I was so unbelievably angry I could have murdered her and only regretted it afterwards. But even as I rejected one great love, I had found a new one. I loved the baby with every ounce of my soul, just as I had loved its mother. Certainly I would not have loved anyone else's child half as much. But with the acceptance of what was truly a great burden all my priorities changed. I was dissatisfied by being an Auror. I turned my thoughts to what my child's life would look like, as the bastard offspring of two Muggleborn. The prospects did not look very good. So I, at nineteen, set my mind to changing the very social strata that supported the entire magical world.
Hermione Granger needed a library. She needed a library yesterday.
She Floo'ed the Headmistress's office three times, sticking her head into the green flames, before she caught Minerva. She immediately invited Hermione in, and Hermione complied, ducking back and soon reappearing full-length in the flames.
"Well, what a pleasant surprise," Minerva said, smiling in her grim way.
Hermione took a deep breath, trying not to appear flustered. "Professor, I have to ask you a few favors."
"How many times must I tell you, it's Minerva from now on," the older woman commanded. "And of course, within reason."
"Well," Hermione let out her breath. "Can I possibly ask to use your library?"
"Certainly."
"Another thing is, I haven't enough hours in the day anymore. Do you know if there are any more Time-Turners?"
"For an Auror, I can't see why not. Although I must warn you, there is a reason why professionals do not often use Time-Turners. Taking thirty hour days has more consequences than you might imagine, on one's sanity at the very least."
Hermione shrugged. "Might I get your sponsorship in my application for ownership?"
Minerva sighed heavily. "Hermione, please take a seat." Hermione did, sitting anxiously on the edge of the seat. "Are you sure you want that life? When you were fourteen, you wisely put it behind you."
"For the next few months, at least. I'm sure, Professor." She winced. "Sorry, um, Minerva."
The other woman sighed. "I will sponsor you, for the same reason I offered you the Time-Turner in your third year. I trust your judgment."
Hermione smiled brilliantly. "Thank you so much." And then she dipped her eyes. "And one final thing. I'm interested in joining a Muggleborn rights organization. Do you have any recommendations? I've never heard of any myself."
'No Muggleborn rights organizations to speak of! None at all!' Hermione fumed as she walked to the library, clutching the small piece of parchment on which Minerva had written the names of a few people engaged in the subject. Normally if there was no public awareness of an issue, it meant that it was in fact not an issue. But Hermione knew better than that - in fact, she knew a good number of pamphlet writers who agreed with her, aside from the list Minerva had given her.
It was an outrage. Perhaps fear of Voldemort, or of the Death Eaters, repressed the movement over the last twenty years or so - but Hermione felt that the Wizarding community was not extremely repressive. Perhaps she would discover otherwise.
She spent the rest of the day and night in the Hogwarts library, and returned to her hotel really wishing she'd acquired the Time-Turner first. There was so much to do.
Harry took the package from the owl with confusion. He rarely received post by air; the flight was far from Britain, and Floo was far more efficient. He rummaged in the refrigerator until he found a piece of meat, giving it to the majestic animal, who cocked its head at him, piercing him with an inquisitive look before taking to air.
He recognized the writing on the parcel immediately, grinning. It had been too long since Hermione had sent him a something other than a ridiculously terse letter. But he was slightly disappointed when he found the object inside - a small square of plastic with a big green button on it and a strange mirror.
Her instructions were, as usual, short. "Press the button and say my name. -Hermione." He frowned and inspected it further. He'd never seen anything of its likes before.
Sitting down, he followed the directions, watching a strange glimmer light up the mirror before Hermione's face appeared. "Harry," she said. She looked frazzled.
"Hey Hermione! Wow. This is just like Sirius's mirror."
She smiled a little at him. "That was partially where I got the idea. I used the casing on a Muggle telephone, they call them 'cell phones.' It's got a simple charm to protect it from Muggle eyes, so it's perfectly safe. It's also very durable, I made sure of that. But here's where it really shines. This isn't, in fact, like Sirius's mirror at all. His mirror was paired. These phones can communicate with any other person with the same device. You just have to say their name."
"Sooo lemme guess, this is a reverse birthday present?"
Hermione rolled her eyes. "You think you're original, but Ginny already said those exact words, and Ron said something like that, too."
Harry stuck his tongue out at her. "You mean you give reverse birthday presents to all your friends? When did this start?"
"Harry, focus. I'm just in the testing phase right now. I've given sample phones to you, Ginny, Ron, Luna, and Neville. I'm asking you to brainstorm on ways to make it more accessible and a better product."
"Right," Harry said. He'd stopped listening when she said she'd given one to Ginny.
"The most obvious step to increase usage is to connect it with an already-used form of communication, like the Floo network. But the forms of magic are grossly incompatible. I was considering offering a service to enchant a mirror in a household with these same charms for a lower price, bringing more people into the network. But people might interpret that as a potential violation of privacy, since I'm not prepared to share exactly how I've set this up."
Harry shrugged and nodded, remembering how Hermione sometimes sounded like a Muggle infomercial. "Sounds like you've got it all worked out."
She rolled her eyes at him again. "Harry, I'm asking for your help."
"Is that all you want for your birthday, then? Or should I post something?"
She sighed. "It's not even my birthday yet."
"So do you have plans this delightful Saturday night?" Her eyes shifted, and he knew that his guess was right. "Tell you what? I'm visiting on your birthday. I don't care what you say."
A great benefit of being friends with Hermione was that she secretly appreciated things like ice cream and candy bars. She was just hesitant enough to make it fun coercing her into sharing an ice cream cone with him, which he insisted upon despite the fact that it was the middle of December, and snowing in London.
The moment he got her out of the house, he immediately set upon grilling her.
"Your letters have been brief enough, how have you been? It's been, what, three months?"
"Busy," she said. "Not with assignments though, this Zombie thing is a real joke. You just set them on fire when you find them. It's just housekeeping. But I'm almost glad, because that means I have time to do everything else."
"What is everything else? What have you been doing? Oh, did you see that article about Lew in the Prophet three weeks ago?"
"Yes," she said. "I haven't spoken with her."
Harry could tell when Hermione was avoiding something. He suddenly became very worried for his friend. Clearly she was not mingling with people, and now she claimed not to even have spoken with her closest friend aside from himself. She'd broken up with Ron abruptly, and then fallen off the face of the planet.
"Hermione, you know how you get so intense that you stop being happy? I'm worried you're doing that right now, and Ron and I aren't around to stop you."
"I'm perfectly happy, Harry," she said, her gaze piercing through her furry hood. He felt the need to change the subject.
"So where'd you get the unbelievably brilliant idea of these, what do you call them, phone-things?"
"Just phone, right now," she said, and her eyes flashed at him again, inducing the urge to grovel. "It wasn't my idea, clearly. I just figured out how to adapt it. I needed some extra money."
"Money? You could have just asked me."
"More money than that. Although now that you mention it, I could probably use some seed funds for the company."
Harry nodded. "Absolutely," he said, and then, "What's the ring? I never noticed it before."
Hermione blushed hotly and turned her face away. After a moment she was back. "It's a Ring of Strength, haven't you heard of those?" Harry laughed and didn't believe her for an instant. After a short pause, she changed the subject. "What are your thoughts on the Snicket unrest in Belgium?"
"The what in where?" Harry said, willing to let her change the subject, but adding 'ring' to his mental list of oddities that Hermione was displaying.
They ended up going to a Wizards dance club later that night. The bar was in Mozambique, and the air was hot and heavy. The decorations emphasized that impression, but the clientele did not - Harry had only been here once before, but his friend had explained that most of their customers caught a free Portkey from European cities. Certainly he could only understand one word out of seven that was spoken here. He'd been surprised at the variety of activities - they had a dance floor, but they also had a bar, a gambling area, and often a performance stage as well. This was part of the reason he brought her to this bar in particular; Hermione had never been known for her proclivity for dancing.
Harry was in awe, and made no effort to hide it. He ordered a drink, something with mint leaves in it, and offered to buy her one, which she refused. There was something seriously up with her; she never refused a bit of butterbeer. He tried to convince her by describing a Chinese drink, but she only pulled him away from the bar, grumbling.
They gambled away some money and danced together in the corner, and a French man approached her only to be firmly rebuffed. The man wasn't half-bad looking, either; the gears in Harry's brain spun faster. The man had recognized him, though, and soon the game was up and they left. Hermione stood on a corner in London talking with him for only a few minutes before sending him off, not even offering her own bachelorette pad. He would have been miffed if he hadn't been so damn worried for her.
Hermione collapsed on the bed. One consequence of thirty hour days was that she constantly felt exhausted, even though she tried to compensate by sleeping as long as possible at night. It was like she was constantly fighting jet lag.
She'd invested in a tiny flat in Bristol, and it had become her refuge. She breathed in the cool piney air and thought about Harry. He insisted on sticking by her, despite the obvious difficulties that posed. It had clearly taken some effort to get permission to go back to London, especially considering the fact that his mission was top-secret. But there was not an iota of hesitation in his voice, and he had not mentioned visiting Ginny once, something that she was, in fact, afraid to do. She was worried that if she spoke in person with a woman she knew well, some ineffable womanly sense would inform her that Hermione was expecting. She was absolutely terror-struck at the idea of anyone knowing.
Harry was a lucky bastard, she mused. He never complained of boredom, which made her suspect that when he was finally allowed to share what he had done, she would be extremely jealous. And he had a girlfriend who wasn't insane, and he was rich and famous. Yet he still seemed to think that Hermione Granger was an extremely important person.
It was one in the morning now, but she couldn't sleep and she certainly couldn't focus on work. Silly things, birthdays; she had been biologically twenty for probably about two months now. Maybe longer; her use of the Time-Turner in her third year at Hogwarts had been sporadic compared to this. And yet the world insisted on it being her birthday today, December 3rd. The world as in, Harry Potter, who for some reason wanted to make her happy.
She found herself smiling again. Harry was right, it was nice to relax a little. But her smile quickly faded. With Harry gone, the heavy blanket of reality fell quickly, suffocating her. It had been three weeks in real time since she had last seen Lew, and only incessant work could keep her off her mind. Incessant work and, apparently, Harry himself - proof that The Boy Who Lived could still work miracles, she supposed.
But she still felt brave, and strong despite her traitorous heart. If ever there was a time, it was now. 'Lew,' she whispered in her mind. 'Are you awake?'
'Yes,' she immediately responded. 'I'm really sorry, I miss you unbelievably -' Hermione felt the ghost of a hand touch hers, and she jerked it away.
She fought to steady herself, and then said as distantly as possible, 'Three weeks ago Dane Teague told me he wanted to speak with you. I believe he was responsible for your exoneration.'
She felt Lew's soaring hope deflate a little. She must not have kept the connection distant enough, and wondered whether Lew could feel the pounding of her pulse. But Lew only said, 'Dane Teague? Isn't he part of the High Council?'
'Yes. I don't want to talk to you.'
The hurt was intense. 'Please, Hermione. I understand that you're angry, but please give me another chance.'
'No.'
She shut off the connection. The absence of Lew was devastating, and Hermione spent a few long moments in almost physical agony. Finally she was able to clamp down on the emotion enough to think. It was possible that she might be able to let her in again, someday. First she had to forgive her, and right now she didn't even want to think about her at all. It was too painful, too raw, and too powerful - all of the things that had spurred Hermione's fascination were now reasons to avoid Lew.
If it was anyone else, she would probably never speak to them again. But it was Lew, who had always tried to protect Hermione, who had been clear from the beginning about her own reprehensibility. She'd been through so much in her life; she had admitted to childhood abuse, and what had happened in Azkaban... Clearly she did not understand the significance of what she had done to Hermione, but how could she? She was totally twisted, perhaps irredeemably.
Hermione wondered whether she would still want Lew if it transpired that she was irreparably ruined by her past. She tried to remember the way she'd seen Lew before - truly good, without the skewed moral center. Lew did care, she just didn't realize that what she had done was truly disgustingly abhorrent...
Except it wasn't really all bad, because look what she had from it. A baby, an innocent tiny person that Hermione was completely responsible for. Whenever she thought of it, a horrible thrill went through her, mixed excitement and absolute terror. She was already imagining what the baby would look like. Somehow the child she dreamed of always had black hair and ice-blue eyes, and when she held that baby in her imagination, strong arms encircled her, and breath that smelled like mint and raw carrots was close to her ear.
Her heart broke for the fiftieth time, and it was all she could do not to call out to Lew. To stop herself, she sat up, realizing in shame that her hand had fallen to rest on her belly. She moved it self-consciously, leaning toward her writing desk and surveying the north wall, which was absolutely overwhelmed by scraps of paper, maps, and schedules. She picked up a fat unopened letter. It must be a response to one of her recruitment letters. She read it, eager for the distraction.
Sometime in the early morning, she woke, acid in the back of her throat. She barely made it to the bathroom before she threw up.