Well, here is what happened with Harry.
…
Somehow this wasn't right.
Harry knew it.
The time turner still hung innocently from his fingers, but his eyes were staring at a much…younger…looking house on a less developed street than he'd expected. In a panic, he raced down the street and desperately searched through discarded papers for the date.
When he finally did find one, he had attracted enough glances and looks to send his paranoid mind into a tailspin. Jittery, huddled into the corner of an alley, he stared blankly at the date even as he jumped and twitched at everyone who passed the mouth of his hidey hole.
It was February of 1989; entirely before Hogwarts and Ron and Hermione.
Would Kingsley even be an Auror right now? Would the passcode between them mean anything?
A choking, disbelieving and slightly hysterical laugh bubbled up in his throat. It became sobs as he crumpled in that alley—cursing magic and fate and time and Ronald Weasley.
He didn't know what to do.
For three days he lived on the streets—the Dursleys and the year on The Hunt had taught him some skills in that at least. But it wasn't good. He saw shadows of death eaters when he slept and woke to shadows and other homeless. The quality people of the streets in London carefully walked around him.
And in every face he saw an enemy. His wrist ached from how he held his hand—poised to snatch his wand from the forearm holster. He lived spiralling between thoughts and ideas with nothing to spur him into a course of action. Where did he begin? Who was alive? Who would be the best to approach? Was it safe now? The undercurrents of the war had been constant since the fall of Voldemort that Halloween of 1981—how much had he missed in his youthful ignorance?
Because now battle had hardened Harry James Potter.
He was too paranoid to approach anyone in the wizarding world, didn't know who was safe or even where they were if he did. Well…he did know one man who was as loyal as any dog and Harry knew exactly where he was.
The thought took root.
So Harry spent the morning quietly ruminating over the possibility. He didn't have many resources right now, but he had his wand and his mind and his knowledge. Perhaps he could help the infamous Sirius Orion Black escape and they could both hide in the muggle world until it was time? Perhaps they could both kidnap his younger self?
His green eyes turned up to the light end of the alley, where it opened onto a scenic avenue and its venues, and his attention arrested.
That woman…well she was normal enough looking. Hassled and tugging along a reluctant child. But it was the child—that hair and that face and that attitude—that stunned him.
And then she briefly caught his eyes where he sat in the alley and Harry felt the air rush from his lungs. Her eyes narrowed and she tucked into her mother's leg, peeking at him as she stopped.
The mother, attention caught by this, looked up and met his eyes.
Harry stiffened.
Her lips pursed, and she turned her attention to moving the little Hermione along. The young girl that was so achingly familiar eventually complied, giving one glance back over her shoulder before she was out of sight.
Harry choked on a hard swallow and let his head fall back against the brick wall he used to brace himself up.
..
The next day Harry rested on some scavenged cardboard to keep him from the cold ground. He contemplated plans and ideas and cast them all aside. Sirius or Hermione. Neither knew him, neither were the one he knew. He was immobile with indecision and the idea that—even if he successfully became part of their lives couldn't he be rejected? He was not the Harry that was the godson or the best friend.
He was an older different Harry.
And he had no place here.
Harry broke—he had not slept or eaten anything worthwhile in days. He couldn't think of anything to do—and he was a man of action. He needed something to do, some thing to fix. He needed Hermione.
Sobs erupted from his parched throat—the sobs of a broken man. They interchanged with gasping breaths and dry heaves and fingernails biting into his own skin. He gave an anguished cry as he hit his head and then his feral glowing eyes glared at his forearm with the wand.
All the magic out there, the magic of the perfect wizarding world with its solutions and eccentricities, it wasn't enough.
He twitched violently when he heard a whisper and someone stop at the alley, and he looked up through bleary eyes and messy bangs to watch a couple hesitate and then approach him.
He hastily scrubbed at his eyes and struggled to stand under the sudden weight of the world. His shocked eyes met people he vaguely recognized, and then pieces of them struck his memory: that was Hermione's mouth, and her chin, and her nose and those freckles and that hair…
That was the woman who'd been walking with Hermione. And looking at her and this man now it was so obvious.
He gaped at the couple—the proper couple who'd approached a homeless man in a dark alley.
"Are you alright boy?" the man asked gently, so gently that the name he'd been called so often at the Dursleys didn't raise his hackles and make his fear climb. Instead he felt strangely…safe.
Which made him even more paranoid.
And then the woman tentatively offered an open palm, "Do you need some help?" she inquired.
And Harry crumbled again. Somehow, for some reason, he trusted this couple unerringly. All his post war instincts rattled but he looked up at these two collages of a familiar face with absolute trust and despair.
Mrs. Granger tutted and carefully settled her hand on his arm. Mr. Granger placed a comforting and large hand on his shoulder, and Harry sobbed like he'd never done before.
Maybe this wasn't right, but somehow he could make it right.
He could be with Hermione through them, he could fix this somehow: he could accept the Granger's help.
And he had never felt this safe before.
…
He had never expected this. Mr. and Mrs. Granger were proper British—firm in their decision once made. And they'd decided he would stay. Hearing none of his arguments they had taken him to their home with the offer of room and board. If Mrs. Granger gave him a few considering glances he explained it away as his residual nerves—he still felt so safe. And when Mr. Granger aborted his words a few times he wrote it off—the man was just unsure how to talk to a teen as unkempt and obviously destitute as Harry was.
They quietly gave him some new clothes—tags still on and creased from the store displays. He walked into the kitchen from the loo after changing and stopped.
This was the issue.
It was Hermione that he hadn't really expected.
She was just so young.
And she was not his Hermione, not even the bossy little eleven year old he'd saved.
Harry shuffled nervously as this strange little Hermione glowered up at him and hugged her book to her chest. He hadn't really thought beyond actually getting to her…now he had no clue what to do with a young and very child like girl who was a painful reminder of the friend he had lost. Saving Sirius at this point would have been more straightforward, for at least his dogfather knew about magic and could easily accept some explanation.
He swallowed and looked down at her with sad eyes.
Hermione pouted and hugged her book tighter, her eyes dark and glaring as her entire spine stiffened and her school bag fell from her slight shoulders.
She was practically hiding behind a tome that was certainly too difficult for her to read…
Her mother smiled indulgently. "Are you actually reading this one Hermy?"
Hermione glowered darker. "My name is Hermione." There was a pause as her mother raised her hands in mock surrender and the little girl shuffled nervously. "I'm on the third chapter."
"Oh? Did you need some help? I was sure you were still struggling with the vowels."
Hermione glared at the wall, subtly shifting her body in a way Harry recognized from his childhood: she wanted the conversation over with. "Dad bought me the dictionary."
"That's right, so just call if you need something okay? I have to help Harry settle in."
Hermione pouted and nodded.
Harry followed Mrs. Granger down the hall, looking back briefly to catch a very sad little Hermione staring down at her book. When she started to turn those sad eyes up to watch her mother he quickly caught up to the woman and made sure he looked like he hadn't been paying the child attention.
Harry cleared his throat as the Granger matriarch gestured to a clean white door with a prim smile. "This is our spare room; it's pretty sparse right now. I'll have to get Wendell to bring in the mirror and wardrobe."
Harry swallowed as he stepped into the large room; large window, large bed, large desk, large bookshelf, clean floor, new plaster and paint… "This is just fine." It was more than fine. When he'd run into the Granger couple in the street he hadn't expected anything more than directions to a shelter—for Harry had looked so obviously like a street rat.
But the couple had demonstrated that they'd been the ones to raise their daughter into a socially conscious person.
"Well," Mrs. Granger breathed, "dinner shall be at six. I'll leave you to busy yourself unpacking." (Here she politely ignored the fact that Harry only carried one small rucksack, though Hermione's, older Hermione's, brilliant charms were applied to it and no one would suspect just how much he was carting around.) She turned to go but paused with her hand on the doorjamb, looking over her shoulder. "I have to warn you about Hermione," she smiled depreciatively but there was this wondering in her eyes as she looked at him, "she doesn't take nice to people."
Harry blinked. "Ah, that's okay. I'm sure we can get used to each other. And I'm not going to impose long."
She waved off his assertion with a matronly foreknowledge. "You're going to stay as long as it takes. Now, get settled in. I'll call you for dinner."
She closed the door slightly as she left, giving him the illusion of privacy he'd never had in the Dursley home.
Harry sighed heavily and sat on the bed. Running his hands through his hair in frustration he fought back angry tears—he had no idea what was going on! How could little Hermione be so broody and inhospitable? It was nothing like who she'd been at Hogwarts.
A suspicious tingling rose up the back of his neck and he shivered.
He bit his lip and opened his eyes, catching the young girl carefully eyeing him from the hallway, as if he'd stand up and yell at her if she got too close. She jumped and hurried away, her thick hair making a whipping sound as she spun.
Harry closed his eyes. He couldn't stand seeing her like that.
….
Harry yawned and made his way down the stairs to the kitchen, wanting to help with breakfast. He entered the bright area while scratching his ribs, his eyes widening as he spotted little Hermione concentrating on that thick tome she always carried around. He stilled as he watched her mouth words, her brow furrowed. Her fingers stopped moving to trail along the lines of text, her eyes squinting as she whispered: "Dis-gunt, Dis-grunt-led, Dis-grunt-"
"Disgruntled," Mrs. Granger pronounced softly and correctly from where she stood at the stove making French toast. She didn't look back to catch the utterly wounded expression on Hermione's face before she ducked her curly head back to the book.
She didn't whisper again after that.
Harry yawned loudly as he made his way into the room, watching Hermione's eyes move though she carefully didn't look up at him.
It had been like that the past week he'd been staying at the Granger household.
"Would you like some help Mrs. Granger?"
"I've told you to call me Monica, please just put some dishes on the table. Hermione got the lighter stuff earlier."
Wendell Granger waltzed into the room with a whistle, his eyes sparkling and his hair still untidy from sleep. He was curiously absent of his business suit as he leaned and enthusiastically gave little Hermione a kiss on her curls. She smiled brightly and looked up to him with dimpled cheeks.
Harry looked away. "You're not going into work today?"
"I," Wendell drew out, "have given myself the day off. I need to get some yard work done."
Hermione looked up at them all quietly as the adults smiled.
"I'll help," offered Harry; flushing because he was proud of his skills in botany. Life with the Dursleys and then friendship with Neville made for a potent green thumb combination.
"Great, we'll make a day of it!"
Harry grinned at the jovial man, so unused to him since his first impression of the Grangers had been rather stoic.
But he liked Wendell Granger when he was at home.
Hermione smiled at her father before she started packing up her school books and her reading tome.
The breakfast was filling but quick as they talked about what needed to be done. Then the breakfast was cleaned up and Hermione was prepared for the walk to school.
"Now remember what I told you about those kids."
"But mom," Hermione whined. Harry's mouth twitched at the evidence that Hermione was just as much of a child as anyone else had been.
"Hermione, listen. They're only using you because of the test on Friday. Be a good girl and don't let them walk all over you. I want you to make friends but not that way."
Hermione glowered. "They think I'm smart."
Mrs Granger softened and kneeled in front of her daughter. "And you are." She added seriously, "but you don't need them to tell you that."
Hermione sighed and looked at her Mary-Janes. "Yes mom."
"Good," she said briskly before kissing her daughter on the cheek.
Hermione was shooed out the door as Mrs. Granger waved and the little girl disappeared down the street.
Wendell Granger quietly put on his shoes and went into the yard.
They worked companionably for a few hours, but then lunch time rolled around and Monica brought out a tray for them. The two males settled into the freshly cut grass to snack and drink lemonade.
Wendell carefully rolled his glass in his hand, "Hermione likes Lemonade. But I am never sure if she prefers it sweet or tart."
Harry blinked at the seemingly haphazard comment. "Oh?"
He cleared his throat—"I don't want you to think she's a problem child, Harry."
Harry straightened and eyed the man. There was a curious sombreness, even as he was talking to a teenager who shouldn't really matter.
"Hermione had trouble communicating when she was little, and got teased plenty for it. But she's a smart little thing; and now she doesn't like people because she expects them to think she's stupid and treat her poorly." Wendell looked at him with his dark eyes (where Hermione got her soulful gaze from most likely).
"That's why she doesn't like me in the house?"
Wendell laughed mirthlessly, but then he cleared his throat and smiled sincerely. "We really don't know, but she says you feel funny." Harry scrunched up his face and felt that zing of paranoia but Wendell chuckled. "She's very sensitive like that—but she noticed you in the alley." Wendell turned to face him fully, "We've never seen her actually connect with anything like that."
Harry stiffened and tried to blink his eyes because they were drying out. He swallowed and smiled sloppily to cover up his almost bout of tears.
Wendell was still chuckling as he brushed crumbs off his fingers. "Don't worry about it though; I just wanted to tell you that my Hermione is a wonderful little child. I don't want you so uncomfortable around her." Wendell smiled and closed his eyes as he fell back into the grass.
Harry watched him and wondered why Hermione wasn't so carefree like her father…wondered if she was when she was alone or at home and she didn't have to work so hard to be smart.
"I do like Hermione, she's adorable."
Wendell grinned toothily. "There's the start. She'll work her way into your heart sooner or later."
Harry laughed and fell back into the grass with the older man, happy to stare at clouds and wait a while to start trimming the hedges.
….
Hermione moped about the house until she ended up in the back yard sitting on an old swing. Harry had watched her drift from room to room ever since she'd come home. She had passed him without notice, a large sigh lifting her shoulders before her steps had crossed the patio and disappeared into the soft grass.
Harry, quietly, made his way out into the back yard.
Hermione rolled her eyes dolefully up to him, staring for a second before she looked away.
"Hermione?"
She pouted and kicked her feet at the ground. Harry stared at her a minute before smiling and pushing the swing. She squeaked and hurriedly grabbed onto the thick ropes. Harry pushed her a few more times, until he heard her giggle. A sigh escaped him as he walked around to watch her as the swing lost its momentum.
She ducked her head away from his gaze.
"Hermione," he said calmly.
She pursed up her mouth and stuck her chin out as she stared straight at him—just as proud as he'd always known her.
Harry smiled lazily and he crouched in front of her, holding the swing still as she watched him quietly.
"How was school today? You had a test right?"
She swallowed and blinked her eyes quickly. "School was fine; I suspect I aced the test."
"Of course you did," he said softly.
"Of course," she spoke firmly despite the trembling in her frame. "I mean it's not like I'm stupid, I'm almost two levels ahead now! And I did have that study group with the kids from…" she trailed off and then sniffled.
Harry tilted his head, sad and a little anxious as he watched her. "Weren't you supposed to go…?"
Hermione nodded her head and wiped furiously at her eyes.
"Oh Hermione," Harry whispered before he pulled her off the swing and into his lap where he hugged her.
She trembled for second before she burst into tears—"I'm so stupid!"
Harry shushed and rocked her, his chin in her hair as he glared down the street. She curled deeper into him, and Harry felt his eyes burn as he held her. He was grateful that she'd finally opened up to him, but the reason for it made his heart feel heavy in his chest and his throat seize.
Poor Hermione.
This was too much like The Hunt: Hermione hysterical and sobbing and unsure. He felt that same desperate need to help, which spiralled out of control in his being and made him feel like he was on the run again. But he had to remain calm—he was going to do what he should have done then.
He stood up and seated himself on the swing, feeling Hermione tense in his arms as he lifted and settled. He shushed her and smoothed back her hair, holding her as she shook and tried to catch her breath.
"It's okay," he whispered.
And she broke out into more tears. He swallowed and pulled away a little to clean her face, staring into her large brown eyes as she snuffled and tried to blink away more salty drops.
"Really Hermione, they don't matter. I know that sounds crazy right now, but when you're older you'll have someone who knows you're special, and those kids will still be here—petty and stupid because they ignored what a wonderful little girl you are."
She sniffled and looked up at him shyly, an open hesitation in her face that made him soften even more. Who knew Hermione had been such an adorable child? It was so easy to remember her stern bossy air; this child was a bundle of pleasant surprises that gave him an insight into the woman he used to know. He only regretted that he had learned all this too late, too long after Ron.
"Honest, Hermione, you're going to have the best friends in the whole world when you grow up. They'll do anything for you, just like you'll do for them."
She took in a soft breath, leaning her head against his neck.
He curled his arms around her more, putting his chin in the top of her tresses as her wet eyelashes brushed against him. She was so tiny in his arms, and Harry felt a part of him pinch and writhe with the idea that she hadn't had anyone to protect her like this before.
He glared out into the yard—he'd just have to make sure she was protected now, and he'd do a damn good job of it.
…
Now that Hermione had warmed up to him he gave second thought to Sirius. That man had survived and escaped on his own the first time…and Hermione needed him. He'd never really thought of her home life, or her parents, or her knowledge. It was all just her as she was.
He wanted to stay and help Hermione, and with how everyone abandoned her he couldn't in good conscience run away to save Sirius. Perhaps when she finally left the home he could go on a mission? Or the Granger's family vacation—they took those every summer right?
As it stood, Harry both wanted to set his godfather free and to protect Hermione.
But if he did spring his godfather, where would he take an escaped convict? The Grangers had only taken him in because this young Hermione had considered him, had narrowed her eyes at him and stared.
A mirthless chuckle escaped his throat.
They wouldn't consider taking in Sirius, who would look just as homeless as Harry had. And Harry couldn't go on the run with his godfather when Hermione, this strange Hermione, was expecting him to turn away from her too.
But then again, Sirius wouldn't need him on the run. They could exchange letters again.
So he gave it some more thought.
…
Harry yawned as he walked into the kitchen, set on getting a drink, when he paused right in his tracks. Hermione Jean Granger was far too miniature in this timeline to accomplish her goals. It was strangely cute, and Harry chuckled.
Hermione gave him a wide-eyed look from where she was stretched out, desperately extending her reach to the cookie jar just that-close to her reach. She blushed and quickly snapped her hand back down and hid it behind her back.
Harry didn't know what to do. As far as he knew, Hermione was allowed to snack whenever she felt like it. And he certainly hadn't seen her indulge as he knew Dudley would have with such freedom. He didn't like that look on her face, like she had been caught doing something wrong and was waiting for him to yell at her.
He quietly approached while smiling at her and watching her swallow and nervously chew her lip. With a conspiratorial grin he snuck his own hand into the cookie jar (much more easily than she ever could have) and grabbed two.
With a quick glance around he crouched down to her level and winked as he handed her one. She blushed but smiled—the shy raise of her shoulders shrouding her in curls before she giggled and ran from the room
A bemused Harry watched her from his crouched position, standing up to retrieve a glass of milk to go with his pilfered cookie and munching on it as he walked to his own room. Unable to resist, he glanced at Hermione's door as he passed.
It was a much pleasant change from his first impressions of the child. He resolved to do other little things for her so he could see that smile some more.
And he did. Books from the library ended up hidden in her room in a playful game, the swing somehow managed to offer her little flowers and trinkets when she was feeling down, a sample of the cookies that Harry baked always ended up on a small plate outside her door, and she never went without Harry giving her that conspiratorial wink when she looked particularly playful.
It was strange that, through these little things, Harry got so used to the mini-Hermione that he relaxed. Even when she snuck up on him—which was her strange talent—he found he couldn't startle. She didn't make him paranoid or incite any of his post-war reflexive reaches for his wand.
That level of comfort with her eased the tension from his shoulders, and his mind gradually stopped the tailspin it had been in.
There had been no hint of any magic or otherworldly shenanigans in any papers he'd searched, and right now he was a still a little leery to approach the magical world. If they didn't need him right now...it was okay to rest. Right?
…
Harry woke up in fuzzy layers, his eyes heavy with sleep as he yawned. He froze at a small weight bundled against his side, but when he looked down to see Hermione snuffling into him and curling tighter he couldn't help but smile.
She must have snuck in during the night.
He sighed out in fond exasperation as he turned to look out the window—sure enough there was a heavy wetness clinging to the pane of glass. Absently, with his hand in her sleep-mussed curls, Harry arranged himself to draw Hermione into his arms and let her head rest over his heart.
He wondered if she ever got over her fear of storms.
The thought of storms reminded him of the first time he saw his dogfather.
And an idea bloomed.
Surely the Grangers would be able to keep a large shaggy black dog—well trained and almost human in its understanding of the household—in their backyard.
A grin stretched his lips and he slipped back into sleep.
…
Harry carefully looked down to spot little Hermione looking up at him with her big doe eyes. He softened and crouched down, pulling up his trouser legs and sitting with his hands held loosely—he didn't want to scare her. It had taken him a while to get used to her very gentle almost not there touches; he had gotten so used to the older Hermione's hugs. When Hermione Jean Granger gave you a hug, she gave you a hug.
She'd been the first to introduce Harry to the absolute emotion and comfort physical touch could be…he wondered who'd taught it to her.
Mini-Hermione was nothing like her predecessor…or her future self. Her touches were so timid and light you could barely tell she was there sometimes. Harry had quite a few incidents where she would simply wait beside him patiently until he'd startle.
He never quite knew how long she'd been there.
When he did notice her, a light pressure against his sleeve or little hand slipping into his big one, he was always reminded of a timid kitten pawing for attention.
She smiled shyly and slowly offered him a book, her eyes sparkling hopefully as she stepped a little closer to him.
Harry smiled softly and took the book from her, handling the hardcover until he spotted the title: "Matilda?"
Hermione nodded.
"Okay, do you want to go to the couches?"
Hermione laughed and pushed him onto his rump, climbing into his lap carefully. Harry made certain not to frown or complain, because she was watching him for these things. She was always scared of an adult's disapproval. Kitten Hermione had slowly gotten used to him accepting her—he didn't want to damage all he had worked for.
So he settled his arms around her and opened the book. It was a strange thing to read a book to Hermione, but her enthusiasm pulled him in and he found himself enjoying it as much as the child did.
He cleared his throat and started the next chapter.
They were well into the book before Mrs. Granger came home, keys jingling in her hand as she absently glanced at them while passing. "Oh, hello you two." She set down her briefcase as she walked around them, "What are we reading today?"
Hermione stiffened slightly in his lap and folded her hands primly. "It's about accepting oneself for your differences and sticking up for what you believe in."
Harry's eyes flickered to Hermione and then back to the book. He caught on quickly and tried to subtly shift so the spine of the book wasn't visible to the matriarch.
Monica cleared her throat and tapped her foot.
Hermione ducked her head with a sheepish blush.
Harry grinned sloppily and twisted the book so she could see.
"Matilda?" she said, slightly incredulous.
Hermione nodded her head.
"I had thought you were going to focus on your studies," Monica said this carefully as she crouched down to take the book and run her hands over the cover.
But it was Harry who was able to feel little shoulders tense defensively, close enough to Hermione with her frame in his arms. "I'll go do my homework," she said this quietly as she slipped from his lap, and Harry looked up in time to catch the absolutely stricken look Monica wore.
He swallowed and turned to watch the small child scurry into the house, her book forgotten in her mother's hands.
"I had thought I was losing my little girl," Monica choked out around tears.
Harry looked at her with rounded eyes, his face slack of any other expression as he took in a sharp breath and froze—unable to deal with the matriarch's tears though he handled her daughter so well.
Monica laughed wetly and sat on the grass, wiping at her eyes and biting her lip. "Harry, you mustn't think bad things. We just had no time or idea how to react when we found out Hermione had an impediment. She started stuttering in class when called upon and she always came home in tears." She forced out another watery chuckle. "I couldn't handle it, nothing was stopping it. So we sent her to a specialist—she's levels ahead of her class now."
Harry shifted slightly.
Monica sniffed. "I just lost her then, she was always working and studying and absolutely nothing at all like my precious happy little girl."
Harry blew out a heavy breath.
"I tried my best to encourage her, but everything…" she sighed and looked down at her shoes. Her smile was bitter when she turned back to face him. "I'm sorry Harry."
"What for?"
"I almost made you miss out on what a darling Hermione is—she's always worried about other people you know. And she tried so hard to impress me and be the best…and she forgot that I wanted her to be happy. Now she thinks I don't want her to be the little girl she was."
Harry swallowed. "I found her anyway, she's still there."
Mrs. Granger laughed bitterly. "And hiding from everyone, from me." She gave him a narrowed eye look he recognized from the Hermione-at-Hogwarts who was puzzling something out. "Thank you Harry, for bringing her out."
"Mrs. Granger, Hermione …I think she wants to be your little girl. Just…talk to her yeah? Like you talk to me."
Monica laughed, standing up carefully before ruffling his hair. "I shall." She looked down at him warmly, a mothering look that made Harry's heart clench. "You're part of the family too Harry. You may not be little, but you're my boy." She sighed and straightened, seemingly unaware of the way Harry choked and stilled. "I best go start dinner, be sure to clean up."
"I will," he called after her softly, unable to do much else as his heart raced and a warm bubbly feeling overtook his blood. His grin split his cheeks as he fell backwards into the grass.
He was part of the family.
…
A happy breath escaped him as he flopped back onto his bed, he'd done enough chores for the day that the Grangers would be pleasantly surprised when they got home from picking up Hermione. And the Granger household, initially so much better than the Dursleys, had now leapt to unimaginable proportions and carried more joy for him than the Burrow.
As he smiled from hearing the front door open and people entering the house the expression froze on his face. There was a peculiar silence carried in with their entrance.
Quietly, he strode from his room to the entry way.
His shoulders rose defensively and his eyes darted about as he glanced around for what could be causing this strange silence, and he felt a long forgotten yearning to have his wand in his hand—to prepare for the next possible attack.
Instead of such a situation, Wendell gave him a smile and a pat on the shoulder, his approving eyes glancing around the clean hall that opened into the living room. Monica gave him a tight smile, gesturing with her head to the little Hermione.
It had become, by unspoken agreement, his job to talk to mini-Hermione because he was the best at getting her to open up. He looked down to see the stiff Hermione carefully taking off her shoes, setting her school bag aside as she toed off her Mary-Janes and arranged them neatly on the shoe shelf.
Harry started to relax.
Minnie turned her tired expression up to the adults, and then a very stricken look overcame her when she spotted Harry. He straightened in shock as her face crumbled and she burst into tears, abruptly running away from them and up the stairs.
He swallowed the sudden thick feeling in his throat. "What happened?"
Monica sighed and leaned into her husband for support. Wendell put an arm around her shoulders and kissed her temple. "Something went on at school, the teachers aren't even sure what happened but all the parents were called in to pick up their kids. And I mean every parent!" Her voice rose shrilly before choking on a sob.
Wendell cleared his throat and shifted his wife into his chest, giving grave eyes to Harry before he spoke softly, "All the kids are silent, and no one knows what happened."
Harry, quietly, nodded his head and started a subdued trek up the stairs. Kitten Hermione proved elusive the ten minutes he searched for her, and he sat heavily upon her bed as his heart clenched. This was so like the old little Hermione, quiet and scared, that he worried he'd lost the Kitten that had emerged over the weeks he'd stayed in the Granger home.
His heart broke a little at the thought.
A small sniffle interrupted his pained thoughts, and his breath caught as he stilled. Again the sniffle came, and Harry's shocked face sobered before he carefully kneeled down and lifted up the bed skirt.
Bright amber eyes stared out at him from in the shadows under the bed, dust drifting in fuzzy illuminated particles from the light he let in. Her hair was a frizzy mess, clinging to the static of her mattress and the pillow she cradled.
Harry softened and reached out when he realized it was the pillow she used in his room, on the nights when storms raged. Carefully, he cradled the top of her curly head in his hands so she didn't scrape herself on the wires supporting the bed as he pulled the young girl out of her hiding place.
"Hey," he whispered softly as he drew her into his lap.
She sniffed a long inhale and looked away, longingly, to back under the bed. Harry's jaw tightened almost painfully and he used a hand to turn her face to him. Her eyes were red, and her face blotchy, and underneath that static mess of hair she looked absolutely miserable.
Harry swallowed and smoothed his hand down her head, flattening her hair before it sprung back up into curls. He hoped she'd spring back just as easily, he'd found a home with the Grangers, and it was becoming even more obvious to him that this was his family.
Every fibre of his being was set on protecting that peace he'd found, the little Hermione he'd discovered.
"I heard something happened at school," he whispered into her curls, snuggling into her until she let the pillow go and clung to him instead. Her arms tightened, small and band-like, but she refused to answer to his almost inquiry.
There was a silence between them, expectant but somehow not oppressing.
Then Hermione sniffled and buried her face in his shoulder.
A sigh escaped him as he gathered her up, standing only to plop onto her small bed. She continued sobbing, unbothered by the move, and Harry shushed her and wrapped as much of him around her as he could.
"I'm not good at being a friend!" she abruptly wailed into his chest, her voice heavy and choked and her face red and crumpled when she pulled it away to look at him imploringly. "I can't do one thing right!"
Harry made a sound deep in his throat—half incredulous and half amused—because it was so easy to remember how good older Hermione had been at being his friend. Even when he'd thought she wasn't on his side she was still watching his back—miniature Mione couldn't possibly be bad at being a friend.
But she thought she was, and she was sobbing into him so hard that her whole body shook.
Harry shushed and cooed at her, running his fingers through her curls and trying to get her sobs and then hiccups to settle. "Minnie?" he asked when it seemed that she'd calmed down enough to listen.
Her eyes rolled up and she looked at him dolefully through thick wet lashes.
"I know you'll be the best friend ever."
"But I didn't do anything!" she wailed, "How can I ever be a good friend if I can't do anything?"
Harry choked on his breath and pulled her into a tight hug. "You will be the best friend ever—never doubt that. You can do anything you set your mind to."
"But I couldn't," she warbled out. Then she broke and confessed.
Harry listened as mini-Hermione told him about her day. Apparently the new girl was being bullied and Hermione, eager for the friends Harry had told her she'd have, had stepped in to stop it. Instead the girl had turned on her and tried to redirect the teasing
While she had correctly sussed out Hermione's outcast status, she hadn't counted on the kids simply expanding their aggression instead of transferring it. In the end, the little girl had needed to go to the nurse's office and Hermione's supplies had been destroyed and tossed at her.
The new girl was transferring back to her old school.
"I tried to help her! I really did!" Hermione sniffled, rubbing at her eyes before fisting his shirt in her small hands and looking up at him pleadingly.
Harry, a part of him softening and warming to the little girl in his lap, felt yet another part warming for the old Hermione—the one he hadn't understood quite as much until now.
This was the little girl who read voraciously in defiance of all the people that told her she couldn't, the one who proved them wrong, the one who didn't ever want to be limited by them judging her. Harry, a little scared, realized that all she'd ever done was in the name of someone else, proving something to them or helping them.
He wondered why he didn't see it before.
Hermione, beautiful, kind, generous Hermione, thought she'd only have friends if she was useful.
An anger rose up in him—a magic and rage that he'd experienced many times when he thought someone was treating him unfairly. This time it rose in defence of the Hermione-that-was—and to protect that Hermione-that-could-be.
"Never," he said softly but firmly, "think that you aren't special or worth friendship, Minnie. You don't have to do anything to deserve it—you're kind and smart and just perfect the way you are."
She looked up at him doubtfully, but she didn't say anything.
….
Harry blew out a chill breath as he regarded the castle. The Dementors iced the air with their powers and he shivered. It was no wonder the deatheaters that year had broken out only with mass brute force—this place looked impenetrable otherwise.
But he silently patrolled around it, wishing for his father's cloak and Hermione's beaded bag and then Hermione herself.
She would be able to figure this out.
But Harry would keep working at it—he may have been thrice to case out the prison but he would keep on coming. He was stubborn like that. And he half thought his godfather needed the chance to heal and love before being thrust into the war again.
Besides, Harry grinned, Hermione would probably like a pet.
….
Harry couldn't help but laugh when Hermione came in from playing in the back yard—she pouted up at him for it and crossed her arms, but looked too adorable for him to quit.
Stifling his chuckles as best he could, he approached and crouched down in front of her. "What exactly have you been up to, Minnie?" His eyes darted up to her hair and he reached to dislodge one of the many twigs that had tangled there. It was a suspicious match to the tree in the corner of the yard, the one with the swing, which he was sure Hermione would never climb due to her fear of heights.
She huffed at him but dropped her arms, adding the puppy dog eyes to her pout. When she blinked he immediately stopped chuckling. How could one little girl be that impossibly cute? He might have to prepare himself for beating the boys away from her when they smartened up.
"I needed to get something," she insisted to him.
Harry smiled, "You told me you never wanted to be a bird, and here you are trying to nest in the trees."
Minnie blushed and shuffled her feet—looking up at him from under her lashes and wayward curls. "Here," she whispered shyly, offering up her hand and opening it until he could see what she clutched.
His breath caught and he stared down at her occupied palm. Reaching out he tenderly caressed the feather she'd retrieved and then stared at the delicate looking shell.
It was a robin's egg blue, and it instantly recalled what had started their conversation about flying. Reading on the swing in the backyard he'd spotted the two robins teaching their chicks how to spread their wings.
He swallowed. "Thank you," he managed quietly.
Minnie bit her lip and shyly tucked her shoulders in, "I'm sorry you can't fly."
Harry broke and pulled her into a careful hug, avoiding the treasures she clutched. "I'm not sorry—I don't think I could leave you on the ground."
Minnie beamed up at him.
…
As the summer months approached, Harry—somehow so comfortable he wasn't worrying about war or fighting or what was hiding behind the next corner—started to see something he never expected.
Mini-Hermione, who had come out of her shell and was starting to laugh around her parents, started to close up again.
And it wasn't until he overheard the Grangers talking that he had an idea why.
Sitting on the steps over the living room he closed his eyes and tilted his head to rest on the railing.
"Wendell, Ms. Banks was insistent that we give her the timeline soon. We can't keep her waiting if we still want her services."
There was a silence before the head of the house replied, "Honey, I'm not so sure I want Hermione with her again."
There was an even longer silence.
"But what else can we do? We've done this every summer and you've never had a problem before," she stated the last part exasperatedly.
Harry swallowed.
"How about," Wendell began slowly, carefully, "we have Ms. Banks over to meet with Harry and Hermione, and we can discuss it then?"
Monica blew out a heavy breath and agreed with a strained voice, recognizing the need to recoup.
And then Harry met Ms. Banks.
He didn't hate her immediately, but he sensed something off with the stiff woman that had, at first, reminded him a bit of Professor McGonagall. Then Minnie walked into the room and froze upon spotting the woman.
"Well," the matron said briskly, "Where did your manners disappear to?"
Minnie blinked rapidly, eyes darting between her parents and Harry and the guest before she stuck her chin up and approached the lady. "Good Evening, Ms. Banks," she said—and Harry noticed her quivering clenched hands staying hidden in her skirt even as he recognized the prim bossy tone from his first year at Hogwarts.
"That's much better; we can't have a heathen running about. Now," the woman easily dismissed Minnie, shifting in her seat to regard the parents, "shall we start our discussion? I am a tad strapped for time."
Wendell wasn't even looking at her, but staring at the mini-Hermione that was stiff and silent amidst them.
Monica was looking at Mrs. Banks with a confused expression, her features sharp and brows skewed.
Harry turned from them all and gestured for Hermione to come to him. She looked up at him with a pale sickly face, and then looked straight back at Ms. Banks. Harry gestured for her again, his face gentle, and the little girl bit her lip before inching her way to him carefully. She finally, tentatively, offered him a smile when he moved to pick her up into his lap.
"What are you doing?" the shrill inquiry wiped the smile right off those lightly freckled cheeks.
Harry straightened a little stiffly, Hermione secured in his lap though she had made a move to get off. "I was holding Minnie."
Ms. Banks sniffed. "That's not proper for a little lady, put her down. She can sit on her own. And that nickname?" she scoffed
Harry felt quite like he had with Umbridge, angry and hurt and flustered, and he couldn't reconcile those feelings existing under the Granger roof.
In his confusion, he released his hold on Hermione.
Except the wounded look she gave him as she got off his lap galvanized him into action. Quickly standing, he scooped Minnie under his arms and made to walk right out of the room.
"Young man! Stop right this instant! How rude of you, I have it in good mind to smack you. Have your parents not told you to mind your manners?"
Harry stiffened and turned back to face the room; Minnie tucked her head into his side as she clung tightly to him. "My parents never had the time to teach me anything, Ma'am, and even if they had I wouldn't abide by you."
Ms. Banks stuck up her chin in a satisfied air. "We can certainly tell! What rudeness! They must be just as horrible as you."
Harry tucked his chin down and tightened his hold on Minnie; "My parents died when I was very young, but I have it on good authority that they were the best of the lot."
Ms. Banks looked pole-axed only briefly before her nose crinkled and she let out a heavy breath, "Forgive me then, for bringing it up. But it still stands that you were not excused. In fact, Miss Hermione, even you should know better."
"Ms. Banks," Monica said in a strangled voice, and Harry's eyes darted over to see an angry Wendell and a wide eyed wife staring at the elder woman in their home. The stranger turned to them placidly, and then Monica continued in a strained even tone, "I don't think we require your services this summer, though we thank you for your time."
Ms. Banks looked at them inscrutably before she nodded her head and shouldered her purse, giving a tight 'good day' before she waltzed right out of the house without waiting to be escorted to the door.
"Harry," Monica continued after a bit, turning to him. "I know we really shouldn't rely on you like this, but would you mind terribly if we paid you to look after Hermione this summer? I know it's not what boys your age would prefer to be doing, but would you consider it?"
Wendell opened his closed eyes, looking calmer than he had been lately, and smiled. "It would only be for the mornings mostly, and sometimes when we have late appointments or business meetings."
"No," all three Grangers stiffened at his response. "I'm not getting paid to look after Minnie—I enjoy spending time with her and she shouldn't have to think I need to be compensated for it."
Minnie gasped in a quiet sob, and Harry completely turned his attention to her. Her eyes were wet, and she was shaking, but there was a smile on her lips and her skin had regained its rosy tone.
"Hey Minnie, how about it? Do you want to spend your summer with me?"
She nodded her head emphatically and grinned full out: displaying the large front teeth and dimples he'd missed so much in the past few weeks.
"That's settled then," Mr. Granger said in satisfaction, standing up and straightening his slacks. As he made to leave the room he hesitated, doubling back and running his hand over Minnie's wayward curls.
She turned to him, confused, and Wendell smiled softly. "I'm sorry, poppet; we were just trying to do our best."
He kissed her forehead and gave Harry a respectful nod before he left the room for his den.
Monica watched them with sad eyes and a bitter smile. She too rubbed her hand through Minnie's hair, letting her fingers come back up briefly to rub her knuckles on her daughter's cheek before she gave them a quiet good night and left the room.
Harry and Minnie stared at each other, straight and silent, before he smiled and she broke out into another grin.
The next morning, over breakfast, Wendell tentatively offered the idea of spending one night a week with just the family.
Minnie absolutely lit up.
….
Harry finally had it! He grinned and sucked in a chill breath—and with intimate knowledge of the wizard-guard patrols and how his godfather thought and the weakness of the dementors he planned.
His next visit he would not be leaving the island alone.
…
On one of their card nights, when Minnie was running to get the tray of cookies she and Harry had made that morning (getting flour all over each other somehow), Wendell cleared his throat and Monica carefully checked the kitchen door.
When she had resettled, they both turned to him and, very solemnly, thanked him.
Harry blinked and rubbed the back of his neck.
Monica grinned and maternally straightened his hair while Wendell smiled at his wife and the strange boy they'd taken in.
Harry blushed.
Wendell laughed and leaned forward, listening carefully to the clinking of Hermione trying to get a plate. "You brought out the best in Hermione; we're thanking you for that. We're glad you're staying with us and teaching us how to show our love for our daughter, because we've missed out on doing that before."
"Thank you for being part of the family," Monica added softly.
And Harry was too choked up to reply before Hermione was waltzing back in, proudly displaying the messily animal shaped cookies they'd created.
Both the parents exclaimed and delighted over the artsy pieces, making a game out of guessing which animals were what before they resettled into their cards.
The strange green-eyed boy who'd become quite firmly adopted into the home watched as Hermione glowed under the loving attention she was receiving, just playing with her parents and talking to them.
Harry smiled.
…
This was it. Harry snuck in past the lax wizards who relied too heavily on their magical compatriots. Stilling in the shadows of one corridor he focused and created as many walls of happy memories he could—his mind became a fortress of laughter and friends and light.
Licking his lips he pulled his dark hood further down, tightened his black gloves, and then moved like the shadows themselves.
Harry Potter was a warrior at heart—was a warrior trained with the best taskmaster: experience.
So in his methodical scouring of the prison he reined himself in when he spotted old-soon-to-be enemies. He was here on one mission.
And it needed to be successful.
He contained the rage so he could maintain his occlumency barriers.
And then he found Sirius Black as a pile of rags, the dirty man barking a laugh as he muttered something at the wall.
Harry licked his lips again, his heart thudding in his chest. "Padfoot," he whispered.
It hung hauntingly in the air—and the crazed man immediately stopped.
With another mutter his grey eyes spun to the small barred window into the hall, he lurched up on skinny legs with a ghoulish manner. Harry narrowed his eyes.
Then his godfather was peering out into the darkness of the hall, and Harry let his green eyes meet the barely lucid ones of his godfather.
"Padfoot," he whispered again. "I need a dog to accompany me on a journey. There is a family, a little daughter, that needs a good dog. Prongslet needs you in that family with him."
Sirius obviously thought this was a hallucination, but he transformed. The gobsmacked expression on the mutt's face when he scented Harry would be good for a laugh later, but Harry bit his tongue and helped the dog escape.
There would be no alarms as no human had left a cell over the barriers. There would be no inclination that Sirius Black had escaped until the human guards made their rounds for what passed as breakfast. And so the duo made their way back to the black raft to journey home. Harry thought they must look horrifying—a Grim for all appearances beside a man shrouded in black…
The imagery gave him ideas.
But they made it back to the Grangers by daybreak.
And Padfoot hid in the large back garden for a while as Harry carried on as normally as possible.
Hermione figured it out first—perhaps Harry snuck out too much to help his godfather heal. She seemed to take it at face value and started loving on the dog like any other adolescent—despite Sirius' large size. Then again, Hermione was far too clever and sensitive to not have an inkling that something was different.
Of course, then both the elder Grangers figured some things out.
Harry and Hermione introduced Padfoot with sheepish faces, which turned to delight.
The Grangers were happy.
So Padfoot really became part of the family.
…
The summer flew by with many wonderful family times, and it was in no time at all that Hermione was back in school and at tutoring and the Grangers were back at their practice full time.
Harry breathed out slowly and settled in the backyard, glancing around at the sheltering fence and shrubs. No one could see him. This would be the first time he'd be able to talk to his godfather in daylight.
Padfoot emerged from the garden, shaking out his fur and glancing around before transforming. The man had filled out these past months—had put on a more healthy weight and pallor. He was also losing that light of insanity—though some irrationality still clung to his ideas and plans.
At least at this point the two hadn't gone on any missions like Harry had fantasized—their methods and planning had them at loggerheads and they were trying to be as discreet as possible.
Sirius stretched and sat beside him on the porch. "Any decisions?" he prompted impatiently.
Harry sighed and shook his head. "I haven't been able to get much information when I checked in at the Alley. I'm not risking a mission with half-arsed intelligence. We have to be here for Minnie."
Sirius snorted, "I get your attachment to the girl—she's adorable. And if she is this friend you talk about from the future all the more reason to protect her. But if we do these missions now she'll be safer at Hogwarts!"
Green eyes closed. Yeah, he understood that. But he also understood that somehow Minnie was sensitive to magic's like he wasn't. He understood that she'd know they were up to something, and he didn't want to put her in danger now. PAdfoot didn't know the deatheaters like he….Harry's breath caught and his eyes snapped open.
"You were an Auror."
Sirius snorted and smiled at him. "Yeah, one of the better ones. They were too eager to turn on me when I was set up."
Harry knew he'd won most of his dogfather's trust when he'd told him about Pettigrew and that Halloween Night. How else could he have believed such a farfetched story, even for magic? Then he'd also been easily able to explain how he looked like James but smelled like the Harry James Potter who should only be about ten years old…
He licked his lips. "I have an idea…what is the easiest way to get a tip taken seriously? I might have a contact inside the Auror force…but I am not sure if our old passcodes would work. I need his attention. We can do it anonymously."
Sirius Orion Black grinned, and it was a crazy grin like any who had been in Azcaban.
…
On this particular day Harry was the one to pick up Hermione from school, arriving earlier because the Grangers wanted him to talk to her tutor about rearranging her schedule. They were thinking about making Friday family night—to keep that connection with their daughter that they had developed over the summer.
He was proud of them for that decision—having witnessed firsthand how unsure Hermione was in her relationship with them.
Stopping his whistling, he checked in at the office before making his way to the library. He tipped his head to the librarian (a much nicer looking woman than Madame Pince) and headed unerringly to the back study rooms. Because the library was so empty the doors were open, and he could hear Minnie talking with someone.
Still hidden by the stacks he stopped right in his tracks with shock, his wide eyes taking in the scene as Minnie started crying.
"O shut up—we're in the library. You have to get it this session otherwise I'm talking to your parents. I can't believe we've gone over this three times already—stop guessing!" The teenager huffed and yanked some papers from under Minnie's hands.
Minnie was hyperventilating, trying to keep her sobs in, and her eyes were fixed on the papers as the girl rearranged them. "I'm sorry," she finally managed out, reaching out tentatively to take back the papers, "I'll try again."
The girl snorted, "I doubt it'll do much good. Are you even doing your practice work? It's like we haven't studied together at all."
"I, I have," Minnie whispered.
The girl eyed her suspiciously. "Well, then I guess there's no point. You just can't learn this. I should talk to your parents about cancelling the sessions—there are much more worthwhile things to do with my time."
Minnie burst into tears again as the girl started to clean up her things.
Harry, angry and protective, got over his shock and rounded the stacks to approach the little study room. The girl looked up in surprise before a pleased expression came over her and she gave him the once over. He gave her a disgusted look before turning to the hiccupping Minnie.
Her big amber eyes were looking up at him, her lashes thick with salty tears and her cheeks flushed around her freckles. He gave her a small smile before pulling her right into his arms, hugging her as she choked on a small sob.
The girl sat heavily back in the chair, stunned herself, and gaped as he turned to her with angry eyes. "I think these sessions are cancelled, I'll inform the Grangers and the department Head, don't you worry about wasting your time," he practically snarled out as he snatched up Minnie's bag and stormed to the office with Minnie clinging to him.
He shocked the office staff when he waltzed right in and announced that the tutoring sessions were from here on out cancelled, but a crying Minnie kept them from asking too many questions. He used the office phone, amidst curious stares, to ring the Grangers and inform them that he was taking a slight detour to a park before they headed home.
They remained oblivious, but he'd tell them after supper without an audience.
On the way out he untied Sirius from the post, jerking his head when the man in the dog gave Minnie a worried look.
Minnie's head remained lowered, ignoring the world, as they walked down the street to the swings.
After a bit of the walk she sniffled and rubbed her eyes against her hand. He twisted enough to smile goofily at her and jiggle their joined hands. She gave him a watery giggle.
"What was that about?" he asked softly. She looked up at him guiltily, and he shook his head, "Nah, little girl, I don't care about the tutoring. Why was she so mean to you?"
Minnie swallowed, "I don't understand long division."
"We can go over the division later if you like—I'm not the best at it, but we'll muddle through."
"O I can divide just fine! It's the whole process! I don't understand how everyone else ends up with such a long column!" she exclaimed, leaning back and looking up at him with wide eyes.
Padfoot barked crazily.
Harry stopped, stunned again, and then smiled. It figured Hermione could calculate the best numbers in her head and then write them down, making everyone assume she was cheating with a calculator. He shook his head and crouched to kiss her brow; Minnie looked up at him strangely, but smiled back.
He kissed her forehead again and laughed. "You are the most brilliant little girl ever!"
Minnie gaped at him, her face brightening until they were grinning and racing to the park to enjoy the swings.
Just when the park was in sight, Minnie stumbled into a lost looking little boy, and Harry grasped her protectively so she wouldn't fall.
When he raised his eyes to check on the other kid, the world fell out from under him for the second time since this whole Time fiasco had started.