After that encounter right after the full moon, Hermione Granger avoided him like the plague. Remus had noticed the change immediately, the way she suddenly became more distant. She began arriving to his Defence Against the Dark Arts classes at the last possible moment, barely making it to her seat before the lesson began. She no longer raised her hand, no longer participated in the debates she had once clearly enjoyed, and only spoke if he directly called upon her. And then, just as quickly as class ended, she would vanish, leaving before he could even suggest that she stay behind for a quick word.
At first, Remus wasn't sure what had gone wrong. That morning, she had come to him with chocolates, a kind and thoughtful gesture. But then she heard Andi's voice from the other room, and something shifted. Hermione had stiffened, her expression faltering, and then, without explanation, she had hurried away as though she couldn't escape fast enough.
He had tried to catch her after that, to speak with her and clear the air, but she was too quick. And yet, the routine of avoidance was painfully familiar. He had to chuckle internally, albeit bitterly. Wasn't this exactly what I did with Mina? The parallels were too striking to ignore. Whenever he thought Mina had overstepped some unspoken boundary—her insistence on taking care of him around the full moon, her unwavering kindness, or his discovery that she was hiding something—he had done the same thing. Pulled back, put up walls, and avoided her until he couldn't anymore.
And then, suddenly, something clicked into place.
Could it be?
Remus sat bolt upright at his desk, his mind whirring with the thought. Hermione Granger and Mina Delacour—they certainly looked similar. Not exactly the same, but similar enough. He considered the slight differences in facial features, but that could easily be explained by a glamour. Mina had been secretive, careful. She never revealed much about her future, never even used her real name. It wouldn't have been out of the realm of possibility for her to alter her appearance just enough to avoid suspicion or instant recognition.
The hair, though—that bushy, wild hair. It was unmistakably the same. And yet, there were differences. The teeth—Hermione had slightly bucked front teeth, Mina's were straighter, smaller. But then again, that could have been changed too. Mina had been clever, resourceful, and her entire existence in the past had been shrouded in mystery.
But then came the key difference that had thrown him off for so long—Hermione was muggleborn. She was a brilliant witch, but her background was well-known. Mina had never let go of her half-blood cover even after the discovery of that scar on her arm. Not that they really pushed her on that matter. It sort of faded into the background. Now that he thought about it, it would have made sense for Mina to adopt such a cover. The war had been looming, and Voldemort was ruthless when it came to blood status.
The most striking difference, though, was the absence of Harry and Ron. In all the years Hermione had been at Hogwarts, there was no sign of the friendship with Harry and Ron that Mina had claimed had been the defining feature of her life. But then again, Voldemort wasn't around in this timeline during their school years. There was no war to bind them together, no life-threatening situations that would force them into the deep bond that Hermione had shared with them in the other timeline.
Had her defeat of the Dark Lord early on changed so much?
He sighed, running a hand through his greying hair. Of course it did, he thought. Sirius never went to Azkaban. He's married with children. Harry had a younger sister, Lily and James alive and well. How could things not have changed?
The more he thought about it, the clearer it became. The shift in Hermione's behaviour, the day he escorted her to the Hospital Wing. She had been so overwhelmed, so lost in her own thoughts. And then, that confession, however vague—"What if you woke up and didn't recognise your life anymore?" He had dismissed it at the time as stress, perhaps even an existential crisis, but now it made perfect sense. She had been displaced in time, just like Mina had been when she first arrived, but at least Mina didn't have to fill already existing shoes. She had a clean slate, one she could fill however she wanted. Hermione was now living in a world that wasn't hers.
It infuriated him that it had taken him so long to piece it together. She's been suffering alone all this time, he realised, and I let her. He had let her avoid him, had given her space when she needed him to confront her, to offer her comfort.
Then there was Andi's presence that morning. Of course that had made Hermione reconsider everything. He couldn't blame her. She must have realised that he had been involved with Tonks, and with her mother tending to him, it would have seemed like he had fully moved on. And in truth, he had—he had convinced himself that Mina was never coming back.
It was Mina who had first planted the idea of Tonks in his mind, so long ago. She had hinted at a possible future with Nymphadora, and when the young Auror had started showing interest in him, he hadn't really hesitated. It had seemed like the natural course of events.
Fate, he had told himself at the time.
And by then, he had lost all hope that Mina would ever return. Fifteen years—fifteen long years—was more than enough time to accept that whatever strange twist of magic had sent Mina into the past had ultimately taken her away for good.
Yet, looking back on it now, he couldn't help but think that his lack of hesitation had changed everything. If he remembered correctly, he had only been meant to marry Tonks when Mina had turned eighteen in her time. But instead, it had happened three years earlier. Was that because of his relationship with Mina? Had it accelerated the timeline, forcing him to move forward with Tonks sooner?
And now here she was again, back in her own time, and everything was out of sync. How could she not feel like her world had turned upside down?
Remus's thoughts spiralled, the pieces slowly falling into place. Hadn't Mina told me that she had been nearly nineteen when she first arrived in the past? Time magic, in its maddening way, often worked with a kind of symmetry. It wouldn't be unreasonable to think that she had returned to her own time at the exact point she had left. Had I just been patient a little longer... Should I have waited?
But even as the thought crossed his mind, Remus knew he couldn't regret what had happened with Tonks. He couldn't regret those years of happiness, brief as they were. He couldn't regret his son. His mind drifted to Teddy—his bright, joyful boy who had brought him comfort in the darkest times. No, there was no way he could wish that away, not for anything.
But fate, in its strange and unpredictable way, would have it that Mina—no, Hermione—returned at a time when he might just be ready to move on again. Remus couldn't ignore that. He had loved Tonks, truly, and the pain of losing her was something he had carried deeply for these past two years. But life had a way of moving forward, and though he still felt the ache of her absence, the sharp edge of his grief had softened.
It was maddening, but it made sense. All of it. He clenched his fist, anger building at himself for letting her suffer in silence. But now, now he had to find a way to reach her. To tell her that he knew.
But Hermione wasn't making it easy. She was avoiding him like she had something to hide, like she couldn't bear to be near him. And every time he tried to approach her, she vanished. She was too quick, too clever.
But not for long, he vowed. I'm not going to let her run away again.
He needed to speak to her. To tell her that he had finally figured it out. That he knew who she was. And most of all, that he still cared. She had returned, and he wasn't going to lose her again.
Every time Hermione caught a glimpse of Remus, her stomach clenched. It's been almost a week now since she saw Andromeda in his office, and it was utterly ridiculous, she thought to herself. He is with Tonks. Move on.
With those thoughts swirling in her mind, she found herself wandering up to the Astronomy Tower. She needed air, space to think without bumping into anyone. But when she reached the top, she wasn't alone.
Neville Longbottom was there, leaning against the stone wall, gazing out at the grounds. He wasn't the same timid boy she remembered from her original timeline. There was a quiet strength in his posture now, a confidence that came from somewhere deep within him. Not that Neville had been timid by seventh year before, either—no one who had beheaded Nagini could be called timid—but still, seeing this version of him felt strange.
Neville turned when he heard her footsteps. His expression softened slightly, and though they weren't exactly friends in this timeline, something in the way he looked at her made her stop.
"Rough day?" he asked, his voice calm, as if he understood more than he was letting on.
Hermione blinked, momentarily taken aback. "You could say that," she muttered.
Neville didn't press further. Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a chocolate frog, offering it to her without a word.
She stared at it for a moment, surprised by the gesture. "Thanks," she said, taking it hesitantly.
She unwrapped the chocolate and popped it into her mouth, letting the familiar sweetness melt on her tongue. But when she glanced at the card inside, she froze. It was of Mina Delacour.
Her own face stared back at her, save for some subtle differences. And of course it was highly stylised.
Hermione's breath caught in her throat, her fingers tightening around the card, fighting the urge to hide it quickly from view. Memories of her time as Mina flooded back—of the Marauders, of James and Lily, of Remus. Her heart raced. She forced herself to look up at Neville, to think about anything but that.
"Thanks," she whispered, her voice tight. Without another word, she turned and fled, her emotions too tangled to untangle in front of him.
Neville watched her go, his eyes lingering on her retreating figure. Whatever had passed between them, he seemed to know not to ask.
Another interesting habit Hermione had picked up since the full moon, was attaching herself to Draco Malfoy like a lifeline. It's been two weeks now. Somewhere along the way, she had discovered that she was actually Head Girl, and he was Head Boy. She must have forgotten to put on her badge that first morning when she had slammed back into this timeline, but she was quickly reminded of her duties when one of the prefects asked her perplexedly a few days later if there was supposed to be a meeting that day because she hadn't sent word.
Thrown into the responsibilities that came with the position, she found herself seeking out Draco more and more under the pretence of one thing or another they were supposed to take care of—whether it was coordinating prefect schedules, planning events, or just quietly studying together. Surprisingly, Draco didn't seem to mind, teasing her every now and then for being so uptight, but with a tone that was more amused than annoyed. In fact, it seemed perfectly in character for her, so she didn't worry too much about drawing suspicion.
One afternoon, they were sitting in the Library, both of them absorbed in their work, when a younger student approached Hermione with a note in hand. "Headmistress McGonagall asked me to give you this," the student said before hurrying away.
Hermione unfolded the note, her eyes scanning it quickly. It was a summons to see McGonagall in her office.
Draco glanced up from his parchment. "What's that about?"
"I don't know," Hermione answered, frowning slightly. "Might be something Head Student related."
"You'd think she'd summon me too for that," Draco commented, raising an eyebrow. "But it's not like we don't know she likes you more."
Hermione caught the subtle edge in Draco's tone, and for a moment, she felt a pang of sympathy. It was easy to forget sometimes that Draco, for all his teasing and sarcastic comments, carried his own burdens. His family's dark legacy, the shadow of his father, and the weight of proving that he wasn't like the man who had caused so much pain in their world. It wasn't something he talked about often, but Hermione could see it—the way he hesitated before speaking sometimes, or the way he worked harder than anyone to make sure he did things right, as if waiting for someone to tell him he didn't belong.
"You know McGonagall doesn't play favourites," Hermione said gently, standing up and sliding the note into her bag. "If she likes me more, it's probably because I'm better at organising prefect schedules." She gave him a small smile, trying to lighten the mood.
Draco huffed, though the hint of bitterness had faded from his voice. "Sure, Granger. That's what it is. Your impeccable scheduling skills."
She smiled back, but as she walked out of the Library, her mind lingered on Draco and how much things had changed between them. He wasn't the same boy he had been during her original years at Hogwarts—arrogant, spoiled, and determined to live up to the Malfoy name. Now, he seemed like someone else entirely. Someone who was still finding his way.
Hermione shook off the thought as she made her way up to the Headmistress's office. She didn't know what McGonagall wanted, but the summons felt serious, and she had the distinct feeling that whatever was about to happen, it was something she wouldn't be able to easily forget.
As she approached the stone gargoyle guarding the entrance to the office, she muttered the password and ascended the spiral staircase. The door creaked open, and there sat McGonagall, her sharp eyes watching Hermione closely, a look of quiet contemplation on her face.
Hermione stepped into the office, and her eyes caught sight of another figure sitting quietly in the corner—Remus Lupin. His presence startled her, and for a brief moment, her heart skipped a beat. He sat with a composed expression, though the faint lines of worry etched across his face gave away the tension beneath the surface.
"Professor Lupin," Hermione acknowledged softly, her voice steady though she felt anything but. She turned her gaze back to McGonagall, who gestured to the chair in front of her desk.
"Sit, Miss Granger," McGonagall repeated, her voice slightly softer now, though the edge of seriousness remained. Hermione complied, sitting down, feeling a heavy sense of foreboding settling in her chest. What was this about? Why was Remus here?
"Professor Lupin has asked me to intervene, as he has been trying to talk to you for two weeks now and you seem determined to evade him at all costs. So, I am going to step out and let your Head of House explain what this meeting is about."
Hermione's eyes snapped to McGonagall, a flicker of betrayal crossing her face. You too? she thought, but the truth was, it was Remus she should be angry at. Resorting to such underhanded methods, she mused bitterly, trying to brace herself for whatever this meeting would bring.
Once McGonagall had left the room, Remus immediately cast a series of privacy charms around the office, ensuring that no one—not even the portraits—could spy on their conversation. For a few moments, tension hung in the air. Hermione could feel Remus trying to gather his thoughts, as if he wasn't quite sure where to start. Or maybe he wasn't entirely sure what he knew—or suspected—yet.
He finally broke the silence. "That morning with the chocolate basket... Could you please explain your thought process behind that? I had the distinct feeling you were trying to remind me of something."
Hermione's breath hitched in her throat. He knows. The realisation hit her like the Hogwarts Express, and suddenly, it felt as if the air had been sucked out of the room. He had put it together. He knows. But how much? And what was she supposed to do now?
Her vision blurred as panic set in, making her get up from her chair to create some distance. The walls of the office seemed to close in on her, her chest tightening. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think.
Remus was by her side in an instant. "Come sit back down before you pass out. Deep breaths, Hermione," he said gently, guiding her back into her chair as she began to hyperventilate. His voice was calm, steady, but she could hear the worry beneath it.
She let out a shaky breath, her mind still spinning, but the edges of her panic began to dull with each deep breath.
"I have a suspicion about what's going through your head," Remus continued, his voice quiet but purposeful. "So, let me just say this, and then you can tell me if it helps or not, alright?"
Hermione nodded, unable to form words. The room felt surreal, like something out of a dream—or a nightmare.
"I married Tonks four years ago," Remus began, his tone soft but direct. "We had a son—Teddy. He's two now. Tonks... passed away when he was just three months old."
Hermione felt like the floor had dropped out from beneath her. Her heart broke for him all over again. Tonks... gone. She had known loss, but to hear it confirmed in this timeline, it hit her all the same. A life she hadn't lived, a grief she hadn't shared, but she still felt the weight of it pressing on her chest.
"I didn't know," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I didn't know if you... if she... I'm sorry. I didn't know she would die. I mean, in my time, you both died at the Battle of Hogwarts. But I thought... with Voldemort gone... she would live. I would've told you—"
"Woah, slow down," Remus interrupted gently, holding up his hands in a calming gesture. "I'm not accusing you of anything. What I'm saying is, if your avoidance is due to seeing Andi in my office, and thinking that I have a wife now... that's not true. Well, not anymore."
Hermione's breath hitched. The weight of her assumptions about him, about Tonks, suddenly felt crushingly heavy. She had spent days, weeks, agonising over what she'd seen in his office, imagining a life he might have rebuilt without her. The relief she felt at hearing him clarify, though tinged with sorrow for his loss, made her heart ache.
Remus continued, his voice soft, but with an undercurrent of emotion. "Andromeda was helping me because I still struggle with the full moons. Well, only the aftermath. She's family now, after everything. She's the closest I have left to... well, to everything I lost. But that doesn't mean..."
He trailed off, his eyes searching hers, as if trying to find the words that could bridge the years and memories between them. "I've been trying to talk to you, Mina. I've been trying to understand, but you've been shutting me out. I just need to know why."
Hermione looked away, blinking back the tears that had been threatening to spill, especially with him calling her by the name she had used in the past. "I thought... I thought that you had moved on. That you had a family now, with her. And I couldn't come between that. I didn't want to be selfish, Remus."
Remus sighed, his expression softening. "Mina, I never stopped thinking about you. About what we had, what you sacrificed to save us all. I grieved for you, too, you know. When you disappeared... I thought you were gone for good. That's why I moved on after fifteen years. It's why Tonks and I—well, you know the rest. But that doesn't mean I've forgotten."
Hermione swallowed hard, her chest tightening as Remus's words washed over her. She had been so caught up in her own turmoil, her own confusion, that she hadn't considered how he must have felt all these years. How he must have grieved for her, too, while trying to move forward. But now, faced with this raw truth, she didn't know how to reconcile everything. She couldn't go back to being Mina, and she wasn't sure if she truly fit as Hermione in this world anymore either.
"I owe everything to you," Remus continued, his voice thick with emotion. "I cannot even begin to tell you the guilt I felt when I met Tonks. If it hadn't been for your trust fund, your foundation… without your efforts, I would have never had access to Wolfsbane starting from 1984. It was because of you that the laws changed enough for me to be hired here in 1987. I was able to build a life—one I thought I could never have. In a way, I felt like I was betraying your memory."
"Please don't feel guilty," Hermione replied, her voice shaky but firm. "I did those things because I knew what would happen if I didn't. I couldn't sit by and do nothing. I knew you, and others like you, needed the opportunity to live with some semblance of dignity. It's not like I had any better use for that Basilisk venom money while I was... gone."
She paused, her eyes meeting his with a sincerity that almost broke her. "I didn't want to burden you with what I knew would be a twenty-year sacrifice. It would've been incredibly cruel of me to ask you to wait for me, Remus. You deserved happiness, a life. And I... I wanted you to have that, even if I couldn't be part of it."
Remus shook his head, his expression softening. "But you did burden me with it, Mina. I might not have known where you went or why, but you were still with me. Every full moon, every time I took that Wolfsbane, every law that was passed... I knew it was because of you. And it was impossible not to think about it—about you—when my life changed because of those things. You might not have wanted me to wait for you, but in some ways... I did."
Hermione felt her heart clench. She hadn't realised just how deeply her actions had impacted him, even after she had left. She thought she was doing the right thing by hiding what she had been planning to do, giving him the chance to move on without being tied to a future that wasn't certain. But instead, she had left him with questions, guilt, and a constant reminder of what could have been.
"I didn't want you to feel trapped," she said, her voice small. "I thought it would be better if you had the chance to live your life, without worrying about me, without the weight of waiting for something that may never happen."
Remus sighed, his thumb gently brushing against her knuckles. "I understand why you did it. You were trying to protect me, in your way. But you have to know, Mina... you were never a burden. Not to me. I may have moved on, I may have built a life with Tonks, but that doesn't mean I forgot about you. You've always been with me, even when you weren't."
Hermione looked at him, the emotion in his eyes overwhelming her. She had spent so long thinking she had done the right thing by leaving him behind, by letting him build a life without her. But now, seeing the depth of his feelings, she realised just how much she had underestimated the bond they shared.
"You don't have to carry this on your own anymore," he said gently, his voice filled with warmth. "We'll figure it out together. Whatever that means for us now."
Hermione bit her lip, her eyes stinging with unshed tears. She had been so lost, so unsure of where she fit in this new world, but now... for the first time, she felt a small glimmer of hope. Maybe she didn't have to figure it all out on her own. Maybe she didn't have to be lost anymore.
"Thank you," she whispered, her voice cracking slightly. "I didn't realise how much I needed to hear that."
Remus smiled softly, his hand still holding hers. "You don't have to be alone anymore, Mina. Not as long as I'm here."
They sat in comfortable silence, just like old times when they had shared countless moments without words, letting the quiet speak for them. There was something soothing about it, something familiar that grounded Hermione in the whirlwind of everything she had been feeling. The silence wasn't awkward—it was full of understanding.
"So... what now?" she asked softly, her voice uncertain but curious.
Remus exhaled, his expression thoughtful. "Well, first, you finish school." He chuckled a little, the irony not lost on either of them. "I know it's awfully strange, considering you sat your N.E.W.T.s just five months ago. But here, now... you need to go through that again."
Hermione couldn't help but smile faintly at that. Of course, Remus would be pragmatic about all of this. He always was.
"And if I have your permission," he continued, "I'd like to tell the others—Lily, James, Sirius, those who knew about the time travel. They would want to know. But I think we should table any big, life-altering decisions until after you've graduated."
Hermione hesitated for a moment before adding, "Technically Moody knew as well."
Remus raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. "Moody? How did he...?"
Hermione let out a small chuckle. "Dumbledore told him, before he died. I needed a leader figure as an ally in the Order who knew everything."
Remus looked at her with a mixture of admiration and quiet understanding. "It sounds like Dumbledore knew exactly what he was doing, as usual."
Hermione nodded. "I suppose he did. He always had a way of making sure the right people were in place, even if they didn't realise it at the time."
Remus squeezed her hand gently, a warm look in his eyes. "Then we'll bring Moody in on this, too. But only when you're ready. You don't have to face everything at once."
For the first time in what felt like ages, Hermione felt a small flicker of hope. Maybe she wasn't as alone as she had thought. "I think I'd like you to call me Hermione from now on, though. Just to help keep everything straight."
Remus smiled softly, his thumb brushing over her hand in a comforting gesture. "Hermione it is, then," he said, his voice full of understanding. "We'll take it one step at a time, alright? You don't have to figure everything out at once."
Hermione felt a weight lift from her shoulders, even if just slightly. It was the first time in what seemed like forever that she felt a sense of clarity—like maybe, just maybe, things could begin to make sense again. She wasn't Mina anymore, not fully. She was Hermione Granger, and she needed to embrace that part of herself, even if the two identities were intricately linked in ways she couldn't unravel just yet.
"So what did the Headmistress want?" Draco asked as Hermione returned to the library.
"Uhm, just some Gryffindors causing trouble. Professor Lupin was there as well. It was a whole thing, and since I'm in Gryffindor and Head Girl, they thought it best I knew as well," she replied, her voice carefully casual.
"Was it Potter again?" Draco asked, a smirk tugging at his lips.
"What? No."
"Ahem, sure."
Hermione shot him a glare. "Why would you think it was anything about Harry?"
"Since when are you on a first-name basis with that berk? He and Weasley have been nothing but awful to you since day one. Maybe not Potter so much, but he didn't exactly step in when his mate goes on and on about how insufferable you are."
"It wasn't anything about Harry, alright? Just drop it," she snapped, feeling her frustration bubbling up.
"Don't get your knickers in a twist." Draco raised his hands in mock surrender, though his eyes gleamed with curiosity.
Hermione shot him another glare before he changed the topic with a smirk. "So, how was it to come face-to-face with your Head of House again? Don't think I didn't notice you've been avoiding him for weeks. What did he do?"
"Professor Lupin didn't do anything," Hermione replied, her tone a little too quick. "We had a misunderstanding. It's cleared up now."
"Misunderstanding, huh?" Draco raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. "What, did he take points off your essay, and you argued until he marked it back up to O?"
"Something like that," Hermione muttered, her mind racing back to the actual conversation with Remus. If only it were that simple.
The next morning, as Hermione sat down for breakfast, a familiar owl swooped down towards their table. Harry immediately perked up, eyes following the owl as it landed directly in front of her. He blinked in surprise, his gaze falling on the parchment addressed in his mother's handwriting.
"How do you even know my mum?" he asked, clearly taken aback.
Hermione, quick on her feet, recalled how adept she had become at crafting believable stories during her time in school with the Marauders. She knew she had to tread carefully. "I told Professor Lupin I was considering the Healer program after all, and he suggested I connect with your mum."
Harry looked surprised but didn't press further, though she could tell his curiosity lingered. "Oh... that makes sense, I guess. I didn't know you were interested in becoming a Healer."
Hermione just nodded, grateful that the conversation hadn't veered into more dangerous territory. "It's something I've been thinking about," she said, tucking the letter away, though the truth of its contents weighed heavily on her mind.
Ron, sitting nearby, snorted. "Can you imagine what her bedside manner would be? Bossing her patients into submission. Bloody nightmare."
Hermione shot him a withering glare before quickly hexing him with a Bat-Bogey Hex. Ron's face twisted in horror as the bats began to form and flap around his nose made out of snot.
"Hey! How do you know that hex?" Ginny exclaimed, her eyes wide with surprise.
Hermione froze for a moment, the blood draining from her face. The Bat-Bogey Hex was Ginny's signature spell, something she had created. And in this timeline, they weren't even friends. She scrambled for an explanation. "Saw you use it once," she said with a sniff, trying to sound nonchalant. "Seemed like a nice little touch."
Everyone was staring at her open-mouthed, as if they couldn't believe that Hermione Granger—of all people—had not only broken the rules but performed a spell like that. In this timeline, it seemed, such behaviour from her was entirely unheard of.
Ron, still desperately trying to bat away the flapping bogies, muttered through his struggle, "Blimey, she's gone rogue."
Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, her voice steely as she replied, "Be glad it wasn't Avis Oppugno. I'm done putting up with you trying to put me down at every turn, you hear me, Ronald Weasley?"
The entire table went silent. Harry's fork hovered halfway to his mouth as he looked between Hermione and Ron, clearly unsure how to respond. Ginny raised her eyebrows, clearly impressed but also taken aback by the uncharacteristic fierceness in Hermione's voice.
Ron, finally managing to dispel the hex, wiped at his nose with an incredulous look. "I was just joking, Hermione! Take it easy, for Merlin's sake!"
"No," Hermione snapped, her tone unforgiving. "You're constantly joking at my expense, and I've had enough of it. Just because I'm... different from you doesn't mean I deserve to be treated like some kind of punchline."
Ron opened his mouth, but for once, no witty retort came out. He seemed genuinely surprised by her outburst.
Hermione stood up, clutching the letter tightly. "If you've got nothing useful to say, then maybe don't say anything at all." With that, she turned and marched out of the Great Hall, leaving her friends-from-another-life staring after her in stunned silence.
As she walked away, her heart was pounding in her chest, but for the first time in a long time, she felt like she had taken control of her narrative.
Hermione's footsteps echoed down the corridor, her heartbeat still thudding in her ears. She didn't expect anyone to follow her, least of all Harry. So when she heard his hurried steps behind her, she hesitated for a moment before turning around.
"Hermione, wait!" Harry called out, his face flushed from jogging after her. He caught up quickly, his expression sincere, almost apologetic. "I—I'm sorry about Ron. He can be a prat sometimes, but he didn't mean it like that."
Hermione crossed her arms, a familiar defensive posture that had served her well over the years. "I know he didn't mean it, Harry. But that doesn't make it okay. I'm tired of him always making me feel like some sort of joke, like I'm less than him just because I'm not constantly fooling around."
Harry nodded, his brow furrowed in thought. "I know. And you're right, he shouldn't have said that. I'll talk to him—tell him to lay off."
Hermione shook her head, her frustration still bubbling just beneath the surface. "It's not just about one comment, Harry. It's been like this for ages. I've... I've changed. And I don't think Ron—or any of you—realise that."
Harry looked at her for a moment, really looked at her, and something shifted in his eyes. "Yeah... you're right. You have changed. I can tell something's different."
Hermione's grip on the letter tightened. She wanted so badly to tell him everything, to confide in the Harry she knew, the friend who had always stood by her. But this wasn't her Harry, not exactly, and the truth seemed too big, too strange to share.
Instead, she offered a small, tired smile. "Thanks, Harry. I appreciate you coming after me."
He nodded, though he looked like he still wanted to say more. "Anytime. Just... if you ever want to talk, I'd be open to listen, alright?"
Hermione's smile softened as she looked at him, her heart aching with the weight of everything unsaid. This Harry—this kind, thoughtful, yet distant version of the boy she knew—was trying to connect with her, to understand, but she couldn't burden him with the impossible truths she carried. Not yet.
"Thanks," she replied quietly, tucking a loose curl behind her ear. "I'll keep that in mind."
Harry gave her one more glance, as though trying to read between the lines, before nodding. "Alright. I'll see you around then."
As he walked back toward the Great Hall, Hermione stood there for a moment, her hand gripping the letter from Lily. There was so much she couldn't say, so much she longed to share with him—about Mina Delacour, about the past, the future, and everything in between. But that was a story for another day, perhaps one she wasn't even sure she would ever tell.
Sighing, Hermione unfolded the letter, her fingers trembling slightly as her eyes skimmed over the familiar handwriting. Lily's elegant scrawl stretched across the parchment, and Hermione could already feel her heart begin to race. What else could this letter be about? Remus had surely told them everything by now—the truth she'd been hiding for weeks, that Mina Delacour and Hermione Granger were one and the same, trapped between two lives, one past and one present.
Dearest Hermione,
Or should I say Mina?
Remus has told us everything, and I don't know what to say, other than… welcome back. It's hard to even put into words what's going through my head. For so long, we thought you were lost to us, sacrificed for the greater good, and now you're here, alive but in this different time. Hermione Granger, the little girl from Gryffindor who Harry always complained about, is also the brave woman who fought beside us. You've been in limbo all this time—Merlin, I can't imagine how that feels.
I don't know if you're confused or scared, but I want you to know something: you don't have to go through this alone. James and I—we're here for you, just as we always were. The boys will be too, though you probably already know how Sirius is. He'll be... well, Sirius. But that's just how he shows he cares.
This must all be so overwhelming, and I can't even begin to understand how it feels to be back in a life you don't fully recognise. I can only hope you know we've missed you so much, and we're glad you've come home, even if things are different.
It must have been hard, hiding the truth, living in a body that doesn't quite feel like your own for weeks. And I'll admit, it's strange for us too, but it doesn't change anything. Mina or Hermione—you are still our friend, our family.
Whenever you're ready to talk, or if you just want to see some familiar faces, you know where to find us.
With love,Lily
Hermione's hands trembled as she reread the letter from Lily. The warmth and understanding radiating from the words was both comforting and terrifying. She had been so afraid of this moment—of telling them, of how they would react—and yet here it was, in Lily's neat, elegant handwriting: acceptance, friendship, family.
The words "you don't have to go through this alone" echoed in her mind. The tightness that had been coiled in her chest for weeks finally began to unravel, and she exhaled a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding. They knew, and they still cared. They didn't see her as some anomaly, but as the person they had loved—whether she was Mina or Hermione. Both names felt foreign and familiar at the same time, like they each represented parts of her that she still needed to reconcile.
The mention of Sirius made Hermione smile. She could already picture his reaction. There would be a few explosive rants—about trust, about not involving them in her plans against Voldemort, and how she'd been reckless not to seek their help. He'd be furious, maybe hurt, but she knew that beneath it all, he'd come around.
After all, it was Sirius. His anger would be quick to burn out, and then he'd be on board, just like always. Ready to embrace her as though no time had passed, ready to help her navigate this strange existence. She could already see the mischievous gleam in his eyes as he'd crack some joke about how their brilliant friend was stuck at twenty-something while they'd had to grow older. And once that initial storm blew over, she'd bet twenty Galleons he'd be plying her with Firewhiskey by the tenth minute, trying to corrupt her all over again.
Sirius had always been the one to take the seriousness out of any situation, even when it felt impossible to laugh. He'd be the one to distract her from the weight of what she'd been through—what she was still going through. And, maybe, he'd help her find a way to feel like Mina again. Or at least, like herself—whoever that was now.
And James—Hermione could already imagine how he'd be. Warm, supportive, with that ever-present smile that made him so approachable. But how strange would it be for him to see her as Hermione Granger, the same girl Harry had complained about? The swotty know-it-all who always had her hand raised in class, who followed the rules to the letter?
That would be an adjustment for him, no doubt. For someone who had known her as Mina—the fiery, determined woman who fought alongside him in the war—it must be jarring to see this younger, more uptight version of herself. But if that brief conversation with Harry was anything to go by, there was hope.
Harry had noticed the changes in her, how she wasn't the same as the girl he'd known for years. Maybe that meant James would warm up to her fast too, especially if she let go of some of her old, uptight habits. After all, James had never been one for strict rules and regulations. He appreciated cleverness, sure, but he was more drawn to those who weren't afraid to break a few rules for the right reasons.
Hermione smiled to herself. Maybe, just maybe, if she stopped trying to be the perfect student all the time and let a bit more of Mina show through, things would fall into place with James as well. He had always been easy to talk to, easy to confide in—she was sure that hadn't changed. And if anyone could help her balance this strange duality of being both Hermione and Mina, it would be him.
"Time to loosen up a bit, Granger," she murmured to herself, feeling a bit more confident about whatever lay ahead. After all, this was James Potter. If she could win over Harry, she could win over him too.
In the name of loosening up, Hermione decided to skip her next class and head outside. The warm breeze of late May wrapped around her as she roamed the familiar grounds, her steps slow and purposeful, driven by nostalgia. She hadn't allowed herself the luxury of simply wandering like this since she arrived back at Hogwarts in this strange, altered timeline. It was strange how familiar everything still felt, even if it was all subtly different.
As she walked, her path led her toward the paddock where the hippogriffs were kept. Her breath caught in her throat when she saw him. Buckbeak, alive and well, his majestic wings tucked neatly to his sides as he stood tall, proud, and every bit as regal as she remembered.
A flood of memories hit her at once. The original timeline, where Draco had foolishly provoked Buckbeak into attacking him, and the alternate version, where she had yanked him back by the collar just before he could get himself into trouble, giving him a sharp slap to the back of the head for being an idiot. The memory made her smile internally.
Without thinking, Hermione climbed over the fence, her body acting on instinct as she approached the magnificent creature. She bowed deeply, as was proper etiquette with a hippogriff, and waited. There was a moment of stillness, the air heavy with anticipation, and then Buckbeak bowed in return.
"You're such a good boy," she murmured, stepping forward to stroke his feathers fondly. Buckbeak's eyes met hers, and for a moment, she could swear he recognised her—like he knew that they had shared a deeper history than anyone else could understand. Of harrowing escapes and time travel.
"Oi, get away from 'im!" Hagrid's booming voice echoed from the distance.
Hermione turned to see the giant of a man coming toward them, his expression alarmed until he realised who it was. "Oh, 's jus' you, 'Ermione." He let out a breath of relief. "Didn' recognise yeh fer a moment there. Good t' see yeh still got the touch."
She smiled softly, her fingers still brushing against Buckbeak's feathers. "Yeah, I guess some things never change."
Hagrid came closer, his large form towering over both Hermione and Buckbeak. He gave her a warm, curious look, concern evident in his deep-set eyes.
"Bin doin' alright?" he asked, his voice softer than usual, almost tentative.
Hermione paused, her hand still on Buckbeak's feathers, her mind racing. She wasn't sure how to answer that. Was she alright? The weight of the past few weeks hung heavy on her, and with every new revelation, the sense of displacement grew stronger. But here, with Hagrid and Buckbeak, in this familiar place, she felt a flicker of comfort.
"Yeah," she said, after a moment, forcing a smile. "I'm managing. It's been… strange, but I'm managing."
Hagrid gave her a long, thoughtful look. "Aye, yer a tough one, yeh always were. But if yeh ever need t' talk, yeh know ol' Hagrid's got ears fer listenin'. Yeh've always been there fer others, don't fergit yeh've got friends here, eh?"
Her smile became more genuine as she nodded. "Thanks, Hagrid. That means a lot."
He patted her on the back, nearly knocking her off balance with his massive hand. "Good, good. Glad ter hear it."
What Hermione absolutely did not expect was Ron Weasley starting to follow her around like a lost puppy after she had hexed him. At first, she thought he was just trying to irritate her or make up for the argument, but soon she realised, with growing horror, that it wasn't just that.
Apparently, her new, more assertive, yet slightly rebellious, attitude had some kind of appeal to him. The more she cursed him out, the more she hexed him, the more he clung to her, his eyes lingering with a strange admiration. And then the realisation struck her like a rogue Bludger.
Merlin's pants, he fancies me.
Hermione felt a cold wave of dread wash over her. This was not how things were supposed to go. Her mind raced as she tried to quickly disabuse him of the notion that there would ever be anything between them.
"Ron," she said, exasperated, after catching him waiting for her outside of the library for the third time that week. "You need to stop."
He blinked at her, clearly confused. "Stop what?"
"This—following me around. It's not going to happen, alright? There's nothing between us, and there never will be."
His ears went red, and he fumbled for words, trying to play it off. "What? No, I wasn't... I mean, I wasn't thinking that! I was just—"
Hermione crossed her arms, giving him a pointed look. "Really? Because it seems like you've been trailing me like a lost Crup for days. You think hexing you was some sort of sign?"
Ron's face went beet red, but he didn't back down. "Well, I thought... I thought maybe we were... getting along better or something."
"Ron," she said, her tone firm but not unkind. "We're not getting along better. I'm the same person I've always been, and you're... well, you're still you. But whatever you think this is, it's not going to happen."
He opened his mouth as if to argue but then seemed to think better of it. His shoulders slumped, and for a moment, Hermione almost felt sorry for him.
"Look," she added, softening her tone just a fraction, "I'm sure you'll find someone who... fits you better. But it's not me."
Ron looked away, muttering something under his breath, and Hermione let out a quiet sigh of relief as he finally walked off, his ego bruised but, hopefully, the message received.
Hermione watched Ron walk away, a mix of emotions swirling inside her. Part of her felt bad for him. After all, in the original timeline, there had been that kiss they'd shared in the Chamber of Secrets after they destroyed the cup Horcrux. It had felt monumental at the time, like the culmination of years of tension and shared experience. But now, standing in this new timeline with the clarity of everything that had happened since, she could see it for what it really was—a moment born out of trauma, not genuine connection.
The history between them in that other life, the years of fighting side by side, had created a bond between her and Ron. But that bond didn't exist here, not in the same way. This Ron didn't have that same depth of shared experience with her. He wasn't the person she had faced death with, and she wasn't the same girl who had relied on him for comfort in the darkest times.
And, if she was being honest with herself, she and Ron would have never truly worked out, even back then. Sure, there had been moments of affection and shared understanding, but it had been more of a trauma bond than anything. They had clung to each other in the midst of chaos, finding solace in familiarity. But in the end, they would have made each other miserable.
She had changed so much since that timeline, seen and experienced too much. And here, now, in this reality, she knew she needed more than what Ron could offer—a true partner who would challenge her, support her, and understand the complexities of who she was.
Hermione sighed softly, shaking her head. There was no point dwelling on what could have been or what might have happened in another life. She had made her choice then, and she was making it now.
Hermione and Remus had developed a quiet routine of meeting at least once a week after classes. It had started as a way for her to regain her bearings, to talk through the impossible, and now, it had become something she looked forward to—a small pocket of familiarity and comfort in this strange, altered timeline.
On one such occasion, they were seated in the corner of his office, a soft fire crackling nearby, the warm glow casting flickering shadows across the room. Remus leaned back in his chair, his gaze studying her thoughtfully, as though weighing his words before speaking.
"So," he began casually, though there was a hint of curiosity in his tone, "I've noticed that Ron has been... hovering around you lately. Has something changed between the two of you?"
Hermione's eyes flicked up to meet his, surprised by the question. "Ron? No, nothing's changed," she said quickly, her voice firm. "I mean, not in the way you're thinking. He's just been... paying more attention lately, but I've already put him in his place." She let out a frustrated huff, rolling her eyes. "Trust me, I've made it very clear that I'm not interested."
Remus raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "You sure? It seems like he's pretty determined."
Hermione snorted. "Determined or delusional, I'm not sure which."
Remus chuckled softly but then paused, his expression becoming more thoughtful again. "It's just... you two were close once, weren't you? In your other life. It wouldn't be entirely surprising if you felt something for him still."
Hermione shook her head firmly. "No. Not anymore. Ron and I... we were close, but it was never right. Not really. We were caught up in everything—fighting for our lives, battling Voldemort—it created a kind of bond, but it wasn't meant to last. We would have driven each other crazy."
"If you are sure," he hummed.
"Yes, quite sure," she quipped back, but then narrowed her eyes at him. "Are you jealous?"
Remus blinked, clearly caught off guard by the question. He straightened up in his chair, his smile fading slightly as he looked at her with a mixture of surprise and amusement. "Jealous?" he repeated, a bit awkwardly. "No, of course not. I just—well, I wanted to make sure you're not... I don't know, settling."
Hermione laughed softly, the tension in the air dissolving. "Don't worry," she said, her tone light but sincere. "I'm not settling for anything or anyone. Least of all Ron."
Remus gave a small nod, though there was something in his eyes—perhaps a flicker of relief—that she couldn't quite place. He smiled again, a soft, knowing smile that made her feel at ease. "Good," he murmured. "Because you deserve so much more than that."
Hermione couldn't help but smile at his words, her heart warming just a little at his quiet sincerity. There was something so steady about Remus, so solid and dependable, even when the world around them felt like it was constantly shifting. It had been like that back in the past, too. He had always been her anchor, even when he didn't realise it.
For a moment, the room fell into a comfortable silence, the crackling of the fire the only sound. Hermione felt the weight of everything—the confusion, the changes, the memories of two lives—lighten slightly, just sitting there with him.
She glanced at him again, catching that same soft smile on his lips, and found herself wondering how different things might have been if she'd been able to tell him everything from the start. If she hadn't had to hide who she was.
But then again, she thought, maybe things would have been even more complicated.
"Thank you," she said quietly after a while, her voice barely above a whisper. "For being here. For... understanding."
Remus's smile widened just a fraction, his gaze warm. "Always," he replied softly. "You've never had to go through things alone, Hermione. You still don't."
Hermione felt a lump form in her throat, but she nodded, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. She blinked them away quickly, not wanting to ruin the moment. They sat in that gentle quiet for a little while longer before Hermione finally stood, ready to leave for the evening.
"Same time next week?" she asked, a teasing note in her voice, though there was a hint of seriousness beneath it.
"Of course," Remus replied, his smile now a little brighter. "I'll be here."
As Hermione left his office, her heart was still heavy with the weight of her past and present colliding, but there was also a flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, things could still work out in this life.
And maybe, just maybe, she wasn't as alone as she thought.