Hermione always thought that death was the end.
She didn't believe in the saying that you only lived once; rather, she believed that you only died once, and every day was a life she had to live. She had every day to live for herself, by herself, and being herself, because life wasn't so short when you had lived it the way you wanted to.
And lived, she did.
She lived by devouring every word and information that she stumbled into. She lived by passionately defending what she believed was right. She lived righteously fighting for the weak, the oppressed, and the minority. She lived fiercely protecting her friends and family. She lived by loving wholeheartedly, whether they were people, animals, or books.
For every laughter, tears, sweat, and blood she shed, she did so without a doubt of who she was and what she wanted and what she would be in the future.
Death was the end; everyday was an adventure; she didn't want to waste it by doubting every decision she made or regretting the choices she came up with. She didn't waste time doubting, not when failure was the very thing that she feared. If she doubted, if she didn't try hard enough—if she didn't try at all—then she would truly be the failure she feared she was.
The war—and their subsequent capture and her torture—only cemented the fact that there was more to life itself, that not taking advantage would only be a waste.
She didn't want to die regretting the things she hadn't done. She wanted to die content with the life she led.
So, when she died at the age of 134, she did so with a smile on her face, knowing that she had lived a full life, that she did not waste every day being afraid to take a chance.
She closed her eyes, and when death came, she knew that it was her end.
She was wrong.
It was her beginning.
The second Hermione opened her eyes as a young girl, she wondered if all the memories that she had in her head—the memories she had living as Hermione Granger, the muggleborn witch, the first muggleborn Minister of Magic, advocate for the better treatment of half-breeds, werewolves, and house elves, former Head of the Unspeakable, the brains of the Golden Trio, war heroine, and the mother of two—was a fantastical dream.
When she went downstairs, saw her parents, and saw the Hogwarts invitation letter on the table, she wondered if she lost her mind and was having delusions.
But then she saw the year.
1981.
Then she realized, no, it wasn't delusions.
It was hell.
This was her hell.
Hermione used to be loud.
Many years before—a lifetime ago, to be frank—when she was still a young, impressionable girl who just found out she was a witch, Hermione would not shut up. She could talk for hours, jumping from one topic to another, regardless of the company present. She was a person whose opinions demanded to be heard, whether they were welcomed or not. She never heard of anyone's voice aside from her own, because she was an endless stream of the English alphabet.
As she grew older, under the tongue lashing of one Professor Severus Snape, Hermione learned how to stay silent, to curb her own tongue because she knew that while she had her own insights and opinions to speak of, not everyone would be willing to listen or accept them. At that time, she thought how unfair it was for people to dismiss her words so easily. She thought it was because she was young, she was a muggleborn—or at least she had a dozen excuses why.
The truth was only found on the later stages of her life, when she was getting older, wiser, more open-minded, more patient, and more experienced.
They never cared to listen, because she herself didn't.
They never accepted her, because she herself didn't.
Because how could they open their doors to her, when she herself locked the door and threw away the key?
Thus, she was never heard.
It was something she failed to consider when she was younger.
But just because she failed before, didn't mean she couldn't try again.
Sometimes, people fail—but most of the time, they learn.
What else could she do other than learn?
So, she learned, she tried, she failed, and she mastered.
So, when she died, she was content knowing that she hadn't failed. She made her peace with the life she led.
Because you only died once.
How wrong she was.
There was no Hermione Granger born in 1979.
She didn't go back in time.
She was reborn in the past.
Her parents were still the same people she had in her first life.
Richard and Helen Granger were still dentists, Shakespeare and Greek Mythology enthusiasts, and non-magical people who loved her more than anything else in the world even after knowing what she was.
She still had the same name. She was still Hermione Granger and she remained a muggleborn witch.
Only her time was wrong.
She wondered if this was punishment for messing with time, for defying time itself when she saved the lives of an innocent hippogriff, a criminal under false charges, and returned a lost godfather to his godson.
An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.
A life for a life.
Perhaps, the first life was for Harry's.
This was her second life.
This would be for Sirius.
James and Lily Potter died, Peter Pettigrew escaped, Remus Lupin disappeared, and Sirius Black was captured.
Lucius Malfoy evaded prison, Petter Pettigrew became a spoiled rat, and Barty Crouch Jr. was hidden and Imperiused. All of them were safe and sound.
Molly Weasley lost her brothers, Severus Snape lost the love of his life, Remus Lupin lost his friends, and Neville Longbottom lost his parents.
Harry Potter was still the Boy Who Lived, the prophecy child, who was sent to live with his abusive relatives who hated magic.
Just the way Albus Dumbledore wanted.
She watched everything fall into place, burning to do something—to change anything—but she was too young and too vulnerable. If she did anything, she would put unnecessary attention to herself. Now was not the time to move. Not yet, at least.
You only died once (twice), and everyday was a new day to live.
It was never too late if she never tried.
It took a long time for her to heal the wounds—both physical and mental—she gained when she was at war in her first life. By the time she had died, the war no longer touched her, although the experiences and insights she learned during was still present. She could not forget, but she did forgive, accepted, and moved on. It was a footnote in her history that was a part of her, but not the entirety of her.
The war didn't make who she was; what she was made the war.
It was still jarring to see the people she fought with and against in the war in her second life. Once, she considered them friends and mentors. Now, they were nothing but strangers.
They were all younger.
They were still war torn.
She was eleven years old in 1981, a new muggleborn enrolled at Hogwarts Academy; a new muggleborn in a country that had just ended— postponed —a war due to her kind.
Everyone was kinder. Everyone was more cautious. The purebloods who participated in the war but blackmailed, threatened, bribed, and lied their way out of Azkaban swaggered in the hallways but mostly kept to themselves. The blood traitors, half-bloods, and muggleborns who survived the war walked in groups, unsure if their next step would be their last. Laughter was scarce and fear permeated in the air like an awful smell.
It was 1998 all over again.
She was still a Gryffindor.
Professor Severus Snape was welcomed as a member of the Hogwarts staff as a new Potions Master.
Professor Minerva McGonagall looked grimly at Severus Snape.
Hermione wondered if she could also see the haunted look in his eyes, the devastation etched across the hard lines of his sneer, a gaping hole where his soul should have been.
"Is no one going to answer?" Professor Severus Snape hissed at the first years, narrowing his eyes at the ones ignoring him at the back—purebloods—while the rest cowered and refused to meet his gaze—muggleborns, especially.
Professor Snape might not have mastered teaching the same way the old Snape had, but he did master the art of intimidation. Everyone from first to sixth year were all afraid of their new Potions professor who was also a renowned Death Eater. The older years remembered him as a schoolmate, regardless and didn't treat him seriously as the other professors, the seventh year especially.
In a way, she could see why Professor Snape turned out the way he did, if this was what he was dealing with in his earliest years of teaching.
She looked around and reluctantly raised her hand once she determined that no one seemed willing to answer him. Professor Snape's eyes slitted; hers remained calm.
"If I may, sir?" She parried with a nonchalant, detached voice, devoid of any judgment or prejudices.
"If you are able, Miss Granger," Professor Snape intoned, sneering.
She inhaled slowly, and opened her mouth to answer.
She was the first one who answered Professor Snape's question since he started teaching.
Hermione was wandering around late at night after curfew when she stumbled into Professor McGonagall.
She was a cat.
Hermione pretended not to know as she crouched down, her lips tipped into a soft smile. "Hello there, are you lost, sweetling?"
The cat-professor blinked luminous eyes at her, most probably startled by such address from a student. Hermione cocked her head to the side, curly hair falling over her shoulder.
"Or are you a ghost, as well?" She whispered, gaze sliding to the side, her vision seeing nothing but darkness. "There are a lot of ghosts in the castle, some are hiding beneath their skins of flesh. The living today are echoes of the ones who left. It's not surprising. War has a way of tearing apart even the purest of souls. People are walking around, but all I see are shells that has trapped empty air inside, the remnants of the past."
Within the darkness, she could see a torch on the wall blazing in the distance. It was nothing more than a speck but Hermione couldn't help but see it as an omen.
"But I like to believe that there's always a light at the end of the tunnel, just like that one speck of light in the distance," Hermione nodded towards the dimming light. "One just has to look to find it. They just have to be brave to see it. If we can't live for ourselves, we try to live for the people who died. If not for them, then we will live for the ones that they left behind. They won't be trapped in grief forever. They might take a while or none at all, but such is life."
Hermione's gaze returned to the cat-professor, who stared at her with wide eyes of green. She could feel herself smile wider.
"But you're not lost are you, nor are you a ghost," Hermione uttered, eyes glowing with an all-knowing light, looking as if she had secrets that only she knew and everyone was scrambling to find out what it was. "No, you are alive. I daresay you're more alive than most people here. That's good. The dead has to be reminded that there is still something to live for."
Having said what she wanted to say, Hermione rose to her feet and skipped past the cat, the darkness swallowing her whole.
The next day, Professor McGonagall looked at her with new eyes.
Hermione found herself drenched in cold, dirty water, a gasp escaping her mouth at the sudden strange sensation engulfing her. Malicious stares drilled into her back, a group of purebloods—not only Slytherins—surrounding her like a pack of hungry wolves. She closed her mouth, careful not to swallow the dirty water dripping from her head. The unshed tears stung her hot eyes but she willed herself not to cry, to remain calm and keep her cool.
A war had barely ended a year or so ago. People were still bigoted over muggleborns.
They were children.
Hermione wiped her face with the back of her hand.
But then again, so was she.
"You ruined my homework," she muttered, lifting her gaze to let them see the steel that had entered her eyes.
"So, what?" One of them sneered. "What are you going to do about it, mudblood? Cry?"
Hermione blinked her eyes.
She did not need to brandish her wand to cast a sticking charm on their feet, making them unable to move out of their place. Running her fingers through her tangled, wet curls, she casted a Stupefy from the front to the back, effectively immobilizing them to the ground, since the sticking charm helped them keep themselves upright.
By now, they must've realized that they couldn't move, that she was able to cast a spell on them without lifting a wand or needing one.
Still, to avoid problems, she raised her wand in the air. While she preferred wandless and non-verbal spell casting, she still kept her wand at all times to have all of her options open. Not everything could be done wandless or/and non-verbally. While wandless and non-verbal casting was quick and efficient, effective especially with Charms, Transfiguration, Apparition, and DADA, casting with a wand was more precise and controlled, most needed with Potions, Arithmancy, and Ancient Runes.
Hermione also liked for her opponents to underestimate her if they managed to successfully take her wand, not knowing that she was as deadly wandless.
Hermione might be older than the rest of the people in the castle, but that didn't mean she would take slights against her person and choose the high ground because of age differences. She wasn't a complacent person who would forgive transgressions unless she was sincerely apologized to. She never claimed to be kind or considerate, not when people hated and killed.
It might be cold, dirty water today, but what about tomorrow? It might be her today, but what about tomorrow? It might be them today, but what about tomorrow?
Sometimes, you needed to take the high ground. But other times, you needed to stand your ground. Hatred needed to be cut the moment it was revealed, otherwise it would only take root and foster.
"Now…" Hermione blinked her eyes to them, snapping her tongue. "What would be a fitting punishment for you?"
Albus Dumbledore looked at her sometimes, with those twinkling blue eyes of his, and the beaming smile across his face.
Hermione could feel his attempts to read her mind, his magic brushing against her shields, probing the contents of her head, whenever their eyes met. It happened since she bumped into the cat who was actually Professor McGonagall.
Instead of avoiding his gaze, she kept their eyes locked.
And she opened her mind.
She let him see an image of a young girl standing in front of a mirror. It was herself, from the curls down to the little toes. She let him linger on that image before she gently eased a new image, one that was unexpected but casual enough that he would be none the wiser.
The next images showed a young girl, a young Hermione, slowly undressing herself.
At once, the moment a sliver of skin was shown, Albus Dumbledore withdrew, looking nauseous. The Headmaster was a lot of things, but a predator wasn't one of them.
Hermione flashed a smile at his direction, as if she hadn't done anything untoward. He quickly looked away after returning her smile that lasted a millisecond.
He never attempted to look into her mind again after that.
She never approached those she once knew, especially not the Weasleys, and she never interacted with the rest of her peers.
It was lonely, at first, but she grew used to it by her fourth year.
Being alone wasn't necessarily bad. She found solace in her silence, in the quietness of the night, and in the comforting words of her books. People didn't approach her either, not when they found out what she did in their first year when she retaliated against her bullies. Everyone knew not to mess with her after that event. In some ways, she was as infamous as Professor Snape.
Whenever she saw friends interacting with each other, she would not feel a pang of envy or regret. Rather, she was too busy reminiscing on her friendship with Harry and Ron, and with the rest of their group whose friendships blossomed after their common ground: the war. While her love life left nothing to be desired—despite having two children, she and Ron still divorced, thankfully in an amicable way—she found the greatest friendships and connections. She wouldn't trade them for anyone else.
Thus, like all other things, she accepted and moved on.
Though this was her second life, every day was still a new life. There was no point dwelling what it could've been.
1981 soon turned to 1982 then it turned to 1983 then 1984—
Soon enough, she graduated from Hogwarts with the highest marks, completely setting a new record and beating Tom Riddle's—or rather, Lord Voldemort's, but it wasn't like everyone knew who he was, not when his records were all kept under wraps and everyone forgot the brilliant boy at Hogwarts, not the monster he became after.
Although she wished she had beaten Albus Dumbledore's scores, she figured she would have to settle.
"Hermione!" Harry Potter, age 10, ran towards her and immediately wrapped small, thin arms around her waist. Those green, green eyes looked at her with a hopeful shine that made her heart throb in her chest. "You came, just like you promised!"
Hermione couldn't help but smile, winding her fingers through his messy hair. "Of course, I did. I missed you after all."
The tips of his ears reddened, and Harry averted his gaze in embarrassment. But his arms still tightened around her waist, pulling her closer, silently telling her that he liked what she had said. Harry said more with his actions than with his words, Hermione knew that more than anyone else.
"How are you, my love? How are the Dursleys treating you?" The question was softly spoken, but Hermione's eyes reflected a bottomless pit of emptiness, wiping away every hint of emotion.
But Hermione knew that Harry knew that his answer would determine the Dursleys' fate.
Hermione had visited the Dursleys during the summer the moment she started attending Hogwarts. The wards around his relative's property, courtesy of Albus Dumbledore, wasn't truly a challenge for Hermione, considering that she had been researching magic for the better most of her life. Before as a young child, she only left Harry with good food, well-maintained clothes, and new toys without showing herself to him, taking care of him even from far away.
It was only when he was four that she introduced herself and to the Dursleys, making sure that they wouldn't mistreat him now that he was more aware and sensitive to the people around him. Harry was a particularly perceptive child, so Hermione wanted to make sure that the Dursleys didn't treat him badly.
She wanted him to grow up in love, or at least, with more love than what he was given in their last life. Although many years had passed since she last protected him, since he died earlier than her, the protective urge was a welcome weight on her shoulders nonetheless.
Hermione could never see Harry as a burden. He was her friend, brother, and son. In this life and the last, he was still the one she loved the most.
"They're okay…" Harry answered, burying his face into her stomach, still not letting her go. "They're not hurting me or anything. They mostly leave me alone, although nowadays, Dudley asks me to play with him sometimes, when aunt Petunia or uncle Vernon aren't there."
The emptiness disappeared, filling her eyes with warmth as she stared at Harry. "That's wonderful, darling. Are you having fun with your cousin?"
Harry nodded his head. "He's okay. Last night, he asked aunt Petunia why she was being mean to me, and she went quiet…"
Harry stopped, probably feeling how the temperature suddenly dropped.
"Oh?" Hermione drawled, her fingers scratching his head. "Hmm… it seems I need to talk to your aunt again."
Harry blinked his eyes at her. "You don't have to, though?"
"Harry, I don't want you to learn to tolerate bad treatment or bad people," Hermione explained softly, placing both palms on his cheeks, eyes staring earnestly into his. "Everyone deserves to be treated kindly, and that includes you. At the very least, if someone dislikes another, because trust me when I say that not everyone will like you, they should just leave them alone rather than make ways how to antagonize or terrorize them. You can't please everyone, true, but that doesn't mean that you should just accept it when someone mistreats you. So, I'm going to talk to Petunia and remind her why being mean to you is not tolerated."
Hermione decided to go back to being an Unspeakable in this life. In her last life, she had asked to be assigned in the Space and Time Division. This time, she decided to turn to the Creation, Destruction, and Restoration Division.
Creation. Destruction. Restoration.
Life. Death. Resurrection.
It didn't take long for her to lure Remus Lupin out from his cave, or wherever in hell he had been hiding.
It only took an advertisement printed in the Daily Prophet, about a free wolfsbane potion for the ones who were willing to take a chance. At first, others thought it was a scheme to catch every wizard and witch infected with lycanthropy. But then, one of them got desperate and sought Hermione out. Word travelled once the validity and reliability was confirmed.
When Remus met her outside of her tiny apartment near Gryffindor Hollow, he had been skeptical at first. Hermione knew that she looked young and, without a master's degree in Potions, she appeared like a crook, so she didn't take it to heart.
Hermione merely shrugged her shoulders and handed him the potions.
"Take a chance," she said as she waved him goodbye in the doorway. She leaned one shoulder against the wooden frame, curls spilling over her back and shoulders like writhing snakes. "If you find that you dislike it, then you don't have to come back."
Remus left.
He came back a month later.
"Why are you doing this?" Remus asked the third time he visited Hermione for his potion.
For him, he didn't understand what compelled her to help people like him. Wolfsbane was such an expensive potion, not only because of the time and dedication needed to brew it, but because of the rare ingredients itself.
While everyone else was selling it for profit, she was giving it away for free.
Hermione had just handed him the potions. She blinked at his question, thought over it for a moment, and shrugged.
"It's not really particularly hard for me to make, so why not give it away for free?" She said to a surprised Remus. "Besides, it helps other people. I don't really care as long as others are feeling better because of this."
Remus swung a startled glance at her direction. "You… consider us as people? You don't think we're… animals?"
Less than human? Less than vermin?
Hermione raised an eyebrow. "We're all animals inside, some even more so. Even the most normal person can be the cruelest when pushed to the corner, what more a werewolf? Have you seen a girl who stays sane during her period? No, I don't think so. It's the same with a werewolf, you just happen to transform during that time of the month."
Remus gawked at her.
Sirius was a difficult case to consider. One that needed careful planning and perfect execution. One wrong move would prove to be fatal. So far, she remained undetected for the most part since she began her plans with Harry. Not even Albus Dumbledore had detected her connection with his prophecy child.
It was good if others still hadn't realized that another player decided to play war games with them.
Sirius once mentioned that he escaped using his Animagus form, citing that it muted the effects that the Dementors had on the mind. In her last life, while earning her master's degree in Transfiguration under Professor McGonagall's tutelage, she was required to attempt an Animagus ritual to become an Animagus. She passed, after a few months or so.
She was aware that one's Patronus didn't necessarily reflect one's Animagus form. She thought she would be a cat, at first, and fancied the thought of herself being a lioness. She was surprised when her Animagus turned out to be bat.
A black bat.
It was still the same in this life.
After months of careful preparation, she was still a bat.
Guess she didn't have a choice but to embrace it.
She flew to Azkaban, flapping her leathery wings low while maneuvering through the throng of Dementors floating around the prison. It took a few turns around the prison for her to find Sirius Black. He was sitting with his back against the wall, wearing tattered clothing, his bones jutting out from his skin to reveal his half-starved state. His expression of hopeless abandon would've broken someone's heart.
Hermione slid through the gap between the steel bars and transformed in front of him.
Needless to say, he freaked out.
"What the fuck?!" Sirius exclaimed, jolting out of his numbing thoughts—or whatever horrors he had been suffering through.
Hermione patted her dress before rummaging through her beaded bag to find some clothes for him. Once she found a decent outfit for males, she threw it at his direction. "Get dressed." She wrinkled her nose. "You smell."
"Who are you?!"
Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Someone who knows the truth. Now, hurry up, before the Dementors sense my presence."
She turned her back to him, giving him the privacy he deserved. Still, she was on her guard in case he did anything to her. Who knew if his mind was still intact after spending many years in this hellhole?
"I'm decent," he announced, his voice rough.
Hermione looked over her shoulder and raised an eyebrow at him. "Good. Now transform into a dog."
"What?!" It was clear Sirius was baffled by her orders and the fact that she knew he was an Animagus.
"Ask your questions later and turn into a dog if you want to see Harry again and kill the rat."
Well, Sirius didn't need more convincing than that.
Once Sirius washed the grime and dirt worth of nearly a decade, he sat across Hermione with a cup of steaming tea in his hands, a blanket around his shoulders to stave off the chill from the Dementors that lingered over him.
"So, who are you?" Sirius asked the moment Hermione sat opposite him. "How did you know about me?"
Sirius looked at her with narrowed eyes, suspicions flitting across his face. Hermione raised the tea to her lips, as serene as a monk in the mountains. Perhaps, he found her actions infuriating, if the scowl that crossed his lips was any indication.
"My name is Hermione Granger," she said after a few sips, meeting his gaze with her own. "And I am a researcher. I like history. The civil war is a part of our history. I found some things that are off and decided to mend the strain. Nothing more, nothing less."
Sirius stared at her for a moment before he snorted. "Do you really think I'll believe you?"
Hermione tilted her head to the side. "Oh, I don't know, Sirius. I doubt you're right in the head."
"How fucking dare you—"
"Ten years in Azkaban," she continued, ignoring the way Sirius seethed in front of her, "certainly leaves a mark on someone. Any longer and you would've lost your senses completely."
"I'm not crazy!" Sirius screamed, fists pounding on the table, his veins bulging in his neck.
Hermione blinked at him. "How do you know? How do you know that you're still not rotting in your prison cell right now, stuck in the endless cold, with Dementors breathing down your back? How do you know if this is really in your head and I am merely a figment of your imagination, a person you created to save your mind for the last time?"
He looked stricken, his eyes wide and his face devoid of blood. Still, Hermione persisted.
"Tell me, Sirius," she said, leaning her head closer, making her eyes bigger, "tell me if you believe that I am real. Tell me if you haven't lost your mind yet."
"I…" Sirius breathed in, and out, in, out, in, and out. "I'm not… I'm not crazy… You're real. I know you are, you mind fuck. Stop fucking with my head…. Don't—Fuck."
Hermione drew back, her eyes narrowing back to its original shape. "Am I real? Are you? Who knows? But wouldn't you like to find out for yourself if you are, if I am?"
He glared at her.
"Tell me, Sirius." She smiled, eyes bright with an otherworldly allure. "Are you alive?"
The reunion between Remus and Sirius was a happy affair once things were explained to them.
Their reunion with the rat, Peter Pettigrew, was not so much.
After practically torturing him for days, Remus and Sirius came back to her holding a dead man. For them, justice wasn't enough, not when they had dead two friends and one orphan child to consider. It wasn't enough to bring him to trial and put him in Azkaban, especially knowing that Animagi were somewhat immune to Dementors.
So, they killed him. Finally, they had avenged not only themselves, but the boy who would never see his parents again.
Hermione looked at the dead body and raised an eyebrow. "You couldn't have just killed him in his rat form?" She sighed.
They looked at each other.
Sirius shrugged and Remus rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.
"We'll clean this up for you," Remus said politely.
Hermione nodded in satisfaction. "Go on, then. Be sure to scrub the floors off of blood, thanks."
The wanted posters of Sirius Black circulated like fiendfyre around the Wizarding World a few weeks after she helped him escape Azkaban. She grabbed one on her way home and showed it to Sirius at the dinner table.
"You look even better in the picture than right now," Hermione remarked, watching in rapt attention as Sirius in the picture screamed silently at her, madness lurking in his eyes as long, messy hair framed his angular face.
The Sirius in front of her—not the picture—gave her a disturbed glance.
Remus and Sirius watched as Harry flung himself into Hermione's arms once he saw them, snuggling close to her stomach like a touch-starved baby. Despite him being nearly eleven years old, he was still thin and small, smaller than most children his age. Hermione knew he would undergo a growth spurt when he was sixteen, so she didn't worry so much.
"Hermione, you came!" Harry exclaimed, eyes gleaming with wonder, as if he was still in awe that she would appear before him. "You didn't tell me you'd visit."
Hermione's eyes softened, her lips arched into a gentle smile. She could feel Remus and Sirius' silent astonishment at seeing her genuinely smile for the first time. She ignored them as she brushed a thumb over Harry's scar, before slipping her fingers through his hair.
"This is a special surprise," she told him, "because I want you to meet someone special."
Harry tilted his head in bewilderment. "Who?"
"The people who should've raised in the first place."
He was shy at first when approaching Remus and Sirius, but Hermione—who was usually the one who'd stay silent in the corner—filled the air with chatter as she asked them questions and made comments that would rile Sirius and prompt Remus to answer. It helped that Harry was quite curious to know about his biological parents, and Remus and Sirius could provide him countless stories about them.
By the time that their visit was over, Harry promised to write to both Remus and Sirius. As they bid themselves goodbye, Harry stuck close to Hermione, holding her hand with both hands, looking at her with those big, green eyes.
"Will you come back?" Harry asked, like always.
"Will you wait?" Hermione asked, like always.
"Yes," he answered.
"Then I will," she returned.
"I don't trust Albus Dumbledore," Sirius proclaimed suddenly during their dinner.
Remus shifted in his seat, uncomfortable with the topic at hand. Sirius continued as if he didn't notice Remus' discomfort, although the way his eyes darkened and the way he clenched his jaw meant that he did take note of his friend's reaction.
"I don't want him involve in whatever plan you have," Sirius told Hermione. "It's suspicious enough already that he left Harry at the Dursleys knowing that they hate magic. He basically set Harry up to be abused by those pieces of shit if you hadn't stepped in."
Hermione chewed on her food slowly and swallowed before she answered, "What makes you think I have a plan?"
Sirius glowered. "Do you mean that you don't have one?"
"I don't have a plan," Hermione said, softly dabbing a napkin over her lips, "I have plans. There's a difference. Which plan are you talking about exactly?"
"Stop it with your fucking word games," Sirius snarled.
It was then that Remus decided to step in. "I don't think we should left out Albus Dumbledore."
"Seriously?!" Sirius exploded. "He left me in prison! Me! A fucking member of his fucking Order! He let fucking Severus Snape, a known Death Eater, become a teacher! He left Harry at the Dursleys, with Lily's muggle sister who fucking hates magic! Why the fuck should we let him be involved in Hermione's plans when he, himself fucked us over for his plans?!"
Remus' frowned, tugging the scars across his face. "He was the one who helped me go to Hogwarts despite knowing what I am. He's the reason why I was able to learn magic. When everyone else died or escaped or went into hiding, he was the only one who offered me somewhere to stay. I can't ever forget that kind of debt."
Sirius scowled darkly at Remus, gritting his teeth, unable to oppose his words. Hermione cocked her head to the side, inclining on her seat with her arms crossed.
"Do you know how long since Dumbledore fought in this war?" Hermione asked to no one in particular. When she was met with confused frowns, she continued with a shrug. "He fought in this war since 1945."
There was silence and then a baffled, "What?" between them.
Hermione looked away and stared at the wallpaper like it was an interesting piece she hadn't seen before. "I mean that Albus Dumbledore has been fighting a war with Voldemort since 1945. He knew that Voldemort had plans to take over the Wizarding World and he bided his time before he countered him. He has been strategizing and planning longer than most of us were even alive. One of his plans involve recruitment of wizards and witches—do you not wonder how you fall into his plans so perfectly, you cannot even escape it?"
Remus paled. "What…?"
"Have you ever wondered why Hagrid is the only half-giant he helped?" Hermione asked, a new light glinting in her eyes, a strange smile across her face. "Or why you're the only werewolf he enrolled into Hogwarts? Why he was quite fond of Sirius being a Gryffindor himself? Why Snape is the only Death Eater he helped escape Azkaban? Why the Weasleys who are blood traitors remain loyal to Dumbledore after all these years? Why he left Harry at the Dursleys despite knowing the consequences it would bring to a child?"
"He didn't help you out of the goodness of his heart," Hermione mocked, "he was collecting his champions to fight his war against Voldemort. A half-giant so grateful for his help that he would even try to plead his cause to the purebred giants who had already labeled him a fool years ago. A werewolf so guilty of his own affliction that he would be beyond grateful for the first kindness he would receive, to the point that he, himself would plead his cause to the werewolf responsible for his so-called curse. A child from a blood purist House, who became a Gryffindor, who seeks approval, meets a wise Headmaster and a caring Head of House, and suddenly all he aims is to please them.
A Death Eater who has not known kindness, who hadn't known love, suddenly has a person on his side, and you can bet he would fight tooth and nail for his cause. A poverty driven family, all sorted into the Gryffindor house, fostered since they were under the care of Albus Dumbledore, has deeply ingrained their loyalty into their children and their children's children in the hopes that they would not be left behind. And of course, a child in an abusive family suddenly learns about magic, and is now surrounded by people telling him that this Headmaster is caring, loving, and powerful. Of course, this child would devote himself to the Headmaster whose the reason why he's able to leave the abusive family in the first place."
All the blood drained from their faces.
"What are you if not his champions?" Hermione asked, blinking her eyes. "He cared for you and he loved you, because he planned for you to fight his war for him. He was the shepherd and you are his sheep, and one day, he'll send you to slaughter. Remember, Albus Dumbledore isn't only known as the Headmaster of Hogwarts, he has also has a bunch of other titles that he could've used and he could've taken advantage of under the threat of Voldemort.
But no, what he did was make an illegal organization of all the people who were indebted to him, to fight a war that should've never existed in the first place. And it's all because Voldemort, when he was a student at Hogwarts Academy, refused Albus Dumbledore's help."
"How do you know all of this?" Remus asked quietly in the dead of the night.
Hermione blinked her eyes. "I read it in a book called the Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore."
"That book doesn't exist," and Remus would know, being a scholar and bookworm himself.
"Not yet, at least," she responded with a strange smile.
Hermione was strange, Sirius thought.
She was also fucking crazy.
"You stole this from the bank?!" He exclaimed, pointing at the gold goblet that Hermione had placed in the middle of the table.
"I didn't steal it," Hermione explained patiently, "the Goblins were more than gracious to give it to me after I offered my services to them. They were quite happy when I pointed out a tablet and deciphered the glyphs on it. They asked for payment, and I said I wanted this."
Of course, out of all things, she didn't ask for riches, she asked for a fucking goblet.
"Why do you have that?!" Sirius exclaimed, pointing at the silver locket in her palms.
"I like jewelry," she answered with another shrug.
"I haven't seen you wearing one since I met you," Remus remarked from his seat.
"I haven't found the right jewelry to wear," she answered.
"I'll be gone for a fortnight," Hermione announced suddenly at the table a few days after, her beaded bag tied around her waist like a belt. "Don't get yourselves caught or killed. You know who you are."
Sirius glared and Remus grinned softly.
"Stay safe," the werewolf said.
"No," Sirius snorted. "The others be better safe around you."
Hermione blinked. "I'll try."
When she came back exactly two weeks after, she presented them with a gaudy ring.
"What is that even?" Sirius gasped, grimacing at the ring.
First a cup, second a locket, and third was a ring?
"You found another jewel?" Remus asked, despite knowing she had never worn the locket since she showed it to them.
"Yes, the right jewel," Hermione replied with a nod of her head.
"You got yourself a crown next?" Remus asked, surprised when Hermione came home with a silver tiara in her grasp.
"Fancy yourself being a princess?" Sirius snorted in his cup of steaming tea.
"It's not a crown, it's a diadem," Hermione explained with a shrug.
"It looks familiar," Remus muttered as he eyed the item.
"Does it?" Hermione asked with a tilt of her head. "It's a replica I made of Rowena's diadem."
Remus brightened, recognizing Hermione's statement. "You're right, it does look like Rowena's diadem. Your attention to details are impeccable."
Sirius made a gesture once he realized the value of the diadem. "Give it here, let me wear it."
Hermione tossed her head with a loud laugh, curls spilling like waterfalls down her back. "You admitting you're a princess, Black?"
Sirius lowered himself in his seat with a disgruntled frown.
The diary was at Malfoy Manor, the same place she had been tortured for hours. Contrary to her expectations, obtaining the diary had been easy. Tricking Lucius Malfoy into giving her his elf was also easy. Seeing Dobby again, after he had died helping them escape, wasn't easy.
The young House Elf looked confused when Hermione dropped on her knees to hug him.
"Is Missy Mione alright?" He asked, flapping his long ears in worry.
"I'm alright," Hermione answered before releasing him from her grasp. "Now, your name is Dobby, right? I am your new master. Do you want to be a good elf and help me?"
Malfoy Manor might be as old as Hogwarts Academy, but the wards neglected one fact.
It didn't keep out House Elves.
Barty Crouch Jr. was as difficult of an issue to deal with as Sirius Black, but not impossible.
Being an Unspeakable meant she would be able to come into contact with Barty Crouch Sr. in the Ministry of Magic with none the wiser.
The Invisibility Cloak (that she nicked from Albus Dumbledore's rooms) concealed her every move, and with the silencing charm placed on her footsteps, she was nearly undetectable. She followed Barty Crouch Sr. from the moment he left his office down to the Floo Networks. He yelled out his address, enunciating it carefully, and disappeared into the green flames, Hermione stood in silence as she contemplated the wards surrounding his home.
She returned to her office at her department, taking off the Invisibility Cloak. "Dobby," she called out, and waited the familiar pop of her House Elf.
"Yes, Missy Mione?" He asked, eager serve and eager to please, big eyes shining with his need to serve her.
"Can you take me near Barty Crouch's place?" She gave him the address and he took her hand.
They disappeared with a pop.
Hermione and Dobby appeared in an alleyway across the Crouch's residence. She requested for him to stay out of sight before crossing the street. The wards brushed against her skin, thrumming fretfully. It wasn't as complexed as Hogwarts Academy but it did have a ward against unknown House Elves, which ruled out the possibility that Dobby could pop into the house for her.
What a paranoid fucker.
No matter.
Hermione took out her wand and muttered an incantation under her breath, the wards yielding to her forceful magic. Once she inserted her magical signature onto the wards, she let herself in the house once she managed to hide herself under the Invisibility Cloak.
It was easy to find where Barty Crouch Jr. was when all she had to do was follow Winky, the House Elf who had nearly drank herself to death in her previous life if she hadn't offered herself to act as its owner.
Winky was in charge of taking care of Barty Crouch Jr., who was under the Imperius of his father.
She watched the youngest Crouch in morbid curiosity as he stared at the ceiling with useless, lifeless eyes. After a few moments of observation, she took out a phial of eternal sleep and pried his pliant mouth open. She made him drink contents of the poison and left as quickly as she came.
By the time that Barty Crouch Sr. visited his son, he was already dead.
"You're fucking crazy!" Sirius screamed at her as fiendfyre erupted from her wand and engulfed Voldemort's horcruxes.
Screams echoed in the air, making both men pale. Hermione blinked her eyes and easily vanished the flames, as if they weren't summoned from the depths of hell itself.
"What?" She asked as both Remus and Sirius gawked at her. "I had that under control."
Nagini still didn't exist. The only Horcrux left was Harry.
Hermione was a bit disappointed. She wanted to go snake hunting.
Hermione cradled Harry close to her chest, lovingly patting his head. "You have to die, do you know that?" She whispered to his ears like it was a loving spiel. "Dumbledore left you here, so that in the future, you'll sacrifice your life for his cause."
Harry went quiet. "Will I see you again after I die?"
Hermione tugged him closer to her body. He was now eleven years old. A few weeks later and he'd leave for Hogwarts. She had to get rid of the horcrux before then.
"If you want to see me, then you can fight to live," Hermione said, rocking him back and forth. "But if you want to see your parents again, then you can choose to stay with them. It doesn't matter which choice you choose, because I love you all the same."
She didn't want to kill him, but death was the only option for living horcruxes. Two souls couldn't remain in the same body. One had to be sacrificed. The stronger soul would be the victor.
Hermione had no doubt that Harry would fight tooth and nail for his own life.
She supposed that Albus Dumbledore and her weren't so different in this matter. While she genuinely loved Harry, she was also asking him to sacrifice himself so that he could live a decent, full life. Maybe she was a hypocrite for it.
"Will it hurt?" He asked quietly in her arms.
"No," Hermione answered, remembering Harry's expression in her previous life when she asked if the killing curse had hurt. "It's painless, as if you're falling asleep. You won't feel a thing."
Harry was quiet before he lifted his head and looked at her in the eyes. "Then, will you wait for me to come back?"
Hermione pressed a kiss on his forehead. "Even if it's forever, I will wait for you."
Harry's arms tightened around her shoulders. "Okay," he said. "Do it."
One quick spell. Green light flashed. Harry slumped over her shoulder.
Hermione looked at the sky and hummed a song under her breath. A few minutes later, he stirred in her arms, green eyes fluttering open to meet her soft smile. Seeing her, Harry's smile widened.
"I came back," he said.
"Welcome back, my love," she hummed.
No more horcruxes. Voldemort's soul had likely dissipated from Professor Quirell's head now that there were no more horcruxes to tether him to the living.
That didn't stop Hermione from hunting him down, only to find him dead in his Hogwarts quarters.
What a let down.
"I'm leaving," Hermione announced to no one in particular, ignoring the way both grown men startled in their place on her couch.
"To where?" Sirius asked after a brief moment of silence.
"Somewhere," Hermione answered with a shrug. "I have my research to take care of. I want you all to look after Harry. I'll send letters."
"You won't be coming back?" Remus asked quietly.
"I'll visit," Hermione replied vaguely, "for Harry."
"Why are you even leaving in the first place?" Sirius looked quite confused.
"Because the world is a big place," she said with as much patience that she was capable of. "There are many things to discover, and many places to explore. I won't be stuck in one place. Don't miss me too much."
She already said her goodbyes to Harry. Now, the one thing she would have to do was leave.
Hermione spent her second life traveling around the world, in different communities, learning about other people's cultures and traditions. She spent time exploring and discovering the wonders of magic. She published her discoveries and got herself a hefty sum, which made her life quite easier to manage.
Hermione sent letters to Sirius, Remus, and Harry, and visited them at least once a year, bearing gifts and stories of the things she had found.
Meanwhile, Albus Dumbledore waited for a war that would never come.
On Harry's graduation day, Hermione met Professor Snape. He looked older but less exhausted, with less lines across his face. He sneered at her when Harry stuck close to her side the moment she showed up, not even leaving her side even after she approached Professor Snape.
"I didn't know you like them younger, Miss Granger," he drawled in that curt, velvety voice of his.
Hermione looked at Harry, who had shot his Potions professor a vicious glare, before she turned back to Professor Snape. "Harry's like a son to me," she said. "I watched him grow up, the same way you did. How are you, Professor? Still terrorizing students?"
Harry looked confused when he saw the flash of a smile across Professor Snape's face.
"Terrorizing students no longer held its appeal the moment you graduated, Miss Granger," answered the professor, "but then again, they were more afraid of you than of me, so you ruined all the fun."
They chatted for a few moments, before Professor Snape left for his Hogwarts duties. Harry turned to Hermione.
"I didn't know you were close to Snape," he remarked as he led her back to Sirius—in his dog Animagus form—and Remus.
"I doubt anyone can claim to be close to Snape," Hermione commented lightly under her breath. "I was the first student who wasn't afraid that he was a Death Eater. I made teaching enjoyable for him, I think. I was the only person he congratulated on my graduation day."
"Are you ever afraid of something, Hermione?" He asked quietly.
"I was afraid when I killed you," she answered casually, as if commenting on the weather. "But I was more afraid that you would live a half-life without knowing a soul resides in your scar."
His hand tightened around hers.
Eventually, like all things, Albus Dumbledore found out about her.
"You ruined things," he accused, his blue eyes burning with a heat of a thousand fienfyres. He sat in his throne in the Headmaster's office, looking as mighty as a righteous king, attempting to make her feel like she was a criminal accused of treason.
"I ruined things, or I ruined your plans?" Hermione asked, just to clarify.
"I had planned for every outcome, Miss Granger," he mused, rage simmering below his voice. "Things shouldn't have gone the way it did. I prepared, Miss Granger. I had hoped you would trust me to lead you all to safety."
"I prevented a war," Hermione remarked innocently, batting away his poor attempt at emotional manipulation. "Harry gets to grow up surrounded by love, which he deserves after he lost so much. People are safe. No one is dying, unless you count those who died naturally. You're just bitter because all your plans have become useless. Then again, you're a warmonger, so I'm not surprised."
"Miss Granger!—" He slammed a fist on his arm rest.
"Yes, sir?" Hermione answered blandly.
"Where is Sirius Black?" The Headmaster asked, somehow knowing that she had been the one to help him escape.
"How should I know?" Hermione countered with a non-leading question.
Truthfully, she didn't know where he was at right now. Last she heard, he had been at Harry's place last week. At present though, she didn't know.
"Now that we have this fun conversation, may I be excused?" Hermione rose to her feet. "I still have lots of things to do. I can't spend all day planning for a war that would never come after all."
She left before Dumbledore could say a word.
She lived her second life in the same way she lived her first—with no regrets, no doubts, and no hesitations.
She lived the way she wanted to, never pleasing other people aside from herself, and being true to herself most of all. She watched the world moved on, as she herself moved on. No war happened, since Voldemort had died with no one knowing, and gradually the Wizarding World forgot their fear of the Dark Lord, and Voldemort became nothing more than a footnote in their history.
She spent her time learning and gaining knowledge, exploring avenues of magic that she hadn't known before in her previous life. She learned and studied until her mind became a library that would rival Hogwarts itself. She published books and wrote her research. She became the Head of the Unspeakable Department again and although she no longer ran for Minister of Magic, she was considered a candidate if she hadn't turned it down.
Instead, she retired from her post at age 30 and decided to publish books and write her research for a living. She also spent time advocating for werewolves, half-breeds, and house elves, because this was her cause—her calling—and she would never turn down the opportunity to fight for them.
She was never alone all throughout her journey. Dobby was following her every steps and she had Harry, Remus, and Sirius to welcome her back home whenever she visited.
She died again, surrounded by Harry's children, with his hand in hers, happy and content with the life she had led.
You only died once.
And everyday is a day you have yet to live.
The year was 1971.
She died for the second time.
She opened her eyes just like the first time.
This was the third time.
It was her third and last life.
It was for Buckbeak.