Guys, it seems I worried some of you when I didn't update so promptly this week. My apologies, I've been really busy. This story has at least two more chapters planned after this one, it's not the end just yet! The last two are a double-parter, and will take a bit longer to post up because of that. This story will definitely be finished by the end of March, though, don't you worry! I want to complete it before I go back to uni. :)
Last chapter:
- Marlene and Hermione talk
- The Marauders get detention
- Remus and Hermione kiss
- Serpent of Slytherin dies. Devo :(
- Emilia and Hermione play chess
- James admits Remus's feelings for him
- Gryffindor loses the Quidditch Cup
- The students take their Defence N.E.W.T.
- Remus picks up Hermione with an ABBA lyric
CHAPTER TWELVE – REVELATIONS
The rest of the week went by quickly for Hermione, who spent her time divided between helping Remus study (although she had to put a stop to it after the second time in which no actual studying got done) and overseeing the rest of her exams. Feeling a little guilty, Hermione sat in on some of the O.W.L. practicals, and congratulated her students on their efforts.
When exams finished on the eighth, it was to a huge sigh of relief from the student body. Hermione felt a modicum of relief herself knowing she wouldn't have to get up in front of eager and youthful faces and teach them survival skills in case they faced a Death Eater. She'd done a lot to help, she realised, remembering the lack of proficiency in defensive spells of the children back in September. It felt nice to have had value, and Hermione was proud of herself, even if a lot of it had felt messy and uncontrollable at the time.
On the ninth, the last Friday of term, the End of Year Feast was held, the students laughing raucously in the Great Hall amongst platters and platters of the best food Hogwarts had to offer – roasted meats, puddings and pies, casseroles, sandwiches, soups – swapping their favourite stories of the year and speculating about the next one. Hermione's End of Year feasts as a student had always been attended with a great sense of relief – another year finished, another evil adversary defeated by Gryffindor students.
Remus caught her eye from the Gryffindor table, smiling freely at her with crinkled eyes. Hermione returned the smile, her chest filling with a warmth she would never get tired of.
"What are your plans for the summer?" Emilia asked her as they finished up their meal with some treacle tart, Hermione fondly remembering a certain unborn Potter.
Hermione couldn't exactly tell Nettle everything; she kept forgetting to get Dumbledore to induct her into the Order. But there was so much going on and so much to do that Emilia wasn't really a priority. Hermione frowned at the thought – at this point, she would simply be an extra wand at the final confrontation. Her help would be appreciated, but it wasn't vital. Hermione would have to remember to mention it to Dumbledore, but the idea that Nettle would just add numbers was unsettling. Is that who Hermione was becoming? Someone who saw people as numbers in a battle, possible casualties in a war?
"I suspect I'll be trying to find another job," Hermione said, forcing out a sigh as if it was an incredible imposition to be leaving Hogwarts, when in actual fact it was saving her life and her sanity, "Will you try for something at the Ministry?"
"I think so." Nettle said, considering, but anything further was cut off at Dumbledore's final announcement.
"Another year at Hogwarts comes to an end!" He exclaimed, throwing his arms out amidst the chatter and faint clapping that occurred after his first sentence, "I am sure, then, that you have noticed the blue and bronze decorations adorning the walls of our Great Hall. Ravenclaw House wins the House Cup by one hundred points!"
The Ravenclaws cheered, patting each other on the back as the other houses clapped politely – there would be no booing, for everyone knew the house had deserved the award. After all, they had not been the victim nor the perpetrators of pranks or mischief, and had studiously focused on their school work to a point of obsession. Their points had been well-earned; it seemed in the seventies that the house of the eagle had a winning streak in place for many years now.
The Marauders didn't seem to mind, joking amongst themselves and laughing loudly. The rest of the feast, however little there was left, was spent having last minute conversations with friends from other houses. It was always hard to see them the next morning in the rush for the train back to London. Hermione knew that from experience, having known a few like-minded Ravenclaws back in her day that she'd share her parting words with the night before travelling back home.
Hermione herself said her goodbyes to the other professors, knowing they would all be too caught up in organising the students to see much of her the next day. She promised to keep in touch with Slughorn – for all of his faults, he would be a helpful ally when it came to finding a more permanent job… especially if her affliction got out. Hermione didn't suppose he'd be particularly sympathetic, but it was a possible option. Slughorn was, without a doubt, an opportunist. Even if he found out she was a werewolf, if helping her meant he could have her in his debt she was sure he would take advantage. Hermione was willing to be manipulated if it came to it.
"Don't be a stranger, Hermione," Emilia said, giving her a brief hug that night outside of her quarters – they'd shared a celebratory night cap on a year well done. "I mean it. Owl me, will you? I'd like to keep in the loop of things."
"Sure," Hermione said, trying to hide her surprise, "I'll borrow the Potters' owl and send you updates."
And that was the other thing that had Hermione's stomach in knots, once she pushed aside the inevitable questions about her future. She'd be meeting Harry's grandparents, which was a terrifying thought. Especially because she knew they died of Dragon Pox soon, and there was nothing she could do to change that. How could she pinpoint when they'd contracted it? It was virtually impossible.
The next day, she opted to supervise the children heading onto the train. She bade farewell to the more study-conscious of the younger years, shooting a beaming smile at the third year Patrick Xiao, who returned it, and waved as the train went to start. Hermione had pushed Remus away earlier, scolding him for showing any sort of romantic inclination in front of the first years, to his amused grin. He would be meeting her at the Potters' place, intending to spend the summer there so as to get through the full moon with his friends. Hermione hadn't asked about his own family, remembering the way James had seemed frustrated at the situation back in the Shack. It wasn't a priority now, but she'd find out sooner or later. Her curiosity would not let her forget.
Hermione caught a brief glimpse of lank, dark hair and furrowed brows, before she abruptly remembered she needed to speak to Regulus.
Damn, she thought, frowning, I need to contact him somehow. Hermione had no doubt that the Potters' owl would be recognised by Walburga and promptly returned, her letter unopened. James would have written to Sirius over the years, and Hermione doubted the Black matriarch would have allowed such a thing. She'd have to ask Sirius about his methods of contact from Grimmauld Place.
Hermione, true to her word, was not catching the train to London to be greeted by Mr and Mrs Potter. No, she'd had James set up a Floo connection between Dumbledore's office and his own house that Hermione intended to use once she'd finished packing up all of her things. Once the train was out of sight, Hermione made her way back up to the castle with Sinistra, talking about what Hermione might do over the summer. It seemed to be the conversation of the week, and Hermione gave platitudes about searching for another job, trying to keep the conversation on the Astronomy professor.
Upon entering her quarters, Hermione looked around. The two armchairs by the fireplace held a few cushions, and one thin blanket that Hermione had a soft spot for. A few books were piled up on the table nearby, the empty cup of tea from that morning cleaned up by the house elves, even though Hermione had told them many times to leave her quarters alone. Shaking her head in exasperation, Hermione picked up the cushions and blanket, reducing them in size to better store them in her trunk. She strode into her bedroom, opening the plain, brown trunk with a flick of her wand. It thudded against the end of her double-bed, its contents jiggling comically. Hermione threw the shrunken objects in, knowing the spell would hold for a day at least. She quickly and methodically folded up her clothes and placed them into her trunk – she'd never fully unpacked, always conscious of her limited time and knowing that she couldn't leave certain things lying around for anyone to see. Her trunk had been heavily warded and locked, and Hermione thought of the patterned sock at the bottom of it, heavy with purpose, that glared at her whenever she glimpsed it. Some things were better left hidden.
Hermione fingered the collar of her white blouse absentmindedly, before shutting her trunk with determination and reapplying her charms. The locks clicked shut satisfactorily, and Hermione gave one final sweep of her rooms, having earlier spelled the items in her ensuite bathroom into her trunk, before she hovered the trunk behind her and left, not glancing behind.
She reached the Headmaster's office quickly, the students absent and therefore the hallways much easier to navigate at a quicker pace. She gave the password – "Fizzing Whizzbees." – before ascending the spiral staircase. Knocking on the door and waiting until his invitation to come in, Hermione entered the office, her trunk bumping into the doorframe behind her in its haste to follow.
"Ah," Dumbledore greeted, smiling warmly, "Miss Huxley."
"Dumbledore." acknowledged Hermione, giving a polite nod.
"The Floo has been connected. I was just speaking with Euphemia – she is most enthusiastic to meet you."
"I hope you haven't mentioned our activities." Hermione said warily, her brows furrowing slightly.
"Both Euphemia and Fleamont know that you work for the Order. They are not members themselves; too old, they told me, but they are sympathetic to the cause. It is why I told them of your situation, after all."
Hermione hummed, wanting to end the conversation and leave as soon as possible. Whilst her relations with Dumbledore were a lot less strained these days than previous, his blue eyes always left her unsettled. She didn't like knowing he might peek into her mind any minute, or that he still seemed to have an air of knowledge about him even if Hermione technically knew more about the future than he did at this stage.
She moved toward the fireplace, stepping inside and grabbing onto the handle of her trunk, lightweight due to one of her charms.
"Hermione Huxley," Dumbledore called, drawing Hermione's attention before she cupped a handful of Floo Powder from the nearby pot, "I release you from your duties."
A warm tingling inside her mouth, like popping candy, indicated that her verbal contract of months previous had been fulfilled, and Hermione threw down the Floo Powder in a flourish, staring through the dust of it into Dumbledore's blue eyes, framed by his famous half-moon spectacles.
"Luxwood Place!"
Coughing, still not entirely used to that form of travel and often choosing an alternative method considering her history with it, Hermione stepped out of the fireplace, attempting to dust off the ash on her crimson robes.
"Hermione!" Remus exclaimed, stepping forward to hug her closely. Hermione dropped her trunk in surprise, bringing up an arm to weakly return his hug.
"What's wrong?" Remus asked, pulling back to frown down at her. Hermione gave him a shy smile, hoping he would ignore her blush.
"Nothing's wrong," Hermione appeased him, and his features relaxed, "Just something I've got to get used to, that's all." Remus grinned at her, infectious.
"Ah, the prodigal professor arrives!" announced James, striding confidently into the room with a grin on his face. Peter followed, grinning at the two of them.
Hermione rolled her eyes, but couldn't help the small smile on her face.
"Where are your parents? I have to thank them." said Hermione, her anxiety returning at the thought.
"Mum!" James called, turning back around to exit the room, gesturing for all of them to follow, "Hermione's here!"
As they walked through a few rooms, Hermione looked around. It was a lavish set up, something she had expected upon discovering Harry's cavalier attitude toward money back in her own Hogwarts days. The house was big, and Hermione glimpsed an even bigger lawn out the back through the windows. It was a manor style house, although completely different in style to Malfoy Manor. Instead of dark and steely, it seemed more like a country home. It could definitely be something a Muggle could own, and a small, forgotten part of Hermione rejoiced at the thought. She'd obviously arrived in the living room, the couches seeming expensive but looking incredibly inviting in shades of blue and cream. The fireplace she'd stepped out of had been large and ornate, carved iron framing the stone walls. They moved through a long hallway, moving portraits staring curiously at her, her hand firmly clasped in Remus's. An alarming amount of windows were in every room, giving her a view into the vast grounds beyond, the pool looking inviting in the glimmering summer sun of June. Hermione would have to buy a swimming costume to make the most of it.
They passed by a sun room, filled with moving plants and a table laden with books – something Hermione vowed to sit in later, basking in the uniqueness of it all – before entering the large kitchen. It was decorated traditionally, the English country style reminiscent of something Hermione might've seen in her childhood. Timeless and inviting, Hermione loved it immediately. It seemed the rest of them did, too, for James plopped himself down into a wooden chair at the table in the centre. The magazines that littered it, as well as the fruit bowl, reminded Hermione of her own mother's tendency to collect home and style magazines. Of course, these ones had ugly seventies fashions on the cover, the snotty green colours coupled with patterned splash backs making Hermione want to cringe in distaste. Peter grabbed a peach, biting into it with relish as a woman with long, curly white hair turned around, her slim figure looking anything but frail.
"Hermione!" She exclaimed, her voice vibrant and warm, "Welcome! James, get your feet off the table." She added without looking, and James retracted his feet guiltily. James's mother came forward, and Remus let go of Hermione's hand with reluctance.
"I'm so glad you agreed to join us. James has told me all about you – the others, as well," She looked quickly behind Hermione, no doubt glancing at Remus and Peter, "And Dumbledore, of course, spoke highly of you. We have the room, and we heard you needed a place to stay."
"Thank you, Mrs Potter," Hermione said, smiling at the way her hazel eyes, lighter than her son's, were so kind, "I'm indebted to you."
"Oh, pish posh!" Mrs Potter said, waving a hand and rolling her eyes. Hermione couldn't believe this woman would be dead within the year. "And please, call me Euphemia. Remus Lupin," she added sternly with a glare behind Hermione, "You put that chocolate away this instant. Flo and I have made lunch." Hermione turned her head to see Remus pocket an open Honeydukes bar with a small grin, winking at Hermione.
"Where's Dad?" James asked from his chair, smiling lovingly at his mother. Hermione knew James was an only child and had suspected he would be doted upon, but she hadn't figured he would be just as affectionate with his parents as well. Hermione's heart suddenly ached, thinking of the love Harry had missed out on and the neglect that had taken its place.
"Flea's in the garden, meddling with those severing spells again. Peter, dear, will you help me with the turnips? You've got such an eye for it." Euphemia asked the chubby boy, who'd just finished up with his fruit and nodded, giving the older woman a charming smile. Euphemia tittered. Hermione watched the whole exchange with wide-eyed shock, unable to believe what she was seeing.
"Mum's had a bit of a crush on Pete for ages," James muttered, rolling his eyes as the three of them left the kitchen "I think Wormtail indulges her just to annoy me."
"Of course he does," Remus agreed, raising a teasing eyebrow, "He loves the way you go beet red at the racier compliments."
"Where's Sirius?" Hermione interrupted, trying to distract James, who'd opened his mouth to rebut with a furious expression on his face.
"He's at his flat in London," Remus said, grabbing her hand again, "Told us he'd see us tomorrow. He comes around every Sunday for lunch," clarified Remus, squeezing her hand, "Why?"
"I've got to ask him about Regulus…" Hermione said slowly, trailing off at the sight of the yard before her.
It was vast, green and lush. The lawn itself was pristine, wildflowers and bushes popping up in clusters every now and then to disrupt the sameness of it all. The pool was sizeable, the sandstone surrounds a little ostentatious but somehow suiting the back exterior of the house, and the chairs looking extremely comfortable. The back of the house had vines crawling up it – a stark contrast to the Gaunt House, which was overgrown and dank – with small gaps to see past the vegetation and to the grey stone beneath, awarding the place with a natural air, as if the house had grown up from the ground instead of being purely man-made. The sun room, its walls all windows, jutting out to the side, clearly in view of the pool. Hermione felt the only thing missing was a long wooden table and chairs underneath the large oak just past the pool, a perfect place to dine outside for lunch and dinner during the warmer months. It was everything Hermione might have done had she had the money and time to build her own place, and it gave her the feeling of home immediately. She suspected she might have trouble leaving at the end of her time here.
An old man, tall but a little chubby, was at the edge of the garden past the pool, his wand in his wrinkly hand. He turned around at James's greeting, smiling with too-white teeth. He had a full head of hair, a dark grey. He looked as if he had been muscular in his youth, the muscles turning into a soft padding in his old age. His broad shoulders reminded her of Harry, and the dimples in his cheeks reminded her of James.
"Jimmy!" Mr Potter exclaimed, coming forward to hug his son hard as they approached, much to James's protests.
"Dad, you saw me this morning." James said, a pleased flush travelling up his neck despite rolling his eyes.
"Yes, well," Mr Potter said, shrugging with a smile, "Remus, how are you?"
"I'm well, thanks, Monty," Remus said, shaking the man's hand as if he'd only just arrived himself.
"And you!" Mr Potter said, turning to Hermione and beaming. He muttered out of the corner of his mouth to James, so quietly Hermione struggled to catch it. "I haven't met her before, have I?"
"No, Dad." James muttered back.
"Call me Monty," Monty announced at normal volume, smiling widely at her.
"I'm Hermione," she said, accepting his kiss on the cheek with one of her own, "I taught at Hogwarts last year."
"Remus!" Monty said, aghast, looking at their entwined hands, "I must say, this beats everything the four of you have ever done!"
"It's not like that," Remus said, laughing, "Hermione's only a few years older than us," He frowned, turning to look down at her, "How old are you exactly?"
Hermione opened her mouth to reply.
"Lunch is ready, Jimsy," a small voice croaked, and they all looked down. The great big ears dwarfed the wrinkly face of the house elf, who looked extremely friendly despite the likeness to Kreacher, "Phemia insists."
"Alright, Flo," James said with a smile, "We'll be there in a second."
The introductions had been overwhelming, and Hermione found herself not saying much at lunch as a result. The roast beef sandwiches hit the spot, Flo's specialty of potato and bacon soup following up nicely. Hermione was overcome at the strangeness of it all, her thoughts swirling at the idea that this could have so easily been Harry's life despite its stark difference to his actual one. The thought that it would be this Harry's life comforted her, even if the memory of 'I must not tell lies' etched into her Harry's skin would not leave her.
She learned that Euphemia, despite the assumed role of housewife, had actually been in charge of the famous Sleekeazy's Hair Potion line. Fleamont, extremely proficient in potions, had no idea how to market his idea. He made the product, and Euphemia did everything else. As a result, James had actually seen his father more during his time at Hogwarts, as he'd been at home in his potion's lab over the holidays whilst Euphemia spent her time in the office. They'd retired some years ago, given they'd had James late and money had not been an issue. Monty's memory was spotty, hence his question to James earlier, but he seemed in remarkably good spirits, making fun of himself whenever his mind failed him. Peter was close with Euphemia and they were in animated conversation for most of the meal.
"Flo's put your trunk in your room. Mum has you next to me," James said after lunch, the four of them sitting on the lawn out back, "I don't want to hear anything."
Hermione's cheeks went bright red as Remus spluttered, quickly changing the subject.
They said goodbye to Peter that evening, and Hermione woke the next morning with renewed purpose. It had been like something out of a dream, arriving at Luxwood Place and meeting Harry's grandparents. It had felt like any other summer holiday, spending time at a friend's house before term was to start up. But Hermione had to remember it was nothing of the sort – she was a guest in their home, certainly, but she still had a job to do. It was easy to forget, surrounded by such trusting and friendly people.
"James," Hermione asked the boy the next day at breakfast, "I was wondering whether I could borrow an owl. I need to send a letter."
She attached said letter to Figgy's outstretched leg, still chuckling under her breath at the way the bird only accepted figs as rewards for her behaviour, hence her name.
Regulus, the letter read,
I'll be in Diagon Alley on the 14th. Meet me in Flourish and Blotts at nine o'clock in the morning, I've got to talk to you.
H
"What do you want?" the boy in question snapped at her as she perused the 'X' section of the bookstore on Tuesday morning, having left Remus behind at Sugarplum's Sweets Shop.
"No need to be so rude," Hermione retorted, snapping the book she'd been reading shut quietly.
"I'm risking my neck meeting you like this," Regulus seethed, grabbing her arm and pulling her deeper into the stacks, "This had better be good."
"I need you to go to Malfoy Manor," requested Hermione, hushed, "I need you to find another one."
"You've got to be joking," responded Regulus, staring at her incredulously, "Do you have any idea what the Dark Lord is doing right now?" He hissed the name at her, venomous and quick.
"The Dark Lord won't be doing much for much longer if you get this for me," snapped Hermione, "Remember our Vow."
Regulus looked mutinous, but Hermione knew she had won.
"It'll be a diary," Hermione explained, even quieter than before. She cast a wordless Muffliato around them as a precaution, "It's black – small and thin – and it has the name T. M. Riddle written on the inside. I doubt it's under much protection, but it might be concealed from view. Malfoy definitely has it, Voldemort gave it to him."
"And, once more, how do you know this?"
Hermione was silent, staring him down.
"Fine," Regulus spat, plucking a book from one of the shelves at random as if he was going to buy it. "But don't expect it for a while."
And he strode out of the aisle with his book, going down the stairs toward the register without looking back at her.
Hermione left ten minutes later, allowing enough time for anyone suspicious to have left already.
She met up with Remus near Fortescue's, her hands empty of purchases.
"Remus!" Hermione exclaimed in surprise upon approach, looking at the cage in his arms. He turned, grinning at her.
"Happy Birthday." He said, allowing her to take the cage from him. The Horned Owl inside hooted happily, although it looked angry given its resting expression. "You borrowed James's, but I figured you'd need one yourself. Better late than never. He wouldn't stop screeching at me until I bought him." The black owl had menacing yellow eyes, but his petulant face made Hermione giggle.
"He looks like you before a moon, Remus," Hermione commented, and laughed at Remus's offended expression, "I think I'll call him Romulus."
It seemed Hermione would not need Romulus, however, as Regulus's promise of things taking time seemed to be an empty one. He'd sent an owl – unrecognisable, as Sirius said it wasn't Regulus's own – back with a time and place to meet within twenty-four hours of their initial meeting. It was a Muggle area, densely populated on the night he'd told her to see him.
"You'll be okay?" Remus asked, cradling her cheek just before she was to leave.
"I'll be fine, Remus, honestly," Hermione said, squeezing his wrist before turning away to collect up her wand from her bedside table. "It's just Regulus."
Remus didn't look convinced, but Hermione ignored him. She'd been keyed into the Potters' wards, and so gave Remus a quick kiss on the cheek before detaching herself from him and Apparating away.
She arrived in a side street of London, out of the street lights. Her worn shoes, mossy green pants, and belted white top made her seem innocuous, which hadn't necessarily been her intention but worked in her favour. There were no curious stares, and Hermione made her way swiftly through the crowds of Covent Garden to the agreed upon place. There must have been something on, and event of some sort, for tourists were everywhere. Hermione was weaving in and out of them hastily, hoping Regulus wouldn't leave if she were only a minute late. Apparating into Muggle spaces was fraught with trouble.
She saw him, and sidled up as nonchalantly as she could.
"You're terrible at this," He muttered, sighing. Hermione glared at him, her wand burning hole in her pants pocket. "Here."
He slipped the diary into her hand, her arm crushed up against his in the crowd and making the move virtually unnoticeable.
"You're sure this is it?" Hermione asked, unable to check herself for fear of drawing attention.
"Yes. No protection, like you predicted. A simple Accio did the trick."
"And Malfoy?" inquired Hermione, concerned.
"None the wiser," Regulus replied, still looking straight ahead at the Muggle spectacle in front of them – a performance, filled with cheers and gasps alike. "Stupid prick was too busy gloating to his guests about his latest monetary gains."
"Guests?" Hermione couldn't help the turn of her head, but quickly whirled it back forward at Regulus's disapproving face.
"Yes," Regulus murmured, and Hermione leant a bit closer so she could hear him, "I was extended a last minute invite to one of his follower catch-ups. Seems I've gained the Dark Lord's favour enough to be considered worthy of one."
"Gained favour?" asked Hermione, feeling like a broken record.
"On my count, we have one more." Regulus ignored her question, his eyes narrowing in the sudden bright light of the performance, "I presume you'll need my help with it as well, but please allow me more time. Malfoy's arrogance won't fall in line with our plans so easily next time, I'm sure."
He paused for a moment before pushing away from her, the loss of his arm feeling cold and sudden. Hermione eyed him out of the corner of her eyes, following his lengthy black hair and black t-shirt through the crowd until he faded into the night. Clenching the diary in her left hand, feeling the ridges of its corners digging into her palm, Hermione ducked between two storefronts and Apparated with a soft crack.
Hermione wanted to be rid of the diary as soon as possible, and so sent Dumbledore a letter along with Romulus the next morning, bright and early.
The Headmaster appeared just before lunch, Romulus on his arm. The bird flew away as soon as he could, squawking angrily at the fact the wizard had Apparated with him.
"Dumbledore!" James cried, standing up quickly in an attempt to be a perfect host, "We weren't expecting you!"
"Calm down, James," said Dumbledore, smiling warmly at the former Head Boy, "You're not in trouble."
"Sorry, sir," James said, looking embarrassed as he stood beside his chair near the pool, "Habit."
"That's quite alright," Dumbledore replied, "Although, it is my understanding that Remus is in charge of figuring out the loopholes." The man in question blushed, looking away in embarrassment. Hermione knew Remus admired the Headmaster, which was ironic considering she was wary of him.
"You couldn't have sent them?" Hermione asked, tired of pleasantries.
"After last time, I felt I should be here." Hermione pursed her lips, remembering Dumbledore's disapproval.
"Last time? What's going on?" Sirius asked, standing up now. They'd all been sitting near the pool, although none of them had felt like going in. Lily had joined them that morning, James receiving all kind of ribbing from his friends at the long kiss he gave her upon her arrival. Lily had glared at Sirius especially hard, and he'd shut up quite hastily after that.
Dumbledore turned to her, his eyes inquisitive. He would leave it up to her to tell them, she knew. She'd been ruminating over it for days. The advantages were ten fold, but part of her was still convinced this was her knowledge, her fight. But if she didn't make it out, if Dumbledore succumbed to Voldemort's wand… well, it only made sense that more people should know.
Their intrigued faces said it all – once she told them, this would cease to be a happy summer, filled with friendship and romance before entering the big, bad world. The summer would turn into a time rife with worry, with scheming and planning and more questions. Hermione was reluctant to ruin it for them. A part of her recognised she was reluctant to ruin it for herself – after all, their carefree attitude was easily rubbing off on her, and she found herself thinking of Voldemort less and less. It was only at night, alone in the darkness of her temporary room, that her duty fell upon her again. She remembered everything she could, every move Voldemort would make leading up to 1981. She tried her best to think of how James and Lily might defy Voldemort twice more, about how she could stop that from happening so Voldemort would not fulfil the Prophecy himself and make it true by proxy.
Nights were the hardest, and Hermione found solace in her days spent with Remus, sharing brief kisses and talking about everything but the war.
Hermione was no fool, though, however much she might try to delude herself into becoming one. She was an adult, and she needed to act like it.
"You should bring Marlene over, Sirius," Hermione said, turning to the wizard in question, "She needs to see this, too."
Remus went to grab her hand, but Hermione shrugged him away. Sirius looked confused but complied, Apparating out and coming back with Marlene moments later, whose face was irate and mouth was open in fury.
"Sirius, I've told you– oh. Hermione. Is this your doing?" Marlene asked, her tone changing as she transferred her attentions. "Why didn't you just say that, Sirius?" Sirius rolled his eyes.
"Dumbledore," Lily said, glancing at Hermione with friendly concern before turning back to the professor, "What's going on?"
"I believe Miss Huxley will explain in just a moment, Lily."
Hermione gave them all a look, silently willing them to stay there, before she went to retrieve the diary from her room.
They were all muttering to each other when she returned, although Dumbledore was humming happily to himself on the sidelines.
"You all know I've been on a mission for the Order," Hermione said, "Dumbledore mentioned it at your induction."
"Yeah, but we figured that was intel back to him about the students," Peter said, frowning at her, "Or maybe convincing others to join."
"No," Hermione huffed, trying not to chuckle, "Nothing like that. Something very different, I'm afraid."
All of them waited for her to go on, and Hermione tried to convince herself she was a Gryffindor.
"Do any of you know what a horcrux is?"
All of their expressions remained confused, although there was a slight dawning realisation in Marlene's eyes.
"It's– … I think I better start from the beginning. Voldemort's main goal is to achieve immortality."
"Immortality?" Sirius scoffed, and they all turned to him, "I thought he wanted to eradicate the world of Muggles."
"That, too," Hermione agreed, "But he can't do that if he dies, can he? And a wizard like him has enemies, as we well know."
She vaguely registered she was reverting into lecture mode, but pushed those thoughts aside. It was hardly important.
"Voldemort has attempted magic to make himself immortal," she explained. "And he has succeeded. It's called a horcrux. Essentially, you murder someone and perform a ritual to split your soul into two. You store one half of your soul in an object, and the other remains in you."
"Your soul?" Lily asked, disgusted, "But, that's what makes you human! It's what differentiates us between, say, a dog." Sirius looked mildly offended, and Hermione held back a hysterical laugh, "I mean, some people say vampires and werewolves have no souls," She glanced apologetically at Remus, "But that's just bigotry. They were human once, and so they have souls. Magical creatures are a little trickier to work out, but–" James grabbed her hand, and Lily silenced.
"It is magic of the darkest form, Lily," Dumbledore explained, saving Hermione the awkward task of reminding them that Voldemort was quite evil. "Voldemort has no reservations about such things."
"You said he's succeeded? So you're looking for his horcrux?" James asked, his face blank. Hermione saw a fierceness in his eyes she did not expect, "That way he can be defeated?"
Hermione pulled the diary from behind her back, showing it to them.
"This is a horcrux. Dumbledore and I intend to destroy it."
"It can't be that easy." Marlene said, and they all turned to her. She looked calculating, like she was figuring out a particularly difficult riddle, "Voldemort would have protections, fail safes…"
"Yes," agreed Hermione, smiling wryly, "He made multiple."
"Multiple horcruxes?" Peter choked out, looking pale, "But that would mean–"
"He split his soul multiple times." Remus finished for him, staring at Hermione disturbingly.
Lily and Marlene shared a look, almost frightened.
"Luckily, Hermione and I have destroyed most of them." Dumbledore intervened with a calm air, gazing at them all evenly.
"Just how many are there?" Sirius asked, eyes wide.
"Including this," Hermione waved the diary, "He created five."
"Five?!" James burst out, his expression twisting in revulsion. Hermione didn't want to know what he'd look like if she told him he'd made seven where she came from.
"He aspired for seven pieces of his soul." said Dumbledore.
"The most magical number." Peter finished, looking deep in thought.
"Yes." Dumbledore answered, staring Peter down. The boy blushed, looking away.
Hermione didn't know what else to say, and so instead shared a look with Dumbledore.
"Whatever it says, please ignore it," Hermione warned them, taking the proffered basilisk fang from the Headmaster, the others looking at it curiously, "It's a sentient piece of magic, and it attempts to defend itself when threatened." She was glad James's parents were out, for explaining this to them would have been terribly difficult.
The diary was placed on the grass, and the others took an instinctive step back. Dumbledore nodded at her, and Hermione readjusted her grip on the fang before plunging it into the diary with force, falling back on her arse as a great big light flew out of the diary, gone as quickly as it came, before torrents of ink flooded the grass beneath her, staining her red patterned jumpsuit forbiddingly. The diary flew open, screaming in its wake.
"MURDERER!" It screamed, and Hermione knew it was talking to her, baiting her, just as the potion had done last month, "LIAR! Travelled far to deceive them all, kill them all!" An inky projection appeared, and Hermione realised with horror that it was Harry.
"You left me, Hermione." It said miserably, the screeching of the diary sounding distant in the background, "You're not coming back and I'm going to die."
"No…" Hermione whispered, staring with wet eyes at the image in front of her.
"We never liked you," Another projection spat, and Hermione recognised Ron with a sinking heart, "We pitied you, that was it. You're not our friend. A friend wouldn't leave us to die."
"Stab it, Hermione." Hermione whipped her head around, staring at the unflappable Dumbledore through her tears. He nodded encouragingly at her.
With a shout, Hermione turned back around and threw herself at the diary, stabbing it again until the screams abruptly cut off, and it gave one last spurt of ink high in the air before it finally died.
Hermione was covered in the substance, breathing heavily as she stared at the object with hatred. It had possessed Ginny once, and the memory of Tom Riddle had almost killed Harry. She felt the sense of satisfaction her previous horcrux destructions had not awarded her, and gave a huge sigh of relief.
"Are you alright?" Remus rushed to her side, checking her over for injuries.
"I'm fine," Hermione said weakly, pushing his hands away but thankful for the concern, "It's okay."
"Is no one going to comment on the fact the horcrux showed me?" James asked after a moment of stunned silence. Hermione snapped her head to him, mind whirring.
"That wasn't you, James," Marlene said, gazing at Hermione with pity, knowingly, "You're lankier."
"I think it's time," Dumbledore started, and Hermione looked up at him from her position on the ground, Remus's arm around her shoulders. His expression was resigned. "They deserve to know."
Hermione swallowed thickly, turning to look at the sodden diary in front of her.
"I just want to apologise for not telling you," Hermione said, focusing on Remus before she began. They'd retreated to the living room, settling into the couches after some cleaning charms to her person. Dumbledore had taken the diary and left, and Hermione knew he would keep it. For what, she wasn't sure, but she didn't want to see it ever again. "My hands were tied, and if it got out–"
"Just tell us, Hermione," Remus insisted, his knee bumping hers in support, "It's fine."
Hermione inhaled deeply, gazing around at them all.
"I was born on September 19th, 1979." Marlene, for she was the only one who knew, simply looked interested. Hermione supposed she hadn't ever properly explained things before, and this would answer a lot of the Ravenclaw's questions.
"1979?" Sirius barked out a laugh, but quickly sobered up at her unmoving expression.
"Just let me finish, and you can answer questions at the end." Hermione pleaded, a bone-deep exhaustion sweeping over her.
"I was born in 1979, to two Muggle dentists," Lily brightened up at this, and Hermione sent her a small smile, "My life was great, and then I got my Hogwarts letter at age eleven, in 1991."
Hermione refused to look at Remus's face, simply feeling the absence of his knee after its retreat.
"There, I met my two best friends. Ron Weasley, and Harry Potter," James's eyebrows shot up. "Voldemort was said to be dead, but every year we fought him in some way. Through his horcruxes, he attempted to return. When I was in my fourth year–" She felt skipping over Sirius's imprisonment was probably best, and realised she would have to give a censored version of events to avoid the whole 'Peter betrayed the Potters' point, "He actually returned, and by the time my sixth year was over he was the most powerful he had ever been. I didn't return for my seventh year. My friends and I were in hiding, for Voldemort saw us as targets. In 1998, Voldemort was defeated. Things were fine," Hermione explained, glimpsing Lily's distraught face, "More than fine, actually. We'd lost–" Hermione swallowed through her unshed tears, steadfastly not thinking of Remus, "We'd lost a lot of people, but everyone left was determined to rebuild. It was only a month or two later that Voldemort's remaining followers started an uprising."
"The three of us were pretty high-profile by this point," Hermione explained, trying to give some sort of context, "So a lot of the pressure was on us to reign them in. But we were all so tired, and weak, and we needed to recuperate. One of our– weapons… well, it got destroyed in the Final Battle. We were at a loss as to what to do. We went back into hiding, trying to hunt down the remaining Death Eaters. I was captured, one day, looking for food," Hermione felt Remus's hand settle on her knee, but still didn't dare to look, "Fenrir Greyback had always liked me, and was particularly angry that I'd previously evaded him," Remus's grip got tighter, almost painfully so, "I was bitten," Lily gasped, and Hermione saw James thread his fingers through hers, "and in attempting to escape, I was transported back in time."
"That's not possible," James said, frowning deeply, "Time turners – the Daily Prophet said they can only go back hours."
"Do you honestly think the Prophet reports everything accurately?" Marlene proposed, incredulous.
"I didn't use a time turner," Hermione said, shaking her head, "I thought it was a time turner, but I was mistaken. I'd had experience with time turners before, and hadn't taken the time to really study the object I was actually using."
"What object were you using, Hermione?" Peter asked her, and Hermione clenched her jaw.
"I found out I'd used a Dimension Diverter."
"What's a Dimension Diverter?" Sirius asked, looking around at all of them with a frown.
"Instead of taking the user back in time, like a time turner," Marlene explained, giving Hermione a sad smile, "It transports them to moments in time where their world could have gone one of two ways."
"You knew," Remus gasped, staring at Marlene, "You knew about this."
"My mother works in the Department of Mysteries, Remus," Marlene said tiredly, "She's the one who told Hermione about the Diverter."
"Needless to say," Hermione interrupted their glaring, "The men you saw in the horcrux – one of them was Harry Potter, and the other was Ron Weasley. Harry is your son, James." Hermione frowned, "Or, was. Will be. I'm not sure, I've already changed a lot so far."
"My son?" James looked winded, staring at her, "I–"
He couldn't seem to go on, his eyes still wide and his expression gobsmacked.
"What do you mean, you've changed a lot?" Peter asked, shuffling forward in interest, "Are you saying the war won't take so long?"
"I hope not," Hermione said with a weary chuckle, "I've been destroying his horcruxes since I found out I could. I'm hoping we can get rid of them as soon as possible, and then Dumbledore can do the final deed."
"This is a lot to take in." Sirius said, looking at his hands in thought. He paused, looking back up at her curiously, "What happened to us?"
Hermione hesitated, their intrigued faces making her uncomfortable.
"I'm not sure you want to know…" Saying it was almost as bad as saying the real thing, given the way all of their expressions dropped.
"So we're all dead." Marlene stated matter-of-factly, "Fantastic. I'm glad you're here, then."
"But Harry?" Lily asked, looking between her boyfriend and Hermione, "Who looked after him?"
Hermione bit her lip.
"Your sister, Lily."
"My sister? But…" Lily looked terribly confused, and Hermione didn't want to know what sort of doubts were running through her head.
"Lils," James consoled, seemingly snapping out of his shock, "As if you wouldn't be the mother of my child."
"No, it's not that," Lily said, waving him off, "It's just, Tuney only started speaking to me again after Hermione… saved… me…" Lily stared at her, aghast. "Did Petunia still hate me when I died?"
Hermione cringed, and Lily looked heartbroken.
"Getting upset over this is… it's counter-productive," Hermione announced, ignoring the question, glimpsing Remus's blank face in her periphery, "None of it has happened yet and it won't, if I can help it."
"I'm honestly still in disbelief," Sirius laughed, running a hand through his hair in frustration, "This all seems too neat, too precise. I mean, why did you come back to this point in time? And–" At this, he looked at her sharply, "Will you go back?"
That quieted the group, and Hermione shook her head quickly in response.
"No, that choice was taken from me. The Diverter doesn't work that way."
"We don't know that–" Marlene started, but was cut off.
"No, Marlene," Hermione said sharply, eyes narrowing, "I can't go back. I've accepted that."
The fact that the Diverter still sat in her trunk said otherwise, but Hermione pushed those thoughts away.
"Was he in love with you?" Remus blurted out suddenly, and Hermione turned to face him for the first time during the whole conversation. He was angry, his eyes burning with emotion, "The other me? Was he in love with you?"
"What?" questioned Hermione, befuddled, "No, Remus, I–"
"Were you in love with him?" Remus ploughed on, leaning forward and staring into her eyes intently, "Am I just a replacement?"
"Remus," Hermione pleaded, confused and miserable and tired, "Please, don't–"
"Do you even like me at all?" Remus asked her coldly and he stood up, leaving the room without waiting for an answer. Hermione stared after him, her bushy head falling into her hands as tears burned her eyes.
"He's just in shock," Peter explained, patting her shoulder for comfort, "He'll come around."
"This is why I didn't want to tell you," Hermione said miserably into her palms, shaking her head, "I mean, at first I couldn't." She looked up at them and took a deep breath, "But then it got too hard, and I thought–"
What she thought went unsaid, but Hermione knew they were remembering what the horcrux had screamed at her, just like she was remembering it. Vividly. Too vividly.
"I never expected this," James told her, "But you're trying to make things better. If it wasn't for you, I'd die sooner than I should. So I can't help but be grateful."
"Tell me," Sirius said, his tone light. Hermione turned to him, her heart heavy, "Do you remember who wins the Quidditch World Cup from here on in? Because that would be dead useful–" Lily whacked him, and Sirius grinned cheekily.
That seemed to ease the tension, and Hermione spent the next hour explaining other things to them, all the while thinking about how she might rectify things with Remus.
Isn't this what the horcrux had predicted? she thought.
"He will never forgive you. You've deprived him of a son."
Hermione shuddered, excusing herself from their conversation. Sirius had bet she'd be a Ravenclaw back in first term, and so owed Peter a fair few galleons at the newly acquired knowledge that she had, in fact, been sorted into Gryffindor.
Remus was in his room across from her own upstairs, the door wide open. He sat on his bed, running a hand through his already mussed hair in consternation.
She entered quietly but making enough sound for him to know she was there. She waited for him to start talking, as patient as she could stand to be.
By the time she began to fidget, he seemed to take pity on her.
"Why am I jealous? Of myself?" His tone was tired, and exasperated. Hermione took hopeful steps forward, stopping to crouch in front of him and pull his hands away from his face.
"He didn't love me," Hermione reassured him, her voice soft and tender, "And I didn't know him well enough to love him."
Remus looked back and forth between her eyes, his face torn.
"I like you for you." She told him, placing a hand on his cheek lovingly, "I knew the other you, admired him… but I like you. Not the Remus Lupin I first met."
He huffed out a laugh, staring down at his hands again.
"Was I married?" He asked, the question slicing into her chest like Dolohov's deadly hex.
Hermione paused, considering lying but knowing it would only harm her in the end.
"Yes. You had a son. You were very happy." she said, rubbing her right thumb back and forth over his cheekbone. He looked up at her.
"He was an idiot," Remus said vehemently, his mouth dangerously close to hers. Hermione felt his hands come up to cradle her face, gentle but passionate, "You were right in front of him, and he didn't see you."
"Remus," sighed Hermione, trying not to get swept up in his declarations, her knees hurting against the wooden floor, "You were happy. You didn't need me."
"I don't need you now," Remus said, and his lips pushed into hers; desperately, longingly, "It's never been about need, and you know it."
He was right. She hadn't ever felt incomplete, or wanting in that kind of way. Her attraction to Remus, her desire to be near him and around him, all stemmed from want. It wasn't a need that drew her to him, although she made that excuse in her weaker moments. She wouldn't die without him. It had always been a choice. Remus had chosen to let her in, to allow her to lead him every full moon, to seek solace in the knowledge he wasn't alone. It had taken her a while, but Hermione had wanted Remus to be that person for her, had denied herself because she thought it was what she needed to do. In the end, despite her nerves and her inexperience, she'd chosen to be with him. Even though she'd been a professor and he her student, even though between the two of them a steady income would be hard to come by… it had always been a choice. Living without him was possible, but painful. Hermione had chosen to love Remus, long after she'd fallen for him. That was the way of things.
She felt better, though, to know that Remus had chosen her – scars and all, affliction and all, bushy hair and all. He hadn't been coerced into being with her, or left with her as his only option. No, he'd liked her of his own free will and acted upon it that way, too.
That night, the group of them spent their time discussing the more light-hearted aspects of Hermione's knowledge of the future, Remus's hand resting comfortably in her own.
"So, really, you were born sometime in March, 1958." Lily said, grinning at her after Hermione told them how old she was and what that meant in terms of the months she'd skipped upon arrival in 1977. Hermione's face scrunched up in distaste.
"There's no way I'm picking my own birthday. September 19th, 1958 will do. Although it still feels strange."
"I'm pretty sure I beat you in that department; I'm dating someone who's, technically, not even born yet." Remus snarked and Hermione pushed his shoulder playfully as the others laughed.
The next day, an Order meeting was held, their coins burning gloomily. Thankfully, no more disappearances or murders had been reported matching the modus operandi of previous. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief as they left the meeting, the atmosphere still grim in the face of other events – the Imperius curse discovered in a few Ministry officials; the dead animal carcus found on Moody's doorstep, an obvious warning; and the escape of a few Death Eaters from the clutches of the Aurors, as reported by Alice, who didn't look any more pregnant. Hermione didn't want to ask.
That weekend, after only one day of relaxation in the sun room, the others got their N.E.W.T. results.
"Right on! O's in everything I need!" exclaimed James, scanning his parchment greedily. Marlene merely raised an eyebrow at her own before tucking it into her jeans pocket.
"Auror Academy here I come!" Sirius whooped, grabbing his bespectacled friend into a headlock. Peter ducked out of the way, clutching his own results to his chest as it to protect them. He looked happy, and Hermione didn't want to spoil it by asking him his results, if they might be worse than his friends'.
"Satisfied?" Hermione implored, trying to avoid the temptation to peer over and read Remus's parchment upside down. The werewolf grinned, banishing his own results away with a flick of his wand.
"They were passable," He said casually, but Hermione knew he would have been disappointed with passable. In all likelihood, he'd gotten all O's just like she had in her O.W.L.s (although Hermione chose to ignore her Defence mark, knowing that Umbridge was a toad of a teacher and Hermione could have performed better under the right instruction).
"Lils, you got all O's, right?" James asked, managing to extract himself from Sirius's grip to bound over to his girlfriend. "… Lily?
Lily had her head in her hands, the parchment folded in her grip.
She mumbled, unheard through her fingers.
"What was that?" Remus asked, frowning.
"I said," Lily looked up, staring at them fearfully, "I'm too scared to look at them."
Hermione couldn't help but laugh, putting a hand over her mouth at Lily's glare. She hadn't known they were so alike.
"I'm sorry," Hermione apologised with an amused smile, "It's just, I was the same way."
Suddenly, the parchment was plucked out of her hands, James's triumphant grin widening as he announced his girlfriend's results.
"All O's, Lils. I knew it!"
"Mate," Sirius said, interrupting his friend solemnly. He was staring at Lily fearfully. Hermione turned, looking at the furious redhead and her quickly reddening face. "Run. I'll hold her off."
James glanced at his girlfriend in confusion, before widening his eyes in fright and throwing the parchment at her. He ran out through the back doors, his messy hair blowing in the wind outside as he made his way to the very back of the property.
"Come back here, James Potter!" Lily shouted, and Hermione winced at the loud sound. Sirius was clutching both of Lily's wrists in his hands, trying to stop her from running after James, but she was pushing with an almost unnatural force, "How dare you?! All O's? I'll show you what all O's can do to entitled boyfriends!"
James's panicked yells echoed throughout the grounds, and she shared a commiserating look with Remus.
When Hermione woke up from the full moon on Tuesday morning, it was to the unusual feeling of normalcy.
It seemed that, finally, the full moons were a routine of her life. Whereas before they crept up on her like a movie villain, or left her dreading them the whole month without a moment of forgetfulness – now she accepted their occurrence with resigned planning, and the amusing feeling of excitement that she would get to see Remus semi-naked at the end of it. Now that they were dating, that prospect was filled with promise instead of embarrassment.
"Morning." Remus mumbled into her shoulder, and Hermione sleepily opened her eyes.
"You're up first," she observed, her stomach muscles contracting at Remus's open-mouthed kisses to her collarbone, "That's new."
"Mmm," he hummed, the vibrations of it reverberating through her bones, her core giving an impatient throb. Hermione rubbed her thighs together, the frustration building. The hard ground of the shed out back was dirty, but Hermione took no notice, too preoccupied with the way Remus's wide hand grasped her hip, the padding she'd accumulated over the past year bunching in his grip. It felt pleasantly hot, like her side had been pinched raw in the most exciting way.
He moved over her, his body now covering hers completely as his mouth continued its journey across her collarbone. His chest brushed her nipples, making them peak with a strange sting Hermione had never felt before. She'd never much paid attention to her breasts, neither of them eliciting anything particularly exciting in her own ventures.
His mouth moved down, his tongue sweeping out to leave a wet trail in its wake. Hermione shifted her hips, giving a quiet moan as her back arched off the floor with the movement, her chest coming into contact with his mouth.
"Hate to break it up," Marlene's voice came through the door after a few knocks, and Hermione's torso landed heavily back onto the ground in surprise. "But breakfast is ready, and none of us fancy eating to the sounds of your lovemaking."
Remus rested his forehead against her ribs in his own frustration, his warm breath tickling her stomach and doing nothing to abate her arousal.
When they cleaned themselves up with some hasty spells and joined their friends, flushed but dressed, it was to a leering look from Sirius.
"Well, well, well–" Peter whacked his friend over the head hard from beside him, ignoring Sirius's noise of complaint.
"Thanks, Wormtail." Remus said with a tired smile, which Peter returned.
The next week saw all of them, Lily and Marlene now regulars, relaxing in the sun and enjoying the most of their holiday before they had to think about getting jobs. Hermione took a day trip to Diagon Alley with Remus, her arms ladened with books to read upon return to the sun room, later pushing away Remus's exploring hands as she sat down with The Magical Psyche: A Witch or Wizard's Guide to Magical Psychology. She'd penned a letter to Emilia the next day, enquiring after her health and hoping to catch up soon, and sent it along with Romulus, who had grown very attached to her – so much so that when Remus's hands had started venturing underneath her clothes during her letter writing, the bird had snapped aggressively at him.
They'd finally braved the pool on the last Friday afternoon of June, Hermione's new swimmers – a boring salmon pink one-suit that had been on sale – making Remus stare at her uncomfortably long, even though he'd seen her in much less thanks to their propensity to grow fur and deadly sharp canines once a month.
Hermione had managed to push Sirius in, much to her own enjoyment, the mutinous expression on his face well worth the dunking she'd received later – she'd come up spluttering, Remus helpless in the face of her misery. He'd been remembering her shocked face and subsequently laughing ever since.
By the time the twenty-seventh rolled around, the hardness of Hermione's shoulders and the crick in her neck had all but disappeared. Which meant, of course, that they had to return somehow.
She was in the sun room, basking in the afternoon light and reading up on house elf history in one of her new books when Euphemia popped her head in, a pleasant smile on her gracefully aged face.
"Dumbledore's here, Hermione," she said, her white hair nearly blinding in the sunlight, "He's asked to speak with you."
Frowning, Hermione marked her place in her book, putting it down onto the table as she stood, stretching her arms above her head. Padding into the living room – the place where the Potters hosted all their guests, Hermione had learned – Hermione was greeted with the sight of the old wizard in dazzling purple robes, twinkling as if he was part of a milky way that found itself in the Potters' living room.
"Lovely robes." Hermione commented, smiling. Her usual defenses were absent, the last week influencing her nicely.
"Thank you, Hermione," Dumbledore said, smiling genially at her, "They are my favourite."
"You wanted to speak with me?" inquired Hermione after a quiet minute, and Dumbledore nodded.
"Yes, forgive me. An old man like myself often finds himself lost in thought. Let us sit."
Hermione took her place, her olive cotton shorts bunching at the top her thighs, but her white tank flowing comfortably. Her hair was in a plait down her back; usually quite practical, but it itched the nape of her neck at that moment, irritating.
The boys were out today, no doubt spending time together pranking some poor oblivious people in Diagon Alley, and Hermione knew Lily was spending time with her sister.
"I've taken the liberty of pulling a few strings for you," He announced, pulling out a folded piece of parchment from the inside of his extravagant robes, "My contacts at the Ministry have managed to create a record for you of your schooling – private tutelage, of course, but your results have been put down. Emilia was kind enough to mention your O.W.L. scores to me when I asked – you had discussed them at some point, I believe? – and I guessed your N.E.W.T scores myself. Please don't be offended at your results, they are all admirable." He passed over the parchment, which Hermione received in incredulity. She opened it up, and read the results.
"All O's." she whispered, her brain whizzing.
"Admirable, like I said." chuckled Dumbledore. "I hope you know that we are all hoping for your future here."
They sat in silence for a few minutes, Hermione's eyes roving over the parchment greedily, as if she could take the N.E.W.T.s simply by staring at her fabricated results. It had always been a dream of hers, much to the amusement of her friends. The dream had faded into the background against more important matters, now more a nostalgic though than anything.
Although these results weren't necessarily hers, they eased a restless part of her.
"Thank you." said Hermione, folding up the parchment and tucking it into her pocket.
"Remus wrote to me last month," Dumbledore started after another contemplative moment, which surprised Hermione enough that she jerked her head back, "Asking for some advice on a problem the two of you had been having."
"Really?" enquired Hermione, her hackles slowly rising.
"It seems his behaviour around the full moon has been unpredictable. He said you are both at a loss as to the cause, which had me thinking – as I am wont to do." His eyes twinkled, but Hermione felt uneasy, wishing her relaxed air of minutes earlier would return, "That perhaps the three of us have been seeing this the wrong way. An understandable notion, of course."
"Sorry?" Hermione prodded, frowning in confusion.
"That is to say, perhaps it is not Remus who has been having the problem. Perhaps it is you." Dumbledore said, looking at her over his half-moon glasses.
"But I've been fine, all things considered. Textbook symptoms."
"Ah, yes," Dumbledore started, as if she had stumbled upon something important, "But textbook for who? Or, more precisely, textbook for when?"
"Sir, with all due respect, I would appreciate it if you could make yourself perfectly clear."
"My apologies, Hermione, forgive a man his small pleasures." He smiled at her. "I believe that your symptoms are different from those werewolves normally experience. I've noticed you seem restless throughout the month – and if I'm not mistaken, you took to exercise to alleviate this symptom."
"Yes, but I hardly think–"
"In our world, Hermione, werewolves do not experience restlessness associated with the disease at any time other than right before the full moon. They grow wearier by the minute, exhausted until the day of the full moon at which point they become restless. Remus had some measurable success in pushing away the worst of his symptoms, until your first full moon together, a which point he lost this talent altogether." Dumbledore was not smiling, but he still seemed incredibly light-hearted for the conversation they were having.
"What are you saying?"
"I believe Remus bit you on that first full moon, did he not?" Hermione thought of the faint scar at her ankle, healed perfectly and forgotten quickly enough.
"Most people believe lycanthropy is a mar on the soul," Dumbledore redirected, almost giving Hermione whiplash, "But I have always been of the more unusual opinion that it is a disease, like any other. It is transferred through the blood and the saliva. Only in wolf form, which is a relief to many werewolves. Humans, too, I am sure."
Hermione was breathing heavily, the thoughts flying wildly through her head.
"Diseases, like anything, can change over time. They mutate, becoming either more deadly or more curable. Diseases from another world, however…"
"I did this to him," Hermione whispered, horrified, "I made things worse."
"Not at all, Hermione. I would say, actually, that you have made things better." Hermione frowned, looking to the Headmaster in askance. "Remus has always hated the werewolf inside him, not entirely realising that they are not, in fact, separate entities. Through your presence – and I must thank you most ardently – he has come to realise that he cannot hate the werewolf, for you are one. And he loves you."
"But I–" Hermione was reeling, so much information coming at her at once.
"Torturer, failed leader. You infected him."
"I infected him!" she exclaimed, distraught.
"Hermione," the bearded wizard said, studying her keenly, "How were you to know that you had a different strain of lycanthropy? You could not have known before he bit you, and after, it was too late. You have not infected him; his own disease has simply mutated to become yours."
"I did not tell you this to cause you unnecessary guilt," Dumbledore said sadly, shaking his head, "I told you so that the topic may be put to rest. I had rather hoped you would take it well."
Hermione stared at him incredulously.
"I realise now that I was mistaken, as I often am." His eyes glittered with amusement, which strangely relaxed her. "This does not get rid of a different problem, however."
Her shoulders tensed in anticipation, the true cause of her distress coming to the forefront. Hermione had, for a long time, suspected that Dumbledore was keeping her close so as to keep an eye on her. She had been fine with it, although slightly disgruntled at the idea that she needed babysitting. But it had kept him at arms length for the most part, which she could not be unhappy about. His Legilimancy skills had been largely untested on her, for which she was thankful.
"I am afraid that I have not been entirely truthful with you, Hermione." He said it with reluctance, if Hermione could have ever described the powerful wizard that way. His eyes shone with pity, and it was with a sense of detachment that Hermione realised he had, in his own way, grown to care for her. Care for her in the way a parent might care for a misfit child – hope that they don't fall into trouble, and feel responsible for them when they did. Their relationship was tumultuous, she knew all too well, but Dumbledore felt some sort of kinship with her. The fact that he was wary of telling her this secret meant that, to him, it seemed it might be in jeopardy.
Hermione's shoulders tensed and she clenched her fists in nervousness.
"Initially, I was going to show you my memory of the event," Dumbledore explained, his own shoulders lowering slightly – slumped was too strong a word, but the same effect was there. "But I find myself in need of a Pensieve. Alas – if you are a willing participant – I have an alternative; I can project the memory to you through Legilimancy."
She stiffened instinctively at the word, immediately unsure.
"I understand your hesitation," Dumbledore consoled her, his robes glittering magnificently in the afternoon sunlight, "Given your circumstances. But I implore you to trust me. You will want to know, and there is no easy way to explain this."
Hermione stared into the Headmaster's blue eyes, the skin around them thin with age.
"Alright," she agreed, inhaling sharply, "alright."
Dumbledore pulled out his wand.
"Legilimens."
Instead of her own memories flying by in a blur of colour and cacophony of sound to settle on one in particular, Hermione's vision was simply overcome by another – Dumbledore's, she realised, as she viewed the memory from his perspective. Hermione supposed this was how Marlene had seen things upon entering her mind.
"Is there anything else you wish to add, Sybill?" Dumbledore asked Trelawney, his voice sounding slightly different from this perspective, but still polite.
Trelawney floundered, looking desperate to impress upon Dumbledore something.
"My great-great grandmother had the Sight, you see." she said nervously, her great big earrings swaying with the small shake of her head. Her robes were shabbier than Hermione remembered, despite their bright colours, and the dark circles underneath the Diviniation professor's eyes were stark. Hermione supposed, however, that Trelawney was not yet a professor.
Why has Dumbledore interviewed her already? This isn't meant to happen until 1980…
"Yes, you've mentioned." Hermione noted that Dumbledore's tone of voice seemed disappointed, as if he had expected more from the woman.
"And I– well, that is to say–" Suddenly, Trelawney cut herself off, her eyes going foggy and her voice raspy.
"The one with the knowledge to vanquish the Dark Lord appears..." she began ominously, and Hermione wanted to throw up. Distantly, she felt her stomach churning. She was so deep in the Legilimancy, however, that nothing came of it but a vague feeling of being unwell. "Born as the eighth month dies, born to those who exist in spite of him; a beast with no sire, a witch with no past..." Hermione would've blanched if she had the presence to do so; instead she watched on, helpless to react but wanting to scream endlessly. "And the Dark Lord will see her as his enemy, but she will have strength the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for in time neither can live while the other survives... the one with the knowledge to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the eighth month dies..."
There was silence in the memory, and Hermione saw a hand come up to adjust the half-moon glasses perched on Dumbledore's nose.
"Sybill?" He asked gently, and the witch started, staring at Dumbledore.
"What was I saying? Oh, yes – I can make a great many predictions…"
Suddenly, the Potters' regal living room appeared in front of her, and Dumbledore was looking especially regretful.
"Dumbledore," Hermione's voice was shaky, the churning of her stomach increasing with every panicked inhale, "When did Sybill Trelawney interview for the job?"
"She insisted I speak with her," Dumbledore said gravely, "She did not know the position had been filled by our dear Augustus Xenos, who had agreed to only one year, much like yourself. I had heard of her ancestry, however, and decided to give her the opportunity to interview so as to start the following year."
"Dumbledore," she snapped, her palms stinging as her nails dug into the flesh there, "When?"
"She predicted your arrival on the thirty-first of August, mere hours before my brother requested I invite you onto Hogwarts grounds."
Hermione's vision was swimming, her thoughts slow and weighed down as if they were tied to concrete blocks, sinking to the bottom of a deep and dark ocean.
"So you knew?"
"Yes, Hermione," Dumbledore told her, sighing, "I knew that if I were to put stock in such a temperamental branch of magic, that you were the woman the prophecy spoke of. When you told me you were a werewolf, it only confirmed my suspicions."
"You hired me," Hermione said, her mind whirring, "You knew and you hired me."
"I wasn't sure whether Voldemort knew of the prophecy, and had hoped I could protect you."
"Why didn't you say anything?" Hermione asked, suddenly outraged, turning her piercing eyes onto the Headmaster, "Why didn't you tell me? I could have prepared for this! I could have done something–!"
"You have done enough," Dumbledore said seriously, his eyes hard, "It was your actions that fulfilled the prophecy – Voldemort knows of it, I am certain, but the very first moment you chose to change the future was the first time the prophecy posed real danger."
"But all those abductions, the witches, they weren't–"
"I do not know how Voldemort heard of the prophecy. He set about finding the witch Sybill spoke of. He interpreted the prophecy in his own way – incorrectly, for he could not know you were from another dimension – and has been attempting to thwart it ever since."
"They were pregnant," she whispered, her heart squeezing painfully, "The women, they were all pregnant."
"It seems that way, yes." Dumbledore agreed with a sorrowful expression, "Minerva and I have been investigating the victims. It seems that was the common connection – they were also, however, all Muggleborn. Tom was correct in that aspect."
"Why give me N.E.W.T. scores, then?" demanded Hermione gruffly, "If I'm to die by Voldemort's hand?"
"Don't you see, Hermione?" Dumbledore said, suddenly smiling at her benignly.
Hermione frowned, stubborn and unrelenting.
"Voldemort doesn't know it is you that the prophecy speaks of."
Dumbledore's smile widened.
"We have the advantage."
BAM! Twist number two. Thoughts?
