Yesterday is Tomorrow (everything is connected)
XI – Part A
The Doctor: The thing is, Adam, time travel is like visiting Paris. You can't just read the guidebook, you've got to throw yourself in! Eat the food, use the wrong verbs, get charged double and end up kissing complete strangers! [beat] Or is that just me?
- "The Long Game" (1x07), Doctor Who (2009)
There was a lull of exactly twenty-two days before Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, and Slughorn struck. Hermione had been on tenterhooks since the beginning of her fifth year, along with Barty, whose newly lupine-like traits functioned much like a spidey-sense, leaving him with his nervous twitch more pronounced than usual.
On the other hand, from what Hermione observed with the Marauders, they all seemed to be sure that the professors had forgotten their threats to revisit their detentions when the school year resumed, or that Dumbledore's given points negated the ill will the professors had toward the Shrieking Shack incident.
For her, it was no surprise to receive the owl summoning her and Barty to Flitwick's office that Monday evening. Regulus, by virtue of not being involved and under an unbreakable vow, was exempt but wished them luck regardless. There was a grim visage on his face that made Hermione wonder what kind of punishment he was thinking they would be receiving (Hermione thought he was thinking of the past summer, when he admitted that his parents had done… something… to Sirius, causing the Potters to come and remove his elder brother from Grimmauld Place.).
"This will be fun," muttered Barty, grabbing one last dessert from the table, swiping the chocolate biscuit just as the magic from the kitchens cleared the tables. He began chewing on it as they walked away from the Ravenclaw table.
Hermione's stomach was heavy and low. She had spent so much time at Hogwarts avoiding attention, avoiding being seen. Having detention - everything that happened the past year - it made her uncomfortable. Professor Janulus and Professor Pythas didn't seem to care; even though she was done her NEWTs in Runes and Arithmancy, both had her attend their advanced seventh year classes where she was often used as a guinea pig or teaching assistant, or worse, an example for the Seventh years - many who did not appreciate seeing a tiny fifteen-year-old upstaging them.
Professor Flitwick, as her head of house, had a strange dubious position of being her advocate while also maintaining order. He could be kind, but also harsh; he was disciplined, but forgiving. As it was, he had mentioned something about her doing her Charms NEWT that year, but Hermione was sure that was being held over her for good behaviour. The old duelling master wasn't without manipulative tactics. And Hermione doubted he would be the kindly Head of House tonight.
Stopping by Flitwick's closed door, she knocked twice.
"Enter."
Barty and Hermione shared one last look, and then Hermione twisted the doorknob and stepped into the cluttered Ravenclaw Heads' office. Flitwick was at his desk, surrounded by numerous books (some open, others closed with feather bookmarks at various spots, sticking out from the pages), while two scrolls floated and a quill was diligently taking notes. It stopped as they entered.
"Professor," greeted Hermione carefully. Barty stood straight at her side, in an almost military bearing with his shoulders thrown back and his hands clasped behind him.
"Miss Evans, Mister Crouch," greeted Flitwick. His tone wasn't jovial or excited, but it wasn't disappointed, either. It was neutral. "Earlier than expected, good, good."
Hermione fought the urge to fidget. When she was younger, in her first life at Hogwarts, she would've fretted and wrung her hands in anxiety. She was no longer that naive girl.
"Is this about last year, sir?"
Flitwick eyed her and then flicked his eyes at Barty. The other teen kept his gaze far above Flitwick's head, focusing on the back wall of his office. Neither would apologise for what they had done - they had gone to save Barty and Snape, and Barty paid the price for it.
(At some point during the summer, Hermione had turned to Barty and asked, "Why were you with Snape that night?"
But Barty's mouth had tightly pressed down into a long, thin line and his eyes hardened, looking away from her.
Hermione had sighed. "Will you ever tell me?" she had asked.
"Maybe one day," he had replied, finally looking back at her, the hard look in his eyes melting away into fondness and something else. "But not today. Not… not now."
Hermione had not replied and allowed Barty his secrets. It wasn't like she was without them, either, and she wasn't going to be hypocritical in making him tell her when she refused to share hers.)
"In a way, yes," sighed Flitwick. He paused for a moment and then continued, "The other Heads and I disagreed with the Headmaster's decision last term. We have collectively come up with punishments based on your infractions after exams, and will be giving them out in Professor McGonagall's office shortly."
"We understand, sir," said Barty, although he mumbled the words out, barely moving his mouth.
Flitwick shot him a concerned glance, shaking his head sadly. "While I do not think points should've been awarded, detentions won't help either. I am sure you will both find your… punishment acceptable… although I was not supposed to tell you that ahead of the meeting."
Hermione blinked. "Why not, Professor?"
Flitwick's lips curled into a secretive smile. "Camaraderie, I believe, but I am certain that the others might have a few guesses as to what is coming tonight as well."
"I doubt that," muttered Barty, and Flitwick pretended not to hear.
"Shall we?" the tiny professor asked, and then the three were leaving his office and walking down two hallways and a set of stairs to McGonagall's office. Flitwick used his wand to tap on the door, which resulted in two loud knocks.
"Enter," the Scottish brogue resounded through the door.
Flitwick led Barty and Hermione into the room. At first glance, it was just McGonagall sitting at her desk at the front, but once she had a few moments to gain her bearings, Hermione saw the four Marauders, sitting in various desks and spaced throughout the room; Sirius and James were in opposite corners, as far away from one another as McGonagall could put them, and Remus and Peter were in between, somewhere in the middle of the classroom.
At McGonagall's pointed look, Barty and Hermione moved to sit at a desk. Hermione instinctively went to her normal seat, although that was unfortunately near Remus. Barty began to growl low in his throat, causing not just Hermione to look at him, but for Remus' head to pop up, his eyes wide.
"No, you're right, that's a bad seat," consoled Hermione with a low murmur. She abruptly changed the direction she was walking to move toward the back of the room, nearer to where James was sitting, watching both her and Barty curiously.
Barty settled, a morose look on his face when they sat.
"Sorry," he mumbled under his breath. "I didn't mean to-"
"It's fine," interrupted Hermione, smiling gently at her friend. "You can't control it all yet. That's okay."
However, Barty crossed his arms, hugging himself defensively, and slunk down in the seat until his chin touched his chest.
Remus, with his full lupine abilities, could hear the murmured conversation, and his face went milk-white in response. Something pained crossed his face, and then he slunk down in his seat, curling in on himself.
Hermione inaudibly sighed, and crossed her legs, impatiently tracing out a pattern on the desk as they waited for Slughorn and Snape. Those two arrived minutes later, Slughorn appearing as his usual jovial self, a wide smile on his face and in the middle of some story of some wizarding celebrity he knew as he spoke to a miserable looking Snape.
McGonagall pointed at a seat near Sirius, causing both teens to look murderous for a long, long minute, before Snape slunk over, a deep-set scowl on his face partially hidden behind his long black hair.
Flitwick and Slughorn moved to stand by McGonagall's desk, and she came around it to stand, arms crossed.
"Now that we're all here," began McGonagall, her brogue sharp as she surveyed the room, "We can begin."
"What are we doing here, Professor?" asked a mulish Sirius, arms folded on his desk as he leaned forward.
"We are here, Mr. Black," stressed McGonagall, "To discuss punishment for what happened at the end of last year."
"Professor! No-!"
"That not fair-"
"What! But Dumbledore gave us points-"
"Headmaster Dumbledore, Mr. Potter," interrupted McGonagall with a stern glare at the dissenting voices of James, Sirius, and Peter, "I remember. I was there. I disagreed."
That brought to an end any protests, with both James and Sirius snapping their mouths shut so hard and fast their teeth audibly clicked.
"As the Heads of your Houses, we collectively have decided on punishments that we think are fair and fitting for your activities and actions in June of this past year," she continued, her eyes sharply lingering on their faces one-by-one. Hermione refused to squirm under her old favourite professor's cool, assessing look; but Barty, like Remus and Peter, dropped their eyes while James, Sirius, and Snape glared.
"Miss Evans, Mr. Crouch, and Mr. Potter," boomed Slughorn. "Let's begin with you three."
Hermione laced her fingers together on top of her desk and sat straight, giving Slughorn her attention. One more year and she knew he'd be inviting her to Slug Club meetings, the way his singing praise in potions class was going. Even now, he had a slight smile on his face, so she knew that her punishment - and Barty and James' - wasn't going to be too harsh.
"Since the three of you were more reactive, attempting to stymie the situation from deteriorating further, we have agreed that your punishment will be the easiest." Slughorn glanced at Flitwick and McGonagall, who nodded. "For now until December, the three of you will host evening tutoring sessions in your best subject for first through fourth-year students. You will be assigned specific days, and you will do this in an unused classroom off the ground floor near the Great Hall."
Flitwick added: "Your grades are impressive across the board - with a few exceptions," he added, glancing apologetically at James, who shrugged, "-and as such, Ms. Evans, you will tutor in Charms, Arithmancy, and Runes; Mr. Crouch, Defense and Magical Creatures; and Mr. Potter, in Transfiguration and Potions."
"Your tutoring sessions will begin immediately," concluded McGonagall, flicking her wand and sending three parchments flying across the room toward them. Hermione caught hers deftly out of the air, as did James and Barty, and glanced through the text.
Charms - Mon & Weds / Arithmancy - Tues, Sat / Runes - Thurs, Sat, her parchment read. Inwardly, Hermione grimaced at the thought of her evenings gone, including Saturdays. James, however, had no filter and groaned, loudly.
"Saturday too, Professor? When am I supposed to schedule Quidditch practice?"
At that, McGonagall's pursed lips tightened even further into a pinched, white line. Her brogue was incredibly thick. "You shoulda thought of that before your actions, Mr. Potter."
Shamed, James slunk in his seat a bit.
"Mr. Pettigrew," began Flitwick, eyes peering at the startled teen, who squeaked a bit in fear and then squared his shoulders. "You will join Professor Hawthorne in marking his Defense assignments from now until December, whenever he asks it of you. Obviously, this will only be for the first through third-year assignments, but as you remember from your time, those essays can be numerous."
"And Mr. Lupin, you will be aiding Mr. Pettigrew with Professor Hawthorne's work," added McGonagall sternly.
Both teens nodded, Remus' cheeks and ears bright red.
"Mr. Black," began Slughorn, the friendly tone he had been using for the others melting away to something significantly cooler, "For your actions, and the lack of thought behind them, we have a detailed and thorough assignment that you must complete and present to us before the term is over."
Sirius's eyes went wide and he froze in his seat as three pairs of Professors turned their attention on him.
"You will research Wizengamot laws regarding werewolves through the years, from when they were first mentioned to the most recent activity," instructed Slughorn, his voice solemn. "Charting the laws passed and the conditions in which werewolves of Britain must live in, your task will be to immerse yourself with the knowledge of what your actions could have cost not just Mr. Lupin, but Mr. Snape as well. You will present this information to us, and we will determine if your content is sufficient or would require further analysis and detail in the winter term."
Sirius's face was pale and grave. The amount of sloughing through old material was daunting to a normal wizard - unless one was Percy, thought Hermione with a tiny mental smirk - but for Sirius to spend his free time doing that kind of research, well...
On one hand, Hermione could understand what the professors were doing: hit the teen over the head with the terrible conditions werewolves experienced in Britain and let Sirius know that his actions would have terrible consequences, with the possibility of Remus' death via execution. On the other hand, Hermione knew that the professors were hoping it would help Sirius later on in life as a Black, and the Black heir so that he could take his father's seat on the Wizengamot and make smarter decisions.
The task was as emotionally manipulative as it was educational, and to some degree, Hermione thought it reeked of Dumbledore's influence.
"Do you understand, Mr. Black?" asked McGonagall, tersely.
Sirius nodded, once, licking his lips nervously and muttering, "I do Professor. Thank you."
"Mr. Snape," finished Flitwick, "While I can admire the drive and wherewithal to uncover a good mystery as much as the next curious mind, your actions were meant to harm and expose Mr. Lupin purely for the wrong reasons. Do not think that we professors have not noticed your decisions and actions, recently, especially those amongst your new friends."
There was a warning look sent from Flitwick to Snape, whose dark eyes darted away, refusing to be shamed for his actions.
"As such," continued McGonagall, "You will be doing the same as Mr. Black: researching and then presenting to us before the term ends on lycanthropy and other prejudiced creatures in the wizarding world, specifically Britain. You will compile this information, analyse it, and conclude with reasonable solutions that are humane or could be feasible for the British populace to implement for those involved."
Snape stared ahead at the professors, a deadly glare on his face but he gave a sharp nod, refusing to argue back.
That was lucky, thought Hermione, although she was sure Snape didn't think so. Knowing what she did of the man, the professors had just given him a head start in his improved Wolfsbane potion with Belby, and since they hadn't specified that he (nor Sirius) couldn't ask for outside help, Hermione was sure Slughorn would nudge Snape in Belby's direction. Again, a bit manipulative; a way to force Snape to do some good while keeping a skilled potioneer away from future Death Eaters.
Overall, Hermione kind of thought that she got a raw deal, losing her Saturday and most weekday evenings to tutor snotty younger years with mental capacities that might rival Ron's.
"Dismissed," ordered a sharp McGonagall, and without due, Hermione and Barty rose. They gave a respectful nod to their Head of House, who returned with a smile. As Hermione and Barty began walking up the steps toward the door at the back, they passed James.
Hermione went to open her mouth, to say goodbye, but the messy-haired Gryffindor's cheeks went red and he turned his head away, eyes forward and deliberately giving her the cold shoulder.
Blinking, Hermione almost staggered in shock, but Barty caught her arm and hauled her the last two steps, even if her feet dragged over them. Once they were out of the room, her best friend turned to her, leaning down and forward as he whispered, "Are you okay?"
"Um. Yeah." Hermione still couldn't wrap her head around the dismissal but began to firm her pounding heart against the irrational hurt it felt. "Yeah. It's… it's okay. Let's go."
"It'll be better tomorrow," advised Barty, lowly.
"Yeah. Tomorrow."
It was weird, being a subject of gossip.
Hermione never got used to it the first time around as Hermione Granger, and as Hermione Evans, she thought the gossip was actually more malicious in comparison. Previously, it was "oh, look at that Mudblood Granger with her perfect grades, toying with the famous Boy-Who-Lived, his heart, who does she think she is?" and now it was "oh, look at that Mudblood Evans with her perfect grades, toying with James Potter's heart, betraying her amazing older sister, who does she think she is?" with some others who switched the ending up to "betrayed by her older sister, who does Lily think she is?"
She had the misfortune to overhear one rumour about her, her sister, and James later that week (the same week as her tutoring punishment), as she was heading to the tutoring room. Three girls were standing nearby, their gazes on her as she walked by herself. Hermione couldn't see their house affiliation, and honestly - that didn't seem to matter anymore, either. The rumours were coming from all four houses; it wasn't like she made friends in Ravenclaw.
Hermione's blood was boiling, as they weren't even keeping their voices down as she neared. Her hands clenched, tiny sparks running up and down her fingers and inside her palm where heat built, a spell uncast...
"-what a total bitch-"
"-can't believe the two - ugh, Mudbloods-"
"I don't even know what Potter sees in them, they're nothing special-"
"Nor do I know what anyone sees in you, Edgecombe, so why don't you piss off?"
The interruption of a male voice had all three girls start in surprise, open-mouthed and staring at the newcomer as he appeared from around the corner of the hallway ahead of Hermione.
Dirk had his hands in his pockets, his floppy hair covering one eye and hiding his glasses. He wore a pleasant expression on his face despite his words.
With a huff, Edgecombe - and God, that was weird, thought Hermione, seeing her daughter's scowl and thin face in the older teen - and the other girls walked off, throwing dirty looks behind them at Dirk. Once they were gone, the Gryffindor turned to Hermione.
"All okay, Evans?"
Hermione nodded, crossing her arms. "Fine. Didn't need a knight in shining armour though, Cresswell."
"Wasn't gonna be one, Evans," the other teen grinned in reply. "Thought Edgecombe could use a reminder to be nice to people."
"Well, she's not a Hufflepuff for a reason," retorted Hermione. She nodded at Dirk, uncrossing her arms. "See you around."
Dirk leaned against the hallway wall. "See you."
Hermione felt Dirk's eyes on her until she turned the corner he had come from, shaking off the weird interaction and entering the tutoring room McGonagall had assigned. Barty was already there, head down and writing furiously on parchment with some books around him. When there were no students, she and Barty collectively decided to use the time to get their own work done.
James on the other hand was leaning back in his chair, tossing his snitch into the air and catching it lazily. The wings were only half-heartedly fluttering, uninterested in fleeing from its owner. There was a pensive look to his face, and he didn't glance over when she walked in.
This is not the behaviour I was expecting after our letters this summer, she thought with a frown, glancing over at him every few steps as she made her way to the long table she and Barty had claimed.
"You're later than I expected," the other Ravenclaw commented, his brown eyes glancing up at her as she pulled her chair out from the table, sitting with her back to James.
"I got held up," replied Hermione. "And it's not like I'm late. I'm early, by four minutes, in fact."
"Held up?" Barty focused on the important part. His eyes narrowed. "How?"
"Some girls in the hall were talking about me and Lily," sighed Hermione, beginning to pull out her tutoring books from her bag. Behind her, she heard two chair legs thump loudly as they settled to the floor.
Barty's eyes flicked over Hermione's shoulder and then returned to her, although she didn't see and was focused on lining her books, spare parchments, and quill and ink up for her own work. "What happened?"
"Nothing, really."
"Hermione."
The witch sighed and levelled a stare at her best friend. "They said some things. I won't repeat them. They were interrupted. They walked away. And then I came here."
"How were they interrupted?" the voice broke into the conversation and both Barty and Hermione looked up in surprise at James standing above them, a curious look on his face that was barely held back by his scowl.
"James," said Hermione, in surprise. She wasn't expecting him to speak with her after his cold shoulder.
"How were they interrupted?" he repeated, this time the curiosity bleeding away more to reveal his annoyance underneath.
Hermione blinked, glanced at Barty (who was watching the two carefully), and said, slowly, "Um - Cresswell showed up-"
A look of extreme dislike appeared on James' face for a moment before it disappeared. Hermione paused, staring up at him until he cleared his throat and muttered, "Continue."
"-and told them to piss off," finished Hermione slowly, still watching James. Her eyes tracked over him, from his tense shoulders to the frown on his face. "I told him I didn't need a knight in shining armour and then left."
James nodded firmly at that. "Good." Then, he relaxed and he ran a hand through his hair, nervously, glancing away. "Um, yeah, good."
Hermione widened her eyes and pressed her lips together to keep a smile in. "Good," she mimicked, watching as James' cheeks went pink.
He scratched at his cheek and then muttered something, beating a hasty retreat to his end of the tutoring room, just as a few students from Hufflepuff trickled in, looking around curiously.
"What was that about?" asked Hermione, turning to Barty.
Barty gave her a long look. Then he sniffed, replying, "If you don't know, I'm not going to tell you."
Hermione stared at Barty, her eyes on him long after two Hufflepuffs approached him for his tutoring help. Finally, she muttered, "Wanker," under her breath and turned to her Runes book and a new Gryffindor arrival for tutoring. She resolved to put Barty's cryptic words on hold - for now.
Hermione got an inkling of what was annoying James by mid-November when the Hogwarts staff announced a Hogsmeade day ahead of the end of the term.
In accordance with her "punishment," Hermione was in the tutoring room, near the end of the scheduled time. She, Barty and James were the only ones in the room; James was still avoiding her until he forgot and spoke to her (and then blushed and went quiet again). In between those moments, Hermione and Barty had created a complicated, ongoing paper game regarding Runes and writing jokes in various runic languages. Barty was currently in the midst of a dirty limerick, sugar quill in his mouth when the door to the tutoring room opened.
All three sighed in disappointment, hoping for a quiet evening.
"Evans, hi."
Hermione's head rose from watching Barty struggle with his phrasing to glance at the door. Dirk Cresswell stood in its frame, eyes locked on her.
"Cresswell."
James' head snapped around to stare at the other Gryffindor, and he tracked Cresswell's movements as he walked confidently into the room, glancing around.
"Nice digs," the younger Gryffindor whistled, a grin on his face.
"It'll do," replied Hermione evenly, watching him. "Did you need tutoring help?"
"No."
Barty looked up and his eyes narrowed. "Then why are you here?" he asked, pointedly.
Hermione turned around, throwing her quill at him. "Rude!"
Being light and mostly feather, it made no mark on him. Barty instead levelled a disappointed glare on her.
"Ouch," he drawled sarcastically.
"Crouch's question still holds," called James from his end of the room.
When Hermione glanced over, she saw that James had reclined himself, stretching his arms out along one side of his table and had one leg crossed over the other, trying to take up as much room as possible. "This is meant to be a tutoring session. If you're not here for tutoring help, you shouldn't be here."
"Here, here," muttered Barty under his breath.
Seriously, what the fuck, thought Hermione, her eyes glancing back and forth between the two before settling on Cresswell, who didn't look bothered at all by them.
"I'm here to speak to Evans," replied Cresswell, putting his hands in his trouser pockets and leaning against the doorframe, crossing one ankle over the other.
"Me?" asked Hermione, flabbergasted. She looked between Barty and James, both who wore scowls and were pointedly not looking at her. "Whatever for?"
Cresswell gave her an easy grin. "Can you step out for a moment to talk?"
Three voices answered at once:
"No, she cannot."
"We're not done yet!"
"Sure - just give me a mo'."
There was an awkward silence afterward as the three in the tutoring room looked at one other; Hermione attempting to figure out just which line Barty said and James had said, while the other teenagers had flushes on their cheeks but weren't taking anything back.
Slowly, Hermione slid her eyes from them to Cresswell, who looked greatly amused. "I'll be a minute, Barty." Her eyes went to James next and he flushed a deeper red when she addressed him. "James."
Then Hermione stood and left the tutoring room, keeping the door partially open. She was under no illusion that both Barty and James were probably pressed against the wall, eavesdropping, but she also didn't want to risk them breaking the door down if she had closed it.
Cresswell stood in the middle of the hallway, a small smile on his face. He jerked his chin toward the tutoring room. "Quite a set of guard dogs you have there."
"They're usually not this bad," scowled Hermione, glancing back and crossing her arms.
Cresswell made a noise of acknowledgment.
Hermione sighed. "So, what did you want to talk to me about?"
"There's a Hogsmeade weekend coming up," said Cresswell. "Two Saturdays from now. Wanna go with?"
Hermione thought of her Yule shopping and what she could get done before the holidays to avoid Diagon Alley. "Sure, that would be good. I could get some shopping done. I could use a friendly set of eyes."
A noise from behind the door made her squint suspiciously in that direction for a moment, but Cresswell speaking had her turning her head to face him.
He coughed, shuffling his feet a little, and it was the first time she saw Dirk Cresswell uncomfortably nervous. "Erm, no - I was thinking - like a date?"
Hermione's brain stuttered to a halt. "What?"
There was a nervous grin on Cresswell's face as he glanced up from beneath his fringe, his glasses glinting in the hallway candlelight. "You're scary, you know? Absolutely brilliant, but scary. And well - I'd like to get to know you better, Hermione."
It was the first time he'd said her name, and not 'Evans.' And while Hermione could admit that James Potter made her heart flutter just so - especially after that New Years' kiss - his avoidance of her lately had soured something.
Maybe it was spite, or maybe it was the first time in either of her lives that Hermione had been asked to Hogsmeade, but she heard her voice answer before her brain had time to catch up. "Okay."
"Okay?" repeated Cresswell, hopefully.
Behind the door, there was a loud thump.
"Okay," replied Hermione, giving him a nod. "I'll meet you by the carriages at nine that morning?"
"Groovy," replied Cresswell with a wide smile.
He gave a tiny wave, walking backward down the hall for a few steps and nearly missed the wall at the ninety-degree angle, turning and running into a tapestry that he was caught in briefly. He struggled to escape and then with a sheepish grin and one last wave, disappeared.
Hermione watched all this with an amused, fond smile on her face. That smile slipped off her face when she walked back into the tutoring room and both Barty and James were in completely different seats than where she left them, and both were looking suspiciously busy, ignoring her eyes.
Barty caught her eyes first and his ears turned red.
"Do you have something to say, Barty?" asked Hermione, her tone light but there was a promise of pain in her glare.
He grimaced, eyes flickering at James for the briefest of moments before he pulled his sugar quill from his mouth with a wet pop and said, "No," very clearly.
"Good," replied Hermione.
James never looked up, and in all honesty, Hermione never expected him to.
In retrospect, Hermione realized that there was a reason why she didn't go to Hogsmeade. She just didn't realize at first, and it set the tone for her date.
Cresswell met her where they agreed, at the carriages, with his hair windswept and in Muggle jeans and a jumper. He looked good, and Hermione could appreciate the Gryffindor from a very aesthetic perspective.
"Hermione," he said with a shy grin.
"Cresswell," she replied.
His brow furrowed. "How about you call me Dirk? That's my name."
Hermione found herself nodding. "Of course - sorry. It's… habit."
Dirk cocked his head to the side a bit, frowning, but said nothing as the two entered the carriage. The ride from the Hogwarts gates to Hogsmeade was quiet and terse, uncomfortable in ways that Hermione didn't know how to bridge. With Harry and Ron, they knew each other. The conversation was effortless as it was to sigh, "oh, honestly, Ronald!" or "Oh, Harry!" just as the conversation was effortless when she poked fun at Barty or bantered with Regulus.
Even with James, and Sirius, Hermione found herself falling into easy conversation; Sirius because she knew him, and James because he was so different from Harry that she wanted to figure out his ticks, cataloging those differences.
The first glimpse of Hogsmeade from the carriage window was that of a bright, winter Wonderland village, covered with a thick blanket of freshly fallen snow and charming, quaint signs that hung above doors and thick panelled glass that was hard to see through. The shops were the same, the witches and wizards in robes walking down the icy cobblestone streets were the same, and even the shrieking, laughing Hogwarts students were the same to Hermione's washed memories.
Except, she'd turn her head just so, and the picturesque village turned dull, slushy, and grey and she'd hear the echo of a caterwauling jinx, or the eerie green of the Dark Mark hanging above that she'd shiver and cross her arms tight against her chest.
"Cold?" asked Dirk, concern in his voice.
Hermione shook her head. "No, I'm fine, thanks."
"Oh, okay."
The two stood for a few moments by the carriages and Hermione desperately tried not to look at either image the town presented her through her memories or the black, leathery-looking Thestral behind her.
"Should we…"
"Do you want to-?"
The two stared at each other for a moment before laughing. The smile on Hermione's face broke any stillness and awkwardness.
"Sorry," she said. "You first."
"I was going to say, want to go to Scrivenshaft's? And then maybe the Three Broomsticks for a warm Butterbeer?" asked Dirk.
Hermione nodded and the two began walking; Dirk led the way, talking excitedly about classes that they shared and asking questions about the advanced material Hermione was on in Charms, the only class left she could take a NEWT in outside of her year mates.
As they walked into the stationary store, Hermione felt the tension leave her frame. This was what was missing before; the easy conversation. She found herself amused, joining Dirk as they looked at the different colours of ink, the invisible ink, the ink that was sparkly or changed colours, and then at the fountains pens and fashionable quills of peacock or quail or parrot. The longer they spent together, the happier, the more relaxed Hermione became.
It was almost like being back with Harry and Ron, she thought happily, as they left Shrivenshaft's, a few galleons lighter and Dirk with a few bottles of ink and Hermione with a new journal.
So it was completely unexpected when Dirk stopped her near the Three Broomsticks and kissed her.
Hermione was so startled she froze, her mouth slightly parted as Dirk pressed his warm lips to hers, his fringe tickling her forehead. He tasted like spearmint and his mouth was warm, but there was no passion, no spark-
Dirk drew back, his eyes fluttering a bit as he opened his eyes, a small frown on his face as he peered at Hermione, who blinked back at him.
"I-" he paused, closing his mouth before shaking his head a little. "That was-"
Hermione was equally struggling to find something to say. "Yeah, it was like-"
Dirk's mouth twitched a bit and he gave a self-deprecating laugh as he reached up to rub at the back of his neck. "I'm really sorry, Hermione, and don't take this the wrong way-"
"But?"
"But," he began, giving her a look, "that was like kissing my sister."
Hermione exhaled loudly. "Oh, thank God, I was going to say the same thing."
Dirk's eyes twinkled. "It was like kissing your sister? You'll have to tell me everything - was it like kissing Lily or that other one you have?"
"Ew," Hermione's nose wrinkled and she punched Dirk on the shoulder. "Gross."
He laughed and drew Hermione close, throwing his arm across her shoulders as they walked the few remaining steps to the Three Broomsticks' door. "Really? Tell me how gross over a Butterbeer, why don't you?"
"You Gryffindors are all the same," she muttered, but there was a small smile on her face.
Dirk wriggled his eyebrows. "I bet."
The two found a table in the busy pub, laughing as they sat after Dirk ordered their drinks and a shareable platter of chips. As they waited, his face did grow a bit solemn and he tentatively asked, "So, friends?"
Hermione reached forward and took one of his hands resting on the tabletop in hers. "Friends, Cresswell. You won't be able to get rid of me this easily now."
He grinned back, and then untangled his hand from hers and leaned back in his seat, just as Madam Rosmerta, a very pretty and young witch, came by with their drinks and a floating platter behind her.
The two enthusiastically thanked her, and Hermione went straight to the fry, enjoying the warmth and the salty taste. Dirk watched her in amusement, and then his eyes skipped over her shoulder.
"So," he began.
Hermione looked up. "So…?"
"As friends, can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
Dirk's tone was pleasant, despite the words. "Can you explain to me why James Potter is currently looking like he wants to Avada me?"
Hermione choked on her fry.
"I mean," continued Dirk, with a tiny smirk on his face, "I know I'm good looking, and smart, and pretty popular, but I'm no Quidditch player and quite honestly, I would prefer to be out of the Marauder's circle of awareness, you know? It was bad enough that your mate, Crouch, still glowers at me when I come without four feet of you - but Potter? What'd I ever do to him?"
"I'm so sorry," groaned Hermione, bowing her head into her hands. "I'll - I'll talk to Barty, I promise."
"And Potter?" Dirk's tone was light with curiosity.
"I wish I could tell you," sighed Hermione, peeking at Dirk through her fingers. "But honestly, I don't know."
"Hmm," the Gryffindor replied, uselessly. "Well then," he said eventually, reaching for the warm snack, "tell me about Gardner - you said we need to know his theory for the Arithmancy OWL?"
Hermione gratefully took the out Dirk provided her and launched into a detailed analysis of the theory he was asking about, as well as the questions she remembered being on the exam, but a tiny part of her wondered: just what was James Potter playing at?
The following Friday, one the last three before the winter break began, Hermione had the opportunity to ask. Barty had caught a bug around the last full moon, and a worried Flitwick had requested the Ravenclaw spend the night in the infirmary instead of their tutoring punishment in case there were any complications from his lycanthropy and the Pepper-Up batch he was given.
With the end of term nearing, Hermione and James were both swamped with people needing help or final essays proofread, keeping both occupied until well after their usual end time until the candles melted and the shadows lengthened in their tutoring room.
Once the last student left, Hermione stretched her arms up and felt her back pop and crack. She gave a tiny moan at the feeling and then slumped over her desk. With a sigh, she began packing up her ink and quills into her bag, listening to James do the same.
Then, he broke the silence. "Is your boyfriend not coming tonight?"
Hermione stilled and turned in her seat to stare at James. Once he realized he was the object of her stare, he flushed and looked down at his desk, hastily sending crumpled parchment into his bag in an effort to keep busy.
"If you mean Dirk," began Hermione, watching James visibly bristle at the other Gryffindor's name, "He's not my boyfriend."
Only then did James look up. "But you two kissed—"
"Were you spying on me?" Hermione rose from her seat, irate.
"Not deliberately—"
"What's that supposed to mean?!"
"Well, I didn't plan on seeing you and Cresswell sucking face outside the Three Broomsticks when I went to order my lunch, now, did I?" retorted James hotly, standing from his seat as well.
Hermione's mouth dropped open and she gaped at the other teen for several moments before pulling herself together, wrapping herself in a facade of cool detachment. "If I were, it's none of your business."
James flushed, knowing that to be true.
Both remained silent and then James turned away, the shoving of his quills and inks in his bag a bit more violent and angry this time around.
Hermione watched him before asked, tentatively, "Why did you stop talking to me?"
James froze.
She continued, uncaring that a bit of hurt slipped through her voice, "After sending me all those letters this past summer?"
"I—"
James' Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, glancing around the room but not at her, as if he sought the answer from the walls. "I just thought—"
"That what? It was better for you to keep your distance? You can't run hot and cold, Potter," argued Hermione, "Not when you said you wanted to be friends at the end of last year, talk about how we'd spend time together and then just – just – I dunno, turn tail like some coward—"
James sent a vicious scowl at Hermione, tossing his bag down on the table. "I'm not a coward!"
"Then why are you avoiding me?" she asked exasperatedly.
"I- I'm not—"
"You are."
They fell silent. There was something in Hermione's voice, or her face, that she couldn't see but that James could; his hazel eyes darted all over her face, never settling as he took in the raw hurt and the etched lines that her final line made.
He swallowed again, this time recognizing his actions hurt her. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. There was a phantom pain in his chest and made everything tight. "I didn't mean to."
"But you did."
"I know," he agreed quietly, looking down. "I don't have a proper excuse—"
"Why did you then?"
James turned and fisted his hands around the strap of his book bag. Could he even admit that it was the jealousy of seeing her spending time with Cresswell, in their spot in the library? That watching Cresswell pursue her made him wonder if he really fancied Hermione or if this was a rebound thing from Lily?
He wouldn't admit to it – not when he wasn't fully sure yet, either. But he didn't want to spend the rest of the school year without some kind of interaction with the younger witch.
"I'm sorry," he said again, looking up and catching her eyes.
Hermione bit her lower lip and chewed on it, watching him warily. "You'll stop avoiding me?"
James nodded, slowly. "Promise."
Her eyebrows rose skeptically, and he grinned, recognizing that maybe a promise was a bit futile. So, he added: "Marauder's honour. And that's a promise I won't break easily."
Something flashed in Hermione's eyes – acknowledgment? – and then she nodded. "Okay. Marauder's honour, then. No more avoiding me."
"No more avoiding you," he agreed easily, something tight in his chest loosening.
Her eyes narrowed. "Do you still need Arithmancy help?"
"Oh, Merlin, yes," gasped James, practically throwing himself a few steps forward as he emphatically nodded. "I mean, all your tutoring last year has really helped this year, but I could use a refresher and it would be great if you could check things over—"
She laughed, then, the same head-toss that she made that day in the library when he walked in on her and Cresswell, but there was something brighter, more vibrant in this laugh.
"Okay," she chuckled, amber eyes glittering in the candlelight. "I know our Fridays are busy here, but... if you have Sunday free...?"
"Our spot? In the library?" eagerly asked James.
Hermione's lips curled into a content smile. "Yeah. Our spot."
And that Sunday, when Hermione looked up from her seat at her usual table, to see James walking toward her with his lopsided smile, Hermione finally thought that things were back on track, and nothing could ruin the rest of her year.
TBC (soon!) in Part B...
Note: I am so sorry! This chapter is just not cooperating, and it'll feel glitchy and weird, and then I got wrapped up in my dissertation proposal, and a chapter on Fate/Zero that is going to be published in a KA anthology, and my cats fighting, and my husband losing his job... but I have two scenes left to write in the next part. I broke it up because you have all been so patient over the past few months, so here's a little to get you through the next 2-3 days before the next part is up! I think you'll really enjoy Part B because there is a HUGE reveal to come...!
#WeTheNorth