December 1979
Longbottom Hall
Her accommodations at Longbottom Hall were far and away grander than the room at the girl's flat or the sofa at the Marauder house. The furnishings were mostly French with pale pink and ivory flowers on the upholstery. She had a full-size bed with a wrought-iron frame and half a dozen pillows, a lovely bookshelf with fresh flowers, and a large window that faced the east with an alcove to sit in.
The Longbottom house-elf, a sweet—albeit timid—little thing named Gemma, checked in on her often. Hermione attempted to protest, insisting she didn't need any tending, but still Gemma would tidy her things and make her bed, deliver tea in the morning and biscuits in the afternoon.
It all felt so surreal after months in the little rundown flat and nearly a year before on transfigured cots and in shoddy tents. It was a false sense of security she wasn't sure she wanted.
It'd been just a few days since the swift departure of Lily Evans, and Hermione's move to headquarters. Although she filled her time with potion brewing and organising the lab, each day felt like an eternity.
The Marauders were rundown, depleted by their sadness. Truthfully, she'd hardly seen them at all—not even James. And of course, such things ought to not bother her but he'd become a constant when everything else had been a variable. The boys and Marlene were given assignments—assignments that Hermione wasn't privy to since her sole focus was to be the Horcruxes.
She'd argued it with Moody a few days prior but he'd struck her with, "What do we do if you go off and get yourself killed? All of this will have been nothing." There'd been absolutely nothing left to say to that.
Shortly after the altercation, Hermione had stopped over at the Marauder house. James had been gone, Sirius pissed drunk. Marley was gaunt, a hollow shell of who she'd been when Christmas was still the distraction du jour, and as the waxing moon crept higher in the sky, Remus became outright cantankerous.
There was naught to do except keep moving forward. She'd already begun the next batch of wolfsbane for Remus, and finally the apothecary in Diagon had been able to obtain some Dittany that wasn't withered and near-dead from the winter chill. Potions were something tangible she could put her mind to and as such, it was all she focused on. Everything else was a distraction.
As she rounded the corner into the lab, she halted at the sight of Alice rummaging through its cupboards.
"Oh, hello!"
The Auror jumped, knocking over several vials and cursing under her breath. Fixing a bright smile on her face, Alice's cheeks darkened, her eyes tight and forced wide. "Hello."
The awkwardness in the silence that followed made Hermione wince. "Were you looking for something? I'm sorry; I reorganised a bit."
"No!" Alice blurted the answer quite forcefully, causing both witches to still.
"Oh… okay. It's just..." Hermione paused, sweeping her curls behind her shoulder and shifting back and forth, "you seem to be a bit on edge, and then with the cabinet rifling and all that..."
Gnawing on her lip, Alice began to pace, her lips moving in a silent conversation with herself. Hermione didn't interrupt, waiting for the short-haired witch to come across the answer on her own. "Can you keep a secret?" she finally said.
The space between Hermione's brows wrinkled, and she took a small step forward. "Of course."
"I'm pregnant."
One blink. Two. Three.
Pregnant.
A grin broke over Hermione's features then, tears filling her eyes, and she bounded across the small room to capture her friend in a fierce hug. "Oh, Alice! I'm so happy for you!"
The witch's slight body shook in Hermione's arms and then the tears fell freely. "It's ridiculous, is what is. Pregnant with a bleeding war going on. I've been feeling so out of sorts, and it hit me just a few days ago when I wretched at the thought of Molly's treacle tart. I've been to the healer and sure enough, we are due late July."
July.
"I haven't told Frank yet," Alice continued. "He's going to be over the moon, the ridiculous git. The man has absolutely zero qualms about us procreating mid-war or my career as a bloody Auror." A disbelieving—yet strangely happy—huff burst free from her lips. "I've no idea how we are going to make this work, but Merlin, the little bean will be here before we know it."
July.
Hermione's chest shook as she sucked in a long breath.
"Do we have anything to ease the nausea? The fatigue seems to have let up a bit but I can't kick the queasiness."
She moved about the room methodically, forcing her features bright as she nodded along to Alice's daydreams and concerns. Half an hour later, the pregnant witch left in a giddy daze with a handful of vials and a few sprigs of mint for her stomach. As soon as she was alone, Hermione collapsed onto her stool, staring at the empty cauldron in front of her.
Neville was born in late July—just like Harry.
If Lily Evans wasn't currently pregnant, then it didn't matter if she and James ever did have a child together. That child wouldn't be her friend Harry—that Harry would never exist,would never be born in late July and marked by Voldemort. The prophecy would never be set on him in the first place.
Of course, she'd thought of the possibility—had considered and chewed up the thought until it was barely recognisable—but some part of her clung to a naive belief that she could have it all.
Just as she was about to give in to the dreaded inevitability, a flicker of hope lit from deep inside her, and she tore from the desk and down to the stables.
xXx
It had taken three owls to convince Lily to meet in Diagon Alley.
Three.
Yet, here Hermione was, stomping the snow from her boots and ducking into the Leaky Cauldron. Each nerve ending felt raw and exposed, her stomach folding and flopping until she felt sick.
Lily wasn't hard to find, cradling a mug of tea with that wild red hair spilling over her shoulders. As Hermione fell into the seat across from her, she smiled wanly. All of her effort had been on getting here; now that she found herself in the moment, all the words felt useless.
"Hermione." Lily's body was rigid, her shoulders square and tense, and even her knuckles were white around her steaming mug.
"Hi, Lily. Thank you so much for coming." A taut moment of silence followed and Hermione's features pinched to one side. "You're going to be leaving soon, yeah?"
"Tomorrow."
Hermione wrinkled her nose. "Well, thank you. I know it's a bit awkward, and I wish I could say I was going to make it less awkward but… I'm not."
"I know why you're here. James came to see me at my parents and told me."
Confusion settled heavy on her shoulders, and she ticked her chin sharply to the side. "Told you?"
Tapping an incessant finger on the worn table between them, Lily averted her gaze from Hermione's. "Yes, told me about this baby I'm supposed to have with him."
A volatile cocktail churned deep in her gut: betrayal and ache and… hope. Hermione's tongue was fat and dry in her mouth and suddenly useless.
"I don't want you to get the wrong idea, of course. James didn't come to me trying to get me to have a baby with him—ack, no." Lily's eyes widened, and she released a dry laugh, shaking her head. "No, nothing like that. He just thought I should know."
"Oh."
"I told you James and I were never right for each other." The witch dragged her finger along the curve of her mug handle. "Any kind of coupling of us would be disastrous and wrong. But he's one of my dearest friends; I want him to be happy. I think I know why you were holding back with him, and I want to say thank you. That's why I agreed to meet you. Thank you for putting your respect for me first, your hope for a future I might have with him someday. It's completely misguided but—" Lily paused, swallowing slowly, "it's very sweet."
Anxiety pressed in around her, and Hermione felt sick to her stomach. An angry twitch jumped in her neck and she quickly stabbed two fingers into the hollow of her throat to quiet it.
"I'm not pregnant, Hermione."
At that, their gazes met. Warm chocolate against cold emerald. There was no flinch, no lie, no reservation.
Hermione had accomplished it. She'd changed the future; she had ensured a life where Harry wouldn't live in a broom cupboard or suffer the neglect of his 'family'. He'd never be hunted or tortured, would never watch his parents die. He wouldn't fly a broom or kiss Ginny in the quiet corners of the Burrow.
He wouldn't do any of it because he wouldn't be here. The pain that echoed through the caverns of her chest at the loss of her friend made her falter, breathless as her shoulders slumped.
The world would never know Harry Potter.
The things she'd been willing to lose in all this—her life included—had been manageable until now. This wasn't. She fought the tears back and nodded resolutely at Harry's mum.
"Okay."
"I'm sorry," Lily offered, tearing her eyes away as her jaw trembled. "You'll have to forgive me, just a bit emotional about everything going on. Lots of changes… Anyway, I ought to go. I'm so happy I got to know you, and you let me know if you ever need me and I'll do my best to help. Yeah?"
"Yeah. Yeah, you too. Thank you for coming." They both rose, embracing each other despite the awkwardness of the moment. "If you need me, I'll be here."
"Goodbye," Lily whispered.
And then she left.
xXx
Hermione wandered around Diagon for the afternoon in a daze. With the excitement of the impending new year—new decade—there was a liveliness that distracted her from the sinking realisation that she'd changed everything irreparably. Had Dumbledore known this was the most likely possibility? Was Harry always disposable in all this?
Shaking the thought from her mind, she dipped into Flourish and Blotts, meandering the aisles with nothing better to do. The store felt slightly newer than the one she knew in the late 90s, the furnishings not quite so scuffed and worn, the upholstery less faded. There was still the nook in the back with a window and an ugly little chandelier overhead.
Just past it was a section of Mystic Arts and Mythology. It wasn't Hermione's favourite section—the topics a bit too reliant on the uncontrollable and unknowable—but it was secluded and empty so she made her way there idly, brushing her fingers along the spines. Pausing, she began to read the titles.
Advanced Divination. Alchemy and Mysticism. The Art of Mysticism. Bettering Yourself Through the Sight of the Third Eye. The Modern Witch's Guide to Symbols. Readying Your Heart & Finding Love.
Hermione groaned and stepped farther into the Mythology section.
Alchemy in the Modern World. Celtic Folklore and Mythology. Masters of Death. Magically Complex Creatures.
As she absently followed along, a niggling thought reached for her. She stepped back, searching the titles again.
Masters of Death by I. Peverell III
Lifting the tome from its resting place, her eyes floated over the hardcover. That symbol was there again; the one in The Tales of Beedle the Bard, the one Harry had seen around Xenophilius Lovegood's neck—the one embedded in the Gaunt family ring and Voldemort's Horcrux.
With a furrowed brow, she gently lifted the cover. Before she could read a single word, the book flew swiftly from her grasp. Snapping her eyes up, ready to insult the absolute fiend who would think to take a book from her, she halted. Her blood ran cold, breath sticking in her throat.
Lucius Malfoy stood stoically before her, holding her book. He didn't speak, his mouth twisting into a cruel smirk as he canted his chin higher. "Hello."
"I was looking at that," Hermione said, her voice carrying an icy edge that made Lucius' smile broaden.
"So you were, and yet—" He lightly shook the book back and forth in his hand. "Here it is. My name is Lucius Malfoy; I'm not sure I've had the pleasure." The hand not holding her book was thrust between them and she grimaced, forcing herself to reach for it.
Best not to ruffle the git's feathers prematurely. She knew firsthand what it was like to have Lucius Malfoy as an enemy and the longer she could prolong it, the better. As soon as their palms touched, she felt the intrusion, a hard prodding at the front of her mind. Wrenching her hand back, she glowered at him.
"You're an Occulmens?" he asked, his brows twitching in amusement. "Surprising for a Mudblood."
Sucking in a hard breath, she steeled her spine. "I'm surprised as well; you're not a very good Legillimens. I could practically feel you knocking and begging for entrance. You ought to have been trained better."
"Excuse me," he sneered, snapping the book to his chest as though she'd reached out and tried to pry it from his cold fingers. "You can't speak to me like that! Do you have any idea who I am?"
Rolling her eyes, she held out her palm for the tome. Merlin, she hadn't thought anyone would be more insufferable than a young Draco Malfoy—she'd been mistaken. "I'd like my book back please."
"What on earth could you need with such a work? Surely there is something around here for kitschy fortune telling for Muggles; leave the serious arts to those with proper ancestry."
Hermione groaned. "Give me my book."
"No." His eyes narrowed, and she was actually starting to get irate that he was attempting to fight with her over a bloody book when a newcomer startled her.
"Lucius, what on earth is taking so long?" A thick voice drawled as a new face rounded the corner. She didn't know him, but the magic radiating off him frightened her. She took a sharp step back. He was older, his hair greying at the temple and his thin lips set in a scowl. "Why are you arguing with this frightened little bird? She looks rather harmless."
Despite her best interests, she scoffed and crossed her arms. "You'd think better of that if you knew who I was."
Something dangerous flashed in the slate eyes of the newcomer, and he stepped around Malfoy with wry amusement. "And who are you, then?"
Her stomach heaved at the Dark Magic permeating through the air like a rancid breath. "I'm Hermione Granger."
"Mudblood?"
"Muggle-born," she corrected with a narrowed glare, "And about to purchase that book before your lackey stole it from my hands."
Malfoy's lip curled, and he looked about to toss an acidic insult her way but was interrupted by his companion's throaty laughter. "She's funny, Malfoy. Isn't she?" He didn't wait for an answer before continuing, "I'm Theodore Nott. Enchanté."
Hermione hummed.
"Malfoy, do you need to purchase that book? Surely you have a copy in your own library." Theodore jerked his chin over his shoulder but didn't take his gaze from Hermione.
"As it is, I find myself wanting this particular copy. More's the pity, Mudblood." Malfoy turned on his heel, glaring at her with book in hand and marching towards the front of the stop, calling sharply over his shoulder, "Until we meet again."
Theodore raised his gloved palms to the ceiling, his mouth turning down on one side. "Some families got all the manners it seems. Perhaps I could acquire another copy of this sacred tome and send it along? Just advise on where to send it."
"No, thank you," she managed through gritted teeth.
"You're quite pretty," he said, his gaze dragging over her body in a way that made her want to claw her skin off. "Well, I'm sure we'll see each other again soon, Miss Granger. Enjoy the day."
In the wake of his billowing robes and wretched magic, Hermione breathed a sigh of relief, hiding her trembling fists at her sides. An impending headache thrummed painfully at her temples, and she turned back to the stacks simply for somewhere else to look, glowering at the empty spot the book had been in.
Her eyes caught on another spine back in the Mysticism section and before anyone could steal it from her as well, she grabbed it forcefully from the shelf and disappeared deeper into the stacks.
xXx
A/N: Would love to know your thoughts! Thank you so much for reading and as always a giant thank you to my Alphas, Ravenslight and MCal, and my beta, NuclearNik!
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