In her eight years of knowing the man, James Potter had almost never spoken to her in a pleasant manner. Hermione never quite understood why; Lily simply told her that she was much more of an asset in this world than she realized. Something about that felt as though Lily was speaking without actually telling, and it seemed all too common with the older people in her life. Remus and Sirius kept silent on the subject, and even Minerva, who seemed to know something, refused to comment. Harry never quite understood either, although he did tell Hermione that the effects of the war had left his father isolated and temperamental at times, but that much was apparent to all of Wizarding Britain.
It was common knowledge that Harry was conceived out of a friendship that never grew, vows or no vows, and they had never really attempted to allow it to mature beyond that. Hermione often speculated as to why that might be, but she knew damn well when something was absolutely none of her business, despite the fact that it was a rather peculiar situation. That being said, James and Lily Potter had quite a successful marriage; they slept in different bedrooms – occasionally the same, Sirius had told her once, if they'd had a few whiskeys – but they worked beautifully together to help their son throughout the years.
Still, almost the entirety of The Order was aware that Lily had a strong emotional connection to Professor Severus Snape. On missions, they made the best of partners, and they had saved one another from death countless times. Despite that apparent love and admiration, however, Hermione knew that Lily Potter would stand by her husband's side so long as there was a band on her left hand. They were and had always been fiercely loyal to one another and their family; Harry and Neville had grown up in a wonderful home because of it.
Hermione had often been given the opportunity to witness the couple's happiness as a bystander when they spoke to their sons; she knew in her heart that they were both wonderful, trustworthy people. Still, she didn't understand what she had done, at age eleven no less, to make her best friend's father hate her so much. To any other person, Professor Snape included, Mr. Potter was always a kind, welcoming man, but she never had the opportunity to know him as such, because he had loathed her from the very moment their eyes met on Platform 9 ¾ all those years ago.
He was escorting Harry on to the train, and Hermione was eager to meet another magical person, so she and Harry wound themselves into fast conversation. Harry knew all about the wizarding world, and he seemed excited to make a Muggleborn friend. Hermione, in turn, was so overwhelmed by his immediate acceptance of her that she couldn't stop talking; it was a wonder he wished to befriend her at all, really. It took her nearly twenty minutes before she finally stopped talking and noticed the older man's eyes glaring down at her, but she couldn't imagine why he was looking at her that way. She just wanted to make a friend, and Harry was so incredibly kind to her.
That look of hatred was one she had seen quite a few times over the following years, but it wasn't a consistent thing. More often than not, he would look past or above her. If he was forced to directly address her, it was only as "Miss Granger", although he was more than comfortable addressing Ron by his given name. He'd critiqued her DADA essays more harshly even than Professor Snape did in Potions, and he rarely – if ever – gave positive feedback, even when she'd soared through her classes. When she thanked him, at the end of her seventh year, for all of his help in achieving her exemplary NEWT scores, Mr. Potter barely nodded to acknowledge that she had spoken.
Order meetings were no better, but at least he was willing to acknowledge her existence then, even if only to explain that she was "grossly underqualified" for whatever mission she had been recommended for. She had, in turn, learned four different languages, trained heavily with every remarkable dueler within The Order, and done more research than she had in all seven of her years at Hogwarts. Still, he was relentless in his criticism, and he did everything he could to prevent her from going on missions. It was rather clear to her from the start, but especially now, that James Potter had a deep-rooted, very personal issue with her.
She was grateful that the same could not be said of the other Marauders, Remus and Sirius, who adored her to no end. When Harry brought her and Ron home for the first time the summer after their first year together, the older gentlemen were excited to spark a conversation with her, and over the next seven years of her life they easily became two of her closest friends. They reassured her that her blood didn't influence her ability when Malfoy got under her skin, Ron was just a young prat who didn't deserve her affections, and that an "E" on her Divination OWL was much more than they had accomplished.
Those friendships were some of the easiest she had ever formed. Remus was actually her professor for a year while James had been on a mission, and it was easy for her to discover exactly what he was, but he somehow knew that she didn't care. He now allowed her to be present at his transformations as long as she was in her animal form, and she found this to be quite an enjoyable experience. While in their animal forms, they could simply play like young pups, a nice contrast to their usually serious nature. He was always willing to discuss a new concept with her when the subject arose, and he never minded lending an ear to her problems and tears.
Sirius, on the other hand, had absolutely no idea what to do about a woman's tears; he opted for making her laugh instead. He was constantly around the school for his two friends and his godson, and it eventually became their little tradition to sneak out to Hogsmede for a drink whenever he was up at the castle. While the rule breaking made her nervous during her younger years, she found the safe bit of excitement to be something enjoyable as she aged. He was who she went to when she needed an honest smile; he was her pick-me-up on the worst of days.
Upon her induction into the Order of the Phoenix, the two of them were the first to bring her in to their arms, hugging her and kissing her forehead. They always took such great amounts of pride in her, and it felt good to know that she could indeed have two sets of best friends. With Ron, Neville, and Harry, she laughed and played, but with Sirius and Remus she got to do that just as often as they found themselves absorbed in deep, philosophical conversations. They were the closest thing she had to brothers as she grew up, and she knew they felt a similar familial affection towards her.
However, any time she asked about Mr. Potter, her two kind friends immediately turned serious and blank faced, only willing to tell her that James had a very unpleasant past. No matter how close she got to the two older men, she learned, there were some secrets that they would never share; almost all of them had something to do with James Potter. This infuriated her to no end, of course, but she eventually began to cope with the fact that Mr. Potter was an absolute git, and there was nothing she or anybody else in the entirety of Britain could do about it.
Sometimes, however, Hermione would spot him having a decent, happy moment. At that particular moment, for instance, she watched him play a game of Wizarding Chess with Harry; in these times, his heart was nothing but open. However, there were times where Mr. Potter did indeed look like his past had caught up with him, and his misery was laid clearly upon his face. Usually, he was looking at her when that moment occurred, and she couldn't even begin to fathom why that was. Somehow, it seemed, her presence in a room weighed heavily on him.
Whenever he was with his sons, however, you could see virtually no sadness. The man was alight with smiles and laughter, although the privilege of the particularly goofy look on his face at the moment was reserved solely for games of chess in which he was pitifully trying to beat Harry. Hoping that tonight, during the meeting, he might keep that expression was ridiculous. He was always immediately displeased when she sat herself across from him, and any time a mission topic was broached he always had a reason against her going, although she won that battle more often than not.
This was why she chose to sit across the table from him at every meeting in the first place. While he would seldom address her directly, it was easier to argue when she could look straight at him while she did, because he usually lost his temper if she was glaring at him as she ranted. It was always a loud display of waving hands and red face that Hermione found quite comical. When he lost his temper, he lost the battle, and they both knew it.
Tonight, she knew that she would be doing the exact same thing all over again; somebody would discuss the presented missions, somebody else would point out how much more qualified for it she was than the majority of people in the room, Mr. Potter would list off all the reasons not to send her – anything from her age to her attitude was enough for him to attempt to use – they would have a bit of a row, and then Hermione would eventually get her way, or she'd become offended enough by his treatment of her that she'd leave and return to her room on the third floor of Grimmauld Place to cry.
During these meetings, most people learned to stay out of the Granger-Potter battle. It was that, or be caught in the middle of what one day might and probably would evolve into vicious spellfire; nobody wanted to be caught between the two when that day came. So, instead, Sirius and Remus would shoot each other their annoying little knowing glances, Minerva would sigh and lean a bit farther back in her chair, and Lily would send Hermione sympathetic glances. Mr. Potter, in turn, would glare at his wife before turning back to his unpleasant debate with a flick of rage in his eyes. Professor Snape seemed to be the only one who refused to be understanding of Mr. Potter's "little issue" with her, and that was a fact that she always truly appreciated. However, the constant criticism coming from the mouth of her childhood best friend's father never felt particularly good; even as an adult, she strived for the approval of the one man she knew that it would never come from. Hermione wished that just once he could respect her as a grown adult and an intellectual equal, but it seemed that that day may never come.
When he'd finished his game of chess with his son, the object of her mind's wanderings strode into the kitchen, and Hermione found within herself a new will to gain his respect. She knew that this rivalry could not go on forever, and she thought that perhaps he would be slightly more receptive to direct confrontation, instead of trading snide remarks. It might not actually work, but she had just enough Gryffindor bravery left in her to try. She followed far behind, giving herself a few moments of preparation before entering the large, newly renovated kitchen to address him.
"Mister Potter?" She carefully broached, hoping he would acknowledge that she said something this time instead of batting her away like an incessant fly.
He heard her move but had not fully registered the origin of her voice, the man before her spun around, and his wand immediately centered directly over her heart. She gasped, realizing that she had entirely forgotten his swift reactions and automatic reflexes. This could have been the death of her, quite literally, if he hadn't decided to look down at her face before casting the curse that she knew was about to roll off of his tongue. Recognizing that she was no threat at all as she opened her hands to show him she was unarmed, his wand hand dropped, but his eyes hardened. She felt as though he had already made up his mind about this conversation, and she wondered if it might end with her feeling the effects of a wandless Cruciatus.
"Yes, Miss Granger?" He asked in a clipped, straight-to-the-point tone that made her feel as though this could not possibly end the way that she had desired.
She sighed, hoping to get off to a better start than this. Really, it seemed that she didn't even have to open her mouth before he found a reason to be upset with her, and it not only frustrated her immensely, but it severely damaged her self-esteem. It was much like how Professor Snape made her feel in Potions before Dumbledore explained his position as a spy, as though her very existence was an insult to him. She had looked up to both men so very much throughout her Hogwarts career, and it felt as though – what with the Potions and Defense teachers always being displeased with her – she would never fit in in this beautiful magical world that she had only just been welcomed in to.
"I wanted to ask why you seem to have such an issue with me going on the missions lately." She said, trying to make sure she didn't mumble or sound accusatory, which she knew he hated. She would not back down from this conversation, however, no matter how much she loathed the feeling that accompanied confrontation.
"Because you have absolutely no idea what you're doing, Miss Granger." He told her simply, as though, because the words had come out of his mouth, they were indeed final and irrefutable.
Hermione's rage flickered in her eyes, and she felt every ounce of respect for the man before her drain from her body. James Potter was not the Minister of bleeding Magic! He wasn't even the Headmaster! How dare he make assumptions about her ability, as though she had not spent the last seven years of her life saving his son from the darkest wizard of their age!
"I'll have you know, Mr. Potter," she began, immediately reminding herself to take up a more even tone, "that I have saved your son's arse – both academically and otherwise – more times than I can even begin to count since I was eleven years old!"
Before he had a chance to open his big, blubbering mouth again, Hermione continued, "And furthermore, I've certainly done more research on the beasts and curses we encounter on these missions in the last six months than you have in your life!"
Mr. Potter didn't react as she'd expected, and he simply ran a hand through his hair with a sigh. He never reacted to her tirades – these explosions were not infrequent – with such calmness and ease. It was honestly a little frightening, and she nearly flinched as his hand dropped, almost as though she thought he was about to strike her.
"Miss Granger, you will soon find that there are more important things in this life than books."
And with that, the tall, hazel eyed man softly walked out of the room, murmuring under his breath and shaking his head. It seemed as if he genuinely believed that she was the one being unreasonable.
Alone in the kitchen, she remembered once telling Harry that books and cleverness weren't everything. She knew that he might be walking straight through the flames to Quirrel or even Lord Voldemort himself, and she'd said everything she could to make sure he knew that he could handle whatever awaited him, be it another Fluffy or his worst nightmare; she had faith in him. It was the beginning of their friendship, in her mind. They had an unspoken bond after that night, and Hermione knew that no matter what awaited them in the future, she and Harry could get through anything and everything.
The smile that this thought brought forth was immediately squashed by the realization that Mr. Potter had no knowledge of those words, so he very clearly did not intend to make her smile whatsoever. Instead, the man she had deeply admired from her first day at Hogwarts – as a man, a teacher, and a father – chose to call her naïve in the most hateful sense of the word. It hurt, of course, to be so obviously looked down upon, but she knew that James Potter was a man of obstinacy, and the only thing that overruled his opinion was Minerva McGonagall selecting her for a mission despite his objections. She'd shoot him a look, make the decision, and then sigh as he huffed; it seemed to her that everybody knew exactly what Mr. Potter's issue was and nobody thought it was important to actually explain it to her.
Releasing her frustrations in one heavy breath, Hermione hung her head and walked out of the kitchen, hoping that dinner would be over soon, and she briefly considered skipping the order meeting altogether. Somehow, being under Mr. Potter's scrutiny always took the life right out of her. Something about having nobody on her side just didn't make any sense; she wasn't doing anything, for god's sake! But, of course, the only person who ever called Mr. Potter out on his unnatural hatred of her was Professor Snape – Snape, of all people! – who happily pointed out to his old schoolmate that there was no logical reason to refuse Hermione another mission or tsk at her while she ate.
She once thought that it would be a cold day in Hell before Severus Snape said a kind word about her; he was wretched in Potions, but around Grimmauld Place he always managed to keep her content with the idea that she had the most intimidating man she had ever met in her corner. While in school, it seemed that Professor Snape loathed her; he'd never been quite kind. Around Headquarters, though, he was always there when he was needed most, especially when it came to her. Hermione had small snippets of memories brought to the front of her mind as she ascended the stairs in hopes of calming down before dinner began.
"Miss Granger has a full knowledge of werewolves, Potter, equivalent to your own. She's been minding to Lupin for the last three years; it only makes sense that she accompany him to persuade the pack while you handle the trolls."
"Even the Dark Lord can recognize Miss Granger as an asset, Potter! Should you not play upon your greatest assets, or are you letting your immature, blind, hatred get in the way of winning this war?"
"For the love of all that is magickal, Potter! Hermione Granger could teach your class!"
After one of these outbursts, Mr. Potter and Professor Snape would spend a good deal of their meeting glaring across the table. It was common knowledge that they had not, in their early years of school, been friends at all, but they began to resolve those issues after their seventh year. Now, they seemed to be able to get along just fine, except in matters concerning her. It was also well known that Professor Snape and Lily Potter had a sort of unspoken agreement that, after Harry had finished school and she and James settled upon the appropriate time to divorce, they would acknowledge the obvious feelings between them.
However, at the present time, Lily was James' wife, and that meant that during these meetings – between her sympathetic glances at Hermione, of course – Lily would glare daggers at the professor. He would continue his discussion, eventually acknowledge her piercing glare, and raise a brow at her as he gave a small wave of his hand in Hermione's direction. All of the sudden, the three would grow quiet and cease to look at each other. As always, everybody knew something that she didn't, and she knew that she couldn't find it in any textbook.
Hermione plopped onto her bed with a sigh, hoping that dinner and the meeting would pass as quickly as possible so that she might actually rest for the night. She stared at the mocha colored walls for just a minute, once again thinking of how much she appreciated Sirius, before allowing her eyes to drift shut in hopes of a moment of relaxation, just a quick, quiet moment. Not too long afterwards, Hermione was startled out of her light slumber by a soft rapping on the oak door.
With a yawn, she sleepily called out, "Yes?"
Remus Lupin stepped into the room, muttering under his breath in words Hermione found to be incomprehensible. His sandy hair was particularly ruffled, and for a moment Hermione thought he must've been to see Tonks, until he shook his head – his most dog-like trait, as Sirius was always proud to announce – and ruffled it once more. He propped himself against the door and resumed his muttering until he actually looked up at her. Something was definitely on his mind, this much Hermione knew for sure, but she had a feeling that he would've already told her what, if her ever actually planned on doing so. He had always been that way. He would keep whatever was on his mind locked up tight until she called him out on it, and then he would spill like a tipped teapot.
Sitting up against her pillows, she couldn't help but yawn once more as she asked, "What did you need, Moony?"
He smiled down at her in that sheepish way of his as her voice snapped him back into reality, and he cheerily responded, "You've been out for a bit, and it's almost dinner, so I thought you'd prefer I wake you up before James' complaining did."
She nodded gratefully and struggled her way off of her bed, feeling as though she might sink into it at any moment, and reached out for her old jean jacket. Remus, having known what she was reaching for, plucked it off the top of the chair she'd thrown it over and tossed it her way. She almost never kept it on, but she had always preferred to have it beside her in case it felt like her sleeves just weren't enough to cover the scar, so she quickly pulled it on. Remus raised his eyebrows and gave her a small smile as he turned to wander back down the stairs to the dining hall, probably a little confused as to why she always felt as though she must have a coat with her, despite already having been in a sweater in the middle of a hot spring. Once he was safely out of eyesight, Hermione leaned on her desk for a brief moment and rolled up her sleeve.
Glancing down at her left arm, Hermione flinched at the word "Mudblood" forever scarred into her flesh. When Hermione had ended up in the graveyard alongside Harry, Voldemort had handed her over to the masked form of Lucius Malfoy. She had begged him to let her go, managing to break free after her struggles and kick him square in the nose as he began to touch her; she remembered seeing him start to bleed and then she found herself entirely lucid but completely immobile on the ground. She sat through every second of the knife digging into her flesh with no way of moving a muscle, but she felt every moment of the agony even after it was done. Harry had saved her shortly after Malfoy finished, but there was nothing he could do about her already marred flesh; the dagger was cursed.
After illegally apparating to Headquarters as his father had taught him, Harry laid Hermione at Severus Snape's feet while Mr. Potter ushered everyone aside from his son out of the room, and Cedric Diggory's body was taken away. Alone in the parlor, Harry hysterically explained to his father what had happened, showing him where Pettigrew had taken his blood, and then began to gesture wildly towards Hermione. Hermione couldn't fully comprehend what Harry was saying, but she wished she could have taken the look of torment off of his face as he explained what happened.
Mr. Potter never spoke a word, but he didn't take his eyes away from hers; the look that passed through them was almost pure anguish, and Hermione was certain that he was being pulled back into memories of his oh-so-mysterious past. She couldn't, however, process that thought, because she was consumed by the painful, burning sensation that had taken over the entirety of her left arm. Severus left her paralyzed while trying to treat the wound, but it was no use. Hermione Granger would wear that slur on her body every day for the rest of her life, and the only people who ever needed to know that were Harry, Professor Snape, and Mr. Potter.
Yanking her sleeve back down and tightening her jacket around her form, Hermione made her way down the stairs. There was no use in crying about it now; it was done. She brought herself back to the present, acting as normal as possible when she entered the dining room. She happily seated herself between Professor Snape and Sirius, where she supposed they had pretty much given her "her spot". James's eyes caught hers for a moment, but he immediately turned to Lily, asking her when the food would be done. No sooner had the words come out of his mouth than was Molly Weasley parading in with several plates of delicious, homemade dishes.
She looked up at Hermione with a smile, "Oh good, dear, you're here! We wanted to wait for you to wake, but Remus managed to think about it before the rest of us, I suppose. Well, go on then, eat up!"
For her, dinner was almost always an uncomfortable affair. Living with Sirius meant that meals with The Marauders were common, and only two thirds of the trio actually liked her company. The third had an angry gleam to his expression any time she dared to speak. Even though she had come to recognize Grimmauld Place as home, dinner always had a way of making her second guess her comfort level.
Hermione tried to enjoy the meal, but for some reason her mind had stayed in the graveyard. She played with the hem of her sleeve mindlessly, suddenly thinking that she really ought to learn the glamor that could mask her scar; she genuinely missed her sundresses. Professor Snape, at that moment, followed her hand with his eyes. He knew what lay beneath the fabric, but he understood and never passed a single judgment. He had a reason for his sleeves too.
He leaned down ever so slightly to murmur, "Don't fidget, Miss Granger."
Hermione gave a small smile in return and tried to ignore the piercing glare that came from across the table. She knew that Mister Potter would never criticize her for her scars, but the fact that he knew they were there left her feeling exposed. For weeks after the accident, he had completely avoided meeting her gaze, refusing to acknowledge her existence and convincing the others that she needed to be barred from meetings for "psychological recovery", which really meant that he'd used her injury as an excuse not to have to deal with her.
Fortunately, despite the multitude of reasons she might've had to flee, she managed to get through the rest of her meal without him so much as acknowledging that she was present or having to flee the table. She personally considered this a small victory on her behalf, which she supposed was really rather sad.
Dinner was over too quickly, however, and the appropriate members of the Order were heading into the library to discuss new tactics, so Hermione leapt up and followed behind Sirius. She took her usual spot at the table and took notes on what everyone was saying, planning to copy them later and hand them out, as she did every week. She wasn't paying much attention to any of what they were saying, merely scribing it and awaiting the next piece of worthy information, until she heard her name nearly thirty minutes after the meeting had begun.
"Tonight, however, we have a task at hand that can be given only to Hermione." She heard Minerva say.
Not in the mood to fight, Hermione quickly held a hand up to Mr. Potter, who looked as though he were about to speak.
She looked at Minerva and, with a sigh, announced, "Minerva, I'm too young, naïve, unskilled, unknowledgeable, and immature. Please assign the mission to someone else –anyone else – for the sake of the Order, the Cause, and the very breath that I breathe."
Her tone was bored and her words were accompanied by a roll of her eyes, but she had no desire to waste her time trying to convince Harry's father that she was worthy of her place at these meetings. Perhaps it was the mood she was in, or perhaps it was her general feeling on the subject, but Hermione had given up. The entire table turned to look at her in shock, and she chose to look down, a hand uncomfortably rubbing her arm for lack of better distraction.
The truth of the matter was, she just couldn't find it in her to fight the man anymore. No matter what she did or said, he'd never see her as a qualified witch, so what did it matter if she merely turned down the assignment before he could dispute? Certainly it felt no different from being told she couldn't do something because her blood was muck, but it was either fight that battle or this one; Hermione couldn't handle both at once. Either way, James Potter was getting exactly what he wanted.
It wasn't until Mr. Potter actually spoke that Hermione was willing to lift her eyes off of the mahogany table, and she only did so for fear of dying of shock. From across the table, he had reached a hand out and laid it atop her arm, right over her scar. She had never felt more stunned, more confused, or more violated, than she did in that particular moment.
"No, you aren't." He told her seriously as his eyes met hers. He spoke with an air of finality that nearly matched his tone in the kitchen earlier that day.
Her eyes were wide and amazed at the sight before her. Mr. Potter had directly addressed her and even gone as far as to make physical contact– all within the span of about thirty seconds – and his face looked so sincere. She felt as though she must be fooling herself, thinking that this man actually believed her capable of something aside from failure. He never had before. What was so different about this mission?
Glancing around the table, Hermione realized that she was not the only person who was astounded by his actions. Every Order member in the room – aside from Lily, for whatever reason – was gaping at the usually-battling people before them. This was not only abnormal, this was an event that made her suspect that the man before her was a Polyjuiced figure. As Hermione continued to gape at the supposed James Potter, McGonagall went around the table, escorting specific people from the room, and Mister Potter pulled back, righting himself in his seat once more. She was still staring at the spot where his hand had been, wondering at the reason he had decided to comfort her, when she heard someone clear their throat.
When she looked again, Hermione realized that only Ron, Harry, Snape, The Marauders, Minerva, and Lily were left; this was how she realized that her mission was most certainly confidential. Most things in the Order were out in the open after witnessing the disastrous effects of Dumbledore's secret keeping ways, so this was obviously highly sensitive material. On that note, Mr. Potter had seemed as though he already knew all of this; why had he practically supported her doing something so essential when he hadn't even thought her capable of negotiating with werewolves?
"Hermione," Minerva began, almost stuttering over words, "I trust you remember your permitted Time Turner usage in the third year?"
Hermione nodded carefully, but Mr. Potter's jaw dropped; she thought it best to look away from him as quickly as possible.
"The time has come for similar travel." Minerva said in a definite tone that told her she didn't have nearly as much of a say in the matter as she would have liked.
Hermione was confused. Nothing had occurred in the last few hours – as far as she was aware – for her to need to use that blasted hourglass. She had already added a year and a half on to her life, and she didn't really fancy adding much more. Everyone at the table was staring at her; Remus, Professor Snape, and Mr. Potter looked as though they finally understood how she had managed such a course load, Lily seemed impressed, Sirius was dumbfounded, and the boys simply smirked, having known fully well what she had done their third year at Hogwarts. If she could go back in time – oh, the irony – she would have smashed that ridiculous little necklace into bits before she even gave it its first turn.
"Minerva, I can't have been the only one in the Order to have time traveled!" She exclaimed, completely exasperated. This was not something that she wanted to do in the slightest, and she would be damned if she didn't at least put up a fight.
In response, the newly appointed Headmistress nodded. The table was quiet, absorbing this information, but she couldn't take it any longer. Hermione let out a deep sigh and looked down the line of people to her right before finally looking forward. It was when she looked over at Mister Potter that she found within herself a new point of absolute rage, and she completely lost her knut.
"And what of YOU?" She nearly shouted, glaring at him in her most accusatory manner, "Out of every bloody mission I've been assigned in the last six months, you don't have one good reason why I'm incapable of handling the one task that I have absolutely no desire to perform? I can't train new members, I can't assist in a simple raid, I can't negotiate with the god damned, bloody werewolves, but I can time travel? Have you lost your bloody mind, or do you get your rocks off on tormenting me? This is bullocks!"
Yes, she had most definitely lost her last knut; her rage almost doubled when the man had the audacity to look as though her words hadn't made sense. He knew damn well what he'd done to her over the last few months, and so did everybody in this room. For a brief moment, that pained, tortured expression she had often seen appeared on his face once more, and she wondered at how this had brought him such discomfort. Instead of actually responding to her, he rose to his feet and walked out of the room, quickly followed by Lily. Hermione supposed that she might apologize later, if he were willing to listen. At the moment, however, she wanted nothing more than to scream until every human being within a hundred yards of her lost their hearing.
Hermione turned her rage towards Sirius instead, "Well, isn't he bloody useful. Right when I need him to be an arrogant wanker, he decides to be the supportive friend. And none of you have a single word to defend the actions of the oh-so-tormented James bloody Potter? Not three hours ago, that man stood in the kitchen and told me I was a useless, immature little chit who couldn't handle even the most basic assignments, and now he's an advocate for my time traveling? There's nothing about his "tormented past" that you or Remus plan on vaguely alluding to to defend this insanity? Nothing at all?"
Sirius looked down at the table, almost as if he was afraid her glare might turn him to stone. She glanced down and Remus, and he wore a similar stance, refusing to meet her eyes. Professor Snape, however, seemed amused by her tantrum; it was the first time in the many years that he had known her that she honestly screamed, and she didn't regret a single moment of her little fit.
It was almost laughable, honestly.
But her attitude was only tolerated for so long before McGonagall said, "Hermione, the reason that this one has to be you is because you are the one in our memories."
She took a deep breath, truly confused, as she glanced around the table. Ron and Harry looked a bit confused, but Remus, Sirius, and Snape were all nodding their heads. So, she must be the one to go, because she had already been? Somehow she couldn't quite wrap her head around that.
"What am I to do, in whatever time it is that you'll be sending me so far back to?" Hermione asked, nervously rapping her fingers against the wood she had been so thoroughly inspecting just moments prior.
McGonagall seemed to falter, however briefly, and let out a heavy breath before she began to speak.
"I can't be certain if it was accident or intent, Hermione, but during your time in 1978-"
"1978?" She hollered, jumping from her chair.
"You're sending me back to 1978?" She continued, "Do you have any idea what that will do to my body? Do you have any idea how long ago that was? They were in their seventh year!" She yelled, wildly gesturing towards the older men who had yet to take their eyes off of her.
"Miss Granger," Professor Snape began, his voice reminding her immediately of her place, "The potion that you will be consuming is one of my own making, and it ought not have any serious effect by means of your physical or mental wellbeing; your body will age the equivalent of the days you lived in the past. It is specifically timed – unlike the charmed jewelry that was so inappropriately presented to you" he paused and glowered at Minerva for just a moment before continuing, "As a thirteen year old witch – so that you spend only a specific number of hours in the year you arrive in. You'll complete your task, find a way to occupy your time until the potion is out of your system, and then be flushed back into the present."
Hermione sighed, trying to calm herself down. She knew that she could not argue with a potion made at the hands of Severus Snape; he was the most esteemed Potions Master in Europe, and if she were to refuse this, she might as well call him incompetent. That being said, there were too many factors of this decision that felt very unknown. How could they simply expect her to nod her head and down the vial? That certainly was not going to happen.
"And when shall I be returning? How many days shall I be in that year, and how much time will have passed here? What exactly am I to do while I walk through the past? What if I irreparably alter the time line?" She babbled, her hands being thrown this way and that and her tears streaming down her face uncontrollably as she processed the amount of information that had just been thrust upon her.
McGonagall stared at her delirious nature for a moment and then calmly responded to each individual question one by one.
"We, meaning Severus of course, expect that it will have been three days in our time. Every action that you naturally chose in 1978 is how we found ourselves here today. We can't tell you precisely how many days you spent in that year, because you had no idea when you originally went back in time, and we cannot disclose any information you did not know, or you will be altering the timeline in ways we know not."
"That does not answer my last two questions." Hermione stated bluntly, losing every ounce of respectful tone and taking on the voice of a petulant child.
She attempted to put herself in check, but surely they realized the situation they were putting her in, didn't they? They had basically handed her a vial, told her she'd end up in the Marauders' last year at Hogwarts, and told her to drink up. Professor Snape seemed to realize the weight of the situation on her shoulders, and he was kind enough to give her should a slight squeeze before Sirius took it upon himself to speak.
"You'll be casting the Avada Kedavra on Bellatrix LeStrange, my cousin."
Hermione had heard that name throughout her reading on the first Wizarding War. Bellatrix LeStrange was something of a mistress to Lord Voldemort during the period of his rising, and she had carelessly cast down Muggles on the street with a flick of her wand, not much caring for their lives at all. She had originally been born a Black, and Sirius had never spoken of her with anything less than sheer hatred. The books had said that there were no identified witnesses of the murder of this young Death Eater, but that the blood of her attacker had been found at the scene.
"I can't kill Bellatrix LeStrange, Sirius. It would alter the timeline in a way we cannot even predict!" Hermione replied incredulously, glancing at McGonagall in hopes of receiving some sort of confirmation that she was right.
McGonagall shook her head.
"Hermione," she said gently, "The first time that we met, you had come back from a world in which Bellatrix LeStrange brought the deaths of Sirius Black, Alice and Frank Longbottom, and Fred Weasley. Lord Voldemort had murdered James and Lily Potter in his attempt to take Harry's life, and Severus Snape was found dead on Hogwarts grounds."
The images that this brought forth in her mind were unfathomable. Somehow, the men at the table with her seemed untouchable, as if Voldemort couldn't kill them even with his strongest Avada. A world with a living Bellatrix LeStrange could not exist, even in her wildest nightmares. Glancing at the people she had, apparently, saved the lives of, she realized that none of them had ever been made privy to this information before; apparently, it had been one of Dumbledore's better kept secrets.
Waiting patiently for Hermione to absorb all of this information, McGonagall continued, "Mrs. LeStrange had carved the word "Mudblood" into your left arm and tortured you under the Cruciatus for well over an hour. She slayed Muggles viciously and brought supporters to Voldemort, with or without their consent. That knowledge is why Albus supplied you with a wand upon arrival in the first place. He shared this information with none but I, and we allowed you the blind eye you needed to get in and out of the time period without anyone but the men at this table recalling that you had ever spent even a day in Hogwarts."
A breath was sucked through her teeth as she was brought into a startling realization.
"I'm not altering the timeline. I'm maintaining it." She said, her voice shaking as she looked around to see the faces of Harry and Ron lost in the possibilities, while the elder wizards at the table nodded once more in confirmation.
In their memories, she had appeared for whatever length of time and brought about the death of Bellatrix LeStrange. She had encountered them at Hogwarts, and they had known this day was coming since her first day in the Wizarding World within this timeline. This was what she had been kept in the dark about all of these years, and suddenly everything began to make so much more sense.
This was it, she knew. There was no choice left to be made. She was going back to 1978, again, apparently.
Author's Note: In case any of you were wondering why, when Hermione originally went back in time immediately following the final battle, she is now going back after completion of Hogwarts. This is because, in her third year in this timeline, she did not have to go back in time to save Sirius Black, because he was never considered a fugitive. As such, since Minerva and the Marauders are judging when to send her based on how they remember her looking, they had to wait until she aged that unused amount of time, and they then realized they would have to wait until the appropriate day and month to send her back to the time she arrived in. [Yes, this means she is slightly older that she was during her first trip back in time, but this should not implicate the past or future in any significant way.]
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