She came back to Hogwarts a third time, in a different era, surrounded by different and familiar strangers.
Professor McGonagall had less wrinkles over her face but still had the same stern expression and authoritative demeanor. Professor Flitwick was still small in stature, but was a middle-aged man brimming with vigor and vitality. Professor Sprout was thinner, yet her plump cheeks hinted at the beginning signs of a more robust figure.
Headmaster Dumbledore still looked at people with that twinkle in his blue, blue eyes, dressed in his garishly neon bright robes, as if to say "look at me! Don't look away from me!", but his back was straighter, and his beard shorter.
They were different. They were familiar.
She was the same.
The moment the Sorting Hat was placed on her head, it went quiet.
Hermione looked ahead at the Great Hall, lackluster eyes seeing and looking at nothing. People began murmuring among themselves when the Sorting Hat remained silent as it sat on her head.
Professor McGonagall eyed her with concern, alternating her stare between her and Headmaster Dumbledore who merely looked intrigued. While everyone else was either confused, puzzled, worried, and fascinated, Hermione looked completely at ease—bored even.
When Hermione exceeded the five minutes mark—the first ever Hat Stall since Professor McGonagall—the Head of House Gryffindor walked over hesitantly towards her, opening her mouth to say something.
Hermione didn't get to hear it, as did everyone else, as the Sorting Hat exclaimed with a loud boom that resonated throughout the entire Great Hall.
"Gryffindor!"
Finally, she was sorted.
Professor McGonagall sighed in relief.
The Gryffindor house cheered after a few stunned moments of silent. Hermione rose from the seat as soon as Professor McGonagall took the Hat off her head.
Hermione glanced at the Sorting Hat and tapped on her lips lightly before heading towards her House.
Only the Sorting Hat knew of her secret, that she was a returner from the future, who came here to make things right… the third time.
There were more students enrolled into Hogwarts, than in the future. There were 64 newly-sorted Gryffindors alone, both girls and boys alike, and yet, Hermione still found herself sharing a room with Harry's mother, along with three others.
Lily Evans (future Potter) was a pretty little girl with long, sleek red hair and doe green eyes. The same eyes as her Harry. The same green as the flash of the Killing Curse.
Lily was the one who approached her first, as they settled in the dormitory.
"Hi, I heard you're also a muggleborn!" The redhead exclaimed, smiling brightly, showing two full rows of healthy, white teeth. "My name is Lily Evans, I'm a muggleborn too."
Hermione blinked her eyes at her friendly smile. Lily was kind and hardworking; she was also righteous and short-tempered. As a bonus, she was very pretty. It would not take long for Hogwarts to eat at the palm of her hand.
Just like Harry.
Lily's son.
Hermione's Harry.
"Yes," Hermione responded after a brief pause of silence. "I know."
She turned her back to her and finished arranging her clothes, as well as other assorted items she brought with her.
Hermione could feel Lily lingering behind her back, making her stiffen, unable to shake the instincts and caution that the war had instilled in her, even after three lifetimes. She looked over her shoulder to raise a brow at the redhead.
"Is there anything you need?" Hermione asked, voice bland.
A red blush coated Lily's cheeks. "N-nothing. I was… I was just excited to speak to another muggleborn. I mean… like… how did you feel when you found out that you were a witch?"
Hermione wasn't inattentive. She knew Lily wanted to make friends with her, an attempt to find someone that related to her situation, especially since the only magical friend she currently had was Snape, who was sorted into Slytherin.
Even if Lily wanted to make friends and Hermione allowed herself to open up, there was a part of her that rebelled against the idea itself. Her stomach turned with the thought of befriending these people.
Maybe it was because she had memories of her past lives. Maybe it was because she experienced far too much; growing up, fought in a war, marriage, motherhood, travelled to different magical communities, researched obscure magic arts, and even death. Maybe because in some ways, she knew what their futures held. Maybe because while she looked like a child, her mind was far too old to be one.
Whatever it was, she felt a sense of distance between her and other people.
Even if she wanted to befriend them, Hermione found that she couldn't.
So, Hermione merely blinked at Lily's question before shrugging her shoulders, an air of nonchalance in her voice as she answered, "It was fine, expected even."
Lily furrowed her brows, confused. "Expected? I thought you were muggleborn…"
"I answered your question," Hermione replied, sighing tiredly. "What more do you want from me?"
Once again, she turned away and continued unpacking her trunk.
Lily left and made no attempts to speak to her again that night.
"Watch where you're going, mudblood!" Mulciber snapped at Hermione when she bumped into him.
It was the first day of school. They were outside at Hogwarts, heading towards one of the Greenhouses for their Herbology class. Gryffindors were paired with Slytherins.
Others surrounded them. She could spot Gryffindors bristling when Mulciber called her a mudblood and Slytherins smirking to themselves.
No matter what time. No matter the people—Hermione was still subjected to discrimination. The most heartbreaking thing of all was that they were still children.
"Oy! Don't call her that!" Someone shouted from the crowd.
When she darted a sideways glance, she froze when she saw hazel eyes and round glasses.
James Potter, Harry's father.
He was staring at Mulciber with a scowl, coming to her rescue as if she was a damsel in distress. It was touching, if not unnecessary.
Ignoring James Potter, Hermione looked into Mulciber's eyes and wordlessly dug the tip of her wand to his crotch. His eyes widened when he felt her wand.
"Say that again," she said, her eyes set in an apathetic mask, her voice as bland as a gloomy sky, "say that again, I dare you."
She could see the fear in Mulciber's eyes the longer she stared at him, but he quickly concealed it with a bravado, especially when they were being watched by everyone else.
"Or what?" He spat, fear flitting in and out of his eyes.
Hermione sent a stinging hex at his crotch, causing him to howl and double over, dropping to the ground from the pain between his legs. It startled everyone else, retreating away from the scene when they realized that Hermione had done something to Mulciber.
Hermione ignored everyone else as she loomed over Mulciber's figure.
"If you ever call me or anyone else a mudblood again," Hermione began, no inflection in her voice, but a silent death in her stare as she held his gaze, "I'll personally make sure you won't be able to have children, and you'll be nothing more than a defective pureblood incapable of bringing heirs to his house."
After all, a pureblood unable to produce heirs for their house was as good as broken, worse than a Squib even.
Mulciber swallowed on dry mouth, unshed tears brimming in his eyes, unable to look away at Hermione's eyes as if he was trapped into staring at the abyss.
Finally, he gave an imperceptible nod, and Hermione turned her back to his and walked away without saying another word.
The crowd wordlessly parted when she got close, making a path for her.
The sense of distance continued…
The rise of the Marauders was slow and steady, but like a storm, the moment they appeared, they left behind a devastation. They were clever and mischievous—two combinations that made for a deadly group.
They took delight in practical jokes and funny pranks. With James as the frontman, Sirius as the mastermind, Remus as the researcher, and Peter as the watcher, they were like an unstoppable force of nature.
Hermione didn't know how but it seemed that Lily had taken the task to berating them all whenever they got caught doing one of their pranks. She only did so whenever their house took the brunt of the Marauders' schemes; otherwise, she would leave them alone.
As Hermione sat in the chair she claimed as her own in the common room, watching Lily scold James and Sirius—the former staring at her with adoration in her eyes and the latter rolling his eyes and scowling at her—she wondered how this would all play out in the future.
Perhaps, this was destiny at work.
Everyone began to form into groups as they found their friends and bonded with their classmates.
Hermione remained the way she was—alone but not lonely.
A trail of books hovered behind her whenever she went, and people parted whenever they saw her, cautious of the strange muggleborn who dared threaten a pureblood the first day of her first year.
Hermione took delight in this strange, peaceful place. Although Voldemort was likely biding his time, increasing his followers and gathering more power to fight against Dumbledore, currently it was tranquil.
For the first time in a while, she felt like a normal schoolgirl whose worries involved when to finish her homework and how to earn more points for her house. There was no Death Eater. No threats of war. No worrying over Harry.
It felt like a dream.
She didn't know if she wanted to wake up or continue sleeping.
Nobody bothered Hermione, either because of the presence she gave off or because they learned quickly on not to mess with her. Even her roommates stayed away when they realized that Hermione wasn't opening up to them, rarely even responding unless they asked questions.
She remained alone, but that was alright.
She didn't need friends. She had two, years before. She would have them again after this was all over and she lived the life meant for Buckbeak.
A series of sparks erupted loudly in the Great Hall. When Hermione looked up, she found the words written on the sky: "LILY EVANS WILL YOU GO OUT WITH ME?"
When she looked down at the Gryffindor table, she saw Lily Evans shoving James Potter to the floor before storming away, a furious shade of red spreading across her cheeks.
She watched as Sirius laughed at James who sheepishly rubbed the back of his head. Remus merely shook his head at their antics while Peter helped James up to his feet.
Hermione looked away.
And so, the love story of James Potter and Lily Evans began.
What did it mean to live for a hippogriff?
The third life she had was entirely different from the previous two.
Those two were riddled with a sense of impending doom in the horizon, and the stench of fear and terror permeating in the air. Voldemort remained a threat in those life, especially with his Death Eaters walking away from their crimes, free and unscathed.
1971 was a peaceful time. No Grindelwald, no Dark Lord, no war. At least, not yet.
It was filled with petty house rivalry, nonsensical Quidditch squabble, and relationship drama.
It was peaceful, normal, and quiet—
All except for James Potter.
1971…
"Hey, Evans, you look so pretty today! Do you want me to help you carry your books?"
"No, thank you."
"Come on, I promise I won't do anything to it!"
"I said, no."
"Please, I just want to help you carry them!"
"Leave me alone!"
"But, Evans, you'll miss me!"
"I've noticed that you don't interact with your housemates, Miss Granger." Professor McGonagall peered at her with barely concealed concern in her eyes. "I understand that a new environment can be quite startling for a muggleborn, and if you worry you might not acclimate to your situation, I'm certain that others will help you in this regard. Are you aware that Miss Evans is also a muggleborn?"
"I'm aware," Hermione answered flippantly, looking at sky outside the window, a cup of steaming tea in her hand.
"If you're worried that you'll be alienated, I'm certain you can find a common ground to share with Miss Evans," Professor McGonagall shared with a slight smile across her face, trying to reassure her with her voice and expression alone.
"I'm not worried," Hermione answered, quietly sipping her tea, before lifting her gaze to her Head of House. "I understand and appreciate your concern, Professor, but I simply do not wish to interact and socialize with my peers. I function quite well on my own. I might be alone, but I'm not lonely, Professor. There's a difference."
"It's not about being able to… to function despite not having friends, Miss Granger. It's about making memories and enjoying your youth. You're quite young and talented. You have the makings of a formidable witch, if you're not already. The other professors all sing your praises, as am I. We have not taught a student like you before, and you seem so mature and knowledgeable. I'm certain that others will take notice of your brilliance and want to share in your enthusiasm for learning and magic."
Hermione sighed. "Professor, the reason why I stay away from other people is because they're all idiots."
Professor McGonagall's mouth slackened. "I beg your pardon?"
Hermione leveled her a blank look. "They're all idiots, Professor. No offense to them, of course."
1972…
"Fancy meeting you here, Evans! Don't you think that it's fate making us meet again?"
"We're classmates in this class, Potter. I don't think it's fate at work."
"Well, it's fate that made us classmates and housemates, Evans. Don't you think?"
"No, I don't think so."
"Evans, had I told you how pretty you look today, so pretty I can stare at you all day."
"Go to hell, Potter!"
"Why? Are you coming with me?"
Marlene McKinnon hated her guts.
She was also her Potions partner that year.
Hermione ignored her sulking in the corner, brewing the required potion that Professor Slughorn had assigned to them. Frankly, she could do this potion alone, but she knew that in order for Marlene to get a grade, she also had to put in the work.
So, Hermione gave her the task to dice the ingredients needed. Marlene scowled, but followed her suggestion nonetheless. After all, Marlene might not like her but there was no denying that she needed the grade.
"That's not a dice," Hermione was quick to interrupt once she saw Marlene's work.
"What do you mean it's not a dice? It is!" Marlene insisted.
"No," Hermione drawled. "It is not. If you knew what a dice is, it would not look like this."
Hermione sighed and promptly vanished the ingredients that Marlene insisted she had 'diced'. Marlene's jaw dropped once the ingredients vanished.
"Hey, I worked hard on that!" Marlene scowled.
"Not hard enough," Hermione countered as she stirred the contents of the cauldron. "I suggest grabbing a fresh set of ingredients at the potions cupboard at the back and start dicing. For real this time."
"Why are you so mean to me?" Marlene snapped, pouting at the cauldron.
Hermione reminded herself that she was only eleven-years-old, and patted her head gently, as if to comfort her. Marlene was startled by Hermione's touch, flinching at the hand rubbing her head, her jaw dropping slightly once she realized that Hermione was trying to soothe her ire.
Then, Hermione dropped her hand to her side and regarded her with a narrowed stare. "I'm always mean to everyone, Marlene. Don't expect to be an exception. Now, get the ingredients and start dicing."
Marlene didn't need to be told a third time.
1973…
"So, I was thinking of calling you a nickname. How about my Lily of the Valley? Or better yet, my Lily-pad?"
"Do you even hear yourself right now?"
"You're right, they're awful. How about my Lady of the Night?"
"That's how you call a prostitute, idiot!"
"What?! Oh, shit! I didn't know that—Wait, Evans, how did you know that's how you call a prostitute?"
"It doesn't matter. Get away from me!"
"I promise I don't see you as a prostitute!"
It wasn't often that she would encounter the people she'd murder and kill in the future.
But considering that Barty Crouch Jr. was one of her classmates—although he was sorted in a different house—this was bound to happen sooner rather than later.
"I want to challenge you in a duel," was the first thing the Ravenclaw—and future Voldemort worshiper—said to her the moment she came inside the Dueling Club room.
This was the third pureblood who challenged her in a duel and she had not even been a member of the club for a month. The first one was Mulciber, of course. She had been waiting for him to retaliate and didn't think it would happen two years after their altercation. The second one had been Sirius, after the incident with the hexed parchment.
They all lost.
Now, it was Barty Crouch Jr.
She was starting to think that these purebloods were masochists.
Hermione sighed and propped a fist on her waist. "How much?"
"Pardon?" Barty looked confused.
Hermione stared at him. "How much will you pay me to duel with you?"
His jaw dropped. "W-what's that got to do with anything?" He sputtered.
"If I'm going to waste my time fixing your ego and daddy issues, I might as well get paid."
His eyes widened, blushing profusely at her words.
Nonetheless, he paid her five Galleons.
Hermione beat him in under sixty seconds.
1974…
"Hey, Evans, do you want to go out with me this weekend? I know this really good tea place in Hogsmeade. Don't worry, my treat!"
"I would rather eat toads, Potter."
"That's alright. I can buy you lots of toads to eat!"
"What the heck is wrong with you? Leave me alone, and stay away! I don't like you!"
"Well, not yet."
"Not. Ever!"
Hermione requested to be a Prefect next year, much to Professor McGonagall's surprise. It wasn't often that students approached professors inquiring about these positions. Mostly, everyone else expected to be appointed, but no one dared to ask.
"It's a big responsibility, Miss Granger," the Head of House Gryffindor told her. "While it is undeniable that you're one of the candidates for the position, I found myself unsure whether to give you the post or not. After the conversation we've had back in your first year, I thought you would avoid becoming one."
After all, aside from classes, Hermione was always quiet and alone, surrounded by a number of books that served as a wall separating her from everyone else. She would read in the corner all day long, shutting the entire world out, content to lose herself in the words written across yellow pages.
Even when someone tried to speak with her, Hermione would only respond to a question or statement that she, herself chose to respond to. Everyone else had already gotten used to her behavior. She did her own thing, away from everyone else, never allowing herself to open up—never allowing them to welcome her.
Perhaps, Professor McGonagall assumed that, with her indifference toward her classmates, Hermione would've refused the responsibility of a Prefect.
But knowing that a few years later, their world would be subjected to Lord Voldemort's torment, Hermione wanted to savor the peace and quiet of this era. As much as possible, she wanted to keep the peace for herself.
She wanted the quiet to last.
"I avoid people, but I don't avoid responsibility," Hermione responded smoothly to Professor McGonagall's concerns, raising the steaming cup of tea to her lips. "I understand if there are people far more deserving than I. Contrary to popular belief, I am aware of my shortcomings, Professor. But people listen to me, even Slytherins. I also know that I can and will be able to handle this big responsibility. I won't disappoint you nor my fellow peers. Of course, only if you appoint me to be the Prefect next school year. I understand if you do not think I am the appropriate choice."
Professor McGonagall frowned. "Miss Granger, you are more than qualified to be granted this responsibility. I just worry that it is more than you can handle. I have heard that Professor Flitwick plans to appoint you as the Dueling Club President next year. Add that with your responsibilities as a Prefect, I am unsure how you will shoulder these burdens."
Well, she had once shouldered the burden of governing Wizarding Britain as the Minister of Magic, while also being the mother of two magical children. Compared to those two situations, being a Prefect was a piece of cake.
"Professor, I won't be inquiring about the position if I did not think that I can handle it," Hermione assured, holding her stare. "Like I said years before, everyone is an idiot, so they need all the help that they can get."
Hermione saw the twitch pulling the corners of Professor McGonagall's lips, as if she wanted to smile but stopped herself from doing so.
"Let me think about it," Professor McGonagall answered in the end.
That summer before her fifth year, Hermione became a Prefect.
1975…
"Hey, Evans, so I heard that you went out with Diggory. Why did you go out with him when you can go out with me?"
"Well, for one thing, Amos is pleasant and kind, unlike you."
"I can be pleasant and kind!"
"Please, we all know you're full of yourself. Look at yourself in the mirror! You're an arrogant pig who can't even reflect on your actions. You think you're all that because your family is rich and you're a pureblood. What, you think you're so special that everyone will just fall for you the moment you smile at them? Please! Get your head out of your own ass. Do you think that I'm just going to fall for you just like that? You annoy me so much, I wish I can just make you disappear, and stay out of my life!"
"… I… Wow. You feel so much… for me…?"
"Ugh, did you even hear what I just said?! Get it into your head already; I don't like you! I won't like someone like you! Frankly, I would rather jump from the Astronomy tower than fall in love with someone like you!"
Hermione crept into the night, robes fluttering behind her, the glow of her Lumos aiding her in the darkness.
It took a few turns before she arrived at her destination: the Hospital Wing.
She pursed her lips as she softly pushed the door open, careful not to wake the occupant inside. She didn't bother closing the door, since she didn't plan to stay long anyway. She went inside the room and headed towards the person sleeping at the back.
The Lumos light at the tip of her wand dimmed as she got close. When she peered at his sleeping face—scarred and tired from the full moon the night before—she turned to the table next to his cot. She pulled out the chocolate bars from her robes and left it on the table, humming softly.
"Are you not going to say anything?" Hermione asked to no one in particular. "Or are you going to pretend you're asleep?"
It took a few minutes before Remus' eyes opened, a sheepish smile lingering on his lips. "I'm sorry. I, uh, didn't expect to see you here."
"I doubt you're expecting anyone," Hermione retorted, turning to give him a look, one of her eyebrows raised. "How are you feeling?"
Remus' shoulders jerked at her question, startled eyes meeting her tranquil ones. "Uh, I… I feel fine," he stammered, likely surprised that Hermione was asking such a compassionate question. "Thanks for… for coming here, even though it's late."
Hermione stared at Remus, who avoided her gaze. They both knew she had been coming here since their third year. They both knew that she knew that his ailment wasn't a weak constitution but, it was his lycanthropy affliction.
But neither said anything.
"Take care of yourself. Goodbye," Hermione said after a brief moment of silence, turning on her heel and preparing to leave, but then Remus called out behind her and she turned around with a puzzled look on her face. "What is it?"
"Why are you doing this?" Remus asked quietly. "You know, don't you? You know what I am, but you've never treated me differently. Why?"
Hermione blinked her eyes. "It's because of my advocacy."
"Advocacy?" Remus seemed startled by her answer.
"Yes. I advocate for the better treatment of house elves, half-breeds, and werewolves."
"Not muggleborns?"
"And make myself a martyr?" Hermione raised an eyebrow. "I don't think so. Lily can do that fine on her own. She can be our representative if she wants; well, she already is. As for me, I want to fight for other people that have no one fighting for them."
"Even people like Fenrir Greyback?" Remus asked, looking down at his lap.
"I said better treatment for werewolves, not murderers and child predators," Hermione retorted with a snort. "Besides, if it makes you better, better treatment also means he can get a fair trial and sentence to Azkaban, rather than killing him on sight."
Remus went quiet, before he lifted his gaze and held her stare. "Thank you for not treating me any differently."
Hermione didn't say anything. She merely nodded and left.
1976…
"When will you get it in your head that I will never have feelings for you?! Seriously, just back off! Your so-called love is suffocating me!"
Snape was standing outside the Gryffindor entrance, pleading to the Fat Lady to let him in to speak to Lily Evans. It was already a year since that incident, since Severus Snape called his childhood friend a mudblood in front of everyone, driven by hate and humiliation.
Lily Evans refused to speak to him and acknowledged his presence again. From the moment Snape had called her a mudblood, he was dead to Lily.
Hermione was standing behind Snape's back, watching him as he begged on his knees to the Fat Lady, who only looked on with sympathy in her eyes.
It was so strange to see the professor who had beaten her with his own vicious tongue and temperamental rage had become a schoolboy who sought an adult's validation and who was desperate for a friend.
But she supposed that Snape was still human despite it all. Just like any man, he too would succumb to human follies. He hated as much as he loved.
"Please, just one time," Snape said, clasping his hands together, looking gaunt with his sunken cheeks and dark bags under his eyes. "I just need to speak to her one time. If you can't let me in, then… then please call for Lily. Please, I just need to speak to her once."
"I'm sorry, dear," the Fat Lady said, her tone gentle. "But I simply cannot adhere your request. Miss Evans dissuaded me from calling her if you ever come."
Snape looked stricken, his breath hitching at the Fat Lady's words. Hermione crossed her arms over her chest, the movement calling the attention of the Fat Lady.
"Oh, Miss Granger! You're back!" The Fat Lady exclaimed with a nervous laugh. "Would you like to come in?"
She started walking closer towards them, stopping beside Snape's kneeling form. "Not yet," she answered the portrait.
"Come here to laugh at me?" Snape asked, a quiet venomous tone in his voice, looking down at the concrete ground with his fists clenched tightly on either of his sides.
Knowing his prideful streak, Snape must've felt humiliated that Hermione witnessed him begging for Lily. Of course, his first response was to lash out.
"Do you see me laughing?" Hermione retorted, frowning, looking ahead and seeing nothing. "Get up already before someone else sees."
Snape didn't respond nor move for a second. But then, he slowly rose to his feet, staggering as he tried to regain his balance. Hermione pulled his arm when he stumbled forward, helping him stand without looking at his direction.
Snape snatched his arm back from Hermione's grasp, awkwardly patting his robes off of dirt. He stood still for a moment, darting a confused glance at Hermione when she didn't leave.
Snape opened his mouth, and hesitated, before he spoke, "Can you… call Lily? For me?" He cleared his throat. "Please?"
Hermione gave him a sideways glance. "Even if I call her, what do you think will happen? Do you think she will forgive you for what you had done to her?"
"W-we're friends," Snape insisted. "I'm… I'm sure that she will forgive me once she realizes that I'm sincerely sorry. Lily is kind. She won't turn me away. I know she won't."
"You're forgetting that Lily is human, Snape," Hermione told him. "Just like any human, she is flawed. She's not some saint who will forgive the friend who betrayed her and reduced her worth to her blood status. Even friendship can't save you that one."
She wondered what it felt like to be called mudblood by her friend. She imagined Ron calling her one and she felt a twinge in her chest. She imagined Harry calling her that word, and her heart throbbed painfully. She could see why Lily refused to see Snape again, not after he had taken her weakness and used it against her.
"I didn't mean it," Snape muttered quietly. "I… I was hurt and… and I was thoroughly humiliated. I was blinded by rage that… that I hadn't even realized what I said until it was too late."
"So, you were so angry that you took it out on the only person who truly cared about you?" Hermione retorted, a frown digging deeper on her face. "Lily only wanted to help, but you threw it back to her face because you couldn't stand that a muggleborn would defend you against your perpetrators." A pause. "Or is it because you couldn't stand that the person you're in love with witnessed your moment of weakness, so you used her weakness against her to make it even?"
"That's not—that's not how it is!" Snape sputtered, a bright red blush blatantly covering his sickly, pale skin.
"Then, what is it?" Hermione asked, gazing at him with wide eyes. "If not that, then what else could it be? Are you so hateful of us, muggleborns that even you would turn your back against your friend?"
"No, I don't hate you," Snape pressed on. "You and Lily… you two have proven that blood status doesn't matter, that everyone magical can become brilliant and formidable regardless of their blood. I don't believe in that nonsense about blood purity or anything like that."
"Then why call Lily a mudblood?"
Snape paused, mouth agape.
"There are so many words to hurt someone, but you chose that one specific word," Hermione said, turning to the portrait who was watching them with keen eyes. "Perhaps, it's time for you to look at yourself and see where your ideals lie."
She muttered the password, the portrait opening wordlessly at her words. She left Snape standing alone in the corridor, surrounded by darkness, the portrait shutting close behind her back.
There was a bird in the sky.
It soared so high, it looked like a dot as it flew into the horizon.
She stretched her arm outward, reaching for the sky, but only grasped air in the end.
Hermione lowered her arm, looking at her closed fist, before unfurling her fingers and opening her palm. She stared at the lines across her palm, knowing that these were the same lines that decorated her hand in two of her previous lives.
The same body, the same identity, the same Hermione, but a different witch in the end.
She heard a rustling noise behind her, startling out of her daze. She turned her head, peeking over her shoulder to witness Lily Evans emerging behind the curtains that concealed a bed, red hair rumpled with sleep.
Lily paused when she saw Hermione watching her, a pink hue blooming across the fair skin of her cheeks.
Hermione avoided those familiar green, green eyes and turned to look at the sky outside the window.
"Good morning," Lily greeted, hesitance laced around her voice, knowing that Hermione would never—had never—greeted her back.
This time was different.
"Does he know?" Hermione asked in an idle tone.
"Does who know?" Lily responded with a confused lilt to her voice.
Hermione looked at her again, meeting her eyes for the first time, making the redhead pause. "Does James know?"
Lily pursed her lips, distaste flashing across those eyes of hers. "He doesn't have a right to know. Why should I care about what he thinks anyways?"
Hermione stared at her for a moment before she looked away. She never said anything else.
But Lily and her both knew—after all, Lily had come out of a bed that belonged to someone else.
How could one live for a hippogriff?
The answer to that question continued to elude Hermione since she came into 1971 as an eleven-years-old witch, with memories worth of two lifetimes in her head.
Now, at sixteen, the answer remained hidden.
She sensed someone staring and lowered the book from her face. She wasn't surprised to meet James Potter's gaze, who was staring intently at her as if she was a puzzle he was desperate to solve.
He smiled and gave an exuberant wave.
She raised a brow and lifted the book up to conceal her face.
Hippogriffs… how could she live a life for a hippogriff? This question haunted her the moment she woke up in this strange, peaceful time.
When she looked at James Potter, she couldn't help but think she would find the answer soon enough.