Disclaimer: "Harry Potter" and every one of its characters belong to JK Rowling! I own only this plot, and all the characters you don't recognize.

Summary: In the future, Voldemort is no longer the terrible threat that begins to loom over the horizon. How can the survivors of the war believe the truth they have been told - a truth that condemns someone they loved and honored? A story of love, faith, loyalty and the legacy somebody left behind ...

Note: Set in the future. The trio are all 21 years old, and I think some of this story might be A/U.

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Stained Legacy

Chapter Two: Facing the Past

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Far away, set deep into the hills of Ireland was an attractive little cottage. It was fairly isolated, so that few people saw the magical sparks that occasionally erupted from it, but the house was close enough to the village for the little boy who lived there, and who was currently playing with other local children, to go home when it was sundown.

As the sun began to set, Sean turned around and said, "Okay, I gotta go home now."

"Aww, Sean, can't you stay a little while?"

"My mommy needs me."

"Your mommy - ?"

The scornful remark was cut off abruptly by the angry glare in Sean's warm black eyes. With a warning look that anyone who said anything less than nice about his mother would be missing vital bits of anatomy, he headed down the hillside towards his house. As he neared, he heard the sound of humming from the kitchen, and he smiled. It was rare to hear Mommy humming, especially humming a song as upbeat and happy as this particular Weird Sisters one.

Sean was only three years old, but he had a perceptive intelligence that was impressive. He knew how sad his Mommy really was sometimes; he'd even seen her crying quietly in her sleep on those nights when he'd had nightmares and gone to her room to sleep. She always hugged him and told him playfully that her nightmares were a hell of a lot worse and not to worry - he would always wake up. Although the little boy certainly thought his young, beautiful mother could be a stubborn know-it-all, the undeniable fact that he adored her more than anyone else remained. He often wanted to know about his father, but his mommy had never mentioned anyone, and Sean had never asked.

Now, he wandered into the kitchen. "Hi, Mommy!" He chirped brightly.

"Oh, my!" Hermione Granger whirled about from the counter and, smiling, pretended to look around the room in exaggerated confusion. "Did I just hear a voice? Am I imagining things or did I just hear the squeaky little voice of my three-year-old Sean?"

The three-year-old Sean in question gurgled with laughter and launched himself at his mother's midriff, nearly knocking her over. She picked him up, swung him around and kissed him lovingly on the top of his silky head. "Hello, sweetie. Did you have a nice day today?"

"Ah, it was okay," Sean shrugged with an air of being too mature for the childish games he loved. He clambered onto a chair beside the counter so that he look at what his mother was making. "What's that squashy black thing?" He demanded, wrinkling his nose up in mild disgust. "It tooks like cr - "

"Yes, well," Hermione said hastily, disapproval warring with amusement, before he could come up with language unsuitable to his age, "It's called bouillabaise, you little punk, and it's a delicious dessert. I thought you could choose dinner tonight - maybe pizza." Her eyes sparkled with humor at Sean's enthusiasm. "Besides, I'm not surprised you think this 'squashy black thing' is yuk; Ron used to say so as well ..."

Her voice trailed off, and Sean looked up at her. He'd heard all about the famous Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Grandpa Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, Remus Lupin, Sirius Black and all the others who had fought with Mommy in the war against Evil. He'd seen those funny moving pictures also of happy, laughing people who would wave at him energetically and he would wave back. He'd always wanted to ask Mommy why none of them ever came to visit ... but he never did. Mommy had told him he had met his uncles Harry, Ron, Albus and Remus when he was a baby, though.

Maybe they didn't like him, he considered seriously.

While Sean innocently pondered the mystery of his mother's best friends, Hermione studied her son as he scrambled around the room aimlessly. She loved him so much, more than she'd ever thought possible - as much as she loved her friends (in a different way, of course), and even as much as she loved a certain man ...

He would be a handsome guy when he grew up, she knew, watching him affectionately. He was strong, reckless and wiry for a three-year-old, with 'cute' features, a grin that was quite a killer even so young and floppy black hair that was silky and soft. Other than his occasional recklessness, he was surprisingly intelligent and fairly skilled with sudden spurts of magic already. Hermione knew she would do anything for him, and she would die protecting him if that was how it had to be.

Because she'd read a prophecy Dumbledore had, with that sympathetic smile of his, shown her long ago - a prophecy that had made her weep bitterly. It had told her that her son, the child of a powerful Muggle-born and a brave pureblood (both of whom would be fighters against Evil), held the final hope against a future battle with an even greater evil.

Sean was the key.


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Night had fallen when Hermione heard a distant Crack! outside her house. She froze, her heart nearly stopping, and hurried into the living room, where Sean was fast asleep on the couch, curled up like a little cat. She ran a hand over his hair reassuringly, fear clutching at her heart, and she went to the cabinet. Inside lay her wand, and she gripped it hard as she edged towards the door.

Someone knocked softly. Knocked three times.

Hermione stopped, and stared at the door. Who would knock three times like that? She went to the door, and looked through the peephole. If it was a stray Death Eater or a minion of new evil, they wouldn't bother to knock, she figured. They'd blast their way through and utter "Avada Kedavra" without a second thought. So Hermione, with some relief, lowered her wand a little. Through the little circle, she saw a hooded figure, tall and thin and strong. It was a frame she found vaguely familiar, but it was disguised by the cloak and coat.

Puzzled, and ready to duel if she needed to, she opened the door and looked out onto the doorstep.

There was silence.

A silence that was laced with emotion.

"Hi, Hermione." A voice finally greeted her.

She clutched the doorframe to steady herself, incredulous. Relief, amazement, delight, concern all washed through her in a complete jumble of chaos, but she registered delight the most. As her mysterious visitor lowered his hood, her heart leapt.

"How - how did you find me?"

"Give us some credit, 'Mione," That familiar laugh came out from the visitor's throat. "We care more than you'd guess, which is why we've always kept an eye on you from a distance. We gave you the distance you needed, but we always knew where you were."

She found herself smiling. Of course they cared ... how could she have ever believed otherwise?

"Come on in, Harry."

He did, and she closed the door behind him, watching him as he took off the hooded cloak. He hadn't changed a bit, she realized happily, except for maturing a little and gaining a couple of faint scars, courtesy of Auror-ing, she guessed shrewdly. His frame was still wiry and thin, the glasses were still cracked in the center, magically held together, the green eyes still twinkled with their old humor, seriousness and affection and the black hair was still as untidy and unruly as ever.

"It's really you, Harry!" She burst into tears and flung her arms around his neck. With a laugh, Harry hugged her back, the sadness in his heart easing at finally seeing Hermione again. He'd missed her, and he told her so. As she finally pulled away, he caught sight of the little boy on the couch.

Hermione watched as Harry grinned. "Merlin's beard - is that Sean?"

"Of course it is," she smiled.

"Wow, I'd never have recognized him! Babies change so much!" Harry sobered a little. "He has your stubbornness and intelligence in his features, but he looks so much like his dad."

Hermione swallowed, feeling hot tears pricking her eyelids and wanting them to go away, wanting the pain to go away. "He is." She said, her voice shaking slightly with emotion. "He may be the key, but he's a typical little boy in other ways. He's become quite a mischievous, amusing child ... full of banter, laughter and spunk. I'm proud of that."

"You should be," Harry smiled back at her. He reached out and squeezed her hand in the brotherly way he'd grown accustomed to doing. "He's grown up good, you know. You've done a great job on your own, 'Mione, Ron and Remus, Dumbledore and McGonagall - they'd all be as proud of you as I am."

She felt herself blush slightly, grateful for that. Soon, she'd brought out Butterbeer bottles she'd kept locked away for a long time, and they began to catch up with everything. Harry told her Ron and Remus had wanted to come along, but they'd suddenly been called away on a small Auror job. They talked about all that they had done over the past three years, teasing each other and laughing about old times - times before even third year at Hogwarts. Hermione was happy to see that Harry no longer needed anger management classes, and Harry was ecstatic that Hermione no longer needed anti-depressants, although the secret sadness was still there.

Finally, Hermione remembered the concern she'd felt briefly when she'd seen Harry. He hadn't shown it, but she knew him far too well ... and her own perception and sixth sense was sharper than most. There was a reason Harry had come here tonight - something was wrong, and Hermione felt a twinge of foreboding as she turned serious brown eyes to her best friend and asked, "Let's hear it, Harry."

"You never did mince words, 'Mione. But I sure as hell should have known you wouldn't be fooled," He chuckled softly. After a pause, during which Hermione felt him squeeze her hand again. "Uh - well - you haven't been getting the Daily Prophet, have you?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, why?"

"Well, Dumbledore found an eyewitness to the murder of Aberforth."

There was a gasp. Hermione hoped Dumbledore could finally have some peace now, after the death of his brother. Eagerly, she asked, "And what could the witness tell the Wizenmagot?"

Harry sighed, and recounted the events of the court proceedings, stopping before he reached the climactic bit. Hermione sensed his hesitation, and all the worry came flooding back. Why was Harry suddenly so edgy and upset? What had this Scarlett Fetcherly (where had she heard the name before, by the way?) said to them?

"Who was it, Harry?"

"She - she said it was Sirius."

Hermione's blood ran cold, and she stared - brown eyes meeting green - for a long moment. Then, her voice catching in disbelief, she asked softly, "Sirius Black?"

"Who else?"

"But - but that's impossible! There's no way he could have committed the crime! Harry, she must be - "

"She only told us what she saw, 'Mione, you know we can't deny the truth of an eyewitness. I don't want to believe it any more than you do - hell, he was my godfather and your - " He broke off, shaking his head. "We all know you two were close at one point, but you have to keep an open mind here about Sirius."

"No!" Hermione snapped, standing up. She knew Harry didn't mean a word of what he was saying - that he and Remus and Dumbledore would not believe this any more than she did - but she was shaken nonetheless. "I won't keep a damned open mind here, Harry. Sirius was not a murderer! How can they even think about destroying the memory of a man who died a hero?" Her voice caught again, and she was threatened by the grief she'd hidden for so long, but she suppressed it again.

"They're not going to destroy his memory," Harry said quietly, "All they want is the Sphere of Pagnon. Dumbledore, Remus, Ron and I have all been questioned about it, but none of us had any information that Sirius may have given us about this Sphere. The Ministry is now more convinced than ever - than ever - that - that - "

She stopped moving and stared at Harry. "What?" She asked softly.

"That you know where the Sphere is. That Sirius may have left it in the safekeeping of his old lover before he fought the final battle."

"WHAT?!" Hermione spat angrily.

Harry looked at her helplessly. "We all tried to convince them that you wouldn't know anything, that if you did, you would have been smart enough to figure out the real use of the Sphere of Pagnon and that you would have restored it at once to the Ministry, whether Sirius was alive or dead - but now one of the Ministry witches is implying that you might have been an accomplice - that - that your disappearance off the scene of the magical world was rather suspicious ..."

"I don't believe this," Hermione murmured, rubbing her head which was beginning to throb. "I do not believe this. How can they even consider Sirius as a suspect in this crap, and how can they believe I would keep something as powerful as this damned Sphere obviously is from them? Don't they know what a goody-two-shoes I am?"

Her companion shrugged wearily. "We tried everything."

"So what now?"

"I have to take you back to London, for an official questioning at the Ministry."

"Jesus Christ! Christ and Merlin! After everything - "

"I know," Harry said gently, standing up and gripping her by the shoulders. "But if you answer their questions honestly and prove to them that you don't know anything, and that you don't believe Sirius was guilty, they'll let you come back here and leave you alone for good. But you have to go down there and talk to them!"

Hermione sighed heavily. "I don't have much of a choice, do I?"

"If it's okay with you, I can spend the night here and we can go in the morning." Harry offered. "You and Sean can stay at Ron and my apartment in London, and Remus can always babysit when you have to go out. He visits often these days because of all this coming up."

At that moment, Sean stirred on the couch, obviously having heard voices and he sat up sleepily rubbing his eyes. Suddenly, he stopped and blinked dazedly at Harry, his vision clearing. Hermione paced a little, trying to push the accusation against Sirius, and the pain of losing him away. Harry grinned at Sean, whose face slowly broke into a smile and he gave Harry a quizzical, happy look.

"Uncle Harry?"

Harry laughed. "That's me, Sean."

"I'm glad you came here." Sean said seriously, smiling. "Is Uncle Ron with you?"

"No, but you'll see him soon. Him and Uncle Remus and Grandpa Albus and Aunt Minerva and all your other uncles and aunts." Harry shook his head, and Hermione felt a small smile twitch her lips at his obvious marvel at the huge 'family' Sean had. "So, you think you might like to go to London tomorrow? I have a Portkey."

"Cool!"

Hermione sank onto the couch wearily, resisting the sobs that wracked her heart inside. It looked like Sean was looking forward to seeing everyone and seeing London. Which meant that she definitely didn't have a choice. She was finally being forced to face the past.


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That night, Hermione dreamed ...


She was standing in the middle of a battlefield. Lucius Malfoy had his wand pointed at Ron. Hermione began to run towards, Ron, calling out a desperated warning, when she tripped over a crumpled body on the ground and fell headalong into the shadows of the woods. As she crawled to her knees, she saw the face of the body lying before her.

It was Neville.

"No!" Hermione whispered in horror, pulling the body into the shadows so that they wouldn't be seen and shaking Neville hard. "Neville, wake up! Come on, Neville, you're not dead! Wake up and tell me you're not dead, damn it!"

"He's dead, child." A cold voice sneered.

Hermione's blood froze in her veins as she looked up and saw the silhouette of Lord Voldemort standing just outside the trees, his coal-red eyes burning into hers with fierce, icy intensity. A terrible shiver wracked her body, but she kept her chin up and defiant as she looked at him.

"Hermione Granger ..." Voldemort mused, white, thin lips curling. "How very fortunate, that I should find it so easy to kill a witch like yourself. They said you were powerful, Harry Potter's right-hand fighter, one of his many bodyguards ... he isn't here now to protect you."

The wand raised and the thin lips curved to form the deadly words.

"Hermione!" A voice yelled.

She turned in horror, in time to see Sirius hurtling through the trees. He threw himself into the path of the jet of orange light and Voldemort uttered a shriek of rage before sweeping away. A smile of triumph broke out across Sirius's face ... he had saved her ... but slowly, the laughter died away as the reality of the situation struck him. Hermione knelt, transfixed in horror, staring at Sirius's stumbling body as it shook and he began to stumble, deeper and deeper into the shadows, eyes fixed on hers till he disappeared into the darkness ...

"SIRIUS!" She screamed, something horrible breaking inside her, cracking, bleeding ... "SIRIUS, NO!!!"

Burning, salty tears splattered onto Neville's stone cold body ...

Hermione opened her eyes urgently, and sat up. Her body was shaking and clammy, her heart beating dangerously fast and wrenchingly, and those tears ... those bitter, broken, stricken tears ... kept streaking down her face.

He's gone ... he's gone ... why not take me? ... He's dead ... he's gone ... take me, God, take me, please ... save me from this ... TAKE ME!

Her pleas went unanswered and the pain tore on.

She turned her soaked pillow over, and buried herself deep beneath the blankets that offered false, futile warmth. Praying that Harry and Sean would not hear her, she wept brokenly until finally, when the first ray of dawn cracked open the navy velvet sky, she fell into a restless asleep again.

Oh God, why not take me?


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A/N: Second chapter up! Hope you guys are enjoying the story ... please let me know if you like the way it's going and whether I should continue with this. Feedback is much appreciated! -->