Siriusly Seeing: A time travel fix where Hermione Granger of the future becomes their third year divination teacher. The magic has always spoke to her, but she never before thought that she'd had the gift. Being in the past has taught her even more about her sight and knowledge. And being in third year...the year that is the catalyst...Professor Granger can make some changes.
She didn't expect to find romance.

I don't own anything you recognize from J.K. Rowling's series.

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'"I will not encourage such fanciful notions as "the inner eye". I will be instructing everyone in this class towards an equally beneficial understanding of the signs in the world around them. That's not to say a few of you don't have the inner eye—but not one of you shall get special treatment for it. Maybe extra study to understand your sight, yes, but never shall I encourage division in a class geared towards perception and empathy."

The professor looked around with sharp eyes, and the class gaped. Harry thought she reminded him slightly of someone…perhaps McGonagall. Still, he was proud she wasn't the airy wisp he'd heard the older years snickering about. He'd dreaded a class with her.

Still, this new professor was not without her down points. There were rumors going on that she had poisoned the previous lady in her position. Harry rather hoped this wasn't true; he'd had enough bad Professors out for his blood.

He hoped Professor Granger wasn't one of them—but it was always three.

She instructed them on the basics of tea readings, and talked about the different and similar ways it was done around the world. "Many people believe you cannot read your own cup, however that is a personal preference. As with any form of divination, it is always difficult to read your own fortune objectively."

Her eyes passed over him, and he got that brief feeling of familiarity again before he shook it off. It must be a passing similar aspect to professor McGonagall. They'd already discussed her similar name to Hermione and concluded they weren't related in any way.

Besides, the new professor was turning out to be pretty cool; she surely had no hidden motive. Harry gulped as she stood behind Ron who was struggling to read Harry's tealeaves.

She sighed and took the cup from him—"You will not make up fortunes to pass my class. It is considered rude to the true art and dangerous for the fickle magics. They might take offense that you dared to mock them, and skew your predictions in the worst possible way."

She looked down her nose at a pale Ron, his lanky adolescent form hunching in his seat.

She shook her head at him and glanced around at the rapt class. She sighed and began—"True seers, the prophesiers, never know that they are given prophecies. This ensures that they don't broadcast their power and are kept safe from those who would use them for harm. And everyone can read tea leaves," she glanced at Ron from the corner of her eyes, "if they apply themselves."

"The necessity of this class is so that you do understand that world of magic around you—despite what you of old blood understand, most traditions are based on measures enacted due to the interpretation of signs. These were to protect the wizards, and especially to ensure that magic never turned against them for misunderstandings."

She snorted in some personal humor before she turned back to their table, clearly dismissing the rest of their class back to their work.

"Let's hope that Mr. Weasley's interpretation didn't irrevocably alter your fate in some ill manner." Harry certainly hoped so—he'd had enough of bad years.

Ron's ears flushed red.

Her eyes conveyed some humor before they turned down to the cup. They widened, Hermione leaning forward in rapt curiosity.

Harry blinked up at the professor, confused by her sudden indecision as she looked into the dregs of his cup.

"Mr. Potter," she said crisply, "You will see me after class."

She spun away. She paused abruptly, and turned to look over her shoulder at Ron, "And Mr. Weasley, do wait for him with that pet of yours."

The trio gaped after her.

After class Hermione stood with Ron, her expression set. Harry felt emboldened by her angry eyes, but Ron's shifting stance reassured him more. Though his redheaded friend was clutching his pet rat tensely he was being pure Ron.

That normality was assuring.

Professor Granger was staring out one of the bower windows, her hands clasped behind her back and her posture stiff. She turned slightly when he entered, her expression soft as she looked over her shoulder. "Please sit down Mr. Potter."

Harry hesitated but seated himself in front of the teacher's desk.

"I don't mean to interrogate, but have you heard of true prophecies?"

"Ah, no ma'am."

"Hmmm, a shame, but I digress. I glimpsed something in your dregs Mr. Potter, and it startled me to no end."

Harry blinked and shifted, "It's not…bad is it?"

Apparently she wasn't setting out to kill him yet.

She smiled slightly, an amusement making her eyes sparkle like Dumbledore's before she cleared her expression. "No, it won't be, now. Your first cup had a running dog Harry, and that means a good friend and happy meeting except he was at the bottom of the cup.

He is in trouble."

Harry sat back in his chair.

Professor Granger stared at him straightly, "So please Mr. Potter, allow me to do a more serious tea reading with all your focus."

Harry gulped and nodded, wondering what else was in his cup for the professor to take this so seriously. He'd never had another instructor explain what was going on so plainly, never had any adult take such little warning so seriously for his future.

The professor smiled and carefully prepared a pot and then his cup of tea, idly chatting with him and helping him clear his mind. When the tea was nearly gone from the simple porcelain cup she was very careful in instructing him to think very seriously about his Destiny and will the leaves to show him the future as he whorled the cup three times.

When he turned the cup over to drain the last tea from the dregs he stared into the face of his new professor. She tilted her head to one side and regarded him just as plainly.

Then her eyes dropped to the cup and she gestured for him to right it.

She paused, and Harry gulped in the silence. Then, with a slight smile, she carefully displayed his cup. "See how many tea leaves are left? You lead a full and busy life Mr. Potter—one that is rich in more ways than one."

Harry turned confused green eyes up to her.

She smiled again, a small strangely feminine dimple appearing in each of her cheeks. "Though this large clump right here opposite the handle indicates trouble, it is not of your making. And I can interpret these signs directly to the right of the handle to help you manage this future.

This tall stalk right here of dark coloring indicates a man coming into your life—he will be part of these troubles, but that doesn't mean he will be the cause of them…he might be the solution. His stalk is not slanted so he appears trustworthy. And this here, Mr. Potter is the actual sign of a man, with dark hair, and with his hands outstretched which means he is bearing a gift.

There is a mouse here, or a rat—there is treachery and theft in your past and affecting your present.

These here, the most important signs, are the light house and the hourglass."

Harry peered at the dregs in the cup, only able to see the pattern in the leaves clinging to the white porcelain now that she had pointed them out. And instinctively, like Harry seemed to work, he knew that she was right.

"This lighthouse means that trouble is threatening, but averted."

Green eyes looked up again in hope.

"And the hourglass," she hesitated slightly. Her eyes stared intently into the cup as she took in a deep breath, "It means that I am helping you. My decision is made."

She stood and walked around her desk, holding out her hand to help him up.

"Now you have a decision, you have a choice, and I believe a great part in it lays in trusting me tonight no matter how confusing this all seems."

When she finished she simply stared at him, waiting for him to accept her hand.

Harry accepted and took her help up, watching her satisfied smile before she was making her way to the trap door. "Follow me, we'll retrieve your friends and head to Albus' office. I'm sure he'd be delighted in a little adventure."

Harry felt his face stretch in a slow grin as he followed his awesome professor.

Hermione gasped as the woman greeted them cordially, nodding her head before gesturing for the trio to precede her. "To his office Harry, and be quick of it."

Harry ducked his head and grinned even more, if only because Hermione looked mortified at the escort and destination and Ron stumbled in his confusion.

He half thought his professor was doing it on purpose—especially as, when he glanced back to check on his friends, her eyes were twinkling again.

Dumbledore was jolly to see them, but his twinkle deepened as he looked at Professor Granger and the woman smirked at him. She gestured to his fireplace and spoke firmly, "I need to gain audience with the Minister, at least three high ranking aurors, and a reporter if that can be arranged."

Dumbledore chortled and stood. With a grand sweeping gesture Fawke's trilled and disappeared. They made their way to the floo and were at the Ministry in short order.

Harry and his friends gaped at the whirlwind of politics that occurred around them, and in a matter of minutes they were all seated in Minister Fudge's office with the three requested aurors while a reporter was on the way.

Harry watched with wide eyes as the Minister practically cowered from his Divination Professor. She had simply taken her seat and a cup of tea, not even eyeing the man in his opulent chair.

Dumbledore and she exchanged small chat, almost perversely including the Minister and the aurors while they mulled about in confusion.

A bustling reporter arrived, eyeing the contingent with a gleam before charming his camera to float and take pictures and quietly stretching his fingers and preparing eagerly to take notes.

Professor Granger took one last sip of her tea before setting it down politely and folding her hands in her lap. "I requested this meeting tonight for some urgent business," she started simply but didn't bother continuing.

Ron, Hermione and Harry all slowly leaned forward to get a better view of her.

Minister Fudge blustered a moment before muttering, "Well then get on with it."

Professor Granger smiled predatorily. "I am the Divination Professor at Hogwarts, and today was my first lesson with Mr. Potter. I discovered something in his reading that I think you all might find interesting."

Fudge leaned back heavily, mild disgust tracing his pudgy features. Even the aurors lost their tense posture and glanced between each other in amusement. Only the eager reporter and Mr. Dumbledore maintained a steady interest.

Harry swallowed.

"If you'll indulge me," Professor Granger said slowly as she stood. Her face was as sober as it was in class while she turned to the trio. They regarded her with wide eyes, but still missed her next movements.

Her wand was suddenly just there, pointed at Ron as she whispered out a spell. The three cried out and moved, the aurors grew tense and almost leapt forward, Fudge yelled and Dumbledore gripped his armrests in preparation to stand.

But the spell didn't hit Ron, or Harry, or Hermione.

Everyone blinked as Scabbers screeched and writhed, his form shimmering and pulsing before there was suddenly a scruffy unclean man where the animal had been. Ron made a sound of disgust as he tripped back into his seat, Hermione clutching his arm with one hand while her own wand occupied the other.

Harry gaped.

Dumbledore slowly sat down amidst the chaos of Aurors quickly stunning the individual and restraining him while looking to Fudge for orders. The pudgy politician stammered and mopped his sweating brow.

"As you can see," Professor Granger's voice rang out low and clear, "it is an indulgence well satisfied. Peter Pettigrew is before you, awarded an Order of Merlin post-mortem just after the first fall of Voldemort." She paused as several people shuddered, her eyebrows arching as if to say "O grow up".

"I should think," Dumbledore began in his slow ponderous voice, "that this bears some action." His kind blue eyes looked up before he nodded respectfully to their professor.

Fudge finally managed to stammer a full sentence, "Yes, of…of course."

"A trial then, and retrial of Sirius Black on account of his only 'proved' crime just became void."

Harry swallowed and looked at her—the catty tone of her voice resonated with his ire for his many undeserved punishments. It made him wonder if Sirius Black could have been innocent too.

Fudge stammered while the flash of the reporter's camera went off where it floated above their meeting.

Professor Granger and Dumbledore settled themselves as the Aurors escorted Peter out and Fudge mopped his face with his handkerchief.

Hermione was vibrating with energy alongside him, and Ron was muttering about their family rat while the reporter thanked them with a stronger gleam in his eye.

It was quiet at Hogwarts that night, when they arrived back, but the morning's paper caused enough of an uproar to make up for it.

….

Sirius looked up with hollow eyes, his narrowed stare combining with his snarl as the fool of a Minister stopped in front of his cell. The paper caught his eye, but beyond that he couldn't find the energy.

Azkaban was a place the slowly stole your soul, and Sirius'd had twelve years to stew in bitterness at his false incarceration. And now after his escape they'd somehow caught him again. He'd pulled every trick in the Marauder's repertoire, but they'd put him back in a cell. Sirius was bitter and angry, and definitely not in the mood for this pompous man gloating.

But then the man shuffled and pulled at his collar. A soft voice cleared behind him, and Sirius found himself looking into the warm brown eyes of a woman for the first time in as many years.

The Minister quailed under her calm gaze and waved the guards forward. In his confusion Sirius simply sat and watched as they opened the bars of his cell and unlocked his cuffs. He stayed there as they shuffled back uncomfortably.

But the women gave a haughty sniff to them and practically pranced into the cell, depositing a cloth bag at his side before kneeling in front of him. Her small hands cradled his face as she tilted his head back and forth—her gaze assessing and concerned.

"I have soaps and clothes in the bag, you'll want to get this filth off you for when you take your first steps as a free man."

Her thumb absently felt along a recent scrape on his temple, and he still sat dumbly.

Her gaze returned to his, and he was startled to find gold in that entrancing brown. Those beautiful eyes softened, and her lips curved in a slight smile. She slowly nodded her head to confirm his racing thoughts.

His lips parted in a hissing gasp.

"Minister Fudge," she said moderately, "if you would please?"

The Minister shuffled a little before he carefully inched forward and practically threw the paper at his lap. The woman retreated a few inches, inches that felt like a gorge as it took away the first human contact he'd had in so long, but she merely straightened out the paper and smiled at the cover. She turned her impish grin up to him and twisted the paper into his view.

His breath caught as he read the headline, his lungs burning as he rapidly went through the article that detailed his trial by proxy…he was a free man. They'd somehow caught Wormtail…he was a free man.

And he had custody of his godson.

His breath suddenly rushed back into his lungs and he laughed and cried and yelled and sobbed.

He heard the minister and guards shuffle nervously, but the woman sat there with him through it all.

When he finally had no energy she murmured her congratulations and opened up the bag. The guards escorted him to the shower rooms and he gazed back at the woman he was sure he'd never see again.

He hadn't even gotten the angel's name…he hadn't even thanked her.

...

Sirius read up all he could on the trial, but no information was provided as to how Pettigrew had been discovered (or how Padfoot had been for that matter). He learned of Peter's pleas and his conniving begging, his sly intimation to Death Eaters still running free.

He was angry that Pettigrew had escaped during his trial, but as the trial had been a public one the newspapers had ran with assumptions for days, until they pressured for a manhunt. Under Minister Fudge, the paranoid power-hungry fool, there had been no room for a possible hint of the Dark Lord surviving and every resource had been used to ferret out the truth.

And it was easily discovered that Sirius Black should be a free man.

He sighed and rubbed his head.

He hadn't gotten to thank his angel, and he had no one else to thank about Pettigrew's capture.

Fudge was avoiding him, and the populace still gave him wary unsure looks—skittish. He didn't need to thank any of them though, so that was okay.

He sighed and glanced unsurely up at Hogwarts—it was barely even December, and the castle already looked like something out of a Christmas tale. He had so many fond memories of those halls, and he set to the paths towards it with vigor.

It was time to meet Harry.

He swallowed as he walked through the empty halls, seeking out Dumbledore to gain access to his godson. He didn't want to interrupt anything, especially when he knew the old man'd had a strong hand in his trial.

He stood in front of the stone gargoyle, trying to recall candies and sweets when his thoughts for years had been bitter and tasteless.

He glowered at the stone beast.

"Mr. Black?" a familiar voice inquired. He turned, stunned to find his angel standing before him in full robes. Her head tilted and she blinked her eyes at him, "I was unaware that the headmaster was expecting you," she said softly.

He shook himself back to his senses and attempted a smile after so long of feeling no joy—he knew it came out broken but she didn't react. "He wasn't, expecting me that is."

She looked him up and down before nodding her head slowly. She walked around him to speak to the gargoyle, "Tell Headmaster Dumbledore that he has an unexpected guest. We'll call off our afternoon tea until another time."

The gargoyle bowed and then froze, his stony gaze somehow introspective and far off despite its medium.

Sirius turned to thank her but she was already gone. He blinked at the empty hall before turning back to the gargoyle as it leapt to the side and revealed the familiar stairs.

….

Given that Albus Dumbledore was the only person Sirius knew with a connection to his angel, he had tried to weasel out some answers. Of course, not knowing the witch's name, how she was connected to the case, or how she knew Dumbledore…well. Apparently a wizard of so many years knew a lot of brunette witches.

Sirius pouted.

That man had too many tea dates as well. When Sirius had insisted she was visiting for tea, the old man's eyes had twinkled brighter than usual. At that point Sirius knew the game had gotten even harder.

Albus was too mischievous. Came with being a Gryffindor—Sirius had even heard once that when Albus Brian Wulfric Percival Dumbledore was a student he'd set the bed hangings on fire in the red and gold dorm.

Previously, Albus hadn't known what witch Sirius Orion Black had been referring to. In that state of ignorance the man might have stumbled and revealed information. Now he knew, and he was keeping that information from Sirius in the interest of respecting the witch's privacy.

So Sirius spent the first hour he visited trying to finagle a way to converse with her. Oh, and he remembered to thank Dumbledore. And then they got to more serious business.

Because there were still Peter and Death Eaters about, and Sirius was leery to accept his old Auror status back.

The high note of the trip was when he got to go down to dinner with his godson. He had some mighty friends—and the old dog had a blast regaling them with stories and teasing them.

And then he joined an old friend to heal old wounds.

…

Harry came and went to classes, conversing with Sirius through the floo some nights but mostly exchanging letters. They were going through the magically legal process of adoption—since his parents' wills had not been secured that Halloween, the magical world recognized Sirius' right as his godfather. Harry was over the moon about it.

And he was really happy with his new friend.

Sure Professor Hermione Granger was, well, a professor. But she was the best he'd ever had. Even though Professor Lupin was awesome and taught defense, Professor Granger felt…well she felt like home.

Harry had never felt like that.

Sure Hogwarts was his safe haven, as much as it could be with everything that went around…so okay maybe Hogwarts was his escape from the dreadful muggle world he was confined to in the summers. That made Professor Granger his haven from everything. Nothing bad had ever happened in her classroom—she kept everyone on their best behavior, and she made class interesting.

Harry was a little disappointed that Sirius had no respect for her craft whenever he brought it up. But he supposed there'd been plenty rumours about Professor Trelawney. Sirius would have had the old professor for his teacher.

A little shudder of premonition followed Harry's thoughts. He thought he might have died in her class.

So he sat with Professor Granger near her desk as she catalogued some tarot cards and he did homework. A few of these occasions she'd received post through the house elves—it was the sourest face he'd ever seen her make.

…

Sirius mopped a hand down his face, regarding Harry with delighted exasperation. "At least you caught the snitch boyo."

Harry grinned, his cut lip looking painful but ignored. "I did, and you owe me a butter beer."

Sirius Black laughed like he hadn't since James had been alive.

Their merrymaking and teasing was cut short as the hospital doors creaked and the familiar but unnamed form of his angel made her way to their corner of the ward. She stopped firmly at the foot of the bed, eyeing him cordially before turning assessing eyes to Harry.

"Professor Granger!" Harry cried out in shock as he sat up in the hospital bed.

Sirius lifted his brows and smiled at the witch, running his tongue along his teeth before he purred—"Professor Granger."

She huffed and crossed her arms over her chest, her wand dangling warningly from one hand as her eyes flashed. "Mister Black," she responded curtly.

"I did simply want to thank you," he started perfunctorily, and then he grinned as charmingly and devilishly as he had before Azkaban—she seemed to pull that side of him back out of the depths of his soul. "And then you just became too interesting for me to leave you alone."