Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I do not seek to make profit off this work. Harry Potter and its characters belong to JKR and I am happy for her to have that title. I do not own Supernatural or its characters, Kripke does.

Author Note: Now, this oneshot and the following one, Wednesdays, have weird timelines that won't make sense for a while. So don't ask when it happened, because I will make a face and won't answer.

Hermione looked at the two kids. The two kids looked back.

Hermione figured she had to ask sometime. "What are your names?" Her tone said she didn't want to know the answer; only half true, she really didn't want to know the answer, especially if it was the wrong one.

The girl looked at the boy. Egad. Hair that red shouldn't be allowed by science. It looked radioactive, for Merlin's sake.

Please don't say that red hair is due to me, Hermione pleaded, her nails hurting from how hard she had them pressed into the sofa.

"Should we tell Daddy that she's mad again?" the girl whispered.

"Just tell me your names." You freakish looking children.

Not that she disliked children, exactly—they just, they made her skin crawl. Blame it on being an only child, a spoiled only child with all of her parents' attention. Or blame it on them being creepy as all hell. Just look at these two with their wide eyes and their slow inching back. They looked like disturbing little villains on one of the television series Gabriel liked; children as cute as this were usually possessed or at the very least adopted.

"Look," Hermione started, making her voice soft, nice, like how she dealt with her Crookshanks when he didn't want to leave mum or that time when Gabriel stranded her in a jungle in Belize and she'd stumbled over a tiger's tail, "just tell me your names and I can get you… I can get you ice cream!" Her grimace became recognizable as a smile when interest entered their eyes. Oh yes, children plus sugar, the perfect recipe for Hermione to book it if she didn't like their answer. She could run pretty fast—they learned that in the Prehistoric Age mix-up in 2000—these two wouldn't stand a chance at catching her.

The girl looked between the boy and Hermione, her bottom lip red from her teeth. "Well," she said, hesitantly, avoiding her brother's vigorous shaking head. "I'm Lily and this is Albus—"

"OhthankMerlin - you're not mine."

Hermione stood up, relief making her dizzy, and took a couple steps from the sofa. "Okay. Ice cream for you two. Erm… where would that be?"

Albus—ugh, Harry, you disturbed child—giggled. "Aunt Hermione's silly."

Well. At least he could speak? She didn't know how to put a good spin on this for her sanity. He looked like he was six, for Merlin's sakes! Honestly, did no one appreciate proper grammar nowadays? Speaking of:

Hermione looked around the sitting room then stepped into the kitchen. She saw what she was looking for on the refrigerator. The date was covered by gold star stickers. She flipped it up to the next page.

Just sodding brilliant. She spun around, pressing her back against the fridge door as the footsteps got louder.

She was going to murder Gabriel.

She hated alternate realities.

fin.