jr. was panting under his breath, his eyes fluttering at the sweat dripping down from his forehead. He swiped the sweat off from his face and threw off his Ravenclaw robes—singed at the tips by the Confringo—revealing a plain shirt and black slacks.

The Dueling Club wasn’t always an active one, although most students opted to join when Quidditch try-outs finished. People weren’t required to attend since the sheer number of members were too many to count. Professor Flitwick might be the facilitator, but he was more focused with the Hogwarts choir than the club, despite being a three times Dueling Champion himself.

For all intents and purposes, it was truly Granger who managed the entire club. Overseeing the duels, patching up wounds, conducting meetings—she took her presidential duties as seriously as she took her prefect ones. And like sheep, they fell in line because they knew how deadly she could be with or without a wand.

Normally, James went to the Dueling Club when he needed some physical release of some sort. However, he came this day with another purpose: to watch Hermione Granger’s duel. And—he looked around and noted the number of heads gathered around, all turned towards the same direction—it seemed that he wasn’t the only one watching.

“She’s a bloody monster,” Sirius muttered to him as soon as he came to his side, still catching his breath, narrowed eyes trained on Granger who—for all intents and purposes—looked as though she was merely loitering about.

James swallowed on dry mouth and nodded his head. Granger brandished her wand, her back straight, her eyes listless but sharp as she stared at Crouch. Crouch wiped the sweat from his chin and then made the dueling stance, lifting his wand and pointing it towards her with trembling fingers.

“Again,” he rasped.

“He’s suicidal,” Sirius muttered with a sneer. “He’s really just… I don’t know, relentless? Crazy? Why would he even do this to himself in front of everyone?”

James didn’t deny his friend’s words. Everyone knew at Hogwarts that Crouch was a tiny bit—read: a lot—obsessed with Granger. James had seen him following and chasing after her from time to time as well. Granger didn’t seem bothered by his company though, allowing him to pester her or rather, letting him. If James didn’t know any better, he would say that she was indulging him.

Granger looked at her gold pocket watch with a hint of frown. “This is the last one. I still have a Charms homework to finish,” she said as she closed her pocket watch with a snap before slipping it under her robes.

Crouch didn’t need to be told twice. He jabbed his wand, crying out an incantation, “Expulso,” before leaping to the side in anticipation to Granger’s next spell.

Granger merely stepped to the side, wand steady, eyes alert, before disposing three spells at once. Not that they heard or she spoke or anything. She didn’t even need to open her mouth, she merely tilted her wand, and Crouch went flying back a few feet away from her, almost at the edge of the podium. When he stood, he slid on the ice beneath his feet, and then his wand came flying to Hermione’s awaiting hand.

As if that wasn’t enough, Hermione had put Crouch in a body-bind and knocked him out before he could say anything. James shuddered as Crouch slumped on the floor, unconscious and unaware, and Granger took out her pocket watch and hummed to herself.

“I even have five minutes to spare,” she remarked to herself before she turned on her heel and walked down the podium.

Sirius flexed his fingers, pulling the scars across the back of hands. James watched her walking with her head held high, the crowd parting automatically for him. He could feel the chills down his spine, a reminder that Granger wasn’t meant to be messed with.

Then Sirius darted from his side towards Granger, and James felt his mouth drop open when he stopped in front of her.

“Got five minutes to spare for me, Granger?” Sirius asked, twirling his wand in his hand.

Granger looked at Sirius like he was shit on the street she almost stepped on. “One minute,” she said and went back to the center podium.

His stomach churned as he hurried to the front of the gathering crowd, stuck in an awkward position between two friends. He didn’t know whether he wanted Sirius to win or Granger. But then again, everyone knew of the likely outcome of this duel.

Granger never lost—not against another student—not even against a Professor. She was the three-times Dueling Champion for a reason because she was never beaten.

It was almost tragic, like some sort of Greek epic, as Sirius raised his wand—before he could utter a spell—he’d already fallen down to the floor, stiff and immobilized. Granger merely tilted her head, staring at him the way a person would observe a dead body, before leaving the podium.

When Granger left, some Ravenclaw woke Crouch up with a spell, and he sat up with a start, looking around him.

“Where’s Granger?” Crouch demanded as he accepted the wand offered to him, dispelling the binds that Granger left him with.

He didn’t even wait for a reply, immediately jumping to his feet, and running towards the exit.

James watched him leave, heart in his throat, before he rushed to his friend and dispelled the spell Granger struck him with. Sirius nearly bolted from the floor, breathing heavily.

“Fuck, I lost, didn’t I? Did I even last a minute?”

James grimaced. “Er…”

Sirius swore, grabbing and messing his hair, “I need a drink.”

James breathed out. “Kitchens?”

“Kitchens.”

“Potter.”

He froze when he heard her say his name, his heart thumping painfully against his chest, he felt a crack on his ribcage. Still, he braced himself as he faced her with a wide and cheeky smile.

“Evans,” he nearly howled due to his nerves, raising his hand to ruffle his hair—a habit betraying his anxiety. He felt jittery as she approached her, a frown on her lips. He clenched his fists to his sides.

Always a frown, never a smile. He could never make her happy, not the way Marlene could.

“Do you know where Remus is? Professor McGonagall is looking for him or something,” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

He wanted to sink into the ground and hide from her evergreen eyes. He wanted for the sky to open up and strike him with lightning to stop the earthquakes in his heart.

“I don’t know actually, but when I see him, I’ll tell him about it, yeah?” he said with a tilt to his head, causing her to furrow her brow.

“Fine,” she said, turning on her heel and leaving.

He pursed his lips, his jaw clenching as he watched her walk away. How many more times would he watch her back before his heart gave in?

James was following after Granger under his Invisibility Cloak. He wasn’t a Prefect like Granger, so he didn’t have the same privileges as hers, which meant that his nightly routine had to be done discreetly. It was only when they were walking back to the Gryffindor dormitory that he would take off his Invisibility Cloak.

The entire night was spent in complete silence, as usual. Granger did her bit as a prefect, her strides confident and unhesitant. She walked with purpose as she went about her rounds catching wayward students. Admittedly, Granger was the best prefect Hogwarts ever had. Just one look at her intimidating stare and imposing figure—quite rivaling Professor McGonagall, which he didn’t thought was possible—and every person she caught immediately apologized profusely before scampering off.

James swore it was a talent of hers.

They walked around for a while with Granger’s muted Lumos lighting the path. They turned around the corner and James’ inhaled sharply once he recognized the tapestry by the corner, the paintings on the wall—

This was where he met his downfall.

It was suddenly hard to breathe.

Passing through, he could almost see himself standing in the corner, frozen in place as Lily and Marlene appeared and revealed their love in the dark.

Something stuck in his throat, sharp and hard, and when he gulped it down, he couldn’t feel the way it dropped to his stomach. He looked down at his feet as he followed after Granger, willing for his legs to move when it felt like poison coursed through his veins.

He could only breathe easily when they left the corridor, turning around the corner yet again. Once they had, his knees weakened and dropped to the floor. He breathed deeply, gulping in large amounts of air, seeing nothing as he stared at the floor.

He heard footsteps, and his Invisibility Cloak suddenly raised and there was Granger, with her Lumos light and her Devil Snare hair, and he suddenly found himself breathing easily as he stared into her bottomless eyes.

Gold.

Her eyes—gold—they were gold—why had he never noticed that before?

He blinked his eyes—hazel—and let out a shuddered breath. Gulping through dry throat, he chuckled, the sound weary.

“Sorry about that,” he rasped. “Just—I—I lost some strength in my knees for some reason.”

She pursed her lips, her eyelashes lowering to give him a half-lidded stare. Something caught in his throat, this one less painful, and he couldn’t find it in himself to swallow.

“Just… some days are harder than others,” he explained, compelled despite her lack of questions. “I—I am moving on though. I’m trying. I’m… trying so hard. But… but it doesn’t mean that I’m n-not—struggling sometimes. I—I”—his voice lowered to a near wretched whisper—“I loved her for six years after all.”

It wasn’t an easy love. It wasn’t a requited love. It wasn’t a great love. It wasn’t an everlasting, true love. But it was a long love—it was a love difficult to forget—it was a love that defined him in many ways that now he felt at lost on what to do.

Granger was still staring at him, now with a tilt to her head, her expression unreadable. She was crouching on the floor, her knees tucked to her chest, one arm lifted to spread the Lumos light between them while the other arm was over her knees. She dipped her chin to her arm, head still tilted.

She was close—so close—too close—that he could feel the brush of her warm, minty breath against his face and he was struck with a sudden bout of shyness that he had to look down at the floor.

Her eyelashes were longer than he realized.

And her eyes were so bright, it could’ve had a light on its own.

Suddenly, he felt her fingers carding through his hair and his muscles stiffened, because what in hell was going on?

She was touching him. She was touching his hair, running her fingers through it, and then patting his head just like one would do to a dog. His heart sounded so loud in his ears, that when her hand left his hair, he heard a loud thump in his chest before his heartbeat settled.

Merlin, was he really going to get a heart attack at his age?

“You did good, James,” she said abruptly that his head whipped up, eyes wide with surprise and disbelief.

But that was all she said, and she began moving back, and he didn’t know why but his hand shot up and grabbed her arm and she was now looking back at him, eyebrows raised, a hint of question in her eyes.

His mouth suddenly went dry as he asked, unable to pull his gaze from her, “Am I? Good, I mean. Have I really done good? Because… Because I feel… like I’m not doing enough. I… shouldn’t I be doing more?”

Granger blinked her eyes before they dropped to his hand holding hers. His grip tightened for a second before he released her from his grip.

“Learning is a lifelong process,” she said, turning to the side, her back hunched over, “but it is also a painful one, and sometimes we don’t see the progress we make until we get to the end. The fact that you’ve taken the first steps is more than enough. Realizing your flaws or faults, actively trying to move on and be better not just for other people but for yourself, and continuing to reflect despite your broken heart—it’s more than what people are capable of doing. If you think it’s not enough, then maybe it’s not, and if you think you haven’t done more, then think more so you can do more.“

James blinked. “It… it can’t be that simple, though.” It sounded so simple from Granger’s mouth, that he had a hard time believing it.

“But it is as simple as that,” Granger responded, one eyebrow raised. “Sometimes, the most complex problems have the simplest solutions. Sometimes, all we need is to step back to see the big picture rather than pieces of them. Let’s not make a mountain out of a mole hill. If you want to do more, then do more. Be more. You’re certainly capable of it. Just because you don’t think you can do it, doesn’t mean you truly can’t. You’ve done good, James, and I have no doubt that you could do more.”

Then her lips quirked—just slightly—just a smidge—that if James hadn’t gotten so used to her indifferent expression, he would’ve missed it.

But he caught it, and it was there, and he was blinded.

“I’m almost looking forward to what you can do,” she said, stepped back, and turned away.

And James was left reeling on the floor, his knees weak for other reasons.

Who knew that Granger’s smile could also be deadly?

The thing about Granger was that once you started thinking about her, you could never stop.

There were so many things he wanted to know about Granger—so many questions he liked to ask—but he didn’t think she would ever let him in. While he knew that she treated him differently from the rest, James could instinctively feel the line she drew between them.

He wanted to cross the line.

He didn’t want to cross the line.

Because once he crossed over, he knew there was no going back. He would see Granger for what she truly was, and she’d ruin him forever.

He didn’t want to be ruined.

Not again.

Or at least, not yet.

One day, in the distant future, when someone asked about the strange muggleborn Gryffindor girl who didn’t act like a muggleborn at all, about what she was doing, where she was, and how she changed, James wanted to answer first.

He’d tell that someone where Granger was, what she was doing, and how she’d changed since Hogwarts. He’d tell that someone that he just saw Granger last week and when more questions were asked, he’d know the answers.

In the distant future, he didn’t want to ask the questions about where she was or how’d she been; he wanted to be the one answering them.

He threw the golden Snitch in the air and watched it flutter around his neck when he heard the common room door opening. He looked up and saw Marlene walking in, eyebrows furrowed and eyes rimmed red. Lily followed closely behind, staring worriedly at her friend—girlfriend.

Marlene suddenly turned around to face Lily, making her stop. She said something that caused a slight downward tug on Lily’s lips before Marlene stormed away and headed to their dormitory. Lily didn’t follow behind.

Her shoulders were slumped, her gaze casted to the floor. She looked so crestfallen, that James cleared his throat, and Lily snapped her gaze towards him.

“Had a fight?” he asked, voice soft.

Lily blinked her eyes and looked away. “It’s none of your business, Potter,” she responded although it lacked the vehemence it usually held.

“I’m not trying to pry,” James immediately assured her. “Just that… you know, friends fight. I also fight with Sirius and the others sometimes. So, I get it.”

Although Marlene and Lily weren’t friends.

“I learned that sometimes we have to let go of our pride and you know, be the bigger person and talk it out,” he said, looking away from her. “Holding onto pride and being stubborn isn’t worth the pain that comes with it. It’s better to mend things now than to suffer in silence later, you know?”

The common room was silent after, and James dug deeper into his seat, his ears heating.

Then he heard Lily took a deep breath. “I’ll… keep that in mind,” she uttered, awkwardness laced around her words. “Thanks, Potter. I’ll see you soon.”

He merely gave a wave, not even looking when he heard her leave. He exhaled heavily and looked down at his feet.

It wasn’t easy. But the hole in his chest seemed to stop swallowing him whole.

In the end, he settled for peaceful acceptance.

Chapter Text

Sometimes he wished he had a time turner and go back to the past.

Maybe, if he went back with all of his memories intact, he’d make all the right decisions and receive the outcomes that he wanted. Maybe, if he went back in time, he could do right not only to himself, but also to his friends, his parents, Lily, and even to Snape of all people.

He wished he could do things differently, become someone different, someone that he was always meant to be. There were so many maybe’s, so many what-ifs. He had so many regrets and he wished he could turn back time to mend those, erase past mistakes, and let those regrets wither away. Going back to the past felt like an easy escape after knowing the consequences of his actions.

But there was no time turner, and all he was left with were the weight of the lessons he learned painstakingly.

But then again, if he had a time turner right now…

If he could simply go back to the past—

“Potter and… Evans!”

James snapped his eyes to the front of the class, wide eyed as Slughorn gestured for him to ‘hurry’ with that damned knowing look in his eyes.

He shuddered when Slughorn winked, slowly standing up from his seat and going towards Lily who was watching him from the corner of her eyes, a scowl on her lips. Great. He hadn’t even done anything yet.

“Evans,” James muttered as he sat on the spot next to her. He resisted the urge to run his fingers through his hair, knowing that Lily perceived such action as ‘attention-seeking.’

Lily sniffed and looked away. “Potter,” she muttered in greeting.

Now that he had stopped his pursuit of Lily, James found that he didn’t quite know what to do with himself around her anymore. He didn’t know where to put his hands, what words were less offensive for her, and what behavior he should do in front of her.

He’d always been over-the-top and dramatic. With Lily, there was a constant need within him to make her notice him. The need to make her see him itched under his skin, and he resisted with all of his might.

It was futile anyway. Lily was in love with someone else. She was in love with a girl. James couldn’t comprehend the thought at first, but he knew more than most that falling in love wasn’t a choice.

Staying in love was.

And he chose to no longer love Lily out of his respect for her and the person she loved.

“Potter!” Lily’s stern voice brought him out of his thoughts. Looking at her vexed expression, he realized that she was saying something to him before he got distracted.

“Er, sorry about that, Evans,” James said with an apologetic shrug. “I kind of went off in my head. What were you saying again?”

Lily’s lips twisted, and he could see how much effort it took for her not to insult him.

“I said that we should do Veritaserum for our Potions project,” Lily responded through gritted teeth. “I expect you to pull your weight in this project and not wait for me to do the project for us. And you better not pull your usual antics on me, James Potter, if you don’t want to be hexed. The only reason I’m here and the reason why we’re working together is because of this project, nothing more and nothing less.”

Of course, even though James had spent avoiding her these past few weeks, actively trying to move on and focusing more on other pursuits (like Quidditch and pranking), most people still held the belief that he was in love with her.

They were right though, James was still in love with her. The difference between now and before was his acceptance that she wouldn’t love him back anymore.

He didn’t allow her to see his discomfort. He instead gave a cheerful grin that she eyed dubiously.

“Have some faith in me, Evans,” James said, a note of sincerity to his voice. “I want to pass this project too. Don’t worry, I’ll behave.”

Lily remained skeptical. Thankfully, she didn’t say anything other than a muttered, “you better be.”

The smile James shot at Lily was strained. Fidgeting in his seat, he looked around the room and stopped short when he saw Granger with Remus. He paused, brows furrowing, as Remus scooted closer to Granger while pointing at something to the open book they were sharing.

Granger nodded at whatever Remus was saying, wearing the same polite disinterest she had whenever she was talking to someone their age or older. Then she looked up and his breath was caught in his chest when their eyes met.

She frowned, eyebrows jumping upwards, when she caught him watching. She narrowed her eyes at him as James let his lips quirk into a gentle grin. Then she dipped her chin slightly lower in acknowledgment, before she pulled her gaze back to Remus who hadn’t even noticed their brief interaction.

His chest twinged at seeing their closeness before he turned back to Lily.

Would he trade the lessons he learned to erase the mistakes he made?

There was comfort in the dark, when you could hide all of your bitter thoughts and ugly insecurities, when you weren’t expected to bear all of your heartache and pain. That was the beauty of the dark—you weren’t beholden to other people’s expectations and you could just be.

And in the dark, James was free to be who he wanted to be.

He didn’t need to be James Potter, the de-facto leader of the Marauders; he didn’t need to be the loud Gryffindor; he didn’t need to be the pitiful and faithful suitor of Lily Evans, and; he didn’t need to be the charismatic Quidditch Captain.

He was James. James in all of his purest form. James who found himself exalted in the dark.

Just James, and no one else.

Would the lessons he learned be made when he changed the past?

“No, no, darling,” Granger uttered quietly, as she grasped the small hand below hers holding a wand and guided the hand to the correct wand movements. “Here, a swish and flick. Don’t snap your wrist—gentle, my love, gentle. While doing your wand movements, you must say your incantation at the same time. Say it with me, ‘Wingardium Leviosa’. That’s right, Le-vi-O-sa. Very good, you’re a quick learner.”

The first year Hufflepuff beamed as Granger sang her praises, holding her wand tightly in her fist when Granger stepped back. Behind the firstie was a gaggle of students in the same year as her, but James could see that they didn’t belong in the same House. He spotted Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, and even an odd Slytherin.

All united. All eager. All bright-eyed. All surrounding Granger as if she was the sun and they were the planets orbiting her.

They were currently at the deepest part of the library. While Granger was surrounded by her legion of firsties, James found himself hiding behind a bookshelf, watching her. He swore to Merlin that it had been a complete coincidence that he found her, but he couldn’t deny the fact that he stayed, curious of her interactions with the children.

This wasn’t the first time he found her interacting with the younger years and yet, he was still mesmerized by how gentle she appeared in the morning light, the rays catching the soft indent on her smile over her lips.

Her voice was softer, her actions tender and careful. She was patient as she answered questions and guided the students to the correct movements and incantations. She called them love, darling, sweetheart, and sweetie. She caressed their heads and assuaged their worries. And she was never without praises when they did something right.

It was an odd sight because James was so used to her death stares and her indifference all the time. He wondered, with a twinge of envy, what these children felt to have her attention and care—they must’ve felt special.

“That’s all for today, ducklings,” Granger said, sitting on the chair, waving them away.

“Uh, Miss Granger,” a young Ravenclaw spoke up, effectively capturing Granger’s attention. The boy blushed slightly under her gaze. “We… each of us from different Houses prepared a gift for you as thanks for your help.”

Granger blinked, and James was afforded a rare sight of her being flabbergasted. He leaned closed against the bookshelf, an unwitting smile pulling the corners of his mouth as four children stepped up, each from different House. Gryffindor gave her sugar quills, Hufflepuff gave her an all-for-one color changing ink pot, Slytherin gave her a beautiful silver bracelet, and Ravenclaw gave her a thick book.

Granger still looked dumbfounded as she accepted the gifts, blinking her eyes at them when they all uttered their thanks in unison. She nodded her head when they left, looking at the gifts in silence, an unreadable expression adorning her face.

James swallowed the thick lump in his throat. It felt intimate, watching her when she was unguarded. Moments like this made him realize that Granger was more than a tragic Greek statue, that she wasn’t indifferent all the time, that she also knew how to feel like the rest of them. Then she sighed and he moved back, walking away from her.

Would he become the boy—man—he was now when he was undoing his mistakes?

James breathed out a sigh of relief. Finally, the potion was finished, and based by Lily’s satisfied hum, it was a good one too. He carefully glanced at Lily beside him, not wanting to get caught and be accused of mooning over her again.

It had been an illuminating experience to have her as his Potions partner. Although James pulled his weight and offered a contribution to the process, Lily was the one who truly shined with her research and intensive knowledge of Potions. He knew that Lily was adept at Potions, with Snape as her contender, but partnering with her made him realize how brilliant and amazing she was.

Lily put a stopper on the vial and James looked down at their table and started gathering their mess.

“Well…” Lily suddenly spoke beside him, making him look up. She looked away from him, eyes narrowed, indecisive. “Well… I just want to thank you for… your contributions.”

James blinked, stunned. “Uh, thanks. I mean, you didn’t have to thank me. It’s my grades on line too, you know?”

Lily pursed her lips and nodded curtly. “Right. I’m going to pass this to Professor Slughorn now.”

“Sure,” James replied easily, resuming his task on cleaning.

Lily went to Professor Slughorn, and James took a moment to think about their brief conversation. Aside from planning about their potions project, they didn’t have any kind of real conversation. Lily had been distant and cold at first, which made James hesitate to approach her.

But then over the last few days, Lily began making small talk. It wasn’t anything substantial, but it made the atmosphere between them less awkward. Now, they were able to make small conversations without Lily hating on him more and James making a fool of himself.

What surprised James the most wasn’t the fact that they were actively talking casually, but his lack of excitement.

If it was a year ago, he would’ve basked at her attention. He would’ve forced or annoyed her to talk to him with his unceasing chatter. Now, he only found himself relieved that the awkwardness between them had dissipated somewhat and Lily didn’t look as though she smelled something foul whenever she looked at him.

It was good. Great.

Looking at her didn’t hurt anymore.

Speaking with her didn’t make him feel excited anymore.

Everything was normal. It was… freeing in a way.

He never thought of love as some sort of shackle, but if he thought about it carefully, he could see that his love had turned into a prison he willingly walked himself into. He made Lily into his unwilling captor and forced her to take the key to his freedom.

It was no wonder why she hated him.

He could only blush and sputter in embarrassment when remembering the things he’d done to her, feeling the shame of his actions and her rejections.

He smiled quietly to himself as he Scourgified their cauldron. Maybe, he and Lily could be friends, and he’d get to apologize to her for the things he’d done. Maybe, she’d see that he changed and he wasn’t a horrible person anymore.

He was no longer a prisoner.

“She’s a fucking genius.”

James lifted his gaze in surprise to find Remus standing beside him. Remus said those words quietly, his lips parting in awe, his gaze straight ahead. James doubted Remus heard what he said.

“Who’s a genius?” James asked

Remus turned to him, blinking slowly. “Hermione—Granger,” he corrected himself immediately.

Remus glanced ahead and James followed his gaze to find Granger talking with Professor Slughorn who was similarly sporting a look of awe across his face. Lily was a few feet away, listening in, eyes riveted at Granger.

It didn’t seem as though Granger noticed as she continued speaking, indifferent gaze across the room, not meeting anyone’s eyes—not out of insecurity or uncertainty but because she couldn’t be bothered to look at anyone.

“That is simply quite an extraordinary feat, Miss Granger!” Slughorn suddenly exclaimed at the front of the class, garnering a few curious eyes. “How truly remarkable!”

“Please, lower your voice, Professor,” Granger intoned.

Slughorn blushed and lowered his voice, making it indistinguishable to the rest of the class.

“What was that about?” James asked Remus who was still standing beside him.

Remus glanced at him, before he leaned forward, his voice hushed. “Granger… she… she was able to enhance the efficacy of the Wolfsbane Potion. It makes it easier for… people… to transform. That means there will be no pain during transformations. She also made additions for the drinker to be less aggressive during the full moon, to prevent werewolves from hurting themselves or others. And—and, get this, she managed to prolong its effectiveness. Werewolves wouldn’t need to drink Wolfsbane every month for seven days; they only need to drink it every seven months for seven days. She reckons she can make it three days rather than seven days as well. Do you know how much of a big deal that is? Wolfsbane Potion is already so expensive and hard to procure, and she made it more accessible for… for werewolves… for us. This… this is life changing, James.”

Remus’ voice turned softer, his eyes shining, and James watched as his friend struggled to contain his gratitude.

“That’s amazing,” James murmured, smiling shakily at his friend.

He knew how much of a big deal this was, and not just to Remus, but others out there who struggled with lycanthropy as well. Most people barely had any regard for what they deemed to be dark creatures. The Wolfsbane Potion was made in an attempt to keep wizards and other kinds safe, not the drinker themselves. And here was Hermione Granger, making improvements for the betterment of those creatures.

“She’s amazing,” Remus whispered, glancing back at Granger, who was in the midst of escaping Slughorn’s enthusiasm.

James watched her, his lips lifting into a smile. As if sensing his stare, Granger snapped her eyes to his, and his chest warmed even when her gaze flitted to the side, away from him.

What’s to say that he learned something in the first place, when he changed his choices and made everything right and perfect?

It was starting to become a routine. Him, following after Granger while she made her rounds as a Prefect, hidden under his Invisibility Cloak. A few months now, and James had gotten bolder, taking off his cloak and walking beside her.

The first time he did so, Granger merely spared him a sideways glance before looking away. That was when he knew that she was okay with it.

“I couldn’t thank you enough,” James said, voice quiet, hands deep inside his pockets.

He was referring to the new and improved Wolfsbane Potion that Granger made with the help of Remus. She did so for a Potions project, when all they were tasked to do was duplicate an advanced potion to perfection. Wolfsbane Potion was already so complicated to make, and she experimented on it as a Sixth Year.

Merlin, Granger was scary.

“I didn’t do it for you,” she quipped without sparing him a glance.

Right.

James’ gaze averted to the front.

“Besides,” she suddenly sighed, “it’s not enough. It won’t erase the stigma and the discrimination, but it’s a start. There’s still much to do left.”

James nodded to himself, aware of the truth in her words. He couldn’t help but marvel as well, at this secret project and undertaking of hers. Hermione Granger, shouldering the burden of the unheard and lending a voice to the silenced. What else had he missed about her?

“What’s your favorite color?” The question came out unbidden from his mouth and he felt his heart thump painfully against his chest as he waited for her answer.

James wondered if she would answer him or keep him at arm’s length just as she did to everyone else. She did that to everyone, he realized. She saw through people but didn’t let other people do the same to her. It was just another layer to the complexities of Hermione Granger.

Everything she did was always done in secret, whether it was helping the younger years or indulging James even as he broke the rules. It revealed more about her character, whether she realized it or not, and James—he looked forward to those moments, to catch glimpses of a different Hermione Granger.

The Hermione Granger that only he knew.

“Periwinkle,” Granger muttered, an answer he hadn’t realized he was anticipating until he drew in a deep breath.

Silence.

Then—

“What about yours?” she asked.

James held the air trapped in his lungs and answered, “Gold,” without much thought.

Granger made a sound at the back of her throat. “Embodying Gryffindor much?”

James looked down at his feet, his ears burning red.

To be honest, he didn’t have a favorite color. He just spoke the first word that came to mind when he looked into her eyes.

Would he even be the James Potter he was today without his regrets and mistakes weighing him down?

James used to love parties. For the past six years, especially since he became Quidditch Captain, he always found reasons to throw a House party at the Gryffindor common room. The number of times he and Sirius organized parties, with some help from Peter and Remus, had reached triple digits.

And James was the life of the party—well, him and Sirius. Making rounds, socializing, and roughhousing with the others, contributing and making up games, trying and failing to flirt with Lily, drinking their secret stash of alcohol, and just making noise all round, James basked in the attention and the rush of every party he threw or attended.

Nowadays, James was content to stay in the background, to slink in some dark corner and watch the bustling crowd. Oh, he could still party with the rest of them, but his energy merely lasted at the first hour of the party before he suddenly found himself drained and in need of solitude. He was content with Sirius running the show, with the addition of Peter or the less fortunate guy they’ve roped into.

He sat in some partially hidden alcove, nursing his butterbeer, and simply watched as the Gryffindor common room turned chaotic. He considered it one of his newer quirks—adding it to the one where he’d break curfew just to follow Granger around the castle—to watch the world flit about while he was still.

He watched as Sirius grabbed Peter on the shoulders, paper crowns on their heads, screaming out the lyrics of Celestina Warbeck’s You Stole My Cauldron but You Can’t Have My Heart to any poor audience that has ears. He watched as Remus talked to his Transfiguration partner, likely exchanging ideas for their project. He watched as Lily and Marlene talked in one corner, whispering and laughing quietly to themselves, stuck in a bubble of their own choosing.

And all he felt was… nothing.

Well, not nothing exactly. There was relief, and fondness, but not the kind that ache. It was more like pangs of affection for a person he used to love, leaving behind remnants and echoes of what it was once.

It no longer hurt, not much at least, to see Lily in love with someone who deserved her love, who earned it. It helped that Lily was obviously happy, that Marlene was treating her the way she deserved, and that they were good for each other and made each other better.

And for a moment, James saw Charlus Potter and Dorea Potter née Black, echoes of their own, in the face of the girl he used to love and the girl she chose to love.

It was for the best, he thought, that they didn’t end up together.

James averted his gaze from Lily and Marlene, sweeping the entire room until it fell onto a singular person he didn’t expect to attend.

Granger was entering the common room, looked at the party, and promptly turned on her heel to leave once again before anyone could take note of her presence.

James didn’t know what came over him, but he suddenly found himself scrambling to his feet and following after her for some unknown reason. The portrait swung shut behind him as he scanned the dim corridors, trying to spot the distinctive feature of one Hermione Granger: namely, her bushy brown hair.

It didn’t take long for him to catch the gleam of curls reflected in an earthy brown under the torchlight. He darted to the direction of her curls, his footsteps clumsily and noisily thudding against the floor. It took several strides to reach her and match her pace, his heart pounding hard against his chest, lungs burning with the need for air.

Silence ensued, neither of them eager to strike a conversation. James quickly realized that he didn’t know what to say, now that he was there. What had compelled him to follow after her? He’d been perfectly contented with his solitude from earlier, hidden from prying eyes. He didn’t need to chase her.

Yet, despite the silence between them, James didn’t mind it. He didn’t feel awkward or bothered, nor did he feel the urge speak. Somehow, the tension eased from his shoulders and there was a carefree jounce in his steps as they strolled along the empty and dim corridors.

Before, he would’ve squirmed at the silence, perturbed by their lack of communication, and unnerved by their proximity. It was so strange to think of that time, when he was perfectly at ease now.

And when James did speak, it wasn’t solely for the reason to fill the air other than with silence. It was more because of curiosity and his desire to know more about Hermione Granger.

“Why did you leave the party?” he asked, earning him a sideways glance.

“I could say the same to you.”

“Well…” he thought for a brief moment, the silence turning contemplative. “I didn’t even realize I left the party until I was outside and following you. I was hiding when I saw you come in and then leave. It was quite funny to watch.”

His lips quirked upwards. Not once had he heard or seen Granger attended a party in all six years of their life at Hogwarts. No one questioned it though, knowing that Granger liked to keep to herself most of the time.

“It was too loud,” Granger said.

“You really don’t like loud places, huh?”

He remembered it being one of the things she was complaining about, that Hogwarts was too noisy and the reason she became a prefect was to enjoy the momentary peace of the night. He snickered when he remembered her telling him that he was one of the reasons why Hogwarts was too noisy.

“No, I just dislike people,” Granger corrected him. “And with people comes with their usual brand of noise.”

James couldn’t help but smile because he knew there was a level of honesty and lies in her words. She might dislike people but she also favored a few. Granger’s circle was small, but it was a circle that continued to gravitate towards her.

Because she was the sun, and they were merely planets making her the center of their universe.

“I never peg you to be the type of person to hide or run away,” James remarked, teasing, his heart lurching to his chest when she gave him a sideways glance.

Teasing—he was teasing Granger, the one known for her Devil Snare-like hair, her death-like stare, her quiet retorts. Unbeatable, immovable Granger.

He once knew of a time when he used to fear her the same as everyone else, until she found him wallowing in the dark and she became something more—someone more—to him.

“I never peg you as the type to meddle,” Granger intoned, voice dry. “What are you doing here, James? Aren’t you usually the one leading the noise with your cohorts?”

“You mean to say that you can’t figure that out on your own? Hermione Granger, not knowing the answer to every question, even her own?” James made a mock-gasp, his hand over his chest. “Alert the Daily Prophet, call the aurors, the historians, the Minister of Magic! This day must be marked in history books!”

He wasn’t aware of the words bubbling out of his mouth, but his mouth moved regardless, only stopping when she gave him a look of disdain. He snapped his mouth shut, lips curved into a small grin, no longer afraid of her stare yet his heart was beating loudly in his ears.

“Contrary to popular belief, I don’t hold all answers,” Granger retorted with a snort, rolling her eyes away from him.

“Just most of them, then?”

He grinned when she gave him another glance, emboldened for some reason. Then she slapped her hand against his mouth and held it there, and he could smell her perfume on her wrist, feel the soft texture of her skin—a blend of smooth palm and calloused fingers—and he was silenced by the loud skip of his heartbeat.

“If you don’t shut up for the next couple of hours, I’ll be forced to string you and hang you by the bridge with your ears.” Her hand tightened over his mouth before she pushed his face lightly away.

His smile remained, silence reigned, and darkness greeted them like the sweet embrace of an old friend.

But he had nothing to fear. He had the sun with him.

Fuck it all.

So, what if he had a time turner?

He found that he couldn’t change the past, remake his future, when he was content with his present.

Chapter Text

The Before

“We’re not happy anymore, are we?” her husband asked as he sat across her, those blue eyes—once filled with affection and care—gazed at her now with doubt and exhaustion. Maybe even a hint of indifference.

It was true what they said about hate not being the opposite of love.

Hermione placed her cup of steaming Earl Gray on the table and met her husband’s gaze. After a few moments of silence, she gave a slow nod. A quiet admission to a loud truth they both had turned a deaf ear to.

The sigh that came out of his lips was half-relief, half-pained. “We tried, didn’t we?” he asked—a rather quiet question unlike him.

What had she done, to make a loud man like him, turn into a silent sentry?

Once again, Hermione nodded, and he snapped his mouth shut.

They had been married for so many years now, had two children, had made separate identities outside of their marriage. They came together with a fiery passion that burned them both out although they tried hard to rekindle the flames. But how could fire burn when there was no longer air?

This was one of the few moments when silence reigned over their loudness.

Hermione sat on a protruding root, leaning her head back against the tree trunk behind her. She watched as Harry set up the camp, building their tent with his bare hands, and she closed her eyes, and let the muted noise in the Forest of Dean to settle the turmoil in her chest.

It was the second of May yet again. Another year had gone by since they won the war and buried their dead.

A heavy blanket suddenly dropped over her shoulder and she opened her eyes just to see Harry sitting on the space beside her. She leaned her head on his shoulder and a peaceful silence settled between them.

“After all these years, it still hasn’t changed,” Harry mused, gaze darting towards the lush trees surrounding them as he tucked his hands inside his sweater.

“We’re the ones that changed,” Hermione responded quietly, burrowing herself into the blanket, her head turning to his shoulder.

“It’s a comfort though, isn’t it?” Harry murmured. “We might’ve changed, but still, this place… it’s still the same. It’s as if time hasn’t touched this place, like the whole world forgot it, and it’s left to stagnate.”

Hermione hummed under her breath. There was another moment of silence before Harry spoke again.

“I was tempted, you know? When you asked if we could just stay here in the forest, I was tempted to agree, to abandon everyone and just live. Sometimes, I wished that we just stayed here instead. Everything turned out for the best, but looking back…” he trailed off.

Silence.

It was the second of May. The dead was celebrated. The living remained alive. Yet she and Harry were stuck in their own limbo, in the purgatory of their own choosing, and found life with each other.

“I’ll go with you,” the words spilled out of her mouth before she could think about what she said.

The moment those words left her mouth however, she didn’t take them back once she realized what they meant.

She looked at Harry’s eyes and knew he was seeing death, and all she could say was—

“I’ll go with you.”

Let me go with you, and let’s die together, and let’s die without feeling lonely and alone, and even in death we’ll follow each other, and let me be by your side at the last moments of your life, and you shouldn’t leave me like this, and I love you so much so let me die with you, and oh my baby you shouldn’t have suffered, and why, why did it have to be you, why, why, why, and let me take your pain please, and, and, and—

“No,” Harry said, and that was it.

She thought of the war sometimes.

She thought of the things she could’ve done differently. She thought of the ways she could’ve saved a life. She thought of the ways that could’ve prevented loss. She obsessed over it, the few weeks after the war, before she realized that it didn’t matter.

Because the dead would remain dead, while the living would continue to move forward, move on, just like the rest of the world.

She couldn’t fixate on what they lost when they had so much to live. She wouldn’t want to be the second Voldemort, who fixated so much on life, that he feared death and wanted to conquer it. She was smarter than that—stronger.

So, like the rest, she moved on.

She lived.

She was Hermione Granger, and she lived, and she was content, and she had no regrets—

“Will you ever forgive me for what I’ve done?” she asked, watching as her mother slowly drank her Earl Grey, the steam rising to cover her eyes, before she dropped the teacup with a soft clink.

Helen Granger—Monica Wilkins—daughter, mother, wife—lifted her gaze to Hermione’s, an ambiguous twist to her mouth.

Helen, true to her namesake, had a face that could launch a thousand ships. Beautiful, graceful, and immaculate, Helen was born into old money and chose the unconventional path of becoming a dentist. But her pedigree and her upbringing was unmistakable despite the years Helen spent without the company of her wealthier cohorts.

In another life, Hermione knew she’d be something akin to Draco Malfoy. A spoiled little princess who would only point a finger to get what she wanted. Perish that thought.

Hermione had tried to embody her mother since she was young. But everything about Helen Granger was too perfect, too beautiful, and Hermione was decidedly not. She made peace with that fact now that she was older.

“I am no God, Hermione,” Helen murmured, her voice lilted and soft, her eyes limpid, cresting with unshed tears. Even this image was beautiful. “I am no God to invoke judgement on you, to be critical of your decisions. But I am human. I am hurt, I am disappointed, I am simply—“ Helen paused, inhaling sharply. “I am a mother who forgot her child and for so many years, I’ve spent my life thinking that something was missing, not knowing that it was you, all along. You… you have taken my child from me, Hermione, and as a mother, as your mother, it broke something in me.”

Hermione dropped her gaze to the ground and thought of her own children

Rose, her lovely rose. Strong-willed, compassionate, and too clever for her own good. Hugo, her mischievous youngest. Funny, witty, and so empathetic to the sorrow of others.

She thought of Harry, her Harry. Hardheaded, courageous, and so strong he’d carry everyone’s burden if they let him.

And Hermione understood.

Her mother would not have a choice but to forgive her, because she was her child and she loved her, and Helen couldn’t bear to lose her child again, not when Hermione was in front of her.

“The pain will lessen as time goes by,” Helen continued, breaking the silence. “Just like all wounds heal. I have failed as a mother to protect her child—“

“Mother…” Hermione cut her off, eyes closing briefly at the piercing pain striking her chest. “You didn’t… You haven’t failed me. It’s because you haven’t failed me that I wanted nothing more than to protect you, even at the cost of your love for me.”

Because it was that love that granted her the power to cast the spell in the first place.

Harry died at the age of 136 and Hermione, at age 137, found herself in limbo—alone.

The loss of her best friend—her most precious friend—had torn a hole in her heart that sucked every joy she ever felt. Harry was gone, and when he left, he took something from her that she couldn’t ever take back.

“Mum, you have to eat more,” her firstborn child muttered, her blue eyes—so similar to her father’s—gazed at her with concern.

She was sitting on a rocking chair, like the typical old woman she was. Every breath she took was labored, and her bones felt too fragile under her skin. Rose looked at her with unshed tears in her eyes when Hermione didn’t respond.

“Mum. Please…” Rose pleaded, her voice breaking. “I can’t see you like this. I know that… that Uncle Harry’s… Mum, he’s gone now.”

Hermione closed her eyes as the sentence washed over her like hot knives. “Leave me be, my love,” she croaked, staring out of the window.

She heard Rose suck in a deep breath. “I won’t leave you. Not like this.”

So stubborn, her baby was. Ron often lamented that Rose had gotten that from her. But even Ron was gone now too, and Hermione was the only one left.

Rose continued when Hermione didn’t respond, “I can’t lose you, too, you know? I know… I know you loved him. I know you loved him more than anyone else, more than us, and we always… we always—Mum, we always understood that we can never compare to Harry Potter, but we’re still here, and we’re still alive. You’re still alive. So, please… we can’t afford to lose you too.”

Rose’s sobs and broken voice roused Hermione from her haze. She turned to her daughter, watching as she doubled over trying not to cry aloud. Grief, love, pain, sorrow—they felt like a vortex in her chest, sucking every air in her lungs.

“When Harry died,” Hermione said, averting her gaze when Rose looked up, “I feel as if someone stole my child from me. I know that he’s gone, yet a part of me feels so empty. I am a mother mourning the death of her child.”

“I… I thought you were in love with Uncle Harry,” Rose whispered, stunned with this revelation.

Of course, everyone did think at some point that they were in love. Theirs was a bond that transcended everything else. They might have married their respective Weasleys—granted, Hermione had divorced hers more than fifty years ago—but everyone knew that their love for each other overshadowed any marriage vow.

It had made Ron envious before he ultimately learned to understand that this was how it was always going to be between her and Harry. It had made Ginny insecure and jealous before she learned to accept their bond, resigned to accept it. Her children didn’t understand, nor did their friends and family, but they knew nonetheless.

Hermione and Harry. Harry and Hermione. Two parts of a whole. One couldn’t exist without the other.

Still, her children always suspected that she divorced their father for Harry. Everyone waited for them to get together. But it was never like that for Hermione and Harry. It wasn’t the romantic love that everyone thought it was. It was simply inexplicable—the connection she shared with Harry.

It was the kind of love that prompted Hermione to set her own professor on fire; brave the hallways with merely a mirror on hand to find a basilisk to clear Harry’s name; turn back time to prevent an escaped convict from getting imprisoned, in addition to facing a werewolf; believe in him without explanation when his name was called from the Goblet of Fire; make a prohibited dueling club and trusted in his leadership to lead them; and join him in his quest to hunt Horcruxes and defeat Voldemort even without him asking her to do so.

Where he went, she followed. Where she went, he followed.

It was agape. Unconditional love.

“In another life, perhaps,” Hermione said, voice lilted. “But not this one. So, let me mourn my son, Rose. Let me… mourn my darling boy.”

Harry—if he could hear her now—would’ve barked out a laugh, said something about her being a silly old woman. But he would’ve nodded and gave a knowing smile. He would’ve understood.

Because if she’d died first, she knew that Harry would mourn her the way a son would mourn his mother.

One of the first spells she ever created was a memory charm. Sure, there was the standard Obliviate spell that could wipe away or modify someone’s memories, but Hermione needed something different.

She didn’t want to erase memories—she wanted to erase a life. And a life was more difficult to erase than mere memories, much more make new ones.

Three lives—hers, her mother’s and her father’s—were greater than a memory.

When she finally used it—against the very people who loved and nurtured her into the woman she used to be—she watched all traces of her existence disappear. Her places in photos became a blur, her bedroom vanished, her things fading into nothing.

She died while she still stood.

Her entire life rewired theirs—Helen turning to Monica—Richard turning to Wendell—and all of herself was gone in an instant, as insignificant as the sand in a desert.

She realized how easy it was to erase a life as much as it was easy to create new ones, and if she was given different choices, she would do it all over again.

Oh, how precious—to love someone to kill for them.

No.

How precious it was to love someone enough to live for them.

“Are you happy, Hermione?” Harry asked her, once upon a time.

The absence of war didn’t necessarily mean the beginning of peace. Peace wasn’t the end of war. Now, they were left to suffer the aftermath, left with the dead and the living, the grief and the relief.

She closed her eyes at his question and thought of Remus, Tonks, Fred, Lavender, Colin—and many more names lost. Names that people would mourn. Names that people would forget. Names—that was all they had left.

Because the dead stayed dead, but the living would continue to live, and the world would move on, until the remnants of the dead were all but forgotten.

“Ask me again later,” she rasped, opening her eyes and looking into his evergreen eyes. “Ask me again when I can finally answer yes.”

“Are you happy?” Ron asked a few years later, his blue eyes casted in shadows—muted with age, experience, and loss.

His ring shone on her finger, his name was attached to hers, and his blood shared hers in their children. Together, they built a home, scratch by scratch, with tears, screams, sweat, and blood. And yet, despite sharing the same goal, their steps and methods differed.

When Hermione wanted to build a modest home similar to the ones she shared with her parents, Ron was building a home similar to the Burrow. And what home could withstand such different foundations?

They had loved, yes, and they had tried, and wasn’t that enough? Should they continue on when at this point of their lives, all they could do now was hurt each other? Ron had given up earlier than she did, and she tried to put it off as much as she could until she realized that all she was doing was hurting not only them both, but the family they created.

They had loved, and they had tried, and it would be enough. It was enough. It had to be.

“Ask me later,” she whispered, her gaze darting to the table, to the ring on her finger. “Ask me later without tearing us apart.”

“Are you happy?” she asked herself quietly, staring at the ceiling of her posh, one-bedroom apartment, years later when her children had married and most of her friends had passed on.

Her body withered with age and her mind slowed in response. She no longer had her vigorousness or vivaciousness that came with youth, but rather have the wisdom and serenity of an old woman.

People remembered her as an idealistic and idolized figure, the war heroine who helped Harry Potter win the war some years ago, her name etched in History books like some sort of legend, the former Minister of Magic, the first Muggleborn who became Minister in Wizarding Britain.

She accomplished what she wanted and needed to accomplish not only for the betterment of her fellow muggleborns, but also for the less fortunate creatures who struggled to gain a place in their world. She did what she could, and a few years from now, someone idealistic and ambitious enough would continue on her life’s work.

That was enough. She had to be content with that.

“Ask me later,” she answered herself, closing her eyes, her breaths steadying. “Ask me again later…”

She never really found her answer.

The After

She didn’t remember how to cry anymore.

Back then, in her first life, she remembered crying a lot. So tender was her heart, it ached every time she encountered injustice, prejudice, and discrimination. She fought so hard to give magical beings the right they deserved, from House Elves, to Werewolves and even to Giants.

She remembered fighting in the morning and crying helplessly at night for every step she took, she’d have to take two steps back. She remembered the silent tears, the tears with screams, the wailing and the sobbing, and looking back on the girl she used to be, she could hardly believe that she was that emotional growing up.

She rarely cried as she grew older and—dare she say it—wiser. She still felt things too deeply, but her tears ebbed the more her age increased. Even on her death bed, she hadn’t cried. Rather, she smiled with relief, knowing that her time had come and death would welcome her just as her Harry did years before.

And when death came, she only closed her eyes, and when she opened them, she was reborn.

She hadn’t even cried, and maybe all the tears inside of her froze into ice and had slithered to her heart. That was the only explanation why she hadn’t cried when she died for the first time and the second time, when she left Sirius, Remus, and Harry behind to discover more about the magical world, or when she decided to kill Harry Potter herself in her second life.

No tears were spilled even when she opened her eyes the third time after she died.

By the third time, she had already become numb.

“You’re a witch, oh goodness! It… it explains so much,” Helen whispered to herself, hands clasping her mouth as she stared at Hermione.

“I see,” Hermione stated, her voice bland, ignoring the questioning look from Professor McGonagall.

Fate working at its best, even though it had been three times since this happened.

From the first to the last, Professor McGonagall came to give her her Hogwarts letter and told them she was a witch. Helen Granger exclaimed and burst into tears because contrary to her belief, her daughter wasn’t a freak. Richard Granger looked stoically at the professor but they weren’t fooled when they spotted the unshed tears pooling in his eyes.

Only Hermione’s reaction was different.

In her first life, she had been full of wonder, relief that her differences had a reason and excited to know more about the world she’d only read in books. In her second life, she’d been calm and more eager to get things going and set her plans in motion.

In her third time, she merely nodded politely and offered Professor McGonagall another cup of Chamomile while her parents asked the questions she used to ask the first time.

“Pardon me, Miss Granger, but you’re awfully calm about this,” Professor McGonagall remarked as her parents busied themselves with her new school supplies. “Most children, especially a muggleborn such as yourself, would’ve been more excited.”

Hermione inhaled the scent wafting from her tea before answering, “I already knew I was different. This was merely confirmation. Thank you though, for your consideration, especially to my parents.”

She spared a glance at her parents, her chest twisting at their excitement and wonderment. To have raised a child like her, stuck in the same loop, for the third time without a clue, must’ve been exhausting.

Her sins had followed them even in her time and death. All she could ask for was atonement when all of this was over.

“They’re Muggles,” Hermione remarked idly, almost subconsciously, “They’re the ones who will have to let me go while I live a life far different from their’s. Pity them, Professor McGonagall, because I have condemned them to a half-life where they have to pretend that I’m not a witch and there is no magic. They will live with magic, but not have magic themselves because of me, and that’s why they can never fully love me, although they’ll try. After all, how can they truly love something that they can’t understand?”

Professor McGonagall stared at her as if she was looking for the first time. Hermione merely lifted her tea to her lips.

When she died in her first life and found herself living for the second time, she found herself adrift.

Why was she alive? Why was she reborn in the past? Why did she have memories of her past life?

It felt like punishment to remember the people who used to love her, people she’d loved now turned into strangers.

It felt like torture to watch their eyes look at her without recognition, to speak to her as if they hadn’t once died in front of her, to make memories with her as if they hadn’t wrenched out a hole in her heart.

What had she done?

What had she done to deserve this torment?

The crowd parted as she walked down the hallway, not looking at anyone in the eye as she made purposeful steps towards her next class.

The Transfiguration classroom was just ahead, students crowding the door to find the best seat or the worst. They gave her a wide-berth once they saw her, making it easy for her to easily slid through to the classroom. Heading towards her chair—the one she claimed since first year—Hermione stopped short.

“You’re in my seat.”

Avery looked up from his conversation with Rookwood, his jaw clenching when he saw her behind him. Putting on a bravado—because how else would he be able to look at her in the eye if it weren’t for fake confidence?—Avery gave her an arrogant smile.

“Why? Does it have your name, mudblood?” Avery taunted, snickering with Rookwood next to him.

Hermione stared at his eyes and flicked her head to the side, the kink in her neck snapping. Conversations around them ceased, their attentions focused on Hermione and Avery. She kept her eyes on the boy sitting on her seat, unbothered by their gazes.

“I said,” she said slowly, “you’re in my seat.”

Avery lost his smile, his expression giving way to a cruel snarl. “Yeah, and now I’m sitting on it. Get the fuck away from us, mudblood.”

Then he turned his attention to Rookwood, who only snickered, resuming their conversation as if Hermione hadn’t interrupted them.

Hermione clenched her jaw and licked her lips. She raised her hand—Accio—and Avery’s as well as Rookwood’s satchels whipped to her hold. Avery and Rookwood snapped their eyes on her but she ignored them.

She threw the satchels in the air and pointed her wand at them, enunciating clearly, “Reducto.”

Avery and Rookwood let out a cry, standing up abruptly from their seats. The satchels exploded mid-air, debris falling over the entire class. Notes, books, parchments, quills, and ink pots—reduced to rubble.

“You—you fucking cunt!” Avery snarled, brandishing his wand, but he couldn’t utter a spell when his wand flew from his hold towards Hermione’s open hand.

Rookwood’s wand held the same fate.

Hermione craned her neck to them and pointed her wand at them. Avery and Rookwood scrambled backwards, hands up in a surrender. The entire class was silent, their breaths held in their chest.

“20 points each will be taken from your house,” Hermione uttered slowly, as if she was tasting the words on her tongue, wand loftily held in her hand, “for complete disrespect for prefects and for indecent language.” She blinked. “Students like you make me worry for the Slytherin House. It seems they like to breed incompetence and idiocy, rather than cunning and leadership. A shame.”

Rookwood went red and Avery clenched his jaw. But they made no move. Another point lost for Slytherin—once they lost their wands, they no longer fought. Another shame.

“I’ll give your wands to Professor Slughorn,” Hermione continued, primly stepping towards her seat, making the two Slytherins step back. She put her own bookbag on the seat next to hers. When she saw that they hadn’t left, she cocked a brow. “Why are you still here? Go away.”

They didn’t need to be told twice. They scampered away, ego bruised. Hermione mentally added them to her dueling schedule. No doubt they’d try to get revenge.

She was looking forward to it.

It was going to be okay, she thought when she landed into 1981.

She was a capable witch despite her physical age.

She was Minister of Magic. She was a mother. She was a wife. She was a witch.

She was going to be okay.

It was going to be okay, she thought when she landed on 1971.

She was okay.

She was okay.

She was absolutely okay—

Okay—okay—okay—

She’d be okay—fine—well—

She. Was. Okay.

(She lied.)

Everyday was an opportunity to live. Every second was an opportunity to make a choice.

She lived her life the way she wanted to. Every minute spent weren’t wasted. She was who she was, and nobody could take her away from herself. She read, she traveled, she discovered, and she learned. She lived.

She lived.

But why didn’t she feel alive?

“So… where do you plan on going after you graduate?” Barty asked as he sat across her table.

She didn’t look up from her parchment as she answered, “What’s in it for you?”

The last thing she wanted was for him to follow her around after Hogwarts. Barty might like her now, but there was no guarantee he wouldn’t join Voldemort’s merry band of psychopaths.

After all, daddy issues weren’t easy to cure, and Hermione neither had the care nor the time to find one.

She heard Barty huff. “Stop answering my question with another question.”

“Keep quiet, this is a library.”

“Oh, really? Haven’t noticed,” Barty quipped.

“The books didn’t clue you in?” she retorted without missing a beat.

“Stop making it sound like I’m stupid,” Barty grumbled. “Really though, where are you going?”

Somewhere far away. Without war. Without bloodshed. Without Horcruxes. Without Voldemort. Without the ghosts of her past and her future.

Hermione closed her eyes.

But who was she kidding? She’d dive headfirst into this war and fight at the frontlines, if it meant giving Harry the chance to live the life he always meant to live.

She opened her eyes and gave a grin that had Barty shivering. “Somewhere far away from you.”

His jaw dropped, and Hermione turned to her book, shutting the entire world out to visit another, leaving Barty to ponder the truth to her words.

But would Harry really live in this lifetime?

“Let go of me!” Severus Snape continued snapping at her as she dragged him out of the Forbidden Forest. “I said, let go! Fuck! Granger!”

Hermione merely casted him a glance then paused when she realized that she had been dragging half of his body on the forest floor for a while now. Snape got up, nearly killing her with his glare, although it wasn’t effective with dirt staining his pants and twigs and leaves in his hair.

“You weren’t supposed to be here,” Hermione drawled.

“Fuck you!”

“No, thank you.”

Snape clenched his jaw and glared fiercer. “You stupid bint! I could’ve—I was so close! I was so close to discovering their fucking secret! I could’ve had them! Why did you interfere, huh, Granger?!”

His voice echoed loudly in the forest. It was good that they were near at Hagrid’s Hut, near the clearing, away from the Shrieking Shack.

She still couldn’t believe that Sirius would just taunt Snape about their little “furry” secret for revenge and spite. But then again, he was always an asshole.

Snape had been there, ready to latch open the door—ready to discover a bloodthirsty werewolf—before Hermione intervened, stopped him, and dragged him away without care for his protests. She would’ve been safe if Moony discovered them, Snape, not so much.

Hermione gave Snape a bland look and said the first thing that came to mind when she thought of Sirius, “I didn’t know you wanted to attend their orgies, Snape. But then again, the line between love and hate is very thin.”

Snape paled, disgust viciously tearing his lips. “No—what?! O-orgies? In the Shrieking Shack?!”

Hermione blinked. She really didn’t want to contribute some nasty rumors to Hogwarts. The Marauders being a polyamorous couple was already wreaking havoc in the Hogwarts rumor mill.

“Okay, so maybe they don’t host orgies—“ Hermione tried to explain before Snape decided to cast a curse at her.

Hermione deflected without word and a flick of her hand. She disarmed him and pocketed his wand after, ignoring the mutinous expression across his face.

“But whatever they’re doing,” Hermione continued without missing a beat, “it’s not worth it to be honest. I managed to uncover their secrets years ago, and it’s not as grandiose as Sirius told you earlier this morning.”

“And if you’re lying?” Snape asked imperiously.

Hermione gave him a deadpanned answer, “Do I look like the type to lie?” When he casted a stubborn, suspicious look, she said, “I’ll try not to take offense to that. But as far as I know, I’m more trustworthy than Sirius Black. Do you really want to be the dunderhead who believed him, only to get hoodwinked in return? Unlike him, I’m not here for the shits and giggles.”

Snape didn’t say a word of rebuke. Instead, he huffed under his breath and looked away. Hermione knew she won then.

“Come along now, before we see naked people running about from their orgies,” Hermione said, turning around her heel, with Snape following after her without a protest.

She finished the ritual during the summer before her third year, the preparations taking nearly two years considering she spent a considerable amount of time at Hogwarts. But she had done it—the ritual making her aura more amiable to magical creatures and beings, may it be giant, vampire, or—

A scarred face of a man, nay, boy, flashed across her face.

—werewolf.

All those times spent researching and learning weren’t all for naught. She created spells, uncovered buried artifacts, and revived and modified ancient ceremonies and rituals. She kept all of these knowledge in her head, knowing that they were sacred. She wasn’t sharing them at least—not now.

Men tended to hate what they didn’t know, but what they knew, they tended to abuse them. It wasn’t the time yet, not with a war on the horizon. People were all too willing to take advantage and exploit the weak. She would have to bide her time, wait, before striking.

And when she finally did, the Wizarding World wouldn’t know what hit them.

But for now, she’d finally get to face Moony—Remus—without feeling like a failure.

“My brother told me to stay away from you,” was Regulus’ greeting before he took the seat across her and started arranging his book, parchment, and ink pot as well as quills.

“Yet, here you are,” Hermione intoned behind the large book hovering over her face. On either side of her face, other books hovered, flipping periodically whenever Hermione granted them attention.

Regulus squinted his eyes at the cover of the books, seeing nothing but blurry lines. “Did you… hide the titles?”

“I stole the books from the Restricted Section. I have to hide them, ” Hermione answered casually.

Regulus’ mouth parted in surprise before he snapped it shut and composed himself quickly. They didn’t state the obvious truth: books from the Restricted Section were prohibited from being taken out without express permission from the Headmaster and the Head Librarian.

The fact that Hermione had been able to—undoubtedly without permission—made Regulus shudder.

The book hovering over Hermione’s face lowered and she gave him a dead-eyed stare, one eyebrow raised. That expression alone compelled Regulus to talk.

“My brother doesn’t dictate what I do or who I spend my time with,” Regulus said, straightening his spine and lifting his chin higher with a haughty sniff.

“And your parents? Do they know that you’re spending time with a mudblood?” Hermione asked, not even hesitating when the slur came out of her mouth, not like Regulus, at least.

“Don’t call yourself that,” Regulus was quick to snap. “Also, what they don’t know won’t hurt them.”

“Or you.”

Regulus paused, before he conceded with a curt nod. They also don’t state another obvious truth: Regulus would be punished for spending time with Hermione if someone—either Regulus or someone busybody—told his parents about it. Hence, Hermione casting the Notice-Me-Not charm over their table.

“So, has anyone asked to you to join a cult yet?” Hermione asked, flipping another page on her book, raising one eyebrow at the depiction of the Rictus Discerpus curse wherein the victim was being physically torn apart, their flesh being ripped from their bones.

Hermione tilted the book.

Very nasty, but nice. She should give that one to Dolohov when she saw him again.

“No,” Regulus answered. Hermione nearly forgot what she was asking about when he elaborated, “but there has been… talks during summer over dinner. My cousin Bellatrix and her husband, Rodolphus LeStrange requested a meeting with my father, considering he’s the current Head of the family. I wasn’t allowed, however.”

“No, ‘cause you’re still a minor. They probably think you’re not ready yet,” Hermione made an idle remark. “How’s Kreacher, by the way? I missed his treacle tart.”

Regulus huffed, a smile threatening to pull his lips upwards. He gave an austere expression instead.

Hermione and Kreacher had acquainted themselves since last month or so, and she’d done the best she could to the House Elf who adored Regulus. Kreacher still called her mudblood, however, but it was nice to see the House Elf with his sanity mostly intact.

“I’ll send a message to him if you want your treacle tarts,” Regulus said and Hermione hummed, an indication that she was far too focus on her book to continue their conversation.

Regulus looked down at his book, and silence ensued.

What was so different this time?

Perhaps, all signs eluded her when she had been too fixated on her purpose. For whatever reason had she gone back in time, whether it was to prevent the second coming of Lord Voldemort, or give Harry the childhood he deserved, if not for her purpose?

When she was younger and more susceptible to the follies of teenage hormones, she even questioned her intellect, her self-worth, and even her own plain appearance. She masked her insecurities well enough, though she often came out abrasive and belittling.

Winning a war, being robbed of her own childhood, and sending her own best friend to die, taught Hermione to live life as she saw fit.

Because you didn’t live once; you only died once, and while Harry tended to disagree (seeing as though he came out of two killing curses alive, once when he was only just a baby), she held onto her beliefs the same way she held onto magic. With determination, with conviction. Unfaltering, unyielding.

She had a purpose, whether it was running the country as Minister of Magic, or parenting her children, or being a good wife to her husband (no matter how brief their marriage was).

And when she died and lived for the second time, she still had purpose. She gave Harry a stable home, broke Sirius out of Azkaban, helped Remus keep his sanity during his werewolf transformations, destroyed all Horcruxes to prevent Voldemort’s return, and stopped a second war from ravaging the Wizarding World.

She thought the third time would be the same.

She hadn’t anticipated the peace, the quietness, the lack of violence. She hadn’t expected to have the childhood that was stolen from her to return. She hadn’t realized the role—or lack there of—she’d taken and how lax everything was.

Time crawled so painfully slow.

She knew she came here for a reason.

(To live for Buckbeak, the Hippogriff, whom she saved by turning back time, but what kind of sane person would live for that reason alone? Supposed, was she even sane in the first place?)

If she couldn’t find a purpose, she’d just have to make one.

To live as Hermione Granger meant to unravel Hermione Granger and remake her.

Hermione Granger had it all figured out.

Wasn’t that the saying?

Hermione Granger had it all figured out.

Had a problem? Hermione Granger was there to solve it.

Need a helping hand? Hermione Granger was there to lend it.

Want to be bossed about? Hermione Granger was there with the addition of your personalized study planner.

Because Hermione Granger had it all figured out.

(To what end?)

She was one-third of the Golden Trio, earned the moniker the Brightest Witch of the Age at age fourteen, became Minister of Magic before she was forty, and she lived—she was alive—she survived and lived past death, and conquered time itself.

Because Hermione Granger had it all figured out.

(To what end?)

And being Hermione Granger was all she knew—all she’d known—all she needed—in all three lifetimes.

But to what end?

ROGUE WIZARDS SPARK PANIC AMONG MUGGLES IN LONDON

She should’ve known that peace wouldn’t last.

Well, no matter.

She was owed a snake hunt.

Chapter Text

The news had sent the whole Hogwarts student body into abuzz. James watched as his classmates spoke among themselves in hushed tones, as if any louder would attract an attack, an ominous feeling lingering among them. His professors were speaking among themselves in the Great Hall, keeping their voice low to prevent students from hearing, Dumbledore nowhere to be seen.

A few wizards—wearing dark robes and skull masks—had terrorized muggle London to the point of mass hysteria. The Aurors had been too late; all they had arrived to was massacre and carnage. Buildings were obliterated. Muggles were found dead and injured. The culprits were nowhere to be found, and there were no suspects. It was a dead end.

What James found unnerving was the message those dark wizards left behind.

‘A new age is coming. The Dark Lord will usher us to glory! Magic is Might!’

Another Dark Lord in the midst, as they often popped up in a century or so. How many self-proclaimed Dark Lords would continue to pop up, James wondered?

“My father said that it was like Grindelwald all over again,” Remus said as they ate breakfast at the Great Hall.

Sirius was suspiciously quiet, his gaze darting towards the Slytherin table. James couldn’t help but note his pale countenance, wondering if Sirius’ family—dark as they had come—had any involvement in the muggle attack. James should know, his mum, Dorea, had been part of their family once, and she certainly had a lot to say about them.

James wanted to ask Sirius if he knew something, but he didn’t want Sirius to think he was accusing him of something he didn’t do. A defensive Sirius was a pain in the ass Sirius.

“D-do you think something bad will happen?” Peter asked, watery blue eyes crinkling with fear. “I mean… do you think the attacks will continue? We all read what they reported. There’s a new Dark Lord and he isn’t messing around.”

“Dark Lord, shmark Lord,” Sirius suddenly snapped, lips in a terse line. “It’s a never ending parade of lords. I don’t know why you even bother worrying.” He barked out a laugh, intending for it to sound carefree; it came out tense and sharp instead, making James wince. “Even if there’s a new Dark Lord around, we have Dumbledore. He’s the greatest wizard in Britain. Have faith, lads.”

James blinked. It was strange to hear those words from Sirius’ mouth of all people. Have faith, he said. Trust in Dumbledore, he said. James would’ve found it more believable coming from Remus’ mouth. In Sirius’, it felt more like an omen—the skulls and cross signs of poison, tipped into someone’s mouth.

Was he sniffing potion fumes again or trying that muggle weed everyone was smoking? It wouldn’t be the first time.

“What about your dad, James?” Peter suddenly turned to him, making him pause for a moment, his mind scrambling to catch up to the conversation.

“What about him?” James asked.

“Well, hadn’t he said anything to you regarding the attacks?”

“Sorry, mate, I never asked him and he hadn’t told him anything,” James replied, an apologetic note to his voice, wincing as Peter slumped.

Charlus Potter, his dad, was the Head of the Auror in the DMLE. So, it wasn’t any wonder how or why Peter assumed James would know more. His parents might dote on him a lot and they might be able to open up with each other about anything, but there were still boundaries that existed among them. His father’s job was one of them.

As much as possible, Charlus wanted him to keep out and away from the more serious and dangerous parts of being an auror. It was a misguided attempt at protecting him. Even now, when James was nearly of age, he still wasn’t privy to the grueling and ugly inner workings of his father’s job.

He looked around the Great Hall, seeing the familiar sights of his classmates talking to one another about the news. His eyes paused to Lily and Marlene conversing softly to each other, fixated on Lily’s hunched figure as she gripped the newspaper tightly in her grasp. Marlene looked like she was trying to comfort her girlfriend.

It seemed that the attack had rattled most of the muggleborns in the castle, fearing for the safety of their family.

He looked at Hermione then, down at the far corner of the table, sipping her tea with effortless grace as the book floating in front of her face flipped periodically without needing her touch. For all intents and purposes, it seemed she was the only one dismissing the news of the attack like it was another Tuesday.

If James didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought that no attack happened and everyone was merely paranoid based from Granger’s expression.

Did she not care? Wasn’t she worried for herself, for her fellow muggleborns, or her muggle parents? Or was she faking her nonchalance and none was the wiser?

Granger was still hard to read at times even after the months they spent time together.

James wondered if he should send a letter to his father. Surely, his father knew something about the attack in muggle London. Maybe, if James asked, his father would provide him details and information that the Daily Prophet couldn’t have written. Accurate ones at least.

Maybe it would help Granger… and Lily, of course, as well as the rest of the muggleborns stuck in this castle for a few more months before they left for Yule break. It might ease some of their worries if James got good news from his father. He resolved to do it after classes.

Throughout the day, the news continued to disrupt the Hogwarts student body. The professors tried to engage them with their lessons, yet it didn’t erase the fear nor the speculations. The only one who acted normal were the purebloods—the blood purists—and Hermione Granger.

Somehow, the blood purists grew bolder. They snickered to themselves and gave looks of ridicule to muggleborns and blood traitors. They hissed derogatory terms under their breaths whenever they passed by, not even afraid of the professors catching them. They were more aggressive with their hexes and behaviors, bumping into muggleborns or crowding them.

The day ended when Mulciber hexed a third year muggleborn student that caused quite a stir. The third year was immediately rushed to the Hospital Wing while the professor in the midst—Professor Kettleburn—took Mulciber to detention.

Thus, the fear spread. Muggleborns began to walk in pairs or in groups. Lily even organized some kind of ‘buddy’ system among the muggleborns. She and Marlene set up a table with a sign-up sheet and everything. The goal was to make sure that no muggleborns would get hurt again.

James and his friends volunteered to help escort some of them. When Lily looked suspiciously at them, he told her, “Oh, come off it, Evans. We just want to help.”

Lily stiffened, glaring daggers at James. “Excuse me for being cautious then. Unlike you, purebloods, us muggleborns don’t have the luxury of having our blood and connections to fall back to.”

James spied Marlene flinching beside Lily. It seemed that Lily forgot that Marlene was also a pureblood. She wasn’t part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, but their family was as pure as they came.

Remus fidgeted. “Uh, I’m a half-blood,” he said quietly with Peter nodding beside him.

Lily blinked, then sniffed. “Yes, well… we still have to fight harder to have a place here in the Wizarding World.”

Remus frowned, face twitching. James’ stomach plummeted. He understood that Lily and other muggleborns struggled adjusting in the Wizarding World but this wasn’t a contest on who suffered the most.

Remus also had his own problems considering he was cursed with lycanthropy. Sirius too, even though he mostly disguised them with pranks and being an asshole to everyone else. Even Peter, who was usually so carefree, had his insecurities.

The four of them shared a significant glance. Remus shook his head quietly. Sirius clenched his jaw and rocked back on his heels. Peter looked down and shuffled his feet. James breathed in deeply.

He turned to Lily, his smile straining the corners of his mouth. “We understand how it looks, Evans. We genuinely just want to help,” he said.

Lily’s brows knitted. “You, help? I wouldn’t put it pass you to take advantage of this situation to harass me, Potter.”

James furrowed his brows, scrutinizing Lily like he was seeing her for the first time. He struggled with his hurt and anger for a brief moment, his throat tight as he ruminated over what she said. Some part of him understood her point; Lily was simply making sure she was trusting the right person.

However, it felt unfair that Lily was accusing him of taking advantage of the situation when people were literally and genuinely getting injured and hurt. He wasn’t that selfish or self-centered, nor was he so socially inept that he’d ignore the danger surrounding his classmates.

The fact that Lily—who was his housemate and classmate for six years—was saying that hurt him. But then again, since when had she never stopped hurting him? At this point, it was turning out to be a familiar pain.

These were consequences, James supposed. For his actions and his behavior toward her, but he couldn’t help feeling a tiny bit bitter for her suspicions.

Sirius was the first to react, sneering derisively as he said, “Wow, you really think you’re all that, Evans? For your information, James is moving on from you.”

Lily blinked, looking unimpressed. “Looks like he’s doing a poor job at it.”

James grimaced before he could stop himself. He breathed in deeply and squared his shoulders. He opened his mouth, but then someone stepped in front of him. He blinked and found bushy brown hair before him, the scent of orchids pervading his nose.

Lily looked surprised, staring at Hermione Granger with wide green eyes. Granger ignored them all as she casted a silent spell over the parchment Lily had over the table. It was a sign-up sheet for the buddy system.

“What are you doing?” Lily asked, voice sharp.

Granger answered nonchalantly, “Checking for hexes. I don’t sign my name unless I make sure that the parchment isn’t hexed.”

She ignored everyone’s curious stares and glares (mostly from Sirius to be honest). She cast a few more spells—the parchment glowing periodically—until she nodded, satisfied. Lily looked on with intrigue, although she tried to hide it.

“I didn’t expect you’d join as well, Hermione,” Marlene said, surprise coloring her voice.

“Why? Isn’t this made for muggleborns? Am I not a muggleborn?” Granger said, voice a touch colder than he didn’t think she intended.

Marlene stammered, a hint of blush rising to her cheeks, “I didn’t—I wasn’t—I’m just surprised is all.”

“You don’t act like one,” Lily said, saving Marlene from further embarrassment. When Granger looked at her, she elaborated, “You don’t act like a muggleborn. We figured you wouldn’t join this system, considering you hardly acknowledge most people.”

Granger slowly drew back, tilting her head, eyes narrowing. “I apologize,” she drawled as if tasting the words for the first time. “I didn’t know there was a standard protocol for muggleborn behavior that I should subject myself to.”

“I didn’t say that,” Lily protested.

“You implied it,” Granger shot back, “by saying that I don’t act like a muggleborn.”

“Because you don’t,” Lily responded heatedly, her cheeks reddening. “I’m just saying what everyone else is thinking, Granger. You hardly pay attention to everyone. You act as if you’re untouchable. You hardly look surprised when you’re doing magic, as if you’re all used to it. You don’t act like a muggleborn at all. I’m saying it as it is. If I didn’t know any better, I’d even assume you were a pureblood based from your actions.”

Everyone in the same vicinity watched this deadly game of verbal Quidditch. James could hardly keep his gaze off of Granger. Although her tone was nonchalant, her expression dull, James could spot the way her fingers twitched, the slightest raise of her eyebrows. Was she more bothered than she let on?

Honestly, James didn’t know Granger enough to read her mannerisms. But if he based it on the rigidity of her back, Granger’s ire was rising due to Lily’s words.

“Tell me, then. How should a muggleborn act?” Granger continued nonchalantly. “Because all this time, I’ve been acting like a witch—just as I am—and I hardly noticed the difference. I act the way I choose to act, regardless of my blood status. It seems to me that you care more about me being a muggleborn than me.”

Lily blinked and, for the first time, James saw that she was speechless. Granger didn’t even wait for Lily to compose herself. She simply summoned a quill from her satchel and wrote on the parchment with an elegant flourish.

She had better handwriting than most purebloods. It was impressive.

Then, as if her actions weren’t surprising enough, Granger suddenly said, “I’ll pair with James in the buddy system for the foreseeable future.”

James’ jaw dropped.

Sirius snapped, “Excuse me?”

“You’re excused, no need to ask me,” Granger quipped. She turned around and looked at him. James swallowed the hard lump in his throat. She tilted her head. “Unless you prefer to partner with someone else?”

James immediately shook his head, ignoring the bemused stares from his best friends. Hardly anyone knew that James and Granger talked to each other enough to label each other as friends. Well, James thought she was his friend; she likely was thinking he was just the weird guy who followed her around during Prefect rounds to the point that he had her routines memorized.

As far as Sirius, Remus, and Peter knew, James and Granger had nothing to do with each other. He should’ve been protesting or asking to be paired with someone else. Maybe they thought he’d try again with Lily, despite efforts proving that he would never—not again—not with Lily wanting to throw the first curse his way and especially not when she was in love with someone else.

Granger nodded, sharp and decisive. The lack of displeasure across her face had everyone mind-boggled. Granger didn’t willingly volunteer to spend time with someone. Every partner she had—whether it was dueling or during classes—were assigned by the professors, a classmate’s last resort, or simply for the easy grade. Granger did have the best grades in their classes.

So, the fact that she was the one who first suggested for James to be her partner was nothing short of a milestone. James could hardly believe this was happening, even if it was currently unfolding before his eyes. Should he mark this in his calendar?

“Good. Let’s meet up later after dinner to discuss our schedules,” she said before turning on her heel to leave, even without waiting for his reply.

James was so going to mark this in his calendar.

“I think Medusa just passed by,” Sirius muttered to himself, wheezing when Remus jabbed an elbow to his stomach.

James ignored them, watching Granger’s back until she disappeared around the corner.

“Are you alright with spending time with Granger, James?” Marlene’s question startled him back into awareness.

“Oh, huh? Uh, yeah,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. He ignored the prickling glare Lily sent to his direction. “I mean, I’ll probably survive with the two of us. It won’t be a problem.”

“The keyword there is ‘probably’,” Remus pointed out, worry lining the corner of his eyes. “Are you sure you’ll be okay being alone with Hermione? I can be her partner if you want.”

Flashes of images crossed through James’ mind—Granger and Remus being partners in potions, Remus’ admiration for Granger’s mind, especially with her improvements on the Wolfsbane Potion, and Granger not being totally opposed to Remus’ close proximity.

James couldn’t help but bristle like a cat. “I got it, Moony,” he said through a sharply-barbed smile. “I can handle it. What? You don’t think I can handle Granger?”

Peter laughed nervously. “I don’t think anyone can handle Granger, James.”

James sighed, his earlier ire forgotten, unable to refute.

Lily hummed under her breath. “It doesn’t make sense that she wants to join,” she muttered, studying Granger’s name on the parchment. “She’s the President of the Dueling Club. She’s the three times Dueling Champion. She fights purebloods in a daily basis. Why would she sign up in this program?”

They all went quiet, Lily’s points landing them one by one. Those were all facts; Granger could take down any and every pureblood even on a bad day. Why would she join in this buddy system when she, herself was a whole army?

James clenched his jaw. “Because she’s still muggleborn,” he muttered, ignoring the surprise glances they sent his way. He looked away from them. “She said so herself, didn’t she? There may be no difference between muggleborns and purebloods, but she’s still stuck with the label of being a muggleborn. Even if she didn’t act like it.”

At the reminder of Lily’s comment, her cheeks heated. She clenched her jaw. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

James’ eyes narrowed, his voice coming out sharper than intended. “It doesn’t matter what you mean.”

Everyone fell into silence, sending unsure glances at both James and Lily. James knew that they were creating an awkward situation. This dynamic was an unfamiliar one, considering they were all used to James fawning over Lily every time. Even Lily was looking at him with strange eyes that he resolutely ignored.

James meant it when he said he was moving on. He was breaking his rose-tinted glasses, shattering them with his bare hands. They’d just have to keep up.

James took out his quill and signed his name beside Granger’s. A binding contract, if he said so himself. Remus frowned, puzzled as he scrutinized James.

“Your funeral,” Sirius commented.

“Better you than us,” Lily interrupted, her blunt voice landing hard.

“Lily,” Marlene reprimanded under her breath.

James turned to Lily and Marlene. Lily’s arms were crossed while Marlene studied him in a knowing manner that honestly confused him a bit. He didn’t understand why Lily seemed to hold a hostility for Granger.

“Don’t change anything,” he said. “I’ll be Granger’s partner.”

The moment those words left his mouth, a tiny shiver rolled down his spine. For the life of him, he couldn’t understand why.

James glanced at Granger’s schedule and tried not to boggle at the number of subjects she was taking: eight. Eight NEWTs. James was only taking six and he’d been nearly dying at the workload forced upon them with the sheer weight of him being a Quidditch captain.

How Granger could juggle eight NEWTs plus her Prefect schedule, yet remained on top of their year was a mystery one Hogwarts needed to solve. At this very minute.

Currently, James and Granger had stopped by a hidden nook behind a tapestry after roaming around the nearly empty hallways of the castle. They had met up after dinner, just as Granger had instructed.

James tried not to think of what other students would get up to if they found the nook he and Granger were hiding in.

He also tried not to think of Granger in that situation because frankly, he didn’t think she was interested in anything remotely romantic or sexual. Granger was hardly mortal most days. She was popular not for the conventional reasons why a witch was pretty; she was popular because she was scary and people tended to avoid her if they could.

So, hidden nooks and Granger in the same sentence didn’t mean delusional fantasies any hot-blooded wizard had. It most likely would end up in a homicide.

Also, why was he thinking about Granger and hidden nooks?

Focus on the timetable, James told himself. It was definitely safer than thinking of Granger and hidden nooks.

“How are you still alive?” he asked her seriously, giving her timetable another once over.

“Eating, breathing, basic survival instincts although I doubt you know anything about that,” Granger answered blandly as she examined his own timetable.

“I’ll have you know I have amazing basic survival instincts.”

“It must be the reason why you proposed practicing with the Whomping Willow.”

James tried not to blush, but felt his ears heating. “You heard about that?”

“Who hasn’t?” she deadpanned. “You have very atrocious time management skills. How you are able to pass Transfiguration when you’ve only allotted two hours of study time every three days for that subject is beyond me.”

“Natural talent,” he said with a faux haughty sniff, forgetting his earlier embarrassment.

Granger flicked her gaze up, staring at him through her lashes. He tried not to squirm. She snapped his timetable shut with a flick of her wrist before handing it back to him. He returned hers with a slight bow of his head like he was some servant deferring to his master.

“I suppose,” Granger said slowly, “that I can concede that you have a point.”

She turned before she could see James’ jaw dropping at her casual admittance that he had natural talent for Transfiguration.

James hastily followed after her, stuffing his timetable into his robes as they left the hidden nook. “Did you just admit that I’m good at Transfiguration?” he asked, slipping the cloak over his shoulders.

“That’s your delusions speaking,” Granger retorted without missing a beat.

“I’ll have you know that I only have delusions when there is daylight and when there’s a Quidditch pitch for flying,” James said.

“I suppose that in this so-called delusions of yours, there’s a redheaded girl included?”

James couldn’t help but blush, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment. “Well… there used to be,” he confessed with only slight remorse. “But then again, can you blame me? I did love her, you know.”

“I know.” She casted a sideways glance at him. “For a guy, you think of love way too much.”

James frowned. He supposed he’d been far too obsessive about love and finding ‘the one’. Case in point: Lily Evans and the six years of relentless pining and pursuit. He blamed the Potter genes for that.

Every pureblood family tended to have a few quirks in them. Just as Blacks were a tiny bit mad, and the Longbottoms had a green thumb, the Potters tended to be a bit love crazy. All marriages in the family tended to be love matches as opposed to arranges, unlike most pureblood families.

The infamous match just so happened to be James’ dad and mum.

“Are you saying that I’m lovesick?” James asked, dramatically clutching his chest like he’d been struck.

Granger nodded seriously. “A lovesick, pining, hopeless romantic, idiot,” she added. When he scowled, she raised an eyebrow. “Are you denying it?”

He tried not to, but he pouted nonetheless. “I’ll have you know, I’m actively moving onto higher and better pursuits. I’m not so stubborn to believe that Lily’s the only person for me. The world’s an ocean—“

“And you’re a squid?” she cut off with a bland voice.

“No!” he sputtered. “The world’s an ocean and there are plenty of fishes in the sea is what I meant! I do not look like a squid!”

Granger didn’t respond, as if refusing to entertain more of his nonsense. He tried not be rankled by that.

James could hardly believe that he’d grown more comfortable of her. He didn’t only agree to be her partner in the buddy system, but he was also joking now with her. She didn’t laugh at his jokes, but she didn’t ignore him either. In fact, she seemed rather fond of making jokes at his expense. Despite himself, he didn’t mind.

If he told the James of last month that he would be joking with Granger in the future, past James would’ve blanched and asked if he had a death wish.

But Granger was… alright. She was unexpectedly pretty good to talk to. Not always though. She was still very scary, and he didn’t doubt she could turn him into a Blast-Ended Skrewt if he annoyed her, but she was proving to be a stand-person person.

He no longer wondered why the younger years all admired her. He could see the reasons for himself why.

“I had cast a Charm on your timetable earlier,” Granger said, breaking the comfortable (?) silence between them. “Whatever I write in my timetable pertaining to our shared schedule will reflect in yours. I hope you follow them. If you have any queries or qualms about our shared schedule, specifically concerning any conflicting dates in yours, just tell me.”

James grabbed his timetable back again from his robes, smoothing the wrinkles with a furrow of his brow. There it was, a new time slot set in between his classes, study sessions, and Quidditch practices, one that said: ‘BUDDY SYSTEM WITH H. GRANGER.’

He hadn’t even noticed Granger putting a Charm on it until she said it.

He scratched his head. The partner system was made so that muggleborns weren’t isolated or alone in case the extremists took the violence from the outside into the walls of Hogwarts. It was one of the most impressive and admirable feats that Lily ever made here in Hogwarts, always making sure that her fellow muggleborns wouldn’t be ostracized in Hogwarts.

However, it was quite difficult to juggle and maintain when he and Granger had vastly different schedules. Granger had her Prefect duties and presidential responsibilities to manage while James had captaincy duties in Quidditch to maintain. On top of that, they had to study for their NEWTs. Hermione was taking at least eight subjects while James opted for the other (saner) route by taking six.

They only had a few subjects together, so it wasn’t all too complicated, but their after activities were very different. This could be solved if there was another pureblood other than him to watch over Granger.

However, James was nothing but very committed. Another person would’ve complicated things further, and Granger’s reputation prevented others from offering to help her. It was more likely that the others didn’t think she needed help. The confrontation with Lily and Marlene earlier had painted the picture vividly.

People had no problem assuming that Granger was a formidable fighter. But at the end of the day, wasn’t she just one person?

Staring at the timetable, he couldn’t help but ask, “aren’t you scared?” When she didn’t respond, he rushed to add, “I mean… I know you’re powerful. I even doubt sometimes that Headmaster Dumbledore can take you on. But—but this is different, you know? There’s a whole dangerous group outside this castle that’s out to hurt people like you. Isn’t there a part of you that’s scared?”

He intended for his gaze to be quick, but once he properly focused his eyes on her, he couldn’t look away.

Granger bent her head to the side, a ponderous look across her face, as if she was seriously contemplating his question. He didn’t know why but it made him puff his chest a bit; she didn’t dismiss his question just as she dismissed everyone else. She was considering him.

He wondered if that made them friends.

He quickly banished the thought from his mind. Granger didn’t do friends. She had study buddies, dueling partners, acquaintances, and companions; she didn’t have friends. She never let them in enough to have one.

“I’m not scared for me,” Granger finally decided on her response. “I suppose, I’m more scared for others. They have something to live and fight for.”

James’ heart raced in his chest.

“And you don’t?”

A frown dragged the corners of her lips down. “I used to think that I have that—that I have a purpose, that I have something to live for, to fight for. But I don’t. A person who has nothing has nothing to fear.”

His throat went dry at her answer. Bells rang in his head, blaring alarmingly that silenced everything else aside from his loud heartbeat. He hadn’t expected her answer to be so… open? So gut-wrenching?

“That—that can’t possibly be right,” he tried to argue, his tongue stumbling over the words he wanted to say.

He wanted to say that she couldn’t possibly not have something to live for. That, even though she didn’t have everything, she might’ve had something at least. But the words were clumsy on his slick tongue and he couldn’t get them out without sounding like a classic idiot.

He tried, however.

“Everyone has a purpose,” he said. “Even if it’s small, that counts, at least. You’re the President of the Dueling Club, right? You also tutor a bunch of lower years. You’re a Prefect. You have something.”

Instead of actually accepting or at least fathom his statement, Granger waved a sharp dismissive hand—a gesture that cut the tension rising between them.

“Those aren’t purposes,” she said. “Those are called responsibilities. They are things that I must do because of my position, otherwise I’m abusing my privileges. I didn’t have to do them, but I needed to because there are duties that I must uphold as a Prefect and President of the Dueling Club.”

“T-that’s utter crap,” he sputtered, closing and opening his mouth like the Giant Squid out of the Black Lake.

He didn’t know where he got his courage from—arguing with the infamous Hermione Granger—but he was reeling from their conversation, trying to salvage the parts of Granger that he made in his head. The one who was composed, calm, and deadly quiet. The one who was curt, straightforward, and blunt to a fault. The one who cared, considered, and believed in people despite not acting like it.

How could formidable Hermione Granger say such things like ‘not having a purpose’? How could such bleak statements come out of her mouth so readily, so easily, that it might as well be a magical statute? Even if she didn’t fear the threat looming outside of Hogwarts, that shouldn’t mean that she had nothing.

“Utter crap?” she repeated dryly. “That’s quite a comment to make. Why do you think it’s utter crap?”

“Do you really think I’d believe someone like you having nothing to live for? Like seriously nothing?”

She raised one eyebrow. “You’re concerned about this.”

He sputtered. “C-concerned? I’m—I don’t even know what to feel! Even without your positions, you still have something. You have something to live for, something to fight for.”

“And what do you think I have, James Potter?”

He pursed his lips at her lilted question, the amusement barely peeking out of her dry tone.

“You… have NEWTs,” he answered with a strained voice, one eye squinting as a grimace twisted his lips.

That made her stop short for a brief moment, before a huff sounded from her nose, and she resumed her leisurely pace. He mentally slapped himself upside the head before he hurried after her.

“You have something,” he continued. “Even if you aren’t a Prefect or a President, you have—you have—“

“I have…?” she urged, as if genuinely waiting for his response. But truthfully, she was baiting him, luring him in like one of the mermaids in the lake.

James felt an indescribable panic surging within him.

Because… what did Granger have?

Not NEWTs, even though she could’ve taken them in their fourth year, and she’d still be a top scorer for at least two centuries. That was small, hardly consequential in the grand theme of things. Because after NEWTs were over, what then? The same was for the Prefect position and the presidency. Their ‘purpose’ would’ve been served the moment they left Hogwarts.

What then?

“You have the lower years counting on you,” he reminded her. “Remember, the ones you tutor every weekend in the Library? The ones you helped when no one else did?”

She made a derisive scoff. “They’ll live and continue without me. I’m replaceable, some may say expendable. What I did was basic human decency. It’s hardly worth noting nor mentioning. Once I’m gone, there will be another who will take my place. They’ll forget about me, and I’ll be nothing more than a footnote in their history. Maybe not even that.”

His jaw dropped. Just clattered down on the ground the way his heart stooped to his stomach and drowned itself in acid.

He staggered for a moment, staring at her unfaltering gait, her strong back. With clenched fists, he lurched forward and grabbed her arm. Before he could even touch even a sliver of her robes, she whirled around and jabbed the tip of her wand under his chin. He yelped, reeling back.

When she leveled her icy stare at his face, he barely resisted making a flinch. He raised his arms in a surrender, breath trapped in his chest. He tried to appear as harmless as possible to avoid triggering her since she seemed to be a tad bit hex happy at the moment.

Granger narrowed her eyes then she whipped her wand aside, disappearing somewhere beneath the long sleeves of her robes. His tensed shoulders slowly fell, so did his arms to his sides.

“You have grown quite comfortable with me, James Potter,” she said slowly, the steel in her eyes radiating an unmistakable glacial fury.

He couldn’t understand what made her angry, but he swallowed down the lump in his throat. “… I’m sorry for touching you abruptly,” he said finally when the silence reigned far too long and heavy.

Her narrowed eyes relaxed. “At least you still have your manners. I’d appreciate it if you don’t forget them.”

“Got it,” he said, nodding rapidly.

Granger didn’t respond. She merely turned and walked away, strides long and steps quiet. James only watched her, brows furrowed. Everything happened so suddenly and quickly that he got himself whiplash.

Yet he had discovered the most damning thing in that moment.

Hermione Granger had nothing to live for, had nothing to fight for, and had no purpose in life, and wasn’t that the scariest, loneliest, heartbreaking thing to ever know?

‘What do you think I have, James Potter?’

He clenched his chest when it tightened.

He didn’t know. He simply didn’t know.