"Oh my god!" Remus nearly cooed. "She was so cute!"

"She was, wasn't she?" Severus smiled, running his hand over the page of faded photographs.

He had so few pictures of Hermione, he didn't think to take many. Not her first lost tooth, nor Christmases beyond her third one with him. Twelve, nearly thirteen, years were encapsulated in so few pages of photographs, and not a single one of her beyond the age of six. And not a single one of the two of them together. He certainly could have insisted over the years, as he did with the—

No, I also stopped tracking her height on the wall after she was eight or so...Hermione might not have wanted to, but I could have insisted and didn't.

He hadn't even thought to look at them until Remus asked why he hadn't any pictures of her around.

"This one's from shortly before she turned five," Severus pointed at the little bushy haired girl brandishing a crudely painted castle, with a rainbow and impossibly bright colours. "I brought her 'grown-up' paints for the first time. She was so thrilled."

"Grown up paints?" Remus laughed.

"Linseed Oil," he explained. "Very bright colours, and the kind 'pwofessor kitty' used."

"Pwofessor Kitty?" Remus shook his head, but still smiled.

"McGonagall loved changing for her," he mused. "Perhaps I should blame her for Hermione's cat obsession."

Remus laughed and Severus admired the lines around his pale green eyes that formed with his smile. He sure as hell wasn't Lily, but that laugh, that face...they seemed to play at house so well together. That felt so warm and right—and so wrong.

A line formed between Remus's eyebrows as combed over the page of childhood accomplishments, his hand resting on a candid one of a six-year-old Hermione curled up among several open volumes, sleeping with a thumb in her mouth.

"She's always been driven, hasn't she?" he asked.

"This was taken on Hallowe'en," Severus explained, the memory coming back to him. "She'd overheard a student say all Slytherins were evil...it bothered her. I tried to comfort her, but got called away because of some mischief or other. I had Libby—one of the house elves—take care of her. It had to be one of my students to act up. I came back to see her sleeping among so many books on history so far above her level. I thought to simply put her to bed, but something told me I needed to capture this moment. This strange, sweet child was so determined to defend me. "

Remus looked up at him and quirked his head to the side. "Does that really surprise you? You're her father."

Severus sighed, he shouldn't have gone there. "To answer your first question, yes, she has always been driven."

Remus dropped whatever he was about to say to him for what must have seemed a safer avenue of inquiry. "Are all of the pictures from when she was little?"

Severus nodded. "Hermione wasn't exactly posing for the camera after a time, and I had enough reasons to earn her ire. Sneaking away, trying to get into the restricted section, begging to be sent away...I didn't want to add to what seemed to be the already ample reasons she despised me."

"She doesn't—" Remus shook his head and sighed. "Wait, there's none of the two of you together?"

Damn it, Remus, think I don't have eyes? Severus but ventured for a self-deprecating joke. "And ruin all of those adorable pictures? I think not."

Remus knit his eyebrows and reached for Severus's hand and leaned in. "I don't think you would've ruined them."

Severus instinctively recoiled, before regaining a calm and collected position, hoping that Remus didn't catch it. "I was joking, Remus. It's always been just us, there was simply no one else to take them."

Remus gave him a sympathetic smile and placed his hand on his. Severus felt like a kid again, nearly losing himself in those green depths and gentle touch. He once more admired the fine lines that appeared around them when he smiled.

How could someone like you ever deserve someone like him? Lily's voice taunted. ' I'm aware I'm a terrible partner and perhaps a worse father'! Ha! Did you expect sympathy? You should kill this now, like you killed me!

Severus shut out the voice, telling himself, once again, that the real Lily was never so cruel.

Even if you deserved it, you stupid piece of shit!

"Is everything okay, Severus?" Remus asked.

"Yes," he nodded, before checking his watch. "Shit! I'm sorry, Remus. I have to meet Dumbledore. I'm already—"

"It's okay," Remus's smile faded, but the sympathy remained. If he doubted him, he wasn't saying anything. "I'll be here when you get back."

You truly don't deserve him. Lily's corrupted voice continued. So understanding, so sweet. Once he sees the real you…

Severus was safe in the confines of his office by the time the images of Lily lying on the nursery floor hit him, her voice reminding him it was all his fault. Hermione gauged her own hands, begging to be sent away, her happy face fell when she caught sight of him back at the end of her first summer term. Remus's eyes alight with anger upon being shut out once again. Did he truly even care for him? Or was it just the fear of being alone?

Your own parents could never love you, how could you expect him to?!

No, it's—

You're the only one who can make the potion he needs to keep from transforming. Don't you see the power imbalance here? Or do you not care?

His chastisements of himself and Lily's distorted voice blended to the point he wasn't sure who's voice tormented him now.

Push past this, he told himself. You've changed your ways. You do deserve this, damn it!

Severus regained his footing and stood taller. Yes, he hurt people. He hurt the people he hurt those he cared for the most. But didn't he change? Didn't he bring a helpless child home? Didn't he risk his life countless times for the cause?

The image of Hermione and Remus teasing each other at the breakfast table re-entered his mind. Did those two have any idea what they meant to him? He told his daughter certainly, but his partner? He—Well, Severus was still sorting that out himself. Could he love him? Could he admit it? Or would he just leave like everyone else? Who would it devastate more? Hermione or himself? And then there was the question he needed to truly ask himself; did he actually change?

Yes, yes, I did. I made the damn potion before we started fucking, and he knows if he leaves, I'll keep doing it. Remus isn't trapped. He wants this. I want this. We can do this.

His mother's voice decided to pitch in as well: He'll abandon you, like you abandoned me!

"No, he won't," he choked, drumming his nails over the desk. "Fuck you, Mum."

The image of the only two living people that mattered came back to him and he vowed to do better by them.

The last face Hermione expected to see once she bid farewell to Hiro and the others was Draco fucking Malfoy and his prat of a father. She should have known better, but she'd been riding the high of discovering Hiro, that she'd forgotten the Malfoys could easily buy a damn box seat. She wished she'd stayed in the lower box with him and the others.

"Weasleys?!" Malfoy cackled. "Who'd your mum have to shag for this?"

Ron's fury was near palpable, his body shaking as Harry held him back. His ears went red and Harry opened his mouth for a remark when Ginny of all people drew her wand and shouted.

"I dare you to say that about my mum again!" Ginny cried.

"Little sister has to fight your battles now, eh?" a shit-eating grin spread across Malfoy's pale, pointed face.

"Let it alone, Malfoy," Hermione forced a bored tone, touching one cheek to avoid digging her nails into her hands. "Just because your mum made the mistake of shagging your dad doesn't mean we should have to deal with her mistake."

Harry and Ron gaped at Hermione, hardly believing what she'd said. Honestly, Hermione barely believed it herself. This was the exact same shit everyone threw at her, and she knew how much that hurt, but Malfoy deserved it, didn't he?

A very pretty blonde woman around her dad's age sidled up beside Malfoy, her unblemished pale face screwed up in disgust. "They're letting anyone have box seats these days aren't they? Seems the Weasleys must have spent whatever money they had for manners on this event." she switched to glare at Hermione. "Of course Jian Chang's daughter would have no bloody manners either. He's as hopeless a father as he is a sports columnist! Never should have come here."

Rage rolled over and the booth went red. She had dealt with racist shit from strangers who refused to believe she and her dad were family, from that total dolt Ludo Bagman, and idiots at school, but this woman had to be the worst. A later glance around the booth would have told Hermione she was the only person with East Asian features in their booth, but that shouldn't have mattered. That miserable hag shouldn't have Malfoy was sniggering rather than correcting her. She clasped her hands in front of her and dug her nails into them.

Don't shout, don't cry, breathe, 1…2…3. Hermione heaved a sigh and regained the bored posture from before. "I don't believe I ever met Jian Chang, Mrs Malfoy. And I believe I'm part Korean ( I think) and African, not Chinese. But I understand we all must look the same to you. It must be so terribly confusing."

Mrs Malfoy stared at her, hate in her eyes. It probably wasn't everyday she was called an idiot by someone less than half her age. She tightened her grip around Malfoy's shoulder. "If not the Changs, what miserable souls have the displeasure of calling you their daughter?"

They were joined by another man, this one a tall and equally pale blond man in his forties who shared Malfoy's pale eyes and pointed face. "I'm certain your father would be mortified to know how you've conducted yourself in such a big event," Mr Malfoy smirked. "Where is Professor Snape?"

Hermione composed herself and took a few deep breaths. She forced her posture upright and tried to adapt a cooler expression. "Afraid he couldn't make it, Mr Malfoy. Though I'm sure he's kicking himself for meeting your lovely wife."

"This miserable little troll is Severus Snape's daughter?!" Mrs Malfoy snapped. "I'll certainly be writing him about your behaviour tonight."

"I suppose she can't help it, Mum ," Malfoy smirked. "Loses her mind at the mere thought of mothers. I think it's because hers scarpered as soon as she was born."

Scarpered as soon as I was born...Please don't be right...Is that why the old woman at the restaurant acted like that? Maybe I wasn't supposed to be here. Did Dad force her to carry me to term?

The boggart imitating Hermione's imagined mother's shrill voice resurfaced: "You came out wrong. Spineless, sick, pathetic, insufferable child. I should have never carried you to term!"

"You're a prick, Malfoy," Harry said. "I reckon you come by it honestly though, with those two gits."

Mr Malfoy approached the two of them, looming over them. "Famous Harry Potter and his little sidekicks. I would be very careful what you say without Dumbledore to protect you. There's a lot that could happen to you with so many people around."

"Is that a threat?" Harry narrowed his eyes.

"A warning," Mr Malfoy sneered.

Mr Weasley made his way through the throng of spectators and placed himself between them and stared down the Malfoys. "I don't think they need such a warning, my older sons and I are more than capable of looking out for them."

"Yes, Arthur," Mr Malfoy sneered. "I'm sure you're more than capable. Say, didn't your daughter get a hold of an artefact right under your nose?"

"Yeah," Mr Weasley slipped an arm around Ginny. "Curious how that happened, innit?"

Malfoy narrowed his eyes and Hermione thought both fathers were ready to brawl when a voice broke the tension. A grey haired man with a severe look on his face descended the steps, with a tall, red-haired boy of around eighteen behind him with horn-rimmed glasses.

"Percy!" Ron shouted, surprised.

"Something the matter?" the older man asked.

"Yes," Mrs Malfoy said. "Weasley and his lot must be here by mistake, Minister Crouch. And they're disturbing my son."

Crouch nodded. "Indeed. This lot is up with me in section A."

Each of the Malfoys gaped at the lot of them in disbelief.

"Surely, you've met my attendant, Mr Percy Weasley," he said. "Thought it best if the lot of them were together."

"Because you value the bond between father and son just so much?" Mr Malfoy said.

Crouch wore an expression that Hermione had seen on her father so many times; rage, guilt and sadness whirled in his brown eyes, his sunken face carrying a burden that could only be seen if you looked past the severe quiet shadow he cast. He was haunted. "I value the bond between honourable wizards and witches."

Mr Weasley didn't miss the chill in Crouch's words, and surprised Hermione with a hand on her shoulder. Arthur Weasley knew the story behind the cold shadow Crouch's presence cast, and thought that Hermione (instead of his children!) needed shelter from it.

Crouch, Crouch, Crouch—Shit, Barty Crouch? The fucking Minister of Law Enforcement? Hermione choked and wondered why she might have earned his ire. The man was ruthless, she'd read countless articles of his pursuits and how he directed the Aurors. The man was the embodiment of excessive force. Hermione suspected the severe minister might be the real story tonight.

"You must be Harry Potter," Crouch said. "I've always wanted to meet you. You, my boy, are a hero. It's an honour."

"Erm–" Harry looked away. "Thanks? Mr—?"

"Oh, kids!" Arthur chuckled. "This is Barty Crouch Se–" he shook his head. "I present Minister Barty Crouch." He introduced each of his sons and Ginny. "And this young lady is Hermione Snape."

"Snape?" his smile fell. "Any relation to Severus Snape?"

Hermione shrank under his intense glare and wondered how the hell the two knew each other. He easily had thirty years on her dad, and the man clearly had better things to do than bother with a bloody potions teacher.

"He's my father, sir," Hermione averted her gaze. "Do you know him?"

"Yes, I do." Crouch left it at that, and Hermione felt his eyes on her the entire ascent up.

"There you are! Barty! Arthur!" Ludo Bagman called, a bottle of lager and his face noticeably ruddier. "And Harry Potter with the ginger pack!"

Mr Weasley was kind enough to greet him with a smile, but Crouch evaluated Harry and Hermione in silence, barely acknowledging his co-worker with a curt nod.

Bagman's warmth was only bested by the tiny house elf fussing over Crouch and pointing to 'sir's' appointed seat.

She had huge brown eyes and her bat-wing-like ears twitched at every sound Crouch made. Her bony hands wrung together and she spoke with a squeak that reminded Hermione of a terrified mouse.

Suddenly, Hermione's contempt for Law Enforcement Minister Bartemus Crouch matched that of his own toward her father.

"Dobby?" Harry choked.

Hermione stared at him in disbelief. She and Dobby were nothing alike save their species. She was about to correct him when the tiny house elf spoke up.

"Afraid not sir," she said. "Winky's name is–well–Winky. Winky's been with the Crouch family her whole life. Almost thirteen years."

She's younger than I am, Hermione thought, knowing that house elves lived for centuries, Winky was no more than a child by house-elf standards, and she was expected to serve the Crouchs's every damn whim.

"Oh, erm," Harry turned his face away. "Sorry, you—er—looked like a friend of mine."

Winky let out a nervous laugh. "Oh, very common mistake, sir. Winky is not deserving of apology from wizards."

Harry now laughed nervously and bit back an apology.

"Witches and Wizards," a booming voice announced as the lot of them perched near the rail, Hermione reminding herself not to look down. "Presenting the mascots of the Bulgarian team, the enchanting, beautiful Veela!"

"Oh my god," Hermione grumbled. "It's nearly as degrading to women as it is to their whole bloody species."

"Come off, it," Ron groaned. "Can't you just enjoy something for once?"

"Pr—" Hermione was cut off as a dozen of the most stunning, silver haired women danced on the pitch, a strange intense charm washing over her. More intense than anything before, but not unfamiliar.

Fuck, she thought. Maybe Kaori is part Veela...

"Tine na nGael!, tine na nGael!" shouted so many from the stands. Harry imagined Seamus was chanting along with them.

Hermione was kind enough to translate the phrase "fire of the Irish" or "the Gaels". She said those two blended for her, but Deirdre and O'Malley had only been teaching her and the rest of the Herald for a year.

"Is there any language you don't speak?" Ron groaned.

"Korean, for starters," Hermione mused, a distant pensive look in her eyes.

"Do you honestly feel bad for not knowing a fourth language?" Ron scoffed, sending his eyes to heaven.

"Fifth," Hermione clasped her hands together, but kept her eyes on the game.

"Know-it-all," Ron groaned.

Harry watched Hermione's distant stare and wondered if it was something more than lacking a fifth language that bothered her. "Hey," he elbowed her. "Aren't you supposed to be reporting on this?"

Hermione shook herself and gave an unenthused laugh. "Yeah, I should." she slid on the bulky omninoculars.

"So," Ron asked. "The–erm–-Veela?"

"Still swooning over them?" Hermione teased.

Ron's ears turned pink and Harry tried to shake the clear effect they had on him. They were the most beautiful gir– women he'd ever seen. The silvery hair, the unblemished skin, something in their eyes and voices. It was a feeling that few girls stirred in him before.

"I–erm—you still like both boys and girls, right?" he ventured.

"Yes, Ron," she sighed. "I'm still bisexual."

"So did the Veela–erm–" Ron gulped. "Affect you too?"

Pink now flushed Hermione's cheeks and she focused her vision on an Irish keeper. "That is absolutely none of your business, Ronald Weasley. Though you should note, I didn't exactly make a fool of myself leaning over the rail and nearly plummeting a hundred metres, now did I?"

"You really are Snape's daughter, aren't you?"

Hermione bit her lip and stared into the pitch blankly. She inhaled deeply and after a moment she sighed. "You know what, Ron? No, nevermind. I'm not mad, I'm just...disappointed."

Ron reached his hand out to Hermione but shook his head and turned his attention to the pitch.

Whatever, this is a once in a lifetime event. Harry thought. This is where I want my attention.

One of Ireland's chasers, Lee, scored a narrow goal as the Bulgarian keeper lunged too far, and the quaffle grazed the end of his broom and landed. Ireland was now forty to nothing. Harry loved how this team operated like a well-oiled machine and imagined Oliver Wood was taking notes like Hermione in a lecture.

"Tine na nGael!" Ginny shrieked, jumping up and down, waving her Irish flag. "Tine na nGael!"

"Not sure how the actual Irish feel about an English girl chanting that," Mr Weasley said.

"Loads of English are chanting that, Dad," GInny said. "And—-Ah! O'Niell! That was so close!"

The Irish seeker lunged for the snitch, his fingers nearly grazing the gold orb (which Harry saw thanks to the omnioculars) before a bludger came for him, nearly knocking him off his broom. O'Niell regained his seat with remarkable speed, as if it never happened, but swore at the snitch fluttering further away,

"Oh, fuck," Hermione gasped. "I was certain he was going to fall."

"You see, Hermione," Fred smirked.

"Quidditch players have perfect reflexes! Unseen by fellow humans!" George said.

"You could say cat-like," Fred ruffled her hair.

"Oh fuck off, with that bit," Hermione playfully batted at his hand.

"Language, Hermione," Mr Weasley chided. "You girls are—"

"Oh come on!" Ron shouted. "What the fuck was that, ref?! Penalty! Penalty!"

Ireland won another goal, with a trick shot volleying between two chasers, when the third chaser nearly unseated the Bulgarian one, by coming up from under him and launching the quaffle into the thirty point ring.

"Ron, don't curse at the—"

"Fuck yeah!" Ginny screamed. "Tine na nGael! Tine na nGael! Take that you orange clad fuckers!"

"Ginevra Weasley!" Mr Weasley snapped. "My co-workers are here, I can't look like I can't—-"

"Quit your fucking whinging!" Ludo Bagman shouted over the rail. "No one bloody died!"

"If you can't beat them," Mr Weasley sighed with a careless shrug and smile, then leaned over the rail. "FUCKING DESTROY THEM! WOOT!" he cleared his throat and turned to the lot of them. "Right, Ginny, boys, not a word to your mother."

Percy stared gobsmacked at Mr Weasley, Ginny and Ron grinned evilly to each other while George said: "You realise this makes you the coolest dad on the planet?"

Fred grinned. "Don't you?"

Mr Weasley flushed with pride and beamed at his children.

Harry shoved the jealousy down, wondering if his dad would have been as caring, and easy-going or even as cool as Mr Weasley was. However, Hermione of all people stopped his wondering by sending everyone laughing with a bored sigh.

"After Dad made Remus my godfather, I basically have two dads," she shrugged. "Can confirm, you're cooler than both of them."

Mr Weasley's ears burned scarlet, and he smiled to himself.

Ginny's heart still pounded and the electricity from the crowd and pitch left her buzzing with an excitement she'd never felt before. She adored it all. Ginny once imagined herself a chaser for Gryffindor, and always loved that position best when playing with her brothers, but when she saw Krum catch the snitch, it didn't matter that she was rooting for Ireland, nor that the one-hundred-fifty points from it didn't earn Bulgaria the win. He glowed from within, as if he hadn't caught the snitch, but happiness itself.

Bagman threw his hat to the ground, despite having rooted for Ireland, and could scarcely hide gaping at Hermione when the final score she predicted was announced. The twins high-fived and Ginny couldn't stop herself from howling in laughter.

"Really?!" Ginny gasped between laughs.

Miyuki grinned "Wateri Yosuke was the library bandit all along!"

Saiyaka nodded emphatically. "Mione-chan think it was me?! Can you believe?!"

"Nee-chan!" Hermione whined, giving her a playful shove. "I said I was 'sorry', didn't I?"

Saiyaka stuck her tongue out and grinned.

Ginny giggled before asking. "What's Neechan?"

"Large sister," Saiyaka answered.

"Big sister, Saiya-chan," Hermione, Miyuki and Anya all groaned.

"But didn't she call you that earlier?" Ginny asked.

Hermione shrugged. "It's suitable for close older friends. Saiyaka and I just don't know who's older."

"Couldn't you just ask?"Ginny said.

"Both born September first," Saiyaka explained with a smile. "But Neechan is small!"

"New English word, Saiya-chan," Hermione teased. "Arsehole!"

To Ginny's surprise, they all spoke enough English, despite having leaned on Hermione and Anya earlier. She dreaded when her dad suggested that Hiro bunk with the boys and the girls join Hermione and Ginny ("No point in Hiro staying alone or you girls cramming into that small muggle tent" he said.), but now, Ginny was thrilled to get to know these other girls.

Saiyaka was very much like Hermione, shy,nervous, but brilliant and funny. Miyuki was bubbly and aggressively cute, but quickly won Ginny over with plenty of jokes and enthusiasm. Anya hardly matched Ginny's perceptions of Germans, being outgoing, cheerful and matching the Brits in sarcasm. Meanwhile Kaori was everything she wanted to be, smart, gorgeous and effortlessly cool. It was hardly a surprise she was the Seeker and Captain of the girls' quidditch team.

And it seemed by the hand holding and glances that Anya did know what she was talking about when she said Kaori was her girlfriend.

Ginny never felt she lacked anything, growing up around boys and keeping a distance from other girls her age, but these girls, in their heavily accented English, giggles and contagious enthusiasm made her wish she had tried more. Her classmates seemed eager enough to befriend her, so why did she avoid other girls?

"Are we decent, girls?" her father's voice called.

"Decent? Like behave?" Saiyaka asked.

Ginny called out to her father: "We're changed! Come in!"

Saiyaka buried her face in embarrassment, and Hermione paused from plaiting the bespectacled girl's hair to place her hand on her head in comfort.

"Eigo kirai," Saiyaka muttered.

"At least we only have one writing system," Hermione laughed awkwardly.

"Anya rolled her eyes. "I have three first languages, and English was definitely the last one for me to get a hang of reading."

"Three?" Hermione gasped. "So German, English and French?"

Anya shook her head. "I learned French later. My mum immigrated to Germany from Bulgaria a little before I was born. So it's actually Bulgarian, German and English. Dad didn't want to bother learning Russian."

"Yes, that's very interesting, girls," Ginny's dad smiled, crouching to their level. "But we do have an early morning. So it's lights out, okay, girls?"

"Sure, Dad," Ginny nodded. "We'll also keep it down."

"Wonderful, goodnight, girls."

"Good night!" the girls chorused.

Once the lights went out, Miyuki dug out a muggle torch and held it beneath her chin, creating hollows around her grin and eyes. "Let's tell ghost stories!" she whispered.

"The sounds grew closer, louder," Miyuki whispered dramatically to the entranced girls. "Yuko didn't know whether it was her heart beat or, maybe it was her footsteps. The forest was very dark, and she just had to get back to camp. She stopped moving, and tried to hold her breath. She heard a twig snap and turned her head around to find—"

Miyuki's story was cut off by a sudden yell, the girls all jumping and covering their mouths. Kaori and Anya leapt out of their sleeping bags, and grabbed their wands. Ginny looked for her own before Hermione ripped the torch out of Miyuki's hands and shut it off.

"Everyone freeze and stay down," Hermione whispered. "Kaori, (she said something in Japanese Ginny couldn't make out and everyone else's silhouettes nodded.) Ginny, you're twelve. Stay down, yeah?"

Ginny nodded hesitantly and the silhouettes all became bundles on the ground, each girl clutching their recovered wands just in case.

The shouting grew louder and then a scream erupted. The girls all bolted upright as a new silhouette entered the tent, their wands pointed at the small form, until they realised it was Hermione, her usually medium olive face white with terror.

"We're under attack!"