Author's Note:

Where we're at: Hermione had a narrow escape from a fiery death in the RoR during the final battle, with a broken time-turner throwing her into the past. She was found by James and Sirius and taken to the hospital wing, where Lily met them and the three students talked to Dumbledore during which time they found out about Hermione's time travel. The Marauders & Lily went through Hermione's bag which she ultimately lost her shit over once she had spilled all of her secrets in a desperate attempt to change the future. Hermione's also curious about Peter - and not just in a what-the-fuck? kind of way. She's just shared the last of her information with the gang via pensieve and Dumbledore is sad. Still with me? Great, let's go!

Ps: This chapter was tough to write - it's a little emotional, but also a bridging chapter until we get to the juicy stuff. I'll remind you, this story is for mature audiences!

Pps: Let me know what you think!

Saturday, 1st October 1977

The infirmary was quiet as the teenagers sat, processing everything they had learned from Hermione over the last week. Sirius lasted less than ten minutes after Dumbledore left before he snatched his wand back and stormed from the room, James following him with an apologetic look towards Hermione.

"It's okay," she said quietly, as he followed his friend from the room. "You guys can go too, you know. It's a lot to process," she continued, giving the others an out.

"H..." Remus started, "I don't - I mean, I - I want to stay with you, talk things out - but I think Prongs and Padfoot need a level head with them. To make sure they don't get into strife, y'know?"

"I understand, Remus," she replied, with a small understanding smile. "It's really fine. Go on."

He scrambled to his feet, jerking his head at Peter as he turned to leave.

"I'll go with him, make sure everything's okay," mumbled Peter, squeezing Hermione's shoulder as he rose from beside her and hurried out, his red-rimmed eyes avoiding hers.

"And then there were two," said Lily, forcing a smile as she moved over to sit next to Hermione.

"You don't have to stay, Lily. I'll be okay."

"I'm not leaving."

"But -"

"No."

"But -"

"Hermione," said Lily firmly, "I'm not leaving. I don't want to be alone right now, and I doubt you really want to be alone either." She looked directly into Hermione's eyes. "I really -" she choked, blinking furiously as fresh tears started to burn her eyes, "I really want to stay, if that's okay with you."

Hermione just sighed and nodded, tears filling her eyes as she tried in vain to hold them back.

"Hermione... It's okay," Lily whispered, her tears overflowing as she reached for Hermione's hand, gripping it tightly. "You're safe," she breathed, "You're alive and you're safe. You can let go now."

Hermione wrenched her hand away from Lily's and threw herself into the redhead's arms, wrapping her in a fierce hug as guttural sobs burst forth. She'd been numb ever since Malfoy Manor, not allowing herself to dwell on what had happened in fear that she wouldn't come back from it. She hadn't been able to process it yet, or even cry over the fact that she had been viciously tortured at the hands of a sadistic serial killer. She hadn't let herself feel relief that she'd escaped with her mind intact, too focused on not falling apart while continuing the hunt for Horcruxes.

Lily represented everything she missed most in that moment, with the fiery red hair of her best girlfriend and the eyes of the very best friend she'd ever had - the boy who she had been willing to die for - who she was still willing to die for.

As the two girls sat together, while Hermione cried out all of her hurt and fear and months of pent up emotions, their friendship was cemented. This girl - this small but powerful muggle-born witch would have died for her friends. For Harry Potter - her son (however weird that was to think about). Any woman with that kind of loyalty was a friend worth having, future children aside. So Lily said nothing, just rubbed Hermione's back gently as she cried softly in sympathy for the broken witch and the horrors she had faced.

By the time night fell, the two witches were huddled closely on the transfigured couch, fast asleep, with dried tear tracks on their cheeks.

It was the middle of the night when Hermione woke, eyes sore and swollen from her earlier breakdown. She was so tired. It took a moment for her to realise she wasn't on the lounge anymore and that Lily was gone. She blinked through the sand-like feeling in her eyes and squinted into the darkness of the infirmary, waiting for her eyes to adjust.

Awareness came slowly, and she was shocked at her lack of instincts as she realised she wasn't alone. She was back in her temporary bed, and Peter was slumped beside her with his head pressed into his hands, elbows resting on the edge of the bed. Before Hermione could signal that she was awake, she heard a quiet sniffle and strained her ears to hear that he was actually talking, and it was obviously what had woken her in the first place.

" - would I? Those boys are the closest thing I have to siblings, to family. And Lily, Merlin she drives me insane because she's just so smart. Not that that's a bad thing," he mumbled, in the midst of a quiet monologue, thinking out loud, "but it makes things difficult sometimes, especially when you're trying to skive off." He paused, chuckling quietly to himself before he sobered. "I just don't understand why I would have done it. I've been approached by some of the darker snakes - but so have James and Sirius - what makes me so different? We just tell them to fuck off and plan out the next prank to pull on them... I just can't imagine ever turning on my best mates like that, let alone all those muggles! And Sirius... Merlin, twelve years in Azkaban would be more than enough to send someone insane... I just - I just can't..."

It was silent for a few minutes while Hermione stewed mentally, not sure on whether or not she should "wake up" or remain as she was, pretending to sleep while Peter got it all off his chest. In the end she didn't need to decide, as Peter rubbed his face roughly and stood quietly, not looking at her as he turned away.

"I swear, H," he whispered into the darkness, wand clutched in his hand as he raised it with purpose, "I swear on my life, I will never be the reason my friends die."

A flash of magic sealed his oath and a few seconds later a small brownish-blonde rat was scuttling out of the hospital wing, leaving Hermione wide eyed and wide awake, staring after him.

Sunday, 2nd October 1977

The next morning dawned early for Hermione, who hadn't slept well after Peter had left. She had tossed and turned, thinking about how the future had already changed so much. She couldn't imagine James and Lily using any of their friends as their Secret Keeper now - if it even came to that - and she definitely couldn't imagine Peter betraying them. In the short time she had known him, she'd seen a totally different man than the one she had first met in the Shrieking Shack in third year. It was strange to her, how the Peter from her past and the Peter she knew now were so vastly different. It didn't hurt that she thought he was insanely attractive.

She slipped out of the bed and crouched down, tugging the nearest box out from under the bed and searching through it for something decent to wear. She'd been able to convince the Mediwitch days ago that she needn't remain in a hospital gown any longer, but the clothing she had provided from the lost-and-found had been horrendous. Hermione hated 70's fashion. Well, she hated all fashion, to be honest, but the 70's really were terrible for clothing. Pulling out Harry's old quidditch shirt, she held it tightly to her face, breathing in his fading scent. She missed him.

To anyone else, it might've seemed like she fancied Harry. She didn't - not anymore. That had come and gone before she turned 13, regardless of anything else that had happened. Harry was simply her soulmate. She believed in soulmates, but not in the traditional sense, in that your soulmate was your one true love. She believed that in life, each person had their person. The one who just got you. The one you'd do anything for, go anywhere with, die for, kill for. Someone you didn't need words to communicate with, because you knew each other so well that you may as well have been one person. Harry was her person. You didn't go through what they did, and not change.

When Ron had left, Hermione had been heartbroken. She had thought she'd fancied him - that he'd fancied her - but then he'd up and left and she was stunned and hurt and completely mind-boggled that he would do that to them. That he'd just leave them in the middle of a war, when their lives were on the line, all because he felt left out. In reality, Hermione knew that it had been the Horcrux at work, that he'd never have said what he'd said if he hadn't been exposed to it for so long. But there had been a voice in the back of her mind, a swotty know-it-all voice that reminded her, 'You've all been wearing it, and nobody else has thrown such a temper tantrum', and her rose coloured glasses had lifted, to be replaced with bitter resentment.

It was during those cold months when Harry and Hermione had been travelling alone, that their friendship had changed. Gone was any teenage awkwardness - Ginny wasn't there, Ron wasn't there - it was just the two of them, cold and alone in a world that wanted them dead. They learned to lean on each other, often waking from nightmares to find the other curled up next to them. They spent lazy days researching in the tent, lounging in their pyjamas, legs tangled together with a need to not feel alone. Hermione would cut Harry's hair, and he learned to braid hers when she was too tired to bother. Harry would give Hermione the extra food, despite being starving himself, because he wanted to be able to give her something in return for all she had sacrificed for him. And they'd lean on each other, emotionally and physically, wanting to forget the war even for a little while.

The first time they had slept together, they'd both been virgins. It had been a few days after Ron left, and Hermione had blown up, shouting and crying at how stupid and unfair it all was. Harry, feeling guilty - as always - had tried to apologise to her, had tried to let her off the hook, only to end up on the receiving end of her wrath. She had scolded him royally for ever insulting her intelligence like that ('If I want to help you Harry Potter, I will bloody well help you! How dare you try to tell me n-') and he'd interrupted her with a quick hard kiss. They'd stared at each other for a split second, both panting heavily with adrenaline, before they had crashed together again, letting their anger and hurt and fear pour out of them in a tangle of hands and hair and clothes. It had been passionate and awkward, and everything Hermione had imagined her first time to be. They had cuddled afterwards, waking up in the night to explore each other again.

They had stayed in bed for three days straight, reading and planning, and when the need arose they'd fall back together in a tangle of limbs, desperate to forget that they were in the middle of a war. They both understood that while they loved each other dearly, they weren't in love, and that was okay. During those days, Harry and Hermione shared their lives with one another. They told stories from their childhood - before Hogwarts - and confided their deepest secrets and fears. They'd truly become closer with each other than any other person - dead or alive. And then the plan to head to Godric's Hollow had broken the bubble, and they had shared a tender kiss before Harry took her hand and disapparated, not knowing then that they were walking straight into a trap.

Hermione sighed, bringing herself back to the present as she sadly tucked the jersey back in the box. It wouldn't be smart to be seen wearing a Gryffindor quidditch shirt in a design that hadn't been, well, designed yet.

Instead, she pulled out a worn pair of jeans and a faded grey sweatshirt, tying her hair up in a messy bun as she turned toward the mirror she had transfigured from the dead flowers on the nightstand. Turning left to right, she looked sadly at herself. Her once lean and strong body looked frail, as though she'd blow over in a mild wind. Her cheekbones stuck out in a way that made her eyes look even more sunken in than they were, and her limbs looked gangly and awkward in their skeletal condition. Even her hair was limp and lifeless. Madam Pomfrey had been feeding her vitamin potions since she had arrived, but unfortunately even magic couldn't immediately fix months of starvation and hours of torture. Her body and her magic had been fighting so hard to keep her alive and sane throughout her recent torture and the events that followed, that her general health had declined dramatically. It would take weeks to return to a healthy weight.

Sighing heavily - she really was doing a lot of that lately - she pulled on the clothes and then yanked one of Ron's old belts from another box, punching an extra hole in it to make it fit her tiny waist. Once she was finished dressing, Hermione got started packing her belongings back into her trusty beaded bag. She'd been embarrassingly relieved when the new extension charm had stuck firmly to the bag - she was very attached to it, and couldn't bear to throw it away. Even when she stopped using it one day, she imagined she'd keep it forever.

She sorted methodically through the items that had been stored inside for the last 9 months or so, stopping every now and then to reminisce. In the end, she decided to keep it all. Despite not being on the run anymore, she couldn't bring herself to leave anything behind, just in case. So she packed it all back up, making sure nothing had been forgotten, and set off slowly towards Madam Pomfrey's office where she would floo to the Headmaster's office.

They were finally going to discuss The Plan.