Hermione wondered if she should have leaned into the Beauxbatons rumor and feigned a difficulty with conversational English. The students at Hogwarts were curious, to say the least. She was the first transfer in decades and seventh year at that, plopped into the student population of the only wizarding school in the United Kingdom. The rumors about her ranged from homeschooled orphan to Beauxbatons educated orphan to Australian educated orphan. She had brushed off the Beauxbatons rumor and remained vague about Australia, explaining that she moved around too much to really be from anywhere.

The attention was jarring. Hermione wasn't used to being the center of it—for academics and leadership positions, yes—but not for being interesting or mysterious. She knew that for most of her life she could be read like an open book. A bleeding heart Gryffindor with wide eyes and all her emotions on her sleeve. But time had taught her to use it to her advantage. Hermione had to admit that she had become an adept liar—Umbridge and Bellatrix could attest to that. Sooner or later, all that the students of Hogwarts would see when they looked at her was a truth she wanted them to see—that she was a bookworm who, at the very present, preferred spending time with books over people.

Remain forgettable, the Unspeakable had said.

So far, she would say she had been moderately successful in avoiding Gryffindors.

Specific Gryffindors. A certain…group of them.

But by gods, was it difficult. They were just so friendly.

Lily Evans, upon discovering that she and Hermione shared a majority of seventh year classes, had rushed her on her second day of the term to offer advice on her professors, directions to the potions room, a list of potential Peeves hotspots to avoid and a spare sugar quill. Hermione had recognized her long auburn hair in an instant and had gaped at the Head Girl in a way that she hoped appeared to be borne out of shyness and not shock. Warmth exuded out of Lily Evans. She had so earnestly engaged her in conversation that Hermione had almost cried right then and there at the familiarity.

Feigning a stomachache, Hermione accepted the sugar quill with thanks (she couldn't resist), and fled back to the Ravenclaw tower.

Remus Lupin had sat down next to her on the first day of Advanced Arithmancy and introduced himself, eyes just as bright and inquisitive as she remembered. Hermione kept her gaze to the front of the class and tried not to study the differences in his face. Absent were the collection of scars she surmised he would acquire sometime in the next two decades. At least at first glance, this Remus Lupin was unmarred and unscathed.

The next class she made a point to arrive right at the start so the only seat open was next to a surly Slytherin in the front row.

James Potter and Sirius Black—you rarely ever saw one without the other, she discovered—didn't let the fact that she was sitting at the Ravenclaw table and not the Gryffindor table stop them from plopping down in front of her and peppering her with questions her first week there. Her mouth had dropped open at the sight of them up close. James was every bit a sight of Harry as people had said. Though, his messy dark curls were pushed back with a confident smile instead of Harry's sheepish grin. Sirius was exuberant and loud with snark that felt like a high-five instead of a slap—a long way from the broken man she, Harry, and Ron had first met in their third year.

With an aim to appear as boring as possible, Hermione had droned on about an essay until abruptly abandoning them at the table, exclaiming about a forgotten assignment.

At least Peter Pettigrew was so shy he could barely look at her. She'd probably hex him if he did. He was always scurrying after the rest of the Marauders, offering a laugh to one of their jokes or a chuckle to their wry observation. Without them, Peter was quiet and it seemed like he would shrink if exposed to even the slightest scrutiny

Her housemates were a good reprieve. She found them to be superior studying partners—though she still did a majority of it alone—and they didn't chastise her for spending all her spare time in the library. Though Hermione, determined to remain apart from them, had brushed off any invitations that didn't involve academics.

In her quest to make as little of an impact as possible on the student population of Hogwarts, Hermione found herself alone more often than not and in the library more frequently than she had been since third year. It was not an unfamiliar feeling, being alone. How many times did Harry or Ron runoff and ignore her for weeks? Back then, she always had her books…and Hagrid.

Hermione had felt disappointed. There was no way she could visit Hagrid. She could hardly remain forgettable if she bawled her eyes out to the game keeper, something she was half-certain she would do if she spoke even a word to him.

But while Hermione had experience with loneliness, she was wholly unprepared for the specific kind of pain that came along with being face to face with people she knew would die in incredibly unfair and painful ways.

So Hermione hid away in the library, studying for her N.E.W.T.S. and reading through every book Madame Prince had on time travel. Few students seemed to visit the library as often as Hermione and the ones that did seemed to share her desired level of social interaction.

That is—zero.

So here are the bookworms and loners, she thought as she swept her eyes around the library. It was early on a Saturday and still the beginning of term. Few students were there in the library with her.

There was young Ravenclaw in the back corner huddled with a book and a pair of Hufflepuffs scribbling on parchment near the front wall. Diagonal from where she was and a few tables away sat a Slytherin with his brow furrowed in his book and black hair swept over his face.

Hermione felt a faint prickle of recognition.

Do I know him?

Something about him seemed familiar but Hermione was struggling to place him. Could he be a Death Eater she had faced in battle before? Dolohov was too old to still be at Hogwarts. Mulciber and Avery—they would have graduated by now. Hermione gripped her book tighter as she continued to stare at the Slytherin, frowning. Or was she misremembering? Had they also been students at Hogwarts with the Marauders?

She had been staring too long. The Slytherin looked up. As quick as his eyes met hers their shared gaze was even quicker broken as Hermione dropped her head back down into her book. As she read the next paragraph on Eloise Mintumble's hazardous journey through time, she could feel his eyes prickling the top of her head.

Good Gordric. Hermione thought. Better nip his curiosity in the bud now.

Looking up, she gave him a pointed stare. "Can I help you?"

The Slytherin seemed surprised that she had spoken to him. A beat passed and then he offered a raised eyebrow. His black hair shifted at the movement, sweeping over his face and partially obscuring his gaze.

Okay, then.

Hermione returned to her book. So the library wasn't entirely safe from inquisitive Hogwarts students.

I guess I was staring at him first, she grumbled to herself.

She would have to remember to keep her curiosity in check.

"Hey! Hermy. Wait."

Hermione stopped but didn't turn around. She recognized that voice.

Sirius Black jogged over and stopped himself in front of her, blocking her exit from the hall and grinning.

"It's Hermione." She didn't smile back at him. She hadn't spoken to him since their first conversation at the Ravenclaw table and had ignored any of his subtle attempts to get her attention in their shared classes.

"Too many syllables. How about Herms?" He was still grinning at her. She wished he would stop. It reminded her of the summer at Grimmauld Place before her fifth year. Sirius was probably the happiest she'd ever seen him back then. He might've been stuck in the house that summer, but he was stuck there surrounded by everyone he cared about.

Hermione frowned. "Isn't it the same amount of syllables as your name?"

"Ah—" Sirius chucked. "You're right. How fortuitous. It's probably an indicator of what good friends we'll be."

An eye roll slipped out before she could stop it, dutifully accompanied by a smile. Sirius was every bit like he was in the future…except happier, unencumbered, without the weight of twelve years of Azkaban hanging on his shoulders. This Sirius was as bright as his namesake star.

"She smiles! Well, I have accomplished everything I've set out for in life. I can die happy."

She stopped smiling.

"Anyways," Sirius continued. "I wanted to personally extend an invitation to a party that is happening tonight at the Gryffindor common room. First party of the school year. It's going to be great." He put a hand over his heart and continued, expression serious. "Per Professor McGonagall, it is our duty to extend the warmest of welcomes to our new seventh year. In the name of inter-house unity, we humbly extend the invitation to Ravenclaw."

Hermione couldn't help the next words that tumbled out of her mouth. "So I get an invite because Professor McGonagall made you?"

"No, no—" His eyes darted to hers. He hadn't been expecting that response.

Hermione, biting back a grin, tried to look offended. Teasing him felt fun. She'd never been able to properly do it before. "It's like we're in nursery school and a teacher told you that you have to give a Valentine to every person in class."

"It's not like that. What I mean is—" Sirius fidgeted, running his fingers through his hair.

Hermione knew he played with his hair when he was nervous or embarrassed. She had last seen it that summer at Grimmauld Place when Lupin had hilariously relayed story after story of their time at Hogwarts and Sirius's many failed attempts at—wait, oh gods. Was he trying to flirt with her?

"You see, Hermione—wait, what's nursery school? Do you go to school with trees?"

Harry's godfather? Who was old enough to be her father? Just no—a million times no. Hermione was afraid she had just opened a can of worms she never ever wanted to see the light of day.

"Um, yes—trees. No—sorry—to the invite."

"No?"

"It's just—I have so much schoolwork to catch up on."

"Oh, well—"

"I'm sorry." Hermione needed to find a swift exit to this conversation. If she could blush she was sure her entire face would've been red by now.

"It's okay—"

"I have to go now but thank you for the invite."

She darted out of the Great Hall.

Blimey. Lupin was right. If this was Sirius flirting, he was terrible at it.

Hermione felt like she wanted to throw up. The feeling had started the minute the professor had walked in in the door.

"Hello everyone. Apologies for not being at the welcome feast—and for the delay in the start of classes. I had to tie up a few things at the Ministry. My name is Professor Gideon Prewett. I've been an Auror for the past four years and I will be your Defense Against the Dark Arts professor this year."

As his eyes swept across the classroom, Hermione dropped her eyes down to stare at her desk.

Gideon Prewett. One of Mrs. Weasley's younger brothers. Dead by the end of 1981, along with his brother Fabian and five Death Eaters. She thought she had already met all the ghosts. Now she was face to face with a member of the family who had practically adopted her.

It was hard enough having classes with most of the Gryffindors. It being their N.E.W.T. level year meant that there were no more house divisions in class schedules anymore. Gryffindors, Slytherins, Ravenclaws, and Hufflepuffs all took classes together. Inter-house relationships weren't so different from her time. The Gryffindors and Slytherins sat at opposite ends with a mix of Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs between them.

Hermione had picked a seat in the back—wincing as she did so—in an attempt to put as much distance as she could with herself and the other students.

"You're all seventh years now. The textbooks you have on your desks—I don't want you to have them open—save that for after class. I'm going to put you in some challenging situations where you will have to think on your feet. Do well this year and you'll be able to protect yourself and the people you care about." He grinned at them. "Do even better and maybe I'll see you next year at the Auror Office."

There were a few laughs. Hermione was certain she was going to hurl.

"Alright, pair off and spread out. We're going to be doing some light dueling today. Now, no need to feel nervous. Today is just about understanding your baseline. We'll build up from there throughout the year."

The class paired off. Lily was opposite a blonde witch. Sirius was across from James and Remus in front of a brunette Ravenclaw she didn't recognize. Pettigrew had not taken DADA with them.

"Miss Granger? Care to participate?"

Hermione hadn't stood up from her seat.

"Oh, erm…" She trailed off. It wasn't that she had walked into class with a plan to not participate. Her legs had just remained locked.

Prewett stared at her, expectant.

"Uh, respectfully sir…I'm a pacifist?" Hermione knew the moment that word left her lips she sounded ridiculous. Someone snorted. She didn't know who. Practically the whole class was watching the exchange.

Prewett gave her a small smile. "Yes, that's why we call it Defense Against the Dark Arts. Now, if you please, Miss Granger." He gestured for her to join him at the front of the class.

Hermione stood up, stiffly. It looked to the class like she didn't have the stomach for any of it, but Hermione was weary—not weak. She knew the difference and she honestly didn't care if her classmates didn't. Her stomach was just fine. She just had enough defense against the dark arts for a lifetime.

"I'll partner up with you. So you don't have to worry about hurting any of your fellow classmates."

She gave him a small smile and joined him at the front of the classroom. It wasn't the way he said it—he was trying to be nice—but Hermione couldn't help but feel miffed at his words.

"Alright everybody, back to your partners. Remember, this is a friendly duel. Stick with your stinging jinxes, your jelly-legs, and so on."

The class resumed their duels while Hermione stared down the ginger haired professor. Apart from the obvious hair, she could see how much he looked like Mrs. Weasley. They had the same kind eyes.

"Ready, Miss Granger?" He raised his wand arm up.

She matched his stance and nodded.

Prewett sent out a quick Expelliarmus at the start, no doubt testing to see if she would keel over at the slightest of offense spells. She easily blocked it and threw up a shield. She could see the professor making calculations in his head—the way she gripped her wand, her quick wrist movements—her reaction was not one of an amateur.

Hermione blocked a series of small stunners he sent over and threw up another shield. Prewett had started out at a cautious pace but noticed how quick she was to block his spells. Keeping on the defensive, she parried his next few.

"Granger, be more on the offensive! Don't let me back you into a corner."

She could feel eyes on her. Most of the class had paused on and off to watch their duel at the front of the classroom. A few of their remarks snaked their way into her ears.

"Two galleons—the new girl won't last another minute."

"Nah, professor's going to take it easy on her. I'd bet you another minute and a half."

"Come one, she's a girl and he's an Auror. It'll be over before you know it."

Hermione tightened her grip on her wand.

I'm done, she thought. I'm done holding back.

She hadn't wanted to stand out but she wasn't going to fake a weakness. She was a Gryffindor, in her time, for a reason. Her pride could get the best of her. Combine that with her temper? Hermione was ready to give them a show.

She sent an Expelliarmus to Prewett, who blocked it deftly and countered with a silent Stupefy. Their back and forth continued—almost like a dance—with Hermione now matching Prewett at every step. She moved on from a purely defensive strategy and leaned back into the dueling style she had developed during her fifth year in Dumbledore's Army.

Hermione had always been an aggressive spell caster. Her dueling style had developed into an almost relentless barrage of spell after spell, though she had learned from Harry how to be a more instinctual fighter.

Prewett was agile and had a couple years over her in experience, but Hermione was holding her own. She had been through a war, after all.

Thinking about how Harry had always used the environment to his advantage, she sent her next spell at Prewett. But instead of aiming at the shield she knew he had cast in anticipation, she flicked upward. Her spell struck the ceiling above her professor. Stone crumbled and fell, slamming right into the shield Prewett had quickly erected above his head. The students nearest to him jumped back as the stones rolled off onto the floor around him.

Twenty pairs of eyes glanced between Prewett and Hermione, whose jaw had gone slack at the sight of the destruction.

"Bloody hell." She couldn't tell if those words had come out of her mouth or another student's mouth.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to—" Hermione stammered as Prewett, taking a look to make sure he could remove his shield, stepped around the wreckage of the fallen ceiling.

"No—don't apologize, Miss Granger." He gave a chuckle. "You did exactly what you were supposed to do. I was pushing you. You just pushed back." He nodded at her. "Good job."

Good job? She had just made the ceiling cave on top of him.

"Pacifist you may be, Miss Granger, but amateur you are not." Prewett grinned at her and turned to the rest of the class. "Did everyone see what she did that last move there? Be aware of your surroundings, use the environment. I want you to build up your instincts this year so you're ready outside the classroom. Now, maybe in the future, we could do with a little less destruction of property, but excellent work today everyone. Keep it up."

He took another glance at the pile of ceiling on the classroom floor.

"Alright, that's enough for today. Make sure to do next weeks' reading before you come to class and I want two rolls of parchment on the Patronus charm."

The moment he finished speaking, Hermione grabbed her book bag and ran out of the classroom before anyone could stop her for a conversation. Her head pounded as she rounded the corner into the nearest girl's bathroom.

Please let it be empty, Hermione thought.

Her sigh of relief as she entered the bathroom turned into a short breath. Then another and another and another until she was sliding to the ground gasping for air, barely breathing through her sobs.

The last time she had used magic like that was at the final battle.

How many people did she see die that day?

How many people was she responsible for killing?

It felt unfair to count herself among the wreckage of Hogwarts when she had survived while others had not, but some days she let herself feel the entire expanse of her pain. She wasn't sure where the boundaries ended. Some days it felt borderless.

Hermione gripped the tile on the floor and tried to slow her breaths. Her head was pulsing and mouth dry, except for the blood left where she had bit down on her tongue.

I need to focus on getting home.

Home. Did she even have a home anymore?

Her parents had barely been speaking to her since she had restored their memories over the summer. They had chosen to remain in Australia, unable to fully trust their only daughter after she had altered their minds without consent. She had hoped to work on mending the rift between them during Christmas break.

Focus.

My parents hate me.

I'll never see them again.

I'll never see any of my friends again.

I'm alone here.

Get off the floor.

The cycle of thoughts continued until she almost passed out from dehydration.

The next morning she woke up to find that during the night she had scratched the scar on her left forearm until it bled.