Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of other characters in this story.

Warning: Okay, you had to know this was coming. Really. Since when do I do anything that doesn't involve at least a little tragedy? But in all honesty, it has to happen.

Many Thanks

Part Two: Selfless

James Potter felt disconnected. This wasn't the way it was supposed to be, how his future was supposed to unfold. He, like nearly everyone else, was kneeling in the Three Broomsticks. Also like everyone else, he watched the scene before him in horror.

It had been months since his conversation with Hermione in the library and, true to his word, he had been working towards being a better man. Pulling fewer pranks and studying more was not as fun, but it had benefits.

Surprisingly, James found he didn't mind it, liked it even. He liked the rush of satisfaction he felt with himself when he helped one of the younger students. He liked the nods of approval from his teachers. It wasn't as fun, but it was more fulfilling. He truly liked the man he was becoming. James felt as if one day there would be people who would be proud to say they knew him, and not bitterly think of him a bully.

Lily was paying more attention to him as well. At first she gave him strange looks, but eventually her confusion turned to a curious sort of approval. They talked occasionally, and found they got along quite well. They were actually sort-of friends now. Well, they talked without her shouting about his immaturity. Better, she smiled a few times. That had to count for something.

His friends occasionally commented on his change in behavior. Sirius regularly checked him for a fever, but for the most part they left him alone. It was Peter who pointed out that he had changed when he'd found Hermione, and again at Christmas, but Sirius ignored him as he usually did. James, though he wanted to defend his friend, didn't because he didn't want to explain why he had changed. But then, Peter didn't seem to care. Ever since he'd started getting help from that mysterious tutor of his, he'd gained confidence in himself. He even answered questions in class—correctly.

But none of that mattered anymore, because the Dark Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters had slipped into the village and were now holding everyone in the Three Broomsticks hostage. Worse, none of the teachers were anywhere nearby to help them. It was supposed to be a pleasant outing, a boon from Dumbledore, who'd been rather somber of late, before exams.

James looked around, taking note of the six Death Eaters. There were about a dozen and a half students, and all of them were either sitting or kneeling. Some were kneeling as if they were in the presence of royalty. Some were kneeling because they were forced to kneel. Most were trembling in fear. James was surprised to see that Snivellus—Snape, he corrected himself—was one of those being forced to kneel. Only one student refused to follow Lord Voldemort's command.

Hermione Granger stood proudly, her chin up, back straight and shoulders back, looking for all the world like she was going to say 'you may bow' at any moment. She'd been sitting in the pub for hours, almost as if waiting for this very moment. She certainly didn't seem surprised to see the Dark Lord standing before her.

Voldemort turned towards her, and for the first time, James saw what he looked like. He'd heard stories, but he'd never seen so much as a photograph until that moment. Voldemort wore the blackest robes James had ever seen, and had a large locket with an S engraved on the front. His face looked distorted, his skin waxy and his eyes looked bloodshot. It was no wonder that people were beginning to fear even speaking his name. "And who might you be, my dear?" He said in a cold, high pitched voice. "Are you the witch out of time? Are you the one the Prophecy speaks of?"

James started. He knew what witch out of time meant, and he didn't like where this was going.

"You actually believe that rubbish?" She drawled. That caused several raised eyebrows. She sounded bored. Bored. They were being held captive by a psychotic megalomaniac, and she spoke like she was discussing the weather.

One Death Eater raised his hand to strike her, but Voldemort stopped him. He laughed, a cold, sinister laugh. "My dear girl, why yes, of course I do. Some, most actually, are just the ramblings of fools, but this one I believe is very real. Considering the timing, it cannot be false. Let me help you. I will explain only what you need to know. It states that a witch out of time with a broken past has come to the home of Founders Four.

"You are supposedly attacked by Dark Wizards unknown, and mysteriously escape to Hogwarts, the home of the four founders, and claim you are an orphan of war. Whether that is true or not, my sources tell me you remained here over the holidays, and that you received no gifts, lending at least some credence to your tale. If you are so unloved that you would not receive a single gift, that would certainly constitute a broken past. What I fail to understand is how someone as pathetic as you could somehow have tied your existence to my own."

Hermione smiled then, much like the Cheshire cat he'd once seen illustrated in a Muggle book. Then she swaggered forward, a cocky grin in place and an air of triumph about her. She was acting like him. Or rather, how he used to act. Maybe she had been more watching more closely than he originally thought.

"Well, if that's the case, let's chat! Get to know each other. Considering we'll be spending the rest of our lives together, I think it's a good idea, don't you?" She sat on the table beside him. He sneered at her in disgust and reached for his wand.

"What do you think of Basilisks?" She asked suddenly. Voldemort noticeably stiffened. "I think they're horrid creatures myself. Did you know there used to be one under the castle in some hidden chamber? I say there used to be one, because I killed it."

"You lie," Voldemort snapped.

Hermione smirked. "The entrance to the hidden chamber is in the girls' bathroom on the second floor. The entrance is…ah…guarded you could say by a ghost called Moaning Myrtle."

Voldemort hissed angrily, his lips curling in fierce snarl.

"Oh dear," Hermione said with exaggerated regret. "Was that your pet? I'm terribly sorry. How can I make it up to you? I'd offer to get you a crup, but they don't like Muggles, so I don't think they'll get along with your father and his family."

Voldemort made a strangled noise and raised his wand, eyes ablaze.

"Your friends look shocked. Didn't you tell them you're a half-blood?" She frowned mockingly. "You know, now that I think on it, I wouldn't either, if I were you. I mean, your mother's side of the family was so 'pure' they were disgustingly inbred, resulting in her entire family being quite insane. Your father doesn't seem to be much of a prize, considering he abandoned your mother while she was pregnant with you." Hermione leaned back. "That's some gene pool you got there, Riddle. You can't claim any sort of purity with that tainted blood of yours. At least I can say my blood is pure mud."

James had no idea what a Jeen-pool was, or how she knew all of these things about Voldemort (he was certain they were true, considering the way Voldemort reacted), but he was very afraid. The Death Eaters were shifting restlessly, and Voldemort looked ready to snap. She was going too far, especially with that 'tainted blood' comment.

Then James saw her glance out the window, and a new idea occurred to him. Surely someone would walk by, peek in the window. Seeing trouble, that person would get help. She was keeping Voldemort's attention focused on her, risking her life, to buy them time.

"Let's move on to something more cheerful, shall we? What do you like to do in your spare time?" She leaned forward conspiratorially. "I like—" Here her voice dropped too low for him to hear.

For the first time since the encounter began, Voldemort looked afraid. James didn't know what she'd said, but whatever it was, it put the fear of Merlin into the Dark Wizard.

"I've made quite the hobby of finding and destroying them. I've found a tiara, a ring, a journal, and a cup so far."

In a flash, Voldemort had her by the throat, his wand pressed into her cheek. Peter and Sniv—Snape both tried to rise to their feet, only to be pushed back down by nearby Death Eaters.

"I die, you die," Hermione rasped. "Your Prophecy says our lives are tied together. We die together." James could see a strange glitter in her eyes. "You're as mortal as I am."

Voldemort released her roughly, the silverware on the table clinking loudly. "We're leaving," he said in his cold voice.

Hermione was looking at something beside her. "Yes, I suppose we are leaving," she said. Her voice was distant, as if she were lost in a memory. She looked at James for the briefest moment, then glanced at Lily. She smiled with grim satisfaction. "We're out of time, you and I."

Voldemort sneered at her. "If you're done with your trite little sayings, we have other places—" He was cut off when Hermione abruptly jumped off the table and lunged at him, knife in hand.

For years, there would be arguments about what really happened. Some would say there was a wizard's duel, others would claim a brawl. Such tales were incorrect, likely started by the younger students prone to exaggeration, or overly proud Death Eaters unwilling to admit the truth.

Voldemort dropped his wand in surprise and picked up the nearest weapon, a knife similar the one Hermione held. He raised it in defense—James could see everything as if time had slowed—just as Hermione jumped at him, plunging her knife into the Dark Wizard's chest and impaling herself on his at the same time.

Hermione held her knife tightly in her right hand, her left reaching out desperately around Voldemort's neck to hold herself up. Voldemort's right hand held his knife—hidden from view—and his left was wrapped around Hermione's waist as if to prevent her escape. When viewed together, their pose made a mockery of a lover's embrace.

"How fitting," Hermione said hoarsely. The pair crashed to their knees, still holding each other. "That the two people who belong in this world the least." She stopped to cough, blood bubbling up in the corner of her mouth. Voldemort's head had fallen forward, his face buried in the crook of her neck. "Should leave it together." She sagged against him, her head resting on his shoulder. "How Shakespearean." Her voice was a whisper.

James heard someone chanting "No no no!" over and over. It wasn't until he found himself scrambling across the floor, crashing into the chairs and tripping over his trembling limbs that he realized it was him. He grabbed Hermione, slipping his arm across the front of her shoulders and pulling her back and shoving Voldemort away.

"No," he whispered, looking at the knife sticking out of her stomach. It was a gruesome sight—when he'd pushed the other wizard away, the knife had moved, enlarging the wound further. He wanted to try and staunch the blood, but couldn't bring himself to touch the knife, let alone remove it, so he could apply pressure. Instead her pulled her tighter against his chest.

"Hermione." It was the first time he'd said her name. He'd heard it, read it, thought it, but he'd never said it before. "It's…it'll be okay." James brushed her hair away from her face. "Shh, it'll all be alright," he crooned. He rocked her back and forth, comforting her as a father would comfort a daughter.

She looked up at him, her warm brown eyes a little hazy as her life slipped away. She smiled.

"S'alrigh…" Hermione slurred. "Harry will be 'appy now. S'all the thankss I need." Her head fell back silently. Her chest stilled. She was dead. With that dreamy smile on her face, anyone would have thought she was sleeping. But she wasn't. She was dead, and she was still smiling.

It was wrong. She wasn't supposed to die. The aurors would have caught Voldemort eventually, he was sure. She was supposed to find her way back home and be happy.

He looked up when he heard a series of cracks. The Hogwarts staff arrived—and the Death Eaters fled. James looked up into the sad eyes of the headmaster. James knew who Hermione really was, and now Dumbledore was aware of his knowledge.

Everyone around them was whispering. Dumbledore softly issued commands to the staff. Peter was sobbing in a corner. Snape was standing over them, staring at Hermione in shock. He was shaking his head, as if trying to convince himself it was a dream. For once in his life, James agreed—he hoped this was but a dream. He knew it was not.

————

A few days later, James heard that there was a grand ceremony held on the Hogwarts grounds. Hermione's was body buried in the Hogwarts Cemetery along with the other orphans that had died at Hogwarts. A beautiful white-marble obelisk was erected on the grounds in her honor. It was decided that one side of the obelisk would be imbedded with the awards she would inevitably receive. Since she was a war orphan, there would be no one to claim them anyways.

At the ceremony, several people gave speeches. No one seemed to care that no one who spoke was a family member. Slughorn represented the staff, and Moaning Myrtle spoke for the Ghosts of Hogwarts. Peter stood for Gryffindor, Edgar Bones for Hufflepuff, Dorcas Meadowes for Ravenclaw, and Snape, of all people, for Slytherin. Then the Ministry gave their speeches about the girl they'd never met.

James didn't attend the ceremony. He was excused by Dumbledore, who explained to everyone that his absence was due to his traumatic experience. He didn't think Hermione would have wanted so much fuss anyways. He stayed in his dorm, not looking at the picture he'd selfishly stolen. It had become a punishment for him now.

Instead, he read the journal Dumbledore had given him before the ceremony began, when he explained to James that he needn't attend. Neither mentioned the truth about Hermione Granger.

So James lay on his bed, reading Hermione's journal. It was more of a novel. She even had a table of contents, much to his amusement. There was a prologue, broken into three parts, each section detailing life before Hogwarts for Harry, Ron and herself. The names given to each section were humorous too, making him smile. The actual content was less amusing.

The Potter Years, which detailed Harry's life as Hermione knew it, was most disturbing. It had Harry's birthday, which he thought was good information to know. Lily and James were murdered by Voldemort on October 31st, 1981, at the age of 21, when they were betrayed. Curiously, it didn't say who betrayed them. Perhaps she didn't know?

The sole survivor and hero of the wizarding world, Harry was then called the Boy-Who-Lived, and bore a lightening bolt scar. Harry was raised by his magic-hating Muggle relatives. Hermione speculated abuse, but there was no physical evidence, other than a pair of broken glasses. Harry was very skinny though, making her believe he was undernourished at the very least, and was uncomfortable with physical affection, leading her to believe there was a lack of said affection in his youth.

The Weasley Chronicles was much lighter. It detailed the seven Weasley children, their birthdays, and some of the regular goings-on at the Burrow, the name affectionately given to their home. James was a little disturbed when reading about Ginny Weasley's intense crush on Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived. It didn't seem to him like a strong basis for a relationship. Maybe she would get to know him better.

The Granger Files was surprisingly short given the detail in the other two sections of the Prologue. It told her birthday and where she was born, her parents' names and occupations and the schools she attended. Her favorite thing to do when she was little was discuss philosophy with her father. It didn't even take up a full page. There wasn't a single word about her friends.

Than he moved on to their lives at Hogwarts. There were seven chapters, called The Philosopher's Stone, The Chamber of Secrets, The Prisoner of Azkaban, The Goblet of Fire, The Order of the Phoenix, The Half-Blood Prince, and The Deathly Hallows, respectively. Each chapter briefly summarized a year in about five or six pages.

James laughed when she set Snape's robes on fire, cheered when she figured out it was a Basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets—and frowned when Dumbledore awarded Harry and Ron for their heroic deeds, but did not give Hermione so much as a single House point for solving a riddle that puzzled wizards since the school was built. He snarled angrily when he learned Peter betrayed them, swelled with pride when Harry got the golden egg from the dragon, and mourned when Sirius fell through the Veil. He shuddered when Malfoy let the Death Eaters into the school through the Vanishing Cabinet, wept when Harry sacrificed his life to destroy the Horcrux in his scar, and shouted with joy when he came back and killed that half-human bastard.

She never actually stated it, but James was able to read between the lines. In his mind's eye, he could see her smiling when she wrote about him. In a way, he could sense her affection for Harry in her words. She was in love with him, and he was in love with Ginny Weasley. James could tell she was trying very hard to be happy for him, bless her. She wanted him to be happy, even if it wasn't with her.

Then came the epilogue, which she had ironically titled Out of Time. The title was different. Was the ink darker? Her words more rushed? Perhaps more recent? Yes, that seemed to be it. It seemed as if she had just added the title recently. How curious.

A group of Death Eaters had attacked a week after Voldemort's demise. Their target was Ginny Weasley—Harry Potter's love (James was sure she wouldn't have looked twice at Harry if he weren't famous)—but they found Hermione instead. Somehow, as she led them on a merry chase in the dungeons, a combination of spells sent her back in time. The next thing she remembered was waking up in the hospital wing. James cringed. She never knew he'd saved her.

From there she detailed her plans to save the world. She told how she planned to tutor Peter so that he wouldn't feel like he needed to be around someone powerful. By giving him confidence, she hoped she could keep him from being seduced by the Death Eater Dogma and remain loyal to his friends.

She explained her plan to restore Snape's faith in people. She wanted to be his friend. Her method was simple—she was kind to him and provided him with another person capable of intelligent conversation. It was no simple task, as he was untrusting in the extreme, but eventually she won his trust—and his friendship. She treasured both.

Then there were the more dangerous aspects of her quest. She explained her seemingly unwarranted destruction of the Vanishing Cabinet, and recounted the slaying of the Basilisk and taking the fangs to destroy the Horcruxes. She used one to destroy the diadem in the Room of Requirement (James made a mental note to find that room and find a way to put it on the Map).

Then she slipped away to go to the Gaunt house where she retrieved the ring and destroyed with without telling Dumbledore so he would never know it was the Resurrection Stone (reminding James never to show the headmaster his Cloak). The following night she had gone into the Forbidden Forest, where she entrusted the ring to a centaur named Firenze.

Next she recounted how she obtained and destroyed the cup and the diary with Dumbledore's help. Hermione theorized that since Regulus was still alive, the locket hadn't been turned into a Horcrux yet. Still, to be sure, she had checked the cave where it was once hidden in her time. There were no traces of magic.

When she wasn't hunting Horcruxes, she was working with Mad-eye Moody, doing reconnaissance. Most of those nights when he couldn't find her on the Map, she was out watching known Death Eater bases with Moody. Dumbledore had allowed it since she was of age and capable in the field.

That was as far as she'd gotten before she'd died.

There were other plans too. She had an entire list of causes to fight for, Werewolf and House-elf rights among them. Clearing Hagrid's name was at the top of the list. She made a few plans for ways she could begin to bridge the gap between Purebloods and Muggle-borns. There were old, outdated laws she wanted to abolish. Baby Steps, she'd called them, because as she'd learned for the House-elves—James didn't really understand the reference—sometimes people just weren't ready for big changes.

Above all else, Hermione used her journal as a companion. At Dumbledore's prompting, she isolated herself from others, lest she interfere with relationships and prevent someone being born, Harry in particular. It was obvious that she was doing everything for him. She made it perfectly clear that she was willing to die if it meant he would have the life he deserved. James knew it was true—she'd glanced at him and Lily before she attacked Voldemort. Harry's parents. She died so that they could live. So Harry could be born and live free.

She spoke sometimes of being out of place. It wasn't her time, and Hermione felt she didn't fit properly. Little phrases like 'rightful counterpart' and 'proper place' tended to crop up more often as he read. It was disturbing that she felt more and more disconnected everyday. Perhaps her self isolation was getting to her?

She mentioned watching him and Lily. Against her better judgment, she had given him advice rather than letting things unfold naturally. He'd reminded her of Harry, hopeless with girls (this caused James to scoff), and she had been unable to resist helping him. Still, she did not allow herself more than one conversation. She couldn't get close. She dreaded anyone learning she was a time traveler lest they begin experimenting to try and recreate her voyage with disastrous results.

For the three days before her death there were no entries. The last entry was dated the morning she died. Hermione noted that, for the first time since her arrival, she was going to go to Hogsmeade. There was no cheer, it was merely a statement. There was nothing more.

Finished, he shut the book, feeling more worn than he'd ever felt in his life. It aged him. There was a lot of information in the journal. Now he knew everything. The Horcruxes, Dumbledore's obsession with the Hallows, Riddle's history, the 'prank' Sirius would pull involving Snape and Moony sometime next year, Dobby's suffering, Umbridge's machinations. Everything.

Breathing heavily, he stood and walked to the window. Closing his eyes, he pressed his head against the frigid glass. After a moment he opened his eyes. A winged, skeletal horse was flying over the Forbidden Forest. James shuddered. A thestral, if the drawings in his textbook were accurate. He'd seen death, and now he could see thestrals.

James set off to wander the castle. The stuffy dormitory was suffocating him. Feeling the weight that Hermione surely felt, he began to walk around. It was a miracle she hadn't snapped.

He didn't like knowing the future.

As he wondered, he compared Hermione and the Lily of the future. He couldn't help but compare them. Both had died for Harry: Lily so the boy could live, and Hermione so he could live the life she felt he deserved. James wondered if Lily had smiled the same way Hermione did as she died.

Eventually he found himself in the library, in front of her table. He sat heavily in the same chair from months before. Hermione's chair was pulled away from the table a little and turned ever so slightly to the left, as if she had just stepped away and would be back with a new book. He sat and stared. If he closed his eyes, he could almost hear her laughing, like she did that day.

"James?" A soft voice spoke behind him. He turned in his seat and saw Lily watching him in concern. "Black said you weren't in the dorms," she said walking over. She reached out to move Hermione's chair.

"Don't," he said. "You can't sit there."

"Why not?" She asked, frowning in confusion.

"She sat there." There was no need to ask who 'she' was.

Nodding, Lily took the seat to his right. "Were you friends?" She asked softly. James looked at her, but her face was expressionless.

"No," he answered. "I didn't know her. At all. I thought I had her figured out, you know? I thought she was arrogant and ungrateful." He grew quiet. "But she wasn't like that at all, was she? She died for us." He had to say it, even if Lily didn't know the extent of that truth.

Lily was silent. She hadn't known Hermione very well. Nobody did. Except him, now, and maybe Dumbledore.

"What do you think of the term Newblood?" He asked suddenly.

"Newblood? What is that?"

"You know how you're a Muggle-born?" Lily nodded. "Well a Newblood is the same thing. See, the word Muggle-born is a subtle way of pointing out you're different," he explained. "Pureblood, Half-Blood, Muggle-born. See the difference? But Newblood fits better, and sounds positive, you know? You're introducing new blood into the wizarding world. It's a kinder alternative to 'Mudblood' and works with the blood scheme."

Lily sat back in surprise. "How'd you come up with that?"

"I didn't," he replied. He refused to say more, lest he have to explain. Lily didn't need to know that Hermione used the word in her journal when she'd stated the same arguments he had just presented. It was one of her Baby Steps.

Lily watched him closely for a long moment. "It's brilliant," she said softly then smiled. "Listen, there's a feast tonight. Dumbledore wants everyone there, even you." He nodded and stood. "And James? Thanks for not being a git."

For years, Lily would wonder why he winced when she'd said that.

________

A/N: Yes, Hermione had to die. I'm actually trying to write a story where everyone gets their Happily Ever After, and it just can't happen if our time traveler is alive. There was no way she could 'go back' to her own time—even the slightest change would have created ripples through time, and the world as she knew it would no longer exist; she would have no world to go back to. See? She had to die. I hope I did justice to her death. I will admit that the death scene was vaguely inspired by the end of Gladiator.

About the Locket, I'm operating under the assumption that Riddle is intelligent (sometimes I wonder). Regulus became a Death Eater young, and is younger than Sirius. Sirius is a fifth year. I can't see Riddle making kids with a third year education Death Eaters, but let's say he did. We can infer then that Regulus wouldn't be trusted with a piece of Voldemort's soul yet, nor would Voldemort risk having a Horcrux hanging around. I'm guessing he would hide a Horcrux within a year of its creation (I'm giving him extra time, since he normally only uses a school year for his plans). Based on this, the Locket, while in his possession, is not a Horcrux.

I want to tell you all that I am definitely NOT going to write a story from Hermione's point of view detailing her escapades. I do have a few one-shots from other POVs detailing different events. I'm testing my writing abilities. Hermione is a character I'm comfortable with, so I'm trying my hand at others. That said, if any of you find you have been struck by the inspiration fairy, feel free to write Hermione's POV yourself.

As for the prophecy, yes, I made one up. I did not think Voldemort would be willing to repeat the whole thing in a room full of people. If you want to know what it is, you will have to read the companion piece to this story (as of this moment, it doesn't have a title) when I post it. It will be in Dumbledore's chapter, titled Rook. ALSO! There is more to the prophecy than I let on. Don't worry. The rest of it is in Part Four. Remember, I can't write anything simple. It's always complex.

Well, thank you, everyone who read, and special thanks to those who reviewed.

Cheers,

Madm_05