Chapter 45- The Father
Hermione woke up the next morning, and the first thing she noticed was how quiet her mind was.
Normally, she would wake with her brain whirring and screaming because of a nightmare or memory, but today, it was calm. Her heart was steady. It was a nice change, she thought, and she laid back down, smiling. She hadn't slept this well in a while.
She remembered their conversation the night before, and that same determination swelled up inside of her. For too long, she had been complacent. Ever since she had arrived in the past, she had ignorantly tried to forget all of the weight of the future. The Marauders had taken her in, shielded her, and she had completely forgotten her place. She didn't belong here. She wasn't normal. She had the key to create something better, the knowledge to save the people she loved- she wasn't going to let the world burn.
And now, although she had known it all along, she finally felt like it was a possibility. Her heart was set and nothing, not even Dumbledore, could change her mind.
A soft knock at her door pulled her out of her reverie, and she rolled over, calling, "Come in."
James' face peered around the door. He wasn't wearing his glasses and his black hair was sticking up in every single direction. He looked bemused. "Good morning."
"Hello," Hermione grinned, stretching out across the bed. He slipped into the room, making his way over to sit on the edge of her mattress.
"Did you sleep well?" James asked courteously, smiling at her.
"Extremely," she replied, looking upside down at him, still sprawled out.
"That's good," he said, nodding, looking around.
Hermione licked her lips, and something gnawed at her, a question she had been burning to ask since yesterday morning. She rolled over onto her stomach, and rested her chin on her hands.
"Your parents are like Sirius' parents too, aren't they?" She asked gently. In her time, she couldn't ever remember Harry telling her about him. The only thing that had ever told her anything about Sirius was that awful screeching portrait of his mother in Grimmauld Place, although she wasn't sure whether she could trust anything that ghastly woman said.
"They are his parents," James said. There was no room for discussion.
Hermione stared at him.
"What happened?" She asked, playing with the hem of the blanket.
James sighed, leaning back on her bed. "As you've already gathered, Sirius' family aren't... the nicest. They're Pureblood elitists, you know the type that think they're superior to everyone else? Yeah... Well anyway, Sirius didn't agree with them. And they didn't like that." He paused, and his throat bobbed up and down. James shifted in his seat, turning to face her. His eyes were wide, looking even bigger than usual because of his lack of glasses. "What Sirius probably won't tell you is that he was his mum's favourite. She always coddled him, moulded him into this perfect Pureblood son. Maybe that's why he rebelled... When he didn't agree with the 'all Muggles are scum' approach, his family turned on him."
Hermione focused on James' pale face.
He said quietly, "Let's just say, his mother definitely wouldn't win mother of the year anytime soon. His father didn't have the balls to care. Eventually, he ran away. That was in our fifth year. My parents adopted him." Swallowing, James tugged on the blanket. His face was pained as he said, "He's my brother, you know?"
Hermione remembered that day in the Room of Requirement; Sirius' low murmuring voice and the story of the little girl. She remembered the way Regulus' voice had broken as he'd screamed at her.
"They were killing him, Regulus. They were killing him-"
"THEY WERE KILLING ME TOO!"
She closed her eyes, pain flashing across her face, and asked hesitantly, "Did they-?"
"Yeah." James said. She was grateful that he hadn't let her finish her question but the answer was just as harrowing. "He just turned up on my doorstep one day, in the rain. He was drenched, holding this one bag, covered in bruises and he was bleeding everywhere. He never told me what happened- I didn't ask- but it doesn't take a genius to work it out."
Hermione bit at her lip and said in a small voice, "And after it all, he's still so good."
James nodded slowly. "Yeah, but he has his days. Like when you went outside on the full moon, which was stupid as fuck by the way." She winced. He lowered his voice and said, "I've known him for seven years and I've never seen him look like that."
Hermione stared at him, her heart thudding agonisingly in her chest. She licked her lips. "Like what?"
James stared right back at her and he never wavered. "Like he'd just lost everything."
The door burst open, and she jumped, wrenched from the startling honesty of their prior conversation. Sirius was hovering in the doorway, looking at them both funnily.
"Ma sent me up to get you," he said, grinning. "Did I interrupt a heart to heart?"
Hermione launched her pillow at him, and it hit him straight in the face. She was still blushing, her heart heavy. James burst out laughing.
Sirius shook his head morosely, "I came up here to tell you food was ready and this is how you repay me. Next time, I'm just going to let you both starve!"
Still chuckling to themselves, they followed him down the stairs and into the kitchen, where Remus and Peter were already sat, helping themselves to egg and toast. Mrs Potter was by the stove, humming to herself and an older man who Hermione hadn't yet met was sat in the bottle green armchair, reading the newspaper.
"Dad!" James greeted, running over to see him.
Mr Potter raised his eyes from his page and his face immediately lit up at the sight of his son. "Skiving are we, Fleamont?"
James' eyes widened in offence, his mouth falling open. Sirius guffawed and Remus snorted through his cereal. Peter was too busy gorging himself to pay any attention.
A laugh left Hermione's lips before she could stop it tumbling out, and Mr Potter's eyes danced to her.
"Ah, is this the influence?" He asked. There was something distinctly familiar about the way he looked, from the ghost of his smile to the crinkles by his eyes, and Hermione felt her heart ache. He looked like Harry. "I'll have you know, miss, that before they met you, my sons were incredibly well-behaved, model students. You've corrupted them!"
Hermione couldn't help but smile at his boyish grin. Mrs Potter made a sound of indignation by the stove and said crossly, "Your sons were troublemakers well before they met Hermione."
Mr Potter looked at her and murmured, "They're always my sons when they're in trouble."
She beamed at him. Mrs Potter turned around, a frying pan in her hand and said, "Hermione, dear, where are you sitting? I've made you egg and soldiers."
Hermione slipped into the nearest chair, her stomach rumbling as her breakfast was put before her.
"Thank you," she said. Mrs Potter smiled gently at her, putting another strip of toast on her plate and winking. Hermione hadn't realised how hungry she was, but the smell of food had woken that part of her up.
"Anything in the paper, Pa?" Sirius asked, mouth full.
Hermione wrinkled her nose and Mrs Potter whacked him on the back of his head lightly. "Mouth closed," she chastised.
He obliged.
Mr Potter grinned at this, but folded the paper and dropped it into the dying fire, which roared and stuttered back to life. There was nothing suspicious about the way he did it, but Hermione had lived through a war. She saw the tension in the veins on his hands, and the forced nonchalance of the gesture. She knew that there was indeed something in that paper. But he said, "No. Never is these days, unless you count Celestina Warbeck's third marriage as newsworthy."
"Celestina is getting married?" James asked, perking up from his breakfast. At six very odd looks, he closed his mouth and lowered his eyes. "Pretend I never said anything."
Peter's eyes were filled with mirth and he sent Hermione a cheeky grin. She sucked in her lips to stop herself from laughing.
"What are you lot thinking of doing today?" Mrs Potter asked, taking a place at the opposite side of the table.
"Well, dearest, I was planning on going to work, writing a few reports, terrorising old Moody, maybe even make a few friends-" Mr Potter replied mildly. She narrowed her eyes at him.
"I was talking to the children, Charlus."
Mr Potter sent them a wink.
"I don't know, maybe go to the village and wreak havoc," Sirius suggested. This suggestion was instantly discarded at Mrs Potter's pointed look.
"What did Dumbledore say?" She reminded. "I'm on strict orders to keep you under supervision at all times."
Hermione shifted in her seat, lifting her glass full of orange juice higher to conceal her frazzled blush.
"Oh, that's right," James said knowingly. "We're on house arrest."
He had barely time to duck as a croissant went flying past his head. Affronted, he whipped his head back and indignantly demanded, "Mother!"
Mrs Potter was shaking her finger at him. "It's not house arrest!"
"Dorea," Mr Potter interrupted, almost hesitantly. "It may be slightly house arrest. They're kids, let them outside at least. They need to burn off some energy."
"But Albus said-"
Mr Potter stood up from his chair (he was quite a short man, considerably shorter than his wife) and moved to stand behind her. His hands rubbed her shoulders. "I know what Albus said, and I know he's doing what's best for them... But he never said they couldn't leave the house, only the property. Just let them out into the yard, at least."
And it was the sweet-talking of Charlus Potter that saw the five of them stood in the garden an hour later, dressed in their scruffiest clothes, each holding a variation of James' old brooms.
The wind was sharp and biting and Hermione tugged Sirius' old jumper further around her, squinting her eyes against the onslaught of nature.
"Is this a good idea?" She shouted, her voice being torn from her throat. Remus, just as affected and blown away, looked at her. "I don't think it's a good idea."
They both looked at James and Sirius, who were setting up a mock Quidditch pitch. Peter was huddled up in a huge, oversized coat. The only part of him that was visible was the tiny wedge of white of his face, framed by the thickness and fur of his coat.
"Right you sorry lot!" Sirius yelled, flying to land in front of them. James swiftly followed.
"Hermione, Peter, you're with me. Remus, that means you're with Sirius," James dictated, Quaffle under one arm. "It's just gonna be a case of getting the ball through the hoop, no Beaters and no Snitch. Seeing as there's only two of you, you can come out of goal. Everybody got it?"
There was a unanimous murmur of understanding, and the game commenced, despite the fact that the wind was strong enough to blow them all away.
Once she had managed to get up into the air (it took her a fair few tries), Hermione realised the appeal. The rush of life lacing through her hair, caressing her skin. The feeling of weightlessness as she soared through the clouds. Although it wasn't sunny and there was a thick layer of fog hanging low over the Potter residence, she still felt invincible.
And that invincibility lasted a total of eighteen minutes, after thirty-one goals, and Peter was barrelled off his broom onto the floor, when instead of feeling weightless and free, Hermione felt confined and a damning sensation of wrongness.
The wing stopped singing and started to howl. The coldness turned biting and numb. Her skin prickled.
"Inside!"
The scream tore through the wind, and it was sharp and piercing in Hermione's ears compared to the rush of adrenaline that flying entailed. She swung her broom around in the direction of the shout. Mrs Potter was running towards them, her hair loose from her braid. "Come inside!"
There was something frighteningly desperate about her that had Hermione's heart pumping.
Without hesitation, she flew to the ground, jumping off of her broom as soon as it came to a halt. James was beside her in a second. His hair was windswept, and he asked distractedly, "What's going on?"
Mrs Potter's eyes were searching for the other three, and her face was tight and strained. She said, "There's been an attack. Get inside."
Hermione's eyes found James'. Both of their breaths were frigid globes of white in the air, their prior euphoria trickling out through their lips. They dropped their brooms, hesitating only once in their journey to the house to look back. Peter was following them. Remus and Sirius were mere pinpricks in the distance.
As soon as they were in the house, a wall of trepidation fell upon them. The kitchen seemed to trap them, and Hermione spun around, holding her head. She only stopped when her eyes snagged on James. He was staring at her through wide eyes.
Peter burst through the door, breathing heavily, the hood of his coat was flung down to reveal his pale, stricken face.
"Mum's just paranoid," James said. He seemed to be trying to reassure them. "Dumbledore told her not to let us out. This is all because she doesn't want to get into trouble with him, it's fine. It's okay."
Hermione swallowed. She wasn't sure whether he was trying to reassure them, or trying to reassure himself.
The door flung open and a muddy Remus and Sirius collapsed inside, followed by Mrs Potter, who raised her wand as soon as the door was closed. Hermione recognised the spells as warding spells. She felt her body freeze.
Remus was by her side in an instant, tall and lean, towering above her. She wanted to reach for him but his body radiated warmth and the few inches between them felt like miles.
"Ma what's going on?" Sirius questioned. She didn't say anything, just regarded him briefly through sad eyes.
The fire flared into life and Mr Potter stepped out, unkempt and serious. He looked much older and the lines of his face seemed deeper than Hermione remembered; there were no crinkles by his eyes.
"Dad?" James asked. Mr Potter glanced at him, but raised his wand to help his wife ward the house. Incantations fell from his lips, and there was a bubble of magic that consumed them all.
His hand fell to his side and he dropped into a chair.
"Dad," James said again, cautiously, timidly. "What's happened?"
Mr Potter massaged his temple, a long and heavy sigh leaving his lips. He looked at them all through tired eyes. "Voldemort's followers were reported raiding a nearby Muggle village. Aurors have been dispatched but Albus couldn't risk it. He made me leave immediately."
"How nearby?" Remus asked, his voice tight. His hand twitched by Hermione's, as though his innate reaction to terror was to hold her. She wished he would. She was tired of having to be strong. She couldn't do it anymore.
Mr Potter stared at him, his entire face strained. He ducked his head and said, "Darbyshire."
"That's just over a mile away!" Sirius exploded. Peter breathed in sharply, and James was there in an instant to hold him up, just in case he needed it.
"They call themselves Death Eaters," Mr Potter continued, voice grave. "By the time I was leaving, the Ministry was sending a second wave of Aurors to confront them. The first had all perished."
Hermione closed her eyes.
She wondered whether this was how Harry felt, as though death and destruction were perpetually tailing him, waiting for chinks in his protective shield before it took out everyone and everything he held dear. She opened her eyes.
"I'm so sorry," Hermione said. They all looked at her. "I didn't mean to do this. I didn't want to put any of you in danger."
Remus finally touched her, firmly and the feeling of his hand on her wrist grounded her. "What are you talking about?"
"This is all my fault. I- those Aurors, those Muggles, they're all dead because of me," she spoke in rushes of uneven air. "Because Voldemort wants me."
Her friends flinched at the name. Mrs Potter shook her head, moving forwards and when she got close enough, she wrapped her arms around Hermione, pulling her close.
"It's not your fault," she murmured, and the warmth of her embrace and the love she radiated was enough to make Hermione almost believe her. "It's not your fault."
