Disclaimer: J.K. does not have to look for her Angst...I do. Just wait till my romance comes along, it's awful. I need to check into a mental hospital, except I'm broke and there's probably an entrance fee...So don't bother suing.
On with the story. Previously...
Remus stood up, finally making up his mind. He was determined to talk to the enigmatic child, even if he knew nothing of her. But when he looked for the girl, he found that she had disappeared, wraith-like, into the residential, small-town neighborhood.
Chapter One: The Silence of Friends, in which Hermione meets Mr. Lupin, Harry remembers Hermione, and Hermione ponders the reality of friends. Completely out of order.
And so it continued for a few more months. The timid girl came, climbed the dome, and sat there, thinking over her strange and arduous life; always wearing long sleeves, often just to hide some fingerprint bruises on her arms. She felt like the situation at her home just got worse and worse. She didn't know what to do.
As for the man, he watched, oh-so-silently. He had started a small job at a local grocery. And he watched the playground girl. The girl would climb down and slip away. The man, for his part, would simply watch.
But sometime in late spring, Hermione's brown bangs parted and her chin went up—she had been thinking of a situation in which she had figured out what was wrong with her. Her clear, green-hazel eyes filled with a lost look of hopelessness met weary but fascinated eyes of the same color.
In the tense, excited moment, a startled Hermione lost her expert grip on the bars. The man, watching still for some reason, saw her slip.
Her mouth opened in a childish "O" of surprise and excitement. She wasn't afraid. Remus didn't notice—he was too busy biting his nails in his own worry for the girl.
Remus was partially right to be afraid for her. The dome was a tall, old-fashioned affair, taller than anything else at the park was. For the worried thirty-one-year-old, it looked like a drop from the summit of Mount Everest.
The child landed on all fours, a little less than expertly, and scrambled to her feet. He rushed into the center of the dome, almost frantically. "Are you all right, miss?" His eyes were checking the obvious places for a cut—her knees and elbows, and he gripped her slender little hands to check her palms and fingers as well. Was she hurt?
Her hazel eyes bored into his. "I'm fine, thank you, sir," she said in a near-whisper, as she snatched her hands back. She nodded politely and timidly to him, turning to leave.
He put a hand on her thin shoulder—why was she so small? She flinched away from his hand. He pulled it back immediately. She didn't leave.
"Sorry, miss," he apologized. "I don't mean to be rude, but what's your name?" he asked politely. The girl cocked her head oddly, but answered nonetheless.
"Hermione," she said very quietly. Remus had to strain to hear her. He didn't question her omission of her last name.
"Remus. Remus Lupin," he reciprocated, offering a hand without giving a thought to it. Shyly, she reached out, gripped his hand, and dropped it immediately. She bit her lip, worried.
"So, Miss Hermione, I've noticed you come here often," he tried to strike up a conversation. Which is just a polite way of saying I've seen you here every day for about eight months straight. Don't you have anything better to do? Remus thought.
"Yes, sir," she murmured. He shook his head very slightly. She was such a perfect child. Her parents, whomever they were, were blessed. She obviously never raised her gentle, musical voice and she had manners some of his old friends could have used. For a moment, he simply looked into her eyes. The eyes are windows to the soul, he quoted to himself. He could see very little in these eyes. The intensity of understanding, the only thing he saw in their green-hazel depths, spoke of an age much greater than he would assume.
"Call me Remus. Do your parents every come to watch you?" he asked curiously. Her face flushed, faded, and her eyes became guarded. He cursed himself. Stupid question.
"Sometimes," she said vaguely. "Not very often, though." And there he saw it. The quick flash of sorrow that was pushed aside promptly. "Thank you for helping me, sir. Mr. Lupin," she said very politely, and was gone before he could say anything else.
"But I didn't do anything," he said. Then, noticing she was gone, "How does she do that?" he muttered.
PFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTP
That night, Hermione accidentally caused the plastic container her mother had been holding to levitate—there was no other word for it—and Serena hadn't been able to reach it. Stephen pulled his daughter into the hall and asked her, none too politely, what in the name of God she thought she was doing. Her quiet, "Nothing, Daddy," didn't suffice. "Don't mess with your mother's things," he ordered, and slapped the girl across the face. "You know I don't want to have to get my belt out tonight. I haven't had to use it yet this month. I'd watch myself if I were you, Hermione Rose." The frightened girl nodded, telling whatever was inside of her to keep from doing anything that would further infuriate her father. This restriction only made the fiery tickle inside her shatter an heirloom glass bowl in the next room. Stephen forbade her dinner and gave her a look that promised worse later.
As Hermione sat quietly in her top-floor bedroom, troubled, but waiting for her father to show up with his favorite belt, she thought about that day. Mr. Remus Lupin. Who was he? What was he doing at the park? Was he supposed to be spying on her? Did her father not want her to go to the park anymore? No, if that were it, he would tell her. In no uncertain terms, no doubt. Plus, no one her father knew had ever talked to her like that. The only adults she met were the people who came to the Grangers' home for Stephen and Serena's dinner parties. The only children she met were the ones at school, who ignored the quiet girl in the back row. She, for some reason, had started to deliberately botch up her schoolwork—just to fit in. While her near-perfect grades before had pleased her volatile father, they now made him even more upset. But Hermione didn't want to call attention to herself at school. Calling attention to herself was worse than lower grades—the beating would escalate. She didn't have any friends there anyway.
Maybe that was the way things were supposed to work for her in Little Whinging. She didn't belong. No one talked to her, unless it was to tell her she'd done something wrong. Maybe there was someone else enough like her to get along in a big city. Obviously, there wasn't one here. She heard footsteps on the stairs and backed into the corner of her room just as the door opened ominously.
PFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTP
The next day, at exactly three-thirty as always, Hermione celebrated the end of school by climbing the dome still wearing her heavy end-of-school-year backpack. When she reached the top, she noticed that a boy from her class at school who was in her class had matched her for speed and was also at the top of the dome. She couldn't remember his name, but she knew he also tried to keep a low profile at school.
The boy, who had messy black hair and emerald-green eyes behind broken glasses, ducked his head and apologized quietly. Hermione shook her head. "There's nothing wrong," she murmured softly. "The playground is here for everyone who wants to use it. That doesn't just mean me." She berated herself mentally for never thinking that anyone else might make it to the top of this dome during her frequented time. She felt bad for being so selfish.
He didn't respond, and she didn't continue. The two children sat there, surveying the rest of the playground. Neither one said anything, but the silence wasn't awkward. They were more comfortable without words than they would have been with words.
Hermione started when her eyes found Remus Lupin, the man from the day before, sitting on the park bench, reading a newspaper. Did he come here very often? The boy looked at her quizzically. She shook her head.
They sat there for about a quarter of an hour before Mr. Lupin even looked in their direction. Hermione had chosen a smiling, happy family that frequented the park in the early afternoons as that day's focus—for her eyes at least. She saw, out of the corner of her eye, that the boy next to her was also watching the family. She wondered why he was here. And he sat in such careful silence, unlike the other, rowdy boys that came to the park. Was he here for the same reasons she was? She didn't want to ask. She was too afraid of what he might think of her.
Suddenly, a flurry of movement caught the brunette's sharp eye. Mr. Lupin had stood up, apparently without realizing it, as his newspaper had fallen out of his lap and hands and onto the ground. He wasn't watching her this time, but instead staring at Harry. He appeared very shocked and disheveled for someone who had come to the park perfectly groomed. His eyes were enormous, opened to their full extent, a rather alarming effect. He was undoubtedly watching her companion.
The boy himself didn't notice—or simply didn't care—because he was still watching the family as they frolicked happily in the old rusted playground. Hermione thought it'd be best to let the boy from school and Mr. Lupin figure out what was going on for themselves, and quite prudently didn't say anything about the surprised man to the black-haired boy wearing the round broken glasses.
PFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTP
It couldn't be! Harry, living here in Little Whinging, the unassuming little Muggle town it was? And, to think that he himself had been living just a short walk away from this same park. Wouldn't he have seen him? Why hadn't he checked? Was he really that self-absorbed? He saw the Hermione girl from yesterday sitting next to him. Did Hermione know him at all? Who was raising him? Hundreds of thousands of questions ran quickly through his head, flashing through a whirlwind moment, his consciousness landing on one and then another.
He was hurrying toward the fateful dome for the second time in as many days. He couldn't even remember standing up. And where was his paper? He needed to read more about the front-page topic. It had him worried…Did the Hermione girl see him? Did she recognize him? Did Harry recognize him?
The girl in question sat there, placidly but pointedly staring at the ground where a laughing father was chasing a redheaded girl. He remembered the little girl vaguely from other trips to the park. He stepped up next to the dome, staring up at the boy he'd met in the hour after he was born. "Harry?" he tried to call, but all that came out was a croaking whisper, like the word was caught deep in his throat. The boy heard him anyway and looked down at the man, confused but intrigued that this stranger apparently knew his name.
And Remus was thrown into the worlds of memory.
There they were, the eyes—so like Lily's own, identical brilliant emerald green orbs. There were the glasses—just like the ones James had worn. The hair, which looked like it had been transplanted right from his dead father's head. Remus was thrown out of the past with a jolt, however, when Harry said in his boyish voice, "Excuse me, sir…but, er, do I know you?" Young Hermione, sitting on the bars next to him, leaned forward, interested.
"No…no, you probably don't remember me. I was your parents' friend before they were killed," he explained. You probably don't remember that either, but I'm sure you've been told about it. And the interested light went out of Harry's eyes.
Hermione was watching this very closely. The boy—Harry, she remembered now, Harry Porter, or something like that—looked a little uncomfortable. "You mean when they got in that car crash," he interpreted. "Aunt Petunia thinks it was my dad's fault." Mr. Lupin looked shocked.
Hermione felt more than a little bit sorry for Harry. "Your parents died in a car crash?" she asked sympathetically. What a horrible way to go. An accidental collision or some such thing. Then she remembered the polite phrase her parents had taught her to use when she knew that someone else's or some such person had died. "I mean, I'm sorry for your loss," she corrected herself, hoping she didn't sound completely stupid and disconnected. Knowing she probably did anyway was not a comforting thought.
"Oh, er, I, uh, I'm over it," Harry said awkwardly. Hermione noticed he seemed to be trying to put what he was trying to say politely. "They…er…they died when I was one, so I don't remember much about them. I didn't get to see very much of them." Hermione nodded, understanding the boy's thoughtful expression now. He looked back at Mr. Lupin. "I'm sorry for interrupting, sir. Did you want to say anything more?" Hermione cocked her head, fascinated by the turn this simple conversation was taking.
Lupin seemed to be trying to collect himself. Hermione almost laughed, before remembering that it was completely rude. She held in her smiles, not wanting to infuriate the man who had been, strangely enough, the object of her thoughts that day at the park, rather than her customary dread of the commencement of the summer holiday.
"Oh, right. Harry, would you like to come down so we can talk on an equal footing? Um, Hermione, if that is you, it would be nice if you came down as well." In unison, Harry and Hermione dropped to the ground. Lupin stepped back, surprised.
"Lily wouldn't have liked that," he remarked. Harry looked at her oddly, and Lupin shook his head in disbelief. "You know your mother's name was Lily, don't you?" Harry looked a little worried, but then nodded.
Hermione was captivated by the tale that had come out of this man and the boy beside her. He—the boy—had a mother named Lily (which was, coincidentally, one of her favorite names) and was meeting a perfectly strange—but kind—man as one of his parents' friends? Hermione would have been ecstatic, for her part. She watched the raven-haired boy.
PFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTP
Remus had never expected to find Harry in a playground he had—strangely enough—been visiting for months. He had never suspected that Albus Dumbledore would put Harry in this town. He had been simply sitting on the dome with the same practiced ease as Hermione, so he suspected the boy was a frequent visitor to the park.
He led the children over by a clump of trees. Harry was watching him intently, his green eyes fixed on the man's own. Hermione kept her eyes fixed on the ground under her feet. Remus was confused. Why was everything so complicated nowadays?
He took a seat on a low branch of the evergreen in the clump. Hermione, who seemed to be the shyer of the two, hung back as Harry sat himself comfortably on the ground. "Have a seat, Hermione," Remus invited, reaching his hand out to help her onto the branch, possibly a little faster than he had originally intended. He didn't stop to think about the reactions she'd had to touch before.
Just before his hand made contact with her arm—she was looking more and more panicked by the second—a sudden wall of shimmering silver fire appeared in front of her. Before he could pull back his hand, the fire stung him.
Hermione yanked down the shield-like projection immediately, her face a startled mask. "I'm sorry, sir, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—really, I shouldn't have—I'm so sorry, sir, did I hurt you?" she was babbling, frightened for some reason. Remus's green-hazel eyes were wide, the sting in his fingers not bothering him anymore.
Remus had never seen such a feat of unintentional underage magic, especially from someone her age. The girl was obviously a Muggleborn witch, as a wizarding child would have been overjoyed—so overjoyed that they would be screaming through the roof that they'd done it and would be the best student at Hogwarts.
"Dad's going to be furious when he hears about this," she was murmuring. Remus was thoroughly baffled. Wouldn't her parents be overjoyed as well—but no, not if they were Muggles, they wouldn't.
"I'm sorry, Hermione, I didn't mean to startle you," he said courteously. The girl looked at him, her eyebrows coming together in a child's look of confusion. "But your being able to do that makes this conversation much easier—on all three of us." Hermione was sill watching him in confusion. He cleared his throat, hoped Dumbledore never found out that he'd done this, and said quietly, "You're magical, both of you. You have and can do magic."
Hermione gaped, but pulled her jaw up quickly. Harry's eyes were enormous, and he looked like he was ready to yell in his excitement and surprise.
"But, Mr. Lupin—I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude—" Hermione said. Remus smiled inwardly. Trust me, Hermione, you couldn't be rude if you did mean to. "But—how is that—possible?"
"Call me Remus. You both saw what Hermione just did," Remus said. Hermione hung her head. I hope there's never a situation where that's necessary to keep you safe, especially at home, he thought, knowing there probably was for her to shrink so quickly from positive human touch. He resolved to ask her about it, some time when she was a little less tense. "That's called an Automatic Defense Mechanism by technical wizards, and a magical shield by those of us who aren't quite so technical."
"So they use this often?" Hermione asked tentatively, almost frightened. "Not meaning to interrupt, sir. Mr. Lupin."
"You weren't interrupting—call me Remus. And yes, they do. I understand that your parents are not magical? They don't do magic?" Hermione shook her head. "Ah. You are a magical child of what we wizards call Muggles, or people who can't do magic. You would be referred to as a Muggleborn. It's just a label that means your parents don't have enough magical potential in their bodies to use it on a daily basis as wizards and witches and other magical creatures do." He turned to face Harry alone as he sat on the ground. Hermione, he noticed with a half-smile, was still standing. "Harry, your mum and dad were magical. Lily's parents were Muggles, but James came from an ancient wizarding family." He smiled wryly at this. "My mother was a half-blood—one of her parents was a Muggle—and my father was a wizard. I'm what they would call a part-blood—those of them that care. The people who care aren't worth talking to. Because all that doesn't infringe on your ability to do magic—that is—"
"It doesn't make it any more difficult to perform," Hermione murmured, shyly, then shut her mouth. "Sorry for interrupting again, sir. Mr. Lupin," she said, dipping her head in apology.
"No problem, Miss Hermione, I couldn't have said it better myself," Remus said with a quiet smile. "Call me Remus." These children were so tentative. Harry didn't say anything, and Hermione constantly corrected herself when she did. He went on, patiently explaining the real circumstances of James and Lily's deaths—at which point Harry found his voice again, which didn't surprise Remus really, because that was the part of the story that really mattered to him.
"But Aunt Petunia told me they died in a car crash?" he asked. "How could this—Voldemort fellow—cause a car crash?" Hermione also looked puzzled over the question.
"Unless he worked with their brains or something, it'd be impossible," she agreed. "Sorry, Harry. I didn't mean to interrupt," she apologized bashfully.
"'S all right—uh, Hermione, right? Hermione Granger?" he asked. Hermione nodded. Remus grasped the information and locked it tight in his head. He wanted to use that last name at some point.
"Your Aunt has been lying to you, Harry," Remus said evenly. "James and Lily were murdered when you were just fifteen months old—Halloween seven years ago. A few days later, your Aunt Meghan on your father's side was killed by one of his followers. He would have killed her in person, but, Harry, you defeated him. No one knows how, but as a little one-year-old baby, you defeated the Darkest wizard of the times."
"I haven't defeated anyone," Harry protested. "I haven't even defeated Dudley. You must have the wrong person, Mr. Lupin. I can't have defeated this Voldemort man, or whatever he is."
"Not meaning to contradict, of course, Harry, but you see, the entire wizarding world knows this to be fact. You're a wizarding would hero." Remus smiled. "And call me Remus."
Harry needed a bit of convincing before he was ready to believe Remus.
PFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTP
Hermione sat silently, no longer interrupting, transfixed by Lupin's tale—true story, she had to remind herself. A whole world of people who were just like her? With—dare she say it?—magic? She wanted to believe it, but just couldn't. Were their parents all like hers—constantly disapproving? Did they think their children shouldn't be doing the magic? Were they actually happy and pleasant about their children doing this—magic?
They must be, if they could do it as well, she thought. They couldn't dislike their children for doing something they themselves did, could they? Why didn't her own parents understand?
Oh, right. They were what Lupin had called Muggles—non-magic folk. No wonder they didn't understand what was going on with her. But she wasn't going to try to explain everything to them. That would be what her father called cheek, and cheek was not to be tolerated. She didn't want a repeat performance of last night. Her body ached all over—especially her back. She left the park still thinking everything over.
PFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTPPFTP
A/N: Hermione's always thinking...I think this story makes me depressed...
Luv, LysPotter