Chapter Text
Remus looked up at the sky. Dusk was settling in, and soon the transformation would take place. His mind was on Hermione, hoping she was okay. It wasn’t safe to be near her tonight for many reasons.
First, and foremost, she was his mate. The call to claim her was worse during the full moon. He avoided her several days before the full moon because her scent, voice, and laugh called to him and drew him in. It drew him in every day, but during the full moon, it was so much worse to the point his skin itched, and his teeth hurt; he wanted her so badly.
He would never tell her that she was his mate. He was a broken old man, even though James and Sirius said he was mental for not telling her. She was made for him.
No.
If he had met her while they were at Hogwarts, or closer to the same age, he might consider it. But, as the Moon Goddess was a fickle bitch, she gave him the perfect mate that was twenty years his junior.
“I can hear you thinking, mate,” James said with a sigh. “You just need to tell her.”
He growled low in his chest, and James raised his hands in supplication.
“Suit yourself,” James said. “But, I think Hermione would be perfect for you. She’s intelligent and beautiful inside and out. Look what she’s done for us. She makes your Wolfsbane for you each month for free. She comes over and spends time with us, cooks for us. Hell, if you don’t want her, I’ll have a go at her.”
Remus was on him the moment the words left his mouth. Remus was never a violent man; he preferred to use his wit instead of his fists, but the image of James with Hermione made his hackles rise. His nails dug into James’ neck, and he squeezed. He could see James’ eyes widen as he clawed at his hand ineffectually.
“Knock it off!” Sirius yanked him off James and tossed him to the side. “If you want to fight him, wait until you’re not all wolfy. But James is right. Hermione is a catch. The bird is practically perfect.”
Remus took a deep breath through his nose, and the air rushed out of his mouth. He was trying to control his temper. Intellectually, he knew that Hermione would meet that one bloke who would turn her world around, and she would fall in love. Of course, he would have to stand there and watch and support her, but on the inside, it would kill him.
He was so in tune with her emotions. He knew when she needed a hot chocolate when she came home from work and had that look and feel about her. He would make her cocoa and sit in silence with her until she spoke.
She was an unspeakable in the time department. Not many knew that; they were not even supposed to know that, but Kingsley had come to her when she was at Potter Manor, and with their excellent hearing, they had heard the conversation.
They sat there in silence. Whiskey and beer bottles were scattered around them. Chocolate wrappers were stuck in his coat pocket, and he rubbed them as he stuffed his hands in there to calm himself. Maybe he had too much to drink tonight, but he was trying to numb the yearning he had for her. It was all-consuming, and he was trying to shake off the feeling.
He wanted to shift, to change, and run to her. But, thankfully, here at Potter Manor, the wards were secure. No one could come in and out. She would be safe from him tonight.
He stood and looked down at James. “Sorry,” he said. “Touchy subject.”
“I was out of line. I just wish you’d see how happy she would make you. She was made for you, Remus. She’s your mate!”
“She deserves better.”
“She deserves you . You don’t see the way she watches you, or the way she lights up when you walk into a room. She asks about you when you’re not here. She fucking loves you, Remus, and you’re being cruel by denying her.”
He ignored him. Maybe he was being cruel, but it was for her own good. He couldn’t offer her anything. He could hardly hold a job because of the laws in place. How would he support her, or Godric forbid, any pups they may have? He wrote books and hardly made a living from them. It was enough to survive, but not enough to support anyone.
No, it was for the best that he kept some sort of distance. He was content to watch over her from a distance and ensure she was safe.
She was at Potter Manor tonight with Harry so that she would be safe. There were blood wards here, and they would be protected while he shifted and changed. How much trouble could they get into?
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Hermione leaned her head on Harry’s shoulder and sighed. It was a tiring day, and now she was worried about Remus. She knew the shift was hard on him. She just wished she could be an Animagus and shift with him. She could run with them and comfort him. But the moment she suggested it, Remus paled and almost screamed at her that it wasn’t safe.
It cheesed her off. She was considered pack, and she knew this. He would never hurt her or Harry if they changed with them. They were marked as his. He would touch their arm, hair, and back to mark them with his scent so that he would know. So, why not change with him?
Harry was quiet. He knew her well enough to know that her mind was working hard and needed to sort things out. What she needed to do was stay busy so she wouldn’t spiral. What if Remus got hurt? What if James and Sirius did? James was Harry’s only parent, and even though Harry was a grown man of 27, he still needed his father.
“Let’s do something,” she said, sitting up. “Let’s start working on Remus’ Wolfsbane for next month.”
“You want to work?” Harry laughed. “You just got home from work.”
“I enjoy working in the lab, thank you very much,” she said with a sniff. “It calms me, the order of things.”
He grunted as he stood and reached out a hand to her. She grabbed it, and together they made their way down to the lab.
The Potter lab was a dream. It had been Harry’s grandparents’ house before they passed, and when Harry’s mother died protecting him, he and James moved here. Too many bad memories at Godric’s Hallow, James had told her.
Hermione shucked her Unspeakable robes and tossed them onto the chair, and rolled her shoulders. She got everything ready that she would need, going to the ingredients that lined the wall. James had been kind enough to let her grow what she needed for Remus in his greenhouse. He thought it was a grand idea and would help tend to them, too, when some of the plants required a delicate touch.
“What’s that?” Harry asked from across the workbench. He had a knife in his hand, the sharp tip pointing at her chest.
She looked down and grasped the time-turner around her neck. “You know I work in the time room, Harry.”
“Yeah, but, you’re like, using that, are you?”
She chuckled and released it. The time-turner swung lightly against her sternum before it still. “No, I’m not. This is one of the ones I destroyed in our fifth year, remember? Crocker gave it to me to study. There is hardly any sand in it. It won’t work. If it did, I’d probably go back two seconds or so.”
Harry stared at her for a long moment before he chuckled, too. Then several things happened at once. Harry flung his hands out and yelled, “Would it be like—Surprise!”, and the knife left his hand and slammed into the bubbling cauldron.
Hermione let out a sharp yell when it tipped over towards her, and she tried to move out of the way, but slipped and fell. She raised her hands over her head to protect herself.
The contents splashed against her chest, and she let out a scream of pain. She felt as if she were being tugged in several directions at once as the pain subsided, and the room twisted and blurred out of the way.
She felt like she was shrinking. Her shoes slipped off her feet, and her arms fell to the inside of her jumper. The room kept spinning, and Hermione tried to twist her body, but all she could manage was a scream of fear and surprise.
She was going to skin Harry when the room stopped, and she could get her bearings again.
Then the world stopped.
She panted out a breath and coughed. She reached up to her chest, and the time-turner that lay against her chest crumbled in her tiny hand.
“What do we have here?” a deep voice said. “Where did you come from, little one?”
Hermione blinked and opened her mouth to speak. Her clothes were falling off her, and her body felt too small, and she was trying to understand what had happened. She looked up at the man who was crouched in front of her, and all the words died in her mouth.
Crouching before her was James’ father, Fleamont Potter.
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Euphemia put her book down when she heard her husband come up from the lab. She blinked in surprise when he was carrying a little girl in his arms, wrapped in his work robes.
“What is this?” she asked as she stood and crossed the room.
“She appeared at my feet, just popped into existence.”
“How odd,” she said. “Did she accidentally Apparate into your lab?”
“There was no sound, and she’s not splinched. She just appeared without a sound. I brought her here to you, so we can figure out who she belongs to.”
Euphemia raised her hand and swiped at the curls on the little girl’s face. She was crying silently and clutched to Fleamont like he was her lifeline. She must be awfully confused.
With a sigh, she dropped her hand. “Let’s go to the office and do a legitimacy test, which should tell us who her parents are. I’m sure they must be worried sick about her.”
“Good idea.”
Fleamont tried to put the little girl down, but she shook her head and wrapped her tiny arms around his neck, burying her head in his shoulder.
“It’s okay, little one, we’re not going anywhere. Come, let’s get you sorted and back to where you belong.”
The little girl let out a small sound of discomfort as they walked to the office.
“Can you sit her for a moment while I get something to help you?” Fleamont asked as he tried to sit the little girl on the settee.
“Yes, sir,” she croaked.
She had a sweet little voice and manners, too. She was a darling little thing, but she was trembling as she sat there, looking down. Euphemia’s heart went out to her and moved to sit next to her, wrapping an arm around her tiny frame and tucked her against her side.
James walked in then, an apple in his hand. He took a bite and cocked his head to the side. “Who’s that?”
“We don’t know,” she said. “She appeared in your father’s lab.”
“Are we going to keep her?”
“No, darling, I’m sure she has parents who are worried about her.”
“Huh,” he said as he moved to the couch across from them. He stared at the little girl and smiled. “It’s too bad, I always wanted a little sister.”
Euphemia’s stomach lurched. She had wanted a daughter, too, but the Gods wouldn’t grant their wish. They were older when they had James and had never fallen pregnant again. After awile, they stopped trying because it was just too much for her to bear.
“Here we go,” Fleamont said. “I need a little bit of your blood for this special parchment. It’ll show us where you come from, and who your parents are.”
The little girl hesitated for a moment before she pulled back the long sleeves of the robes and gave Fleamont her hand.
“Good girl,” he said. “This won’t hurt too bad. Just a little knick on your finger.”
With gentle care, Fleamont took out his wand and pressed it against the girl's finger. She could feel the little girl tremble harder in her hold as the blood plinked against the parchment.
Fleamont stayed crouched in front of them as the parchment flared to life. James, always being curious, stood beside his father and looked down.
It was odd. When the paper flared to life, and it should have shown all the lineage that this girl carried in her, but all that appeared was a single name and a date of birth.
Hermione ~ 19 September 1959.
“How queer,” Fleamont said.
“Do you think the parchment is defective?” Euphemia asked.
“It shouldn’t be. I prepared these and tested one out myself. It worked fine.”
“Can we keep her now?” James asked.
The little girl snatched the paper and looked down. She let out a tiny gasp, and the parchment fluttered to the floor.
“It’s okay, little one. We will take you to the Ministry, and they will get you sorted.”
“It’s okay, dearest,” Euphemia said. “Let’s get you dressed and ready, and we’ll go to the Ministry. I’m sure they’ll figure out how to get you back home.”
The girl sniffed and nodded. She still hadn’t hardly spoken, but she was likely in shock.
Transforming the lab robes into something appropriate for her, Euphemia grabbed her hand, and together, as a family, they went to the Ministry to figure out who their mystery guest was.
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Hermione did her best not to panic. Why did the parchment show that she only had a first name, and her date of birth had changed? She never encountered such a thing while working in the time room. If she ever got back, which is very unlikely, Crocker was going to kill her.
The Ministry was vastly different from her time. Everything gleamed and sparkled. The statue in the middle was the one she remembered from before. Not the grotesque statue of Muggleborns and creatures being crushed under the weight of the Pureblood society.
She felt safe with the Potters. She knew they were good people. She had spoken to their portraits several times while at Potter Manor, and they had told her they considered her family for taking care of James and Harry. They even said to her that they wished she would marry Harry or James several times.
Harry was like a brother, and so was James. She loved them dearly, but she didn’t feel the spark with them. The one person she did was Remus since her third year at Hogwarts. Over the years, the pull to be near him was almost painful. She wanted to be with him, to be his. But he never gave any indication that he felt anything towards her, other than friendship. It was frustrating.
That is why she spent so much time at Potter Manor. She had a tiny flat in London, Muggle side, but James said he would feel better if she spent as much time as she could at the Manor and even invited her to move in, which she had been considering.
James, Harry, and Sirius were Aurors, and she saw them frequently at the Ministry, although she couldn’t stop and speak to them, being an Unspeakable. But, they knew it was her by her build. They would smile and wave, and she would wave back. Remus stayed home and became a writer. He had published a few books and was making a name for himself. She had read one of his books, a science fiction novel and enjoyed it. She should have known it would be science fiction as much as the grown men talked about Star Wars.
She was proud of Remus and would often read silently with him in the library, discussing everything from politics to mundane things. Those were the best moments that she lived for.
She felt tears sting her eyes as she moved through the Ministry holding Euphemia’s hand. She felt comforted in the fact that she hadn’t let go of her hand once, and would often give a gentle squeeze when Hermione seemed to freeze.
Would she ever go home again and see Harry and the others? She doubted it. From what she knew of time travel, you had to get back the long way. There was one that managed to go back, but she died soon after because the ageing caught up with her, and Hermione didn’t wish to die.
She was going to kick Harry James Potter’s arse if she ever got home.
“Here we go,” Fleamont said, striding towards a desk.
She shifted from foot to foot as Feamont explained that Hermione had just appeared at their Manor and handed the young witch the parchment that she had bled on. She sucked in a sharp breath as the witch studied her and motioned for them to follow her.
When they arrived at the waiting area for the Unspeakable department, Hermione tried to relax and remember all her training. She couldn’t let them know she was from twenty years in the future. She did want to go home, but she knew what would happen to her. She would be studied and have no life of her own, or be given the Kiss because it was a “danger” to have someone here out of their time.
She thought it was a bunch of rubbish. She knew that this was a completely different timeline. Things would progress the same; the fucking war would still happen, but if she were to marry James and have children, the world wouldn’t explode. Not that she would ever do that. She did love James as a brother. But the point stands.
Different timeline.
At least she had the knowledge of the First Wizarding War in her mind and could change things and make a difference. She would have to hunt down the fucking Horcruxes and destroy them. She would also have to protect James and Lily so Harry would have both his parents this time around.
She wanted to laugh because she doubted she would meet anyone she would like, other than Remus, and she knew him well enough to know he wouldn’t fancy her. He didn’t in the other timeline, so why would this one be different? She may as well start collecting cats.
They entered the small windowless waiting room, and Euphemia sat her next to her at the large round table in the room. This was the room where they interviewed people at the Unspeakable department. Being surrounded by the fresh lemon scent and the polished table relaxed her. She knew what to expect.
They would try to read her thoughts, but she had mastered Occlumency, and she also had to learn to tolerate Veritaserum. She was small now, maybe five or six, but she still held all the knowledge in her head. She just needed to be smart and play this game carefully.
She almost fell out of her fucking chair when Crocker and Moody stepped into the room holding the piece of parchment in their hand.
“Fleamont, Euphemia,” Moody grunted.
He stood taller. Both his eyes were trained on her. He had no cane that he leaned on, for he had both of his legs.
Holding perfectly still, she listened while the others spoke for her. She tried to keep herself scared, which was easy to do, and held onto Euphemia’s hand, gripping it tight.
It was Crocker who addressed her. He looked down at the parchment and then back at her. “Hermione, is it?” he asked. “How did you get here?”
She cleared her throat, and her small voice rang around the room. “I don’t know,” she said. “The first thing I remember was seeing this man, and he took care of me. I don’t know where I come from, or who my parents are,” she said.
“Hmm,” Crocker looked at Moody. “Vertiserum?”
“I think so. I’ll get it. Do you want to try to read her mind? Maybe something is blocked in there.”
“I can try that.”
“She’s just a girl and you’re treating her like a criminal!” Euphemia said. “Why?”
Moody’s features softened. “Euphemia, we are simply trying to figure out where the little lass comes from so we can find her parents. The parchment tells us nothing. I promise we’ll be gentle with her.”
Euphemia hurrumped and looked down at her.
“I won’t let them hurt you, dearest.”
James reached for her hand and took hold of it. “I won’t either,” he said.
She thought it was sweet, but in character with James. He was always caring when it came to who he deemed friends. Which apparently he considered her a friend, because he wouldn’t stop looking at her or touching her. He wanted to keep her.
She didn’t know what she would do. She was far too young to get a job or a flat of her own. How she de-aged, she didn’t know. It must have been something with the time-turner and the potions combined, but it was just the base of Wolfsbane.
Wolfsbane.
Shite. It hasn’t been invented yet. She pressed her lips together, thinking of all the things she would have to do. Because when she meets Remus again, she would have fucking Wolfsbane for him. He shouldn’t have to suffer for years because it hasn’t been invented yet. She just wished she had her beaded bag with her with all her galleons and library.
She was moved to face Crocker, and she pulled her shields around her and shoved the memories of the Potters and her arrival, the first time seeing Fleamont, to the forefront of her mind. Crocker was gentle with her, and she held perfectly still. He didn’t see her shield, thank fuck. She had been trained well and by Crocker himself.
“How odd,” he said, pulling out of her mind. “The first memories, the only memories she has, are when she saw you for the first time. There is nothing before that.”
Euphemia sucked in a sharp breath.
Thank fuck she had been an Unspeakable. She wasn’t sure she would be able to trick Crocker and have the endurance to tolerate Vertiserum.
Moody was the one who administered one drop of Veriserum. She sat there for several minutes and felt it take hold, but she was able to work through it. She could lie with this. She knew she could.
“What’s your full name, lass?” Moody asked.
“Hermione,” she said. “I don’t have any other name.”
They all looked at each other.
“Where did you come from?”
“I don’t know. I only remember the nice man who helped me,” she said.
The questions were simple, and she was able to answer them to suit her needs.
Moody leaned back and crossed his arms as he looked at her. He looked sad as he watched her squirm under his scrutiny.
“The only thing I can suggest is to send her to Wools, or a Wizarding Orphanage. We have no idea where she comes from.”
“No!” Euphemia snapped as she shoved her chair back. “Fleamont and I will take her home with us. She shouldn’t be sent to an orphanage where she’ll be mistreated or abused. She has already been through so much.”
“What?” Moody barked a laugh. “Are you going to adopt her?”
“That’s exactly what we’re going to do. You said it yourself several times. Constant Vigilance. What better way to keep an eye on her? What if she remembers something? Do you think the orphanage will listen to her?”
“I see your point,” Moody said with a sigh. “Fine, she can go home with you and Fleamont, but if she remembers something, tell us immediately.”
“How do we go about adopting her?” Fleamont asked. “We want to protect her.”
“We can do that,” Crocker said. “We can do a blood adoption so she’ll be considered yours, if that is what you wish.”
“Yes,” Euphemia said. “No one will take Hermione from us,” she said. “She is scared and needs stability. We agree to tell you if she remembers anything.”
“Then so be it.”
That is how Hermione became Hermione Euphemia Potter of the House of Potter.