If It Had Happened Otherwise

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CHAPTER ONE

"You've probably all had those kinds of dreams that are like usual life, except that a lot of things are not the same, and you seem to know the future in them. Well, this is because these other worlds where two things can happen spread out from our world like rainbows, and sort of flow into one another..."
-Diana Wynne Jones

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MUDBLOODS & THE DANGERS THEY POSE TO BRITISH SOCIETY

You may be wondering why you are reading such a ridiculously titled pamphlet. You may also be wondering, 'what is a Mudblood' and 'what sort of dangers do they present'? Do not fret! This single pamphlet shall be your friend and guide with regards to all Mudblood-related concerns.

THE MUD-BLOOD

Firstly, what, you may ask, is a Mudblood?

If you do not know what a Mudblood is, consider yourself blessed! We live in such privileged times that a growing number young witches and wizards of today have never before encountered or perhaps even heard of a Mudblood.

A Mudblood, quite simply, is an evil Muggle who has managed to steal the magic that rightfully belongs to a witch or wizard. Ghastly, isn't it? How is such a crime even possible, you ask?

Long ago, the witches and wizards of the world lived in peace. Over time, however, Muggles became aware of magic, and they grew jealous of the incredible wonders that it could accomplish. This of course began the centuries-long witch hunts of the Medieval Ages. Fortunately, as you know, these silly hunts barely affected the wizarding population due to our superior knowledge and strength. Witch-hunting eventually died out, only to pave way for a new and horrific path: Blood-Theft.

Blood-Theft is the means by which Muggles are stealing our very magic. By drinking the fresh blood of a witch or wizard, Muggles can effectively steal the magic right from us–

"You have got to be kidding," Hermione scorned. Her companion released a snort so quiet she almost missed it, and she scowled at him before continuing.

This is generally easiest for Muggles to achieve when a witch or wizard has not yet outgrown infancy, as it would be nearly impossible for a Muggle to overcome a fully grown witch or wizard. The Blood-Theft ritual does not require all of the magical blood, only a little. A simple cut is enough to steal the magic away from a baby.

Reminder that Ministerial Decree No.176 forbids the practice of Blood-Theft, and reporting such illegal monstrosities is mandatory. More under What to do When Faced With A Mudblood.

DANGERS TO SOCIETY

Mudbloods pose an immediate threat to the witches and wizards of the world. Do you happen to have a Squib in the family? Or perhaps you know someone who is a Squib. For generations, wizards have treated Squibs as Muggle outcasts, failing to recognize the tragedy that has befallen these poor souls. However, today, the witches and wizards of Britain have acknowledged that such Squibs are not outcasts; they are not the result of lacking parentage.

Squibs are the direct result of Blood-Theft. When a Muggle steals magic to become a Mudblood, a wizard is sapped of any and all magical abilities, left behind as a destitute Squib. In the past, we did not understand the calamities of these misfortunate Squibs, and so we as a society shunned and punished them. However, we are proud today to stand with our abused brethren and help them assimilate where they will best fit.

She eyed her companion again, until he leaned over to see with which part she was confused. He raised an eyebrow, as if the answer should be obvious, and Hermione pursed her lips until he finally responded. "The Muggle world, of course."

Considering she had just come from a war where Purebloods wanted to dominate Muggles and looked down upon everything non-magical, Hermione felt her confusion justified.

HOW TO SPOT A MUDBLOOD

As you know, young witches and wizards should begin to display magical abilities by the age of seven at the latest, and usually no earlier than four, so it can be quite difficult to tell if a child has been robbed of their magical blood right away. However, there are some signs to look for when recognizing a Mudblood has cursed your family.

Always examine your child for cuts or scrapes.

For those of you choosing to live near Muggle towns... keep an eye and ear out for any unusual activity. Mudbloods tend to flaunt their new magic and brag to each other, so they may let slip something incriminating.

Has a witch or wizard recently appeared with no family to speak of? Do they seem suspicious? This could be the sign of a Mudblood trying to infiltrate the wizarding world.

Mudbloods can be any age, old or young. Muggles will often steal the blood of a witch or wizard, but then feed it to their child rather than themselves, as a further way to pollute our society secretly.

Furthermore, Mudbloods, undoubtedly due to the magic having been stolen, will have inferior magical abilities when compared to a witch or wizard.

Most important, and the easiest to spot, Mudbloods have no magical parentage. This is the fundamental reason for Ministerial Decree No.177, which requires witches and wizards to provide Patents of Magical Lineage for schooling, jobs, and other such matters.

WHAT TO DO WHEN FACED WITH A MUDBLOOD

Alert the authorities immediately if you happen upon a Mudblood, as they can be dangerous to confront. Armed with evil ideals, Mudbloods may attempt to duel, and their lack of magical control could be deadly, even for a fully grown witch or wizard.

Contact the Ministry immediately, and they will send Aurors to apprehend the thieves. Failure to report Mudbloods and their activities is punishable by law.

Rest assured that Mudbloods face the harshest of punishments. Our dedicated Minister of Magic, Tom Riddle, was one of the first to recognize this evil and warn others of the dangers. The Minister himself examines each case carefully, ensuring the safety of all of Britain.

THE IMPORTANCE OF A SAFE SOCIETY IN BRITAIN

While we here in Britain have uncovered the dangers and truths of Mudbloods, it is unfortunate that not every society has. The Americas and Africas in particular are tolerant of these criminals, so beware when traveling abroad to these countries.

However, it is with great pride that the Minister of Magic and the Ministry itself can make all witches and wizards here in Britain feel at ease. Aurors are highly trained to detect Mudbloods in every region, and they are always grateful for the tips contributed by witches and wizards such as yourself.

The article went on to give a lengthy list of the names who had contributed to such tips. Hermione flung the pamphlet back at her companion, disgusted.

It was the same garbage Umbridge had drafted during the Second Wizarding War. However, Umbridge's name was not printed anywhere on the pamphlet, which, Hermione had discovered with contempt, was actually issued by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. This pamphlet was the latest edition, printed only last year, though it seemed the first edition had been printed as early as 1952.

Her entire situation was preposterous... and dangerous. Hermione would swear she was dreaming, trapped in nightmare where Muggle-borns were persecuted by a society without Lord Voldemort, though she supposed he was still a driving force behind it. Learning that Tom Riddle was the current Minister of Magic was certainly a shock, but more so the fact that he had kept his Muggle name. The persona of Lord Voldemort didn't seem to exist here, and perhaps instead Tom Riddle had followed expectations and gone into the Ministry straight out of Hogwarts. Hermione supposed he must still posses all the charm and persuasive abilities of Voldemort, and he had used them to influence the Ministry into hunting Muggle-borns.

It was interesting to note, however, that Muggles themselves were not being persecuted. She wondered if Riddle planned to get to that eventually, or if perhaps there was just an abundance of Muggle-borns to force his evil plans upon. She was also surprised to read that Squibs were viewed as 'tragic' and 'unfortunate', although Hermione suspected that Squibs were more of a means to an end for Riddle, rather than true sympathy.

She wondered how Argus Filch had fared.

Hermione knew her companion was waiting for her to say something; he had probably noticed the way she was practically gnawing off her lower lip, biting back scathing remarks. However, she didn't know what to say or how to explain herself. Unless she wanted to be declared mentally unstable, telling him she came from a different timeline was out of the picture.

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Her morning had started off fairly well. After feeling unsure over the past few months, Hermione had finally come to terms with her decision to return to Hogwarts for her seventh year.

She had spent most of the summer at the Burrow, spending time with Harry and Ron. The Golden Trio had spent so much time together over the past year, they were quite reluctant to separate, even if the war had officially been declared over and Voldemort was undeniably dead. Many a night, Hermione had found herself creeping into Harry or Ron's bed, only relaxing when Harry's hand found hers, or when Ron's arm wrapped around her middle. The nightmares didn't follow her there.

Loath as she was to admit it, Hermione preferred the nights when she could crawl under Harry's comforter. It wasn't that she wanted to be in his bed in a romantic sense, but there was something between Hermione and her best friend that couldn't quite compare. She didn't have a proper name for this, though safety, belonging, and family all applied. Something carried over from their days together in the tent, and though they never discussed it, she knew Harry understood.

This was not to say she didn't want to be in Ron's bed, but circumstances occasionally made the situation... awkward. He was her second best friend, and Hermione knew he would never press the issue. But Ron's feelings ran a bit deeper than friendship, and those nights when his arms wrapped her around her, Hermione knew he was left wanting something more. She had wanted it, too, once, when they had kissed during the battle, the pressures of war causing her to make her affections known. However, after things had grown calm, Hermione found herself almost dreading any sort of dating relationship, although she had trouble explaining exactly why. Ron had given up asking for reasons, feelings hurt, even if he understood that she needed time. And after one night of hesitation and apologies, Ron had told her to budge up and get under the covers, and had swept his own feelings under the rug for the time being.

Hermione appreciated it more than she could say.

The boys had both accompanied her in early June to retrieve her parents from Australia. Although her parents were proud to have a daughter who was known as a war hero, they were equally as furious at her dangerous actions, not to mention wiping their memories. So the Granger family had decided that some further separation was in order while the dentists tried to get their lives in Britain back together. Hermione understood, but it didn't hurt any less. The parents she had spent a year worrying over had ignored her even once they remembered. Harry and Ron had been there for her, and the three had spent the remainder of the summer at the Burrow with Ginny and the rest of the Weasley family, recovering from injuries and hiding from the press.

Not to mention holding Fred's funeral, though Hermione hastily pushed that memory away. It wouldn't do to begin crying after reading an Anti-Muggle-born pamphlet, in a train compartment with someone she didn't trust.

That particular morning, she and Ginny had dragged their trunks downstairs and loaded them into Arthur Weasley's ministry car, driven by an Auror Hermione had not recognized. Harry and Ron decided to go into training late that day, so that they could see the girls off to their seventh year at Hogwarts. George and Percy were there too, looking around every so often, and Hermione wondered if they were there for protection rather than a simple send-off.

As if summoned by her thoughts, a group of Voldemort supporters had Apparated right there in the train station. The Muggles around them shrieked in fright, scattering away from Platforms 9 and 10. The intruders weren't donning Death Eater cloaks and masks, but Hermione was sure she recognized one of them as a Snatcher. Before the first one could even lift a wand, Harry had thrown a Shield Charm around her. With several cracks, she realized Percy had left and returned with a handful of Aurors. They immediately began dueling the Snatchers.

Hermione's body acted on instinct, firing off Stunning Spells left and right. Their attackers would have been unable to Apparate inside Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, as new wards were in place after the war, and so they had chosen to ambush the group in the main part of King's Cross. However, they didn't seem interested in killing Muggles, as most of their attacks were aimed at Harry Potter. Of course.

"Take the girls and go!" Mrs. Weasley had ordered of Ron and Harry. Although Harry was known to have a bit of a hero complex, he surprised Hermione by nodding his head and turning to protect Ginny. He and the redhead disappeared through the barrier, and Ron made to follow with Hermione.

He was ushering her from behind, and she turned to glance over her shoulder for danger. That was when she saw a bright orange curse heading straight for them. She shoved Ron to the ground and then ducked, still running and pushing her luggage cart in front. The curse sailed over her head and struck the wall between Platforms 9 and 10, and the barrier hissed and crackled under the dark magic.

Hermione didn't even have a chance to swerve before both she and her cart had passed through the barrier and onto the train platform. Moody surely would have berated her for touching anything that hissed with dark magic, but Hermione had simply had too much momentum to stop in time. Of course, that didn't stop her from blaming herself later and wondering why she, Harry, Ron, and Ginny hadn't simply Apparated back to the Burrow. Or to Hogsmeade. It was a moment that would haunt her for quite some time.

Compared to the battle that had raged in King's Cross, the platform seemed eerily quiet. Parents hugged their children goodbye. Older students helped the younger ones load their trunks onto the Hogwarts Express. Owls hooted from within their cages. And yet, Hermione felt the atmosphere to be a bit... dark. But what did you expect, she asked herself, knowing that this sort of behavior would happen after a war. Students were returning to a place where one of the deadliest battles of the century had occurred. Many families had lost children and relatives during the Battle of Hogwarts.

Even so... Hermione had a strange sense of foreboding that caused her arm hairs to stand on end. She chalked it up to a year on the run; her sense of safety just hadn't returned yet.

Although, as Hermione pushed her cart towards the train, for children who had been scarred and tortured by the Carrows last year, the people around her actually seemed to be in high spirits. She glanced around for Harry and Ginny but could not find them; she found it odd that they would have left to find a compartment without her, especially with what was happening back behind the barrier. She turned around to see if anyone had followed, if Ron was okay, and her breath caught in her throat.

There, above the iron archway, was an old sign which read, Platform Nine and One Half.

Hermione stared at it, gaping stupidly for almost a full minute. "Platform Nine and One Half?" she mumbled to herself. "Someone having a laugh?"

She had to find Harry and Ginny, quickly. That bad feeling was creeping over her again and leaving goosebumps in its wake.

She charmed her trunk to be feather-light; she was, after all, of age and legally able to do so. Not that her trunk was too heavy to begin with, however, seeing as most of her things were still locked away inside the beaded bag at her hip. Immediate things belonging to Harry and Ron had been given back, though she still needed to properly sort through it all. She had a feeling a few old Weasley jumpers, among other things, were still buried in the depths of her purse.

Carrying her trunk in one hand, she boarded the train and began looking for Harry. Hermione had expected to find him trapped among a circle of admirers, unless Ginny had hexed them all away. She also would have been lying if she hadn't expected to get a bit of attention herself, but it seemed as if every student appeared to be staring at her, a wave of curiosity passing over many of the compartments as she walked by. She was nearing the end of the train and had yet to find Harry, and Hermione's dread was increasing tenfold.

She came upon the very last cabin and sighed with relief, having spotted the black-haired, bespectacled boy.

Hermione wrenched the door open. "Oh thank Merlin, Harry, I was beginning to panic–" She paused as she took in the full compartment.

All three occupants were staring at her with visible degrees of shock. A small, stocky boy sat to her right, clutching a bag of Chocolate Frogs in his hands. He blushed under her gaze before glancing at the other two sitting across from him. The boy furthest from her stared back with interest, rather than the rude gaping of the other two, and Hermione noted the shiny badge over his Hogwarts robes, which he had already changed into. Finally her gaze shifted to Harry, whose eyebrows had rose up far under his dark brown hair.

Dark brown?

Hazel eyes stared back at her from behind oval glasses, and Hermione sucked in her next breath of air so fast she began to choke.

This was not Harry Potter. Harry would not be sitting and chatting with friends without any other care in the world, as Harry was not returning to Hogwarts. Harry would not be staring at her as if he did not recognize her. Harry would have been kissing Ginny Weasley goodbye at the least, though she suspected he would have been waiting for her right at the platform barrier, to make sure she was safe before dashing back through to help Ron and the others.

Hermione and Not-Harry-Potter regarded each other for a long minute before the boy in the back decided to break the silence.

"Do you know her, James?"

Her attention snapped to Remus Lupin at once, his voice still discernible after all this time. They had buried his body, with Tonks's, over the summer as well, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out. Hermione was surprised she hadn't recognized him upon first glance. Though she assumed it probably had to do with the lack of scars marring his face. He had called Not-Harry 'James' hadn't he? Oh Merlin. And the round boy could only be Peter Pettigrew. Three of the four Marauders... just what had she gotten herself into? Remus Lupin stood and the other two followed suit.

Her eyes practically popped out of their sockets. She had to get out of here, and fast. Hermione didn't know exactly what was happening, but the mantra of You must not be seen repeated over and over in her mind. Unfortunately for her, Hermione felt the train shift and begin to leave the station at that exact moment. Bloody hell! She had to find Harry, if he was even here, and he couldn't possibly still be on the train right? And what about the others, had they even cared what had happened to her–

"I've never seen her in my life," Not-Harry responded coldly, and all three boys narrowed their eyes. She saw Lupin reach for his wand, as if he considered her a threat. How silly! Except that none of the boys were smiling, and all three were drawing their wands.

"Ah, there you are," drawled a quiet voice. Only months on the run of never turning her back on a wand prevented Hermione from looking over her shoulder at the newcomer. Instead, she reflexively fingered her own wand hidden in her pocket.

A pale hand gripped her arm painfully before dragging her away from the compartment, her luggage banging against the wall as she went. "Come along, no need to get involved with that riffraff."

The Marauders' suspicion turned to rage at her savior, but Hermione was led down the corridor before anything else could happen. She was tempted to issue a thank you, but her new friend suddenly shoved her inside an open compartment before slamming the door, wordlessly casting an Anti-Alohamora charm that, despite the situation, was still impressive, and pressing his wand to her throat.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't haul you off to the Head Girl," he threatened icily.

Hermione's jaw dropped. Severus Snape!? She had never seen the teenaged professor from the Pensieve memories, but Harry had described everything in detail to his two best friends over the summer. The young Snape looked every bit as greasy and sallow-faced as Harry had implied, and his black eyes were full of suspicion and, if she was not mistaken, hatred.

If it weren't for the matter of wrong place, wrong time, let's not change history, Hermione would have shown Severus Snape just exactly how well she could execute his own Levicorpus spell.

Wait–

"Head Girl?" repeated Hermione. She may have heard it all second-hand, but she was confident in remembering that Lily Potter (Evans at the time, she corrected herself) had been Head Girl in 1977, and she and Snape had long since dissolved their friendship back in fifth year. And judging by they boys' appearances, they all looked to be about seventh years.

"Seeing as the Head Boy back there was indulging himself on chocolate and idiocy," Snape retorted acidly, and with a jolt Hermione recalled that James Potter had been Head Boy (no wonder Snape didn't want to report her to him), "Head Girl Selwyn is my best option, even if she is vapid and vain."

Hermione's brows furrowed. "Head Girl... Selwyn...?"

Snape's lips drew into a thin line; it seemed even in his early days he loathed to repeat himself. "Yes, that's what I said," he replied darkly, his wand digging into her skin. "Are you deaf?"

She ignored his antics, the need to correct his wrong information too strong. "I thought the Head Girl was Lily Evans?"

Snape's face, if possible, grew even paler and his eyes widened with surprise, but he did not lower his wand. "What do you know," he whispered with aggression, "of Lily Evans?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes in turn. "Perhaps if you lower your wand and stop treating me like a criminal," she offered, rolling her eyes, "I will tell you." Snape looked unconvinced. "It's not like I can make a run for it, seeing as how you've locked the door."

Snape was mildly impressed she had recognized his nonverbal spell, if his raised eyebrows were any indication. After another moment, he drew back his wand and stepped away, though the suspicion was still there. Hermione rubbed her throat where Snape's wand had no doubt left a red mark, before she set down her luggage and sat on the bench behind her. "You may as well get comfortable," she told him, although Snape was someone unlikely to get comfortable in front of an enemy. However, he unexpectedly sat down as well, his body tense and wand ready in case she tried anything.

Hermione knew she had to be careful about this. Something was definitely wrong. Not only was she surrounded by younger versions of people who were supposed to be dead, but the way Snape had questioned her about Lily, as if it were some great, taboo secret... The wrongly named train platform came to mind.

Where on earth was she?

"I... I thought Lily Evans would be Head Girl," Hermione said at last. She spoke in a soft, confused voice, and hoped to portray her future knowledge as suspicions, rather than absolute facts. Awful things happened to wizards who messed with time, and although Hermione had a few guesses about her situation, until they were proven true, she had to act as if she had been thrown back in time and anything she said or did could alter future events. Best to ask questions and let Snape reveal the truth in turn.

Snape, who had still been eyeing her warily up until then, actually glanced at his feet with what Hermione could only conclude to be guilt. The silence dragged on, but Snape almost seemed to be arguing with himself, clenching his teeth.

He finally looked at her with a carefully schooled expression. His tone, however, was that of a haunted man. "Lily Evans is dead."

Hermione didn't bother to contain the horror and shock that had spilled across her face. Lily Evans was dead. How was this possible!? If she hadn't heard everything Harry had said about Snape being in love with his mother for years, she would have thought the boy across from her was playing a sick joke. However, the Snape sitting across from her had a sad look in his eyes, his shoulders hunched around himself as he watched Hermione's emotions play out on her face. He was not lying, that much she could tell, even if he was so good at deception and had managed to trick Voldemort, Hermione would stake her books that the boy in front of her now was telling the truth.

And what did this mean for Harry? Hermione grew sick at the thought of her best friend never being born. Had she caused this? Had her arrival in this time somehow thrown everything off? Hermione clamped a hand over her mouth, forcing down the bile and tears that threatened to spill forth.

Snape watched her. "You didn't know."

She shook her head, even though he hadn't meant it as a question. She took deep breaths and tried to calm down. She had to get to the bottom of this; clearly this was all wrong, and it wouldn't do to hyperventilate. Right now, Hermione needed answers, and she latched onto her thirst for knowledge, pushing all of the other emotions away for the time being.

"How?" she asked, her voice cracking despite her new resolve.

Severus Snape studied her for a bit longer, before he stood and reached overhead for his trunk. Hermione watched him warily; she didn't think he was going to attack her, but after months of war, she couldn't help the uneasiness that was practically a second nature to her now. Snape, for his part, merely removed a piece of parchment from his trunk before sitting down again.

"You're not from around here," he said quietly, again stating rather than asking. He glanced nervously at the door when several people passed by.

Wondering why he hadn't done so himself, Hermione cast a nonverbal, wandless Muffliato at the door. Severus Snape couldn't contain his fascination this time, but it wasn't for the wandless reason she had expected.

"What was that spell?" he asked curiously.

Well, that's different, she thought. Considering Snape was the one who had invented it.

"A charm that prevents passersby from overhearing our conversation," she explained.

Snape's shoulders dropped with the tiniest hint of relaxation. "Good," he replied, before continuing with a hiss, "because what we're about discuss will never leave this compartment, do you understand?"

She nodded solemnly. "I understand." Then she narrowed her gaze. "That goes for you as well, however."

"Obviously," he said dryly. He handed her the parchment he'd retrieved earlier, which turned out to be some sort of pamphlet.

"What's this?" asked Hermione, but then she caught sight of the title.

Snape took in her bulging eyes and shaking hands. "You're clearly not from around here... so I thought you might find it... illuminating."

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The scar on Hermione's left arm was burning by the time she had finished reading.

She stopped chewing on her lip and gasped. "Lily," she whispered in understanding, looking to Snape fearfully. He nodded, appearing decidedly guilty again.

She choked back a sob, glancing at the horrible pamphlet that lay on the seat next to Snape. Where the bloody hell am I? she thought, her mind racing. Hunting Muggle-borns was legal here. How many people like Lily Evans were gone? The Creevey brothers, Justin Finch-Fletchley... they weren't born yet, Hermione supposed, but they would have grim lives in the future. Dirk Cresswell and Mary Macdonald had surely met similar fates as Lily. And for what, because the wizarding population was ignorant enough to believe that Muggles could steal magic... through Blood-Theft, of all things? It was entirely ridiculous!

However, this did pose a serious problem for Hermione. She was a Muggle-born. She was a bloody brilliant witch, but if this society went around checking people for, what did they call it, patents of magical lineage... she didn't have one. And while Hermione was sure that she could take on a teenage Snape if he tried to turn her in, she didn't fancy having a department of Aurors, or even Voldemort himself, chasing her down.

Severus Snape, meanwhile, still had a frightful air of guilt about him.

Hermione peered at him. "Oh Merlin... Please tell me you didn't..."

But in her own time, hadn't Snape called Lily a Mudblood and betrayed her friendship? It seemed only fitting, in a sick and twisted way, that he had betrayed her here in this universe, too.

Snape flinched. "I... I..." But Hermione was not having any of it.

"I can't believe you! You turned her in to the Ministry?" she screeched, repulsed. Harry Potter would never be born, because Severus Snape had reported Lily's Muggle parentage to Voldemort. She should hex him something awful. Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes and she gripped her wand tightly. "Let me guess," she spat, her emotions flaring out of control, "you called her a Mudblood in front of the entire school after she tried to stand up for you?"

Snape was taken aback. "What? No, I would never!" argued the teen professor, standing and towering over Hermione. "I would have protected her! I would have taken care of her if..." His anger gave way to grief, and Snape sank back against the cushions, his face buried in his hands.

Hermione bit her lip again, watching the distressed boy try to hide his tears. From what he had just said, the confrontation during fifth year clearly hadn't taken place. He had openly admitted, to a stranger, that he would have protected Lily. Hermione frowned. Snape never admitted anything to anyone. He had also saved her from the Marauders and claimed to know she wasn't from around here (although to what extend, she could not yet tell). And as awful as the pamphlet made Mudbloods out to be, Severus Snape regretted whatever had happened to cause Lily's death. He was not as cold as the professor who had sneered at her cursed teeth, at least not yet. Perhaps there was still some good in this Severus Snape.

She dug through her beaded bag. She had long since given back the photo albums Harry had hidden in there, but Hermione had made copies, backups in case the originals were lost or damaged. This went against everything she had ever been taught about Time-Turners and time traveling, but then, she wasn't exactly dealing with either of those, was she? Still, she had to be careful with her knowledge of the future, even if most of it wouldn't come to pass.

Snape glanced up as she tugged the photo album out of her purse, eyeing it with suspicion. Hermione flipped through the pages, looking for the best one. She wasn't quite willing to tell Snape that she was from a different future, so any photos involving James or baby Harry were out. And she didn't know exactly when Lily had been... found out, so any photos of her at Hogwarts would be a risk. Of course, many of the photos of Lily at Hogwarts were with James in their seventh year, and seeing as how Snape mentioned earlier that James was Head Boy, she concluded the Mauraders were entering their seventh and final year, thus ultimately rendering such pictures useless anyway.

Unfortunately, there were hardly any photos of Lily Evans as a child in the album. Such photos would have been Muggle stills, and likely belonged to her parents. Hermione doubted Harry's horrible Aunt Petunia had kept any, and if she had, she certainly wouldn't have shared them with Harry.

Was Petunia even still alive now? Or had the Aurors killed the entire Evans family?

Hermione felt sick.

She swallowed and returned to photo hunting. After double checking that the photo she'd miraculously found contained nothing suspicious, she tapped it with her wand and duplicated it, taking the picture in one hand and putting the album back into her bag with the other.

She held the photo out for Snape to take, and he reached for it tentatively. However, spotting the familiar red hair, he grabbed it greedily and stared.

Lily had to be around eight or nine years old. The photo had been taken in front of the Statue of Liberty in America, probably during an Evans family vacation. She was hanging from the railing, looking out over the water and pointing excitedly at the statue. Despite the despair that still gripped him, Hermione saw the briefest hint of a smile on Severus Snape's lips.

He looked to Hermione, confused. "But how..." He blinked in recognition. "You're the witch from America."

Hermione played it safe, neither confirming or denying his statement, and instead she waited for him to offer an explanation.

"Lily mentioned she had met someone while on vacation in America, someone like her, someone who could do strange things," explained Snape, gazing fondly at the photo. "I assumed she was referring to an actual American, but you are clearly British."

She nodded, waiting for him to say more. Snape, however, seemed content to simply stare at the photo in wonder for the rest of the train ride. But Hermione had other concerns she needed Snape to address.

"So... what happened to her?" she asked softly.

Snape gripped the photo tightly, and Hermione was worried he might not answer her at all. He threw her another hesitant glance, and she in turn smiled back. "I won't tell, I swear." She bit her lip and threw a little of her caution to the wind. "Lily was my friend, too. Please... I need to know."

His jaw had clenched at the word friend, but then he nodded.

It had been just after Snape's eleventh birthday, and a week or two before Lily's, when they had met in a park between their houses. Unlike the story that Harry had told Hermione, Petunia Evans had not been present this time. Snape and Lily became friends at once, with Snape easing Lily's fears of magic. He had filled her head with stories of Diagon Ally and Hogwarts, and she had listened in wonder. "She asked me if having non-magical parents would be a problem," Snape informed Hermione bitterly. "If she would be treated any different." His voice cracked. "I should have told her... I should have warned her how wizards really felt about... Muggles with magic." Snape moaned. "Oh, but I didn't, I couldn't! She was the only friend I'd ever had, and who was I to ruin that perfect moment? How could I possibly tell her that the government here punished Mudbloods? No, I was an idiot. I lied, reassuring her everything would be fine."

He had tried to reassure himself, too. Lily was such a brilliant witch, he'd thought; her magic was beyond that of a normal eleven-year-old, so surely they wouldn't think her an inferior Mudblood. The child Snape had reasoned that, if Lily had a wand, perhaps they wouldn't think on it much at all. Mudbloods could only acquire a wand if they stole one from a wizard, and Snape had had the perfect idea to take Lily with him to Diagon Ally to purchase her very own wand.

Except that the plan had backfired. Having two children unaccompanied by parents was suspicious enough, but Ollivander had asked to see Lily's patent before he measured her for a wand. Snape had been unaware that the wandmaker would require such a thing, and to his horror, Ollivander had summoned the authorities.

Lily was taken away without question, never seen or heard from again.

Both Hermione and Snape were crying by the end of the story, though the latter hastily wiped away his tears once he noticed. Hermione thought that Snape was actually a very good friend. No, the plan wasn't well thought out in hindsight, but he had only been eleven. He had taken her to Diagon Ally with good intentions. "I would have taken care of her if..." If she had gone to Hogwarts, that was what Snape had meant to say. And Hermione didn't doubt it. With no Death Eaters to gravitate to in this universe, Severus Snape may have very well turned out much differently, especially if Lily had stayed in his life.

After more gentle coaxing, Snape proceeded to explain that he had held out hope for a while. He had thought perhaps that Lily would get some sort of fair trial, or be sent away to a different part of the world that accepted Mudbloods. However, after two years of hearing nothing, he had finally begged an older Prefect Lucius Malfoy to use his father's ministry connections and find out exactly what they had done with Lily.

She had been thrown in Azkaban with no trial, where she died a short while later. The remaining Evans family members had been tracked down as well, and while Lucius hadn't told him what had happened to the Muggles, Snape was fairly certain they were also dead, likely to have been viewed as the enablers of Lily's Blood-Theft.

Hermione was sure that, had she not experienced far worse in her own life, her true feelings on everything Snape had told her would have come out in a highly aggressive and passionate manner. If Harry and Ron thought she went overboard with S.P.E.W., that had nothing on these Anti-Muggle-born laws.

"You don't really think that Lily was capable of drinking blood, do you?" Hermione asked with conviction. "You said so yourself, she was a brilliant witch and a sweet girl. I don't believe for a second she stole anyone's magic."

Not that it was even possible, but she kept that to herself.

"Careful," Snape muttered, "that sort of talk can be considered treason."

She glared at him. "You know I'm from America," she argued, going along with the history he had assumed. "Yes, I was born here and lived here for a few years, but we moved to America and I was raised there until recently. You know that Americans have different views on... Mudbloods than you lot do."

The word tasted vile in her own mouth, but Hermione had yet to hear Snape say 'Muggle-born' so she assumed that title must not exist here.

"I should have told her to move to America," Snape regretted. "She would have been safe there; she would still be alive. Instead, I led her straight into the lion's den! I should have done more... I should have saved her." He hung his head in shame.

Hermione's hand twitched at her side; she wanted to reach out and comfort him, but she didn't think Snape would take kindly to the physical contact and would probably see it as pity.

"You didn't know. You were just a child," she reminded him at last. "You tried to help; that's all you could have done. I know Lily appreciated it... and appreciated your friendship."

Severus Snape did not respond, but he did close his eyes and let out a deep sigh. Outside the window, the Scottish countryside rolled past, and Hermione guessed they would be at the school in two or three hours.

She needed a plan. She couldn't show up randomly at Hogwarts, with no invitation, no patents, and no knowledge of this universe. They would likely accuse her of stealing magic, even if she did have a wand, and then they'd cart her off to Azkaban like Lily Evans and so many others. Not that Hermione would be captured so easily, but she wasn't looking for a fight. As horrific and disturbing as this place was, she knew she had to choose her battles. She couldn't stand up for Muggle-borns and win when the entire Ministry was against her. For now, she had to just lay low and figure out a way to get back to her own place... and time.

Albus Dumbledore would be her first choice for help, but Hermione was not sure she could trust even him. For all she knew, here Dumbledore could be a Muggle-hating bigot. Still, she didn't have many other options. She had to gain Dumbledore's trust enough for him to accept her into Hogwarts. She would be safe behind the school walls, where she could use the vast library to research alternate timelines. However, in order to even get into the school, she would need help.

She eyed Snape, who was still wallowing in guilt and gazing longingly at the photo of Lily Evans. Hermione cleared her throat.

"It may be too late to save Lily, but I... I could really use your help."

.

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Why am I starting something new when I have a ton of stories to finish? My muse seems to think it's the right idea.

So. Yes. Another Hermione in the Marauders' Era time-travel fanfiction. Of a sort, at least. Some things will be a bit different, but other things will be the same. When I started planning this, the story could have gone to three different pairings: Hermione/James, Hermione/Sirius, or Hermione/Regulus. While there will be hints of the other two, though not enough to warrant an actual pairing, mind you, the end game is Hermione/Regulus because that is what the story dictated. I know it's not the most popular pairing, but it is one of my personal favorites. I know there are a million other time-travel stories out there, and I have only read a handful of them, but I don't believe this sort of plot exists for HG/RB. Rest assured the Marauders will be featured heavily!

This story is unbeta'd and may have typos, my apologies in advance.

Chapter 2 is finished and in editing, and it will be posted as soon as I finish chapter 3. Not sure how long this story will be, but definitely over 10 chapters I should think.

The title of this story refers to the collection of alternate histories edited together by J. C. Squire.