Neville had fallen asleep on her shoulder, and it was the cutest thing Hermione had ever seen. His head lolled forward, brushing against her collarbone, as a glob of spit dribbled past his parted lips and dampened her shirt. Hermione's heart ached with tenderness as she gazed down at him, feeling a profound sense of gratitude for the innocent trust Neville had placed in her. She leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of his head, overwhelmed by how effortlessly he had accepted her into his life. It was a stark contrast to the turmoil she felt within.

Hermione slowly got to her feet and carried Neville up the stairs to his room, which was right beside Frank and Alice's. She ignored the light underneath Frank's door and walked into Neville's bedroom. Slowly placing him inside his cot, she ran her fingers through his hair before she stood up straight and headed for the door.

"Nee…" Neville mumbled and rolled over onto his belly, sticking his thumb into his mouth. Hermione knew—older Neville had told her—that he only sucked his thumb when he was a bit anxious.

Hermione's breath hitched as she saw this familiar gesture of anxiety. The sight of him so vulnerable, reverting to old habits, was like a dagger to her heart. He had done it the first night after she had calmed him down enough to make him fall asleep, and he was doing it again now. She wanted to reach out and pull him close, to shield him from all the pain and uncertainty that loomed over them.

Fury overwhelmed Hermione as she thought of Frank's earlier outburst. Her mind replayed the harsh words and the vehemence of his rage, a gnawing sense of injustice consuming her. The way Frank had hurled accusations at her, how his anger had transformed into something almost primal, made her heart ache with a sense of betrayal.

His actions could have seriously affected his image in Neville's mind. The poor boy could have been physically hurt too if Frank had continued his tirade against Hermione. She was fine with him yelling at her—no, she wasn't really fine with it, but she could have at least handled him on her own if he wasn't emotional over his wife's death. But when Neville had shown up and started crying, Hermione had seen Frank's anger increase. If he had just decided to kick—

No, she refused to think that way. This was Neville's father, and he wouldn't dare hurt Neville. Hermione refused to believe that. Frank was just hurt and heartbroken over his wife's death, but he wouldn't dare lay a finger on Neville. He loved him too much.

Hermione gently closed the door behind her and turned to leave through the hallway when she heard raised voices from within Frank's bedroom.

"No, I refuse," Frank yelled. His scream was followed by something being thrown clear across the room.

"Frank Longbottom, have you forgotten all your manners that I've instilled in you? How can you speak like that?" August cried, aghast.

Hermione was about to walk away when she heard Frank spit out her name with absolute disdain. "I don't know what you want to do with her, but that witch Granger cannot stay here. I refuse to have anything to do with her!"

"Frank, sweetie, she's taking such good care of your child—"

"I'll take care of him myself!"

"You're not in the right frame of mind to do anything, son. You can't handle yourself, let alone your own child."

"I don't need her lurking around and destroying our lives even more than she already has. I lost my wife because of her—"

"Don't forget that you also have your mind intact because of her. She's the only reason you're not in St Mungo's, still suffering from the aftereffects of the Cruciatus," Augusta snapped. "Be grateful for that."

"I would rather be in St Mungo's with my wife alive than here with her dead," Frank spat out the words with such hatred that tears welled up in Hermione's eyes.

She stepped back and stared at the door. Did Frank really hate her this much, or was he just saying that because he was still suffering? She wanted to think that he was a good man at heart, just suffering at the moment, but each time he said something scathing about her, it just got harder and harder to hope that she might do something right for him.

"You can stay away from Miss Granger if you so wish, but I am not going to throw her out on the streets. She has no one here but us—"

"That is not my problem," Frank growled. "Keep her away from me. I cannot stand to see her face. It makes me want to kill myself."

"Frank…"

"No, Mother. I don't care what you do with her—make her work like a house-elf, for all I care—but I don't want to see her around me. Do you understand?"

Augusta's world-weary sigh echoed in Hermione's ears. "Very well."

Hermione had heard enough. No one had ever hated her this personally before, and Frank's reaction shattered her heart. It wasn't her fault Sirius had died—it was. She hadn't told him to go kill himself. Sirius had taken that step himself. She wasn't to blame…was she?

A wave of self-reproach crashed over her. What if I had acted differently? What if I had been faster, more decisive? The crushing weight of guilt threatened to overwhelm her as she stumbled back to her room. Her mind was a whirlwind of anguish and self-doubt. But maybe if I had just been quicker…If my reflexes had been faster in saving Alice…

Hermione covered her mouth with her hand to stifle her sobs as she stumbled toward her room at the far end of the hallway. She walked inside and shut the door behind her, sliding down to rest her still aching head for a while.

She needed to get out of here. Leave this timeline. But what about Neville?

She couldn't help but worry about this childhood version of Neville. The adult Neville had wanted her to change things, but even he would be horrified by the terrible effects she had brought to his father's life. What would she even say to him if she managed to return back to her time?

Just then, the pale glow of a Patronus floated through the window and approached her. At first, her hope began galloping at the thought that Remus had answered her, but then, it came to a sudden stop when she realised it was her own Patronus.

The glowing otter rolled about in the air before slowly fading from existence.

Hermione clenched her eyes shut.

Either Remus was out of the country (as Patronuses couldn't travel that far) or he too was…

Hermione shook her head and jumped to her feet. No, no one else is dying on my watch. Not anymore.

It was time to get Peter Pettigrew.