Chapter Three

An: Hello, readers. I apologize for the wait, I've been quite busy of late, school, don't you know, rehearsals, that sort of thing. But the main thing is I have time now, so…enjoy.

Hermione felt that feeling of being flung backwards, air compressing around her, past happenings playing out around her as she flew back in time. But she paid little mind to these images, not that she could very well tell what they represented in the speed they went by in. All she could think about, over and over, was, Please work. This has to work, please…

Just when she was beginning to wonder if something had gone wrong, everything slowed down, and with a flash and a slight bump, she found herself nearly ninety-three years in the past.

She blinked in the sudden light; it was day. She stared around herself. She stood in an empty field of swaying heather out in the countryside; the cottage and the surrounding village had not been built yet. She breathed in deeply, smelling the sweet grass and nature, before breathing out again in a short gasp. She wanted to fall to her knees. She wanted to fall to her knees and kiss the ground, weeping, thanking whatever benevolent force had kept her alive in her travels. But she knew she mustn't. She had much to do yet.

So she steadied herself from the slight bump of landing that had put her leaning slightly off balance, adjusting her crooked hat and pulling her travelling cloak tighter around her. She would thank whatever force had guided her safely in her traveling after she had accomplished what needed to be done. She took one last lingering gaze at the rolling, gentle hills of heather, before turning on the spot and apparating.

Her apparition landed her just outside the door of the Leaky Cauldron. She went right in, much as she desired to stand back and marvel at the view of London, back before even she could remember it. No, she would peek around later. She would have plenty of time after she got done what had to be done, and, of course, had put on muggle clothes of the era; it would not do to parade about in her witches' robes, either.

She went in, and could not help pausing just to look. It had not changed much from this point to the last time she visited it in the future about a month before she went back in time, but that was not what held her rooted to the spot. It was the memories. Had it not been through this door that she had first tread, nearly breathless with excitement at the news that she was a witch? Had it not been here where she, Ron, and Harry had spent a good portion of the summer before third year? She allowed herself a ghost of a smile at the memories of the bickering between her and Ron, the pranks of the twins, the rekindled friendship between the trio….her smile faded and she shook her head sadly. If only they had known then, what was to come hardly four years later, then would they be laughing and having fun…?

But it would not do to think this. After all, she had come back in time to change that, hadn't she? Not to brood. No, she had more important things to do than brood.

The bar was packed with witches and wizards alike, celebrating the downfall of Voldemort, and she went unnoticed in her purposeful stride to the back, just another old witch on her way to a shopping trip in Diagon Alley, to pick up potions ingredients and gossip, perhaps. No one worth noting.

Here and there, Hermione recognized a face that looked vaguely familiar from her childhood. There was Tom, the bartender…and there was…bless her, it couldn't be….Hagrid.

Hermione forgot all about her purpose as she stopped in her tracks, staring in wonder at Hagrid, who looked just as she remembered him, sitting at a table alone, and nursing a huge tankard of Firewhiskey. He looked as though he had been crying; his eyes were red and puffy, and he kept sniffing, but people paid little mind to him. But Hermione couldn't tear her eyes from him.

Hagrid had died a few years after that fateful Final Battle. It had been a great tear in Hermione's already ripped-up heart. After all, Hagrid had been her friend, and her teacher. He had supported her, and comforted her, in her darkest times, and after Harry had died, she had often found comfort in talking to him.

And here he was. Right in front of her, looking exactly as she remembered him. And she couldn't help it. She had to talk to him.

She edged her way towards him, before clearing her throat. He didn't seem to notice, so she said, "Ah, sir?"

He looked up then, blinking rapidly. "Can I help yeh, madame?"

Hermione stared into his beetle black eyes in wonder. They were wet with tears now, but she remembered them best when they were crinkled in a smile. She hadn't realized she'd feel this way, seeing her old friends again….

"Ah, yes sir, if you could please, tell me how I may gain an audience with Dumbledore?"

When Hagrid's eyes crinkled in suspicion, she hastily added, "The bartender told me you're in service to Mr. Dumbledore, so I assumed you'd know."

Hagrid leaned back in his chair, idly running a hand through his beard. "Well, I 'spose I do. Wha' d'yeh want with 'im, eh?"

Hermione sat down across Hagrid, unable to draw her eyes from his face. "I mean to ask permission of him to gain custody of my great-nephew."

"Who's tha'?" Hagrid asked curiously.

Hermione smiled. "Well, you might not believe it, but….Harry Potter. He is my great nephew."

Hagrid blinked. "Tha' can' be righ'. Harry don't have any other family besides his aunt and uncle."

"Well, sir, you'd be wrong about that. I'm Lucretia Evans." Hermione extended a hand to Hagrid, who shook it, still looking slightly doubtful.

"I am Harry's Great Aunt on his mother's side. I gave up my wand when I married dear Lily's uncle, and became a muggle. They never knew I was a witch. Well, now my husband and the rest of my family are dead, and I intend to raise little Harry as my own. He does not belong with that wretched woman Petunia, he belongs with his own kind." The lie came out smoothly and without a hitch. She had practiced and perfected her made-up character. However, there had to be some truth to it; there had indeed been an aunt Lucretia on the Evans family tree, and around the same time, a Lucretia of the wizarding world had disappeared from her world, having supposedly given up her wand to join muggles. They were not the same Lucretia, but she had a plan to make sure nobody delved to far into the lie, any further than she had set up, anyways.

Hagrid blinked, before saying, "Oh, er, I 'pologize abou' yer family, miss. I didn't realize…"

"That a witch existed in the seemingly muggle Evans line? Yes, I made sure to leave no evidence where I had gone, see. I told only a select few. My family were- are- very hard-core anti-muggle purebloods, and I do believe they'd have killed me if they found out I'd stolen off with a muggle boy."

"What pure-blood family did yeh belong to then?" Hagrid asked curiously.

"The Lestranges." Hermione answered promptly.

"Ah, I see," Hagrid answered, eyeing her with something akin to pity; Hermione delicately arranged her robes around herself, glad he no longer seemed suspicious of her.

"Well, I can't guarantee it'll work," He went on, "But I believe yeh can go to the front gates of Hogwarts and ask for an audience with Dumbledore. If he's there an' he ain't too busy, I 'spose he'd see yeh."

Hermione smiled at Hagrid. "Thank you, sir." She got up. "I suppose, if I get my nephew, I'll see you again, if you would like to visit him?"

Hagrid looked astonished. "Y-es, I would like that, madame! Very much!" He grinned at her, his eyes no longer red and puffy.

Hermione grinned back. "Alright then. I'll contact you, shall I?"

And with that, she continued on to the back of the bar, leaving behind a grinning Hagrid. She may have stopped for personal reasons, but the visit had proved to be very profitable. She had learned the most time-efficient way to talk to Dumbledore, and she had guaranteed when she got Harry, for she would get Harry, he'd have at least one friendly face to grow up with.

She smiled as she entered Diagon Alley, ready to do her business.