This was how the story went:
James Potter and Lily Evans first met at Hogwarts Academy.
James was described by most as a charismatic young man too clever for his own good. Not only was he very talented in magic, but he also sought trouble everywhere he went. He was undeniably charming, so most of the time, he got away with the things he had done. People either hated him or loved him—there was no in between.
Lily, on the other hand, was a promising muggleborn witch who excelled at many areas of magic. She was fiery and vivacious; righteous and empathetic. Her different upbringing with her muggle parents offered her a different view and outlook that was refreshing to other people. Everyone who knew her instantly liked her.
Despite their many differences, however they had something in common: they were loud.
Loud with their actions, loud with their opinions.
Just loud.
James fell madly in love with Lily almost immediately after they met. He didn't waste time before chasing after her, wooing her to the point of self-abandon. Lily, for her part, disliked James' arrogance and interest on her. Not only did she dislike his character, but she also hated him for bullying her first friend, Severus Snape.
She constantly rejected him throughout the six years he spent chasing after her. She wasn't being coy with him; she was firm with her rejections and dislike. Undeniably, there was still a thrill to the chase. It was flattering to be admired ardently by someone like James Potter, and she couldn't deny that she did like the attention at times, but she never gave him false hopes nor did her dislike for him waver.
Then their seventh year came, and both James Potter and Lily Evans became Head Boy and Head Girl respectively. James came back as a more thoughtful and mature man that year, brought about by the sudden deaths of his parents, Charlus and Dorea Potter, the summer before.
He apologized to Lily for the years he spent ignoring her feelings and trying to force her to go out with him. Lily saw this new, strange side of him, and was curious. When she saw his sincerity, she accepted his apology. The both of them began a tentative friendship soon after.
It didn't take long for them to fall in love—or rather, for Lily to fall in love with James.
They got together before the end of the year. Married after a year. And then had Harry James Potter, the Prophecy Child.
That was how the story went.
Hermione looked at the budding love between Lily Evans and Marlene McKinnon. Two young girls not yet fourteen had found something precious between them—previous, but forbidden.
And Hermione wondered.
Where did it all go wrong?
Years passed since she came to 1971.
The story continued with no end in sight, the words written too murky to understand.
Since when had reading begun feeling difficult?
Peter was surrounded by a number of Slytherin boys—older, stronger, and bigger than him. His face was deathly pale with fear, his trembling limbs clutched the wall behind him, and his eyes were wide with terror. One of the Slytherins was pointing a wand at his face, hissing something far too low for anyone to understand. With none of his friends in sight, surrounded and outnumbered, it would be too late to save him.
It was finally starting, she thought.
Peter Pettigrew—the rat—the traitor—the coward.
Hermione merely flicked her wand and the Slytherins were immediately thrown back in response, their backs slamming against the wall in a painful thud. Their wands flew in the air and into her grasp with her silent command. The Slytherins hissed and began shouting, but when they saw her, they paused, looked at each other, and promptly shut their mouths.
She looked at their faces and mentally took note of their names: Burke, Goyle, Parkinson, and Yaxley.
She expected Mulciber to be with them but considering that he was constantly looking to fight and duel her, she figured he didn't have time to bully someone else.
"I really dislike bullies," she intoned, her voice quiet, as opposed to her eyes that were flashing with the promise of their impending deaths. "This kind of cowardice makes me ashamed that you're Slytherins. You're all not worthy of being one."
They all flushed with anger.
As if to reiterate her statement, the Slytherin emblem on their clothes suddenly burst into flames. They panicked, shouting and struggling against the invisible binds that held them up the wall. It was only when the flames vanished—and left behind a dark, dirty spot where the Slytherin emblem used to be—that they quieted.
Next, she pointed a wand at them, ignoring how they braced themselves for whatever spell she planned to aim at them.
She merely wrote in the air: COWARDS.
The word burned itself into the black spot on their robes. Starkly red against the cool, sleek dark green silk of their outfit. She made it so no amount of tearing or magic could take it away. It would always appear, even when they bought new robes for themselves.
"There," she said, "that's a more fitting house for the likes of you."
"You dare—!"Parkinson barked out, glaring heatedly at her. "You dare—!"
"Yes," she answered, quirking one cool brow. "I dare."
His face reddened, but he didn't say anything else.
She looked at Peter, who had slumped against the wall in his relief and now straightened his spine when he saw her.
"Come," she said, jerking her head to the side. "Let's go."
Peter eyed her and the Slytherins still stuck on the wall. "A-are we leaving them…?" he asked hesitantly, slowly peeling himself off the wall.
"Why? Do you want to take them with us?"
He immediately shook his head, watery blue eyes wide. He reminded her of a doe—skittish, wary, but with eyes that gazed back with innocence and curiosity.
Peter Pettigrew—the rat—the traitor—the coward.
"So, let's go and leave them be," she said, already turning on her heel and walking away, knowing that he would follow after her.
What other option was there anyway?
It was already late at night. Everyone else was returning to the dormitory after having dinner at the Great Hall. It was likely that Peter was doing the same until he was caught by bullies.
Hermione led him to the Gryffindor Tower, stopping in front of the Fat Lady, before turning around to spot Peter lingering behind her back. He jumped when she turned, gaze darting to the side, his cheeks pink. She eyed him silently.
"T-thank you," he whispered, squirming on his feet. "You didn't have to… to save me back there. I know you dislike talking or interacting with people so, really, thank you."
"Stop thanking me," she said. "Any decent person would stop them."
"N-no… not really. Before you came, there were two other people who found me but when they saw the others, they kind of… ran off," Peter finished with a bitter note to his voice.
Hermione raised a brow. "I said decent people. They're not decent if they left you alone without helping you."
Peter stared down at his feet, shoulders bunched up, looking so small.
"You must think I'm a coward too, huh?" he said so suddenly, that she wondered where he got the idea from. "I know I'm not exactly… the epitome of a Gryffindor. I-I'm not James or Sirius or even Remus. I'm… I'm just me."
Well, for Hermione, he was more than a coward.
He was the rat.
He was the traitor.
So, he wasn't just a coward.
"So, what if you're not them?" Hermione said, crossing her arms over her chest. "Nobody asked you to be and if everyone's thinking that, then I'm the only sane person here. I doubt this world needs another James Potter, or Remus Lupin, or god forbid, another Sirius Black. One of them is already enough. So, you don't have to become one of them; you just keep being Peter."
Peter Pettigrew—the rat—the traitor—the coward.
He snapped his head upwards, looking at her with impossibly huge eyes that the blue in his irises almost resembled the sky. His cheeks went redder, reaching up to the top of his ears.
"That's one of the nicest things anyone ever said to me," he said, sounding awed for some reason.
A pity, since what she was doing was merely the most basic, decent thing a person could do to another.
"I don't doubt it, which is sad, because if you took the time to open your eyes, you'll realize that your friends like you for the reason that you're Peter and not someone else," Hermione said with a shake of her head. "There is no need for another carbon copy, when the original is already worth enough. You're doing your best, Peter, and nobody can take that away from you."
She then turned on her heel and walked away, her footsteps the only sound she could hear in her mind.
Peter Pettigrew—the rat—the traitor—the coward.
Peter Pettigrew—a friend—a stranger—a boy.
When the story you knew became so twisted, it was hardly the same story you had expected, what would you do?
"You were the one who hexed my brother." A young, gray-eyed Regulus Black came up to Hermione one afternoon in the library.
Hermione flipped the page of her book, waited for a moment, before she looked up and met his impatient gaze.
"Well? Were you the one?" he prompted.
He was a year younger, with sleek black hair, except for a thin strand falling over his forehead. Everything else—from his robes to his shoes—were pristine and orderly. He looked so much like Sirius except for the serious gleam in his eyes and the clean appearance.
The only one who valiantly tried to defy against Voldemort, only to meet his demise in an unknown and gloomy cave with the Inferi.
"Correction: he was the one who hexed himself," Hermione retorted, turning her attention to her book.
She could practically feel him bristling when he hissed, "Didn't anyone ever teach you to look at someone when they're talking to you? You're rude."
"And you're not?" she asked, her voice as steady as an undisturbed water. "If you're going to berate someone about manners, take a look at yourself first. You're the one who approached me and accused me of hexing your brother without introducing yourself first nor asking if there is truth to your accusation. You didn't even bother to excuse yourself, seeing that I'm busy reading. So, if you think I'm being rude, I'm merely returning the favor."
Silence ensued until—
"I apologize for my rudeness."
Hermione simply closed her book and decided to grant him her attention.
"Say that next time without spitting," she said, and watched as Sirius' little brother blushed in front of her. "Now, what is it that you want to know?"
Regulus' lips tightened. "My brother came home one day with scars across his hands. I only recently found out that you were the one responsible." He paused. "Are you?"
"That depends on the person telling the story," Hermione answered. "Some will say that it's my fault for putting a hex on my parchment to prevent theft and other malicious intentions. Others will say it's Sirius for meddling into someone else's affairs and trying to prank an innocent which had gotten him hexed in the end. I will say one thing though. The scars were deliberately left there."
"Deliberately?" Regulus mouthed out, then asked aloud, "What do you mean, deliberately?"
"When I healed him, I intentionally made the wounds scar. It serves as a reminder for him to stay out of someone else's business."
Regulus' eyes flashed. "My mother threw quite a fit when she saw the scars."
Knowing Walburga, she must've been more worried about what other people would think and say about the scars, than the well-being of her own son.
"I imagine so." Hermione nodded her head, cool and indifferent. "He deserves it nonetheless. Actions have consequences. It's time for Sirius to realize that not everyone will cater to his whims, especially not me. Not everyone is willing to be pushed over. That event will serve as his reminder."
"A reminder to keep out of everyone's business?" Regulus snorted.
She gave him a look. "It's a reminder to keep out of mine."
"I know you're hiding there," Hermione called out, sighing under her breath.
It took a moment or two before Barty Crouch Jr. walked out from the corner he was hiding in, his lips pulled into a pout. Hermione scrutinized him as he shuffled his feet, heading closer towards her.
It was strange, so strange, to watch the man she had killed in her previous life act like such a child in front of her.
"How did you know I was there?" Barty demanded with a stomp of his foot. Such a spoiled little kid. "I even vanished the sound of my footsteps!"
Hermione couldn't help but let her lips quirk into a tiny smirk. "It's a womanly secret," she told him with a dismissive wave of her hand, before she turned on her heel and started walking away.
"W-wait!" Barty called out from behind her, catching up to her in a slightly faster pace. He slowed down next to her, peering at her at the corner of his eyes. "Seriously, how did you know I was following you?"
"Are you a woman?"
"What—Of course not!" he sputtered.
"Then, why should I tell you a woman's secret?" She quirked an eyebrow at him, without a pause in her step.
Nearly a year since she had beaten Barty in a duel and he seemed to be intent on not letting her go. He constantly followed her everywhere, giving her gifts she didn't ask for, and challenging her in a duel (where he always lost). He would give her books she asked (after hinting heavily that he had it) and pay close attention to what she did, just so he'd know what she liked.
She left him be, because fussing over him stalking her was a waste of her time. Besides, she knew that he would lose interest soon enough the moment he was recruited into Voldemort's cause.
She was almost sorry for Voldemort in the future, when the time came Barty would take his mark and he'd become so obsessed with the Dark Lord, it bordered insanity.
Admittedly, she was looking forward to it.
"You're acting so mysterious again," the fourth year next to her snorted. "Is this what happens when someone becomes a Prefect?"
"Ah," Hermione uttered dryly, "yes, now you've found out our secrets. How did you know?"
Barty narrowed his eyes at her and took one good look at her face, before he deigned to respond, "You're fucking with me again, aren't you?"
Hermione didn't look at him as she raised her left hand and smacked him upside the head, ignoring the way he yelped.
"Language," she admonished quietly.
"This is abuse!" Barty whined, but continued following after her.
Hermione hummed to herself.
Peter Pettigrew was a traitor to his best friends. He was the one who stayed by Voldemort's side, whose fear had been so great that he had resurrected the Dark Lord rather than strangle him when he'd been nothing more than a baby. His only act of kindness towards the boy he orphaned earned him death in the end.
And yet, he was also the one who made himself an Animagus to accompany his friend during the full moon. He was the one who would give her a shy smile whenever their eyes met. He was the one who gave her knitted gloves to convey his gratitude. He was the one who blushed whenever she caught him watching her.
Barty Crouch Jr. had locked up Mad-Eye Moody in a trunk and impersonated him for nearly a year, befriending Harry and earning other people's trust. He was so good that he even slipped past Dumbledore's defenses. He also killed his own father and buried him in the Forbidden Forest.
And yet, he was the one who tried to ace his exams to make his father proud. He was the one who constantly tried to beat her in a duel to make her acknowledge his strength. He was the one who gave her gifts, even when she didn't ask for them.
Regulus Black had spurned his own brother and gained the Dark Mark immediately after graduating from Hogwarts. He was so devoted to Voldemort that he was chosen to be his companion when Voldemort decided to hide his Horcrux. Although Regulus tried to amend his mistakes, his efforts were rendered futile, and he died for his troubles.
And yet, he was the one who admired his big brother and couldn't understand where everything went wrong between them. He was the one forced to act like an adult just to gain the love his parents weren't capable of giving. He was the one who sought her out just because he wanted to study together.
She wanted to kill them.
She wanted to save them.
What had she gotten herself into?
"Hey, Granger."
Hermione merely flicked her gaze upwards, meeting Sirius Black's gaze for a millisecond, before she dismissed him immediately by returning her attention to her book.
Her dismissal didn't seem to deter him as he grabbed the unoccupied seat across her, pulling the chair noisily against the floor—no doubt to try to annoy her. Hermione's response was flipping the page of the ancient book in her hands.
Silence ensued, neither party willing to speak first.
One minute passed.
Sirius fidgeted in his seat, twisting his body around to get himself comfortable.
Hermione merely hummed under her breath.
Two minutes passed.
Sirius drummed his fingers on the table between them.
Hermione flipped another page.
Three minutes passed.
Sirius began tapping his foot on the floor.
Hermione added a bookmark on a particular interesting page.
Four minutes passed.
Sirius began sighing in frustration, staring intently at her.
Hermione brushed a stray strand of curly brown hair away from her face.
Five minutes passed.
"Okay, enough," Sirius hissed, finally breaking down. "I came here for a reason, not to waste my goddamn time." He didn't wait for her to respond—not that she would—as he immediately asked, "I saw my brother with you earlier. What's with that?"
So Regulus was the reason why he came to the library and disturbed her? Ever since that time in their third year—with him receiving her hex after a failed attempt at sabotaging her assignments, and him trying to retaliate except they never worked—Sirius never tried approaching her again.
It was almost like she carried a plague he didn't want to catch. He always kept his distance, no matter the setting or circumstance they found themselves in. If Hermione didn't know any better, she would've thought he was afraid of her.
But no, Sirius was one of the few people among their age group that wasn't afraid of her.
What he felt for her was much worse—she intimidated him.
Hermione knew this because she could read it plainly from his expression alone. She had spent a long time with the older version of Sirius and this younger one was easier to read than the other.
Right now, Sirius looked at her like he wanted to crack her skull open just to get the answers he sought.
"He wanted to ask me something," she replied, a bland note to her voice.
"That's it?" he asked, scowling at her. "Regulus never speaks to people unless he considers them worth his time. What did you do to catch his attention?"
Hermione tilted her head to the side, her eyes moving from the words on her book to the deep lines between Sirius' eyes.
"Do I need to do anything to catch attention?" she retorted.
Sirius' jaw dropped, stunned by her response, before he scoffed. "Yes, because Merlin forbid that you don't get attention wherever you go."
"A statement that applies perfectly for you than for me." Hermione leaned against her chair, crossing her arms over her chest. Her book levitated in front of her now that she wasn't holding it. "Why else have you approached me, Sirius? Worried that I'm going to do something to your brother?"
Sirius' eyes flashed and he hissed, "You know damn well that I'm worried about him when you're the one involved." His fingers flexed on the table, the silver scars stretched taut across the back of his hands. "You're a crazy and ruthless witch. You're not right in the head, Granger, and everyone knows it."
Hermione didn't disagree with his statement. After all, there was bound to be something wrong with her head after spending three lifetimes, where two of those times were full lives reaching up to a century.
Hermione stared at him for a moment, then said, "You and your brother have a habit of hissing at me."
She leaned forward slightly and gave him a slight smile. Sirius froze in his seat.
"I wonder what sound you'll make if I transfigure you two into cats?" she commented with an idle tone of voice. "All the hissing and the bristling—I always wanted a familiar."
Sirius bolted out of his seat and high-tailed out of the library without any word. Hermione frowned to herself.
Sirius left far too early for her to enjoy taunting him completely. But then again, there was bound to be a next time. She was looking forward to it.
Terrible things happened to wizards who meddled with time.
But what about a witch who stumbled through the past? Not just one, but twice? What about a witch who lived her life for three times?
What would happen to her?
What terrible thing awaited her?
Crazy gray eyes. A crudely drawn scar. Mudblood. Shrilly laughter of a madman. The dead body of Harry Potter.
Hermione opened her eyes and bolted from her bed, heaving lungful of air into her lungs as cold sweat dripped from her face. Her eyes adjusted in the dark, grateful that the curtains around her bed silenced her loud screams. The last thing she needed was for the other occupants in the room witnessing her crying for her ghosts.
It had been a long time since she'd dreamed of her first life. It had been longer since she dreamed of the war.
Her body might be unmarred and untouched by the horrors and tragedies of a war, but her soul carried thousands of scars that remained unhealed.
People oftentimes feared death, but Hermione thought they were being stupid.
People should fear life itself.
Because it would never grant them the reprieve that only death could give.
She would know.
You only died once.
Everyday was a life yet to live.
How many days did she still have?
How many tomorrows would she still have to greet?
What would it take to stop this madness?
How many deaths would it take to end this nightmare?
Hermione read books, not because she was researching or entertaining herself, but because she wanted to see the disparities of information between the past and the future.
She noted the errors. She wrote about improvements. She discovered hidden gems. She explored ancient relics and artifacts of the past.
The magic during this time was undeniably more potent than it was in the future. Spells were casted faster and easier; magical creatures and plants were more abundant and stronger.
Everything appeared more vibrant with the force of magic cackling in the air like electric current.
Magic had never been like this in her other two lives. It was more muted, more condensed, like a thick fog too hard to inhale.
The decline of magic—a possibility that muggleborns were always blamed for.
What could she do, Hermione wondered, to save something that was already dying?
Lily and Marlene sprung apart when Hermione came into their dormitory. The girls were sitting on the couch, their clothes disheveled and their lips swollen. Guilty eyes darted to the side as they were unable to meet her gaze.
Lily—with her Gryffindor tie askew and tangled red hair—clutched at the hem of her robes. Marlene—whose skirt had ridden up to reveal her mid-thighs—looked down at her feet.
Hermione merely closed the door shut, and said in a detached sort of voice, "Congratulations."
Both of their head snapped towards her, eyes wide.
"W-what?" Marlene sputtered. "What are you talking about?"
Hermione tilted her head to the side. "Aren't you two together already? If not, then I apologize for misunderstanding. Have a nice day."
She was about to walk to her side of the dorm, when Lily suddenly stood up and called for her name. Hermione had no choice but to look back, one of her eyebrows raised.
"Y-you aren't…" Lily seemed to struggle for a moment before her face hardened, determination urging her forward, "You aren't uncomfortable with Marlene and I being a couple? That we're together? That we're in love with each other?"
"Should I be?"
Marlene also stood up. "Why shouldn't you?"
Ah, she had nearly forgotten that this time wasn't particularly kind to same-sex couples. The Wizarding World had a conservative view when it came to relationships. Birth rates among purebloods were low and the number of muggleborns were dwindling. They would never accept same-sex relationships when it meant that the couple could no longer produce healthy, magical children.
Hermione had something to add to her list once again. Namely: surrogacy and magical transference. She would have to research rituals later or improve the one she already studied about in one of her lives.
"Well?" Lily's voice intruded into her thoughts, and Hermione realized she hadn't answered their question, too busy thinking about important things.
Hermione's brows furrowed for the briefest moment. "Are you happy?"
Both girls were stunned by what she asked. She waited for them to reply, turning around to face them with a patience of a saint.
It was Marlene who recovered first to answer her.
"We are," she said, glancing at Lily.
Lily looked back at her girlfriend and nodded her head, her green eyes soft—the same way Harry's eyes used to look when he fell in love.
"That's good, then," Hermione said with a shrug.
"You don't think we're… freaks?" Lily asked, hesitating.
Hermione's blood ran cold.
Freak—she never liked that word.
For a long time, Harry had been called a freak by the Dursleys. No doubt, Petunia—Lily's muggle sister—had first started that moniker. It seemed that Hermione's list of priorities would continue to grow.
"Listen here and listen well," Hermione began, her eyes darkening, her voice deep and low in a way that commanded everyone's attention. Both girls couldn't help but pay extra close attention to her. "You are not freaks, both of you. There's nothing wrong with you just because you happened to fall in love with the same sex. You just happened to fall in love, that's all, and there's nothing wrong with that. Many people will state otherwise, but those people aren't you. You shouldn't be ashamed nor should you be shamed for knowing what love is."
Hermione didn't wait for them to react, turning on her heel and going towards her bed. She drew the curtains closed and laid in her bed, her mind racing, a touch of pity taking root in her heart for the love that Lily and Marlene harbored for each other.
For how long would this love last, if James Potter and Lily Evans were destined to be together?
What would happen to her Harry then?
They said that a tiny flap of butterfly wings could cause a hurricane on the other side of the world; that the tiniest actions might have the deadliest consequences.
When Hermione came to 1971, she knew she had to change things.
But what could she change when the story was already changing without her interference?
Was it even the same story in the first place?
"I love you."
Hermione heard Lily whispering in the dead of the night, behind the curtains surrounding Marlene's bed. Her quill paused above her parchment, eyes staring at the words she'd written.
Hermione heard Marlene giggle and she couldn't help but smile to herself.
Such youthful innocence—such simple love.
"I love you too," Marlene replied.
It was almost a pity that it wouldn't last.
"Are you simply not tired of the amount of shit that comes out of your mouth?!" Lily's scream punctuated the air with a shrill.
It had been such a fine morning as well, before Lily's loud noise had pierced it into something ugly.
Hermione lowered her book and watched as Lily stood up from her seat, towering over James who sat on the dining table. With his shoulders raised, his head lowered, and his face a mask of pure hurt, he looked far too small and meek for someone so loud.
"I just need one morning—just one!—before I get harassed by your arrogant, stupid ass! How many times do l have to hear you prattle on before you realize that I don't care?!" Lily continued, either oblivious to James' pain or just plain ignoring it. "I don't care about you or what you like or whatever idiocy you come up with. 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!"
Lily stormed away, the shade in her cheeks matching her hair, a scowl twisting the pretty features on her face. Hermione looked back at James, who had hung his head, hands limp on his thighs. But then he snapped his head up, his face cleared off of pain or worry, his lips stretched into a confident grin.
Hermione wondered if she was the only person who thought that his smile looked particularly painful.
After all, it didn't match the sorrow lingering in his eyes.
They said the third time was the charm.
The Power of Three had always existed in the Wizarding World.
Invisibility Cloak. Elder Wand. Resurrection Stone.
Harry. Voldemort. Dumbledore.
James. Snape. Lily.
Harry. Ron. Hermione.
Three destinies entwined.
Three times she lived her life.
Life. Death. Resurrection.
She intended to live her third life with the plan to change things, to save lives, and to prevent wars.
To give Harry the future he deserved with the parents he lost in both of her lifetimes.
As she watched Lily hold hands with Marlene, a shy smile gracing both of their lips, both discreet with their actions. She glanced at James Potter staring Lily on the side, too blinded by his own love to notice Lily's affections turning to someone else.
And she wondered what terrible things the future held for them.
James. Lily. Marlene.
The Power of Three decided to strike again.
What did it mean to live for a hippogriff?
Answers continued to elude her and she found herself at a loss of what to do in this strange time of quietude.
In the process of trying to find a purpose during each life, Hermione had forgotten one important thing.
She forgot herself.
Hermione felt the brush of an ancient artifact in the air as she rounded into an otherwise empty corridor. She walked forward, her face devoid of any expression, her feet gradually stopping beside the area where the magic was the strongest.
She swiped her hand in the air, felt a silky—invisible—garment in her grasp, and pulled.
It was the Invisibility Cloak. That meant—
She looked at the person hiding beneath the cloak.
James Potter smiled sheepishly at her.
Harry's smile.
He had Harry's face.
Her best friend's face was being worn by a familiar stranger.
Hermione's eyes burned. She spent so long trying to avoid him, not even letting herself look at him, not even for a split second.
Because his face made her realize that her memories of Harry was starting to fade, and she could handle anything but that.
"Granger…" he said, shuffling his feet awkwardly. "Fancy meeting you here, so late at night. What's up?"
Hermione's eyes iced over.
Fate really had a funny way of toying with the tormented.
What did it mean to live for Hermione Granger?
Hermione let James Potter cling to her as he sobbed his heart out, the Invisibility Cloak hiding them from view. She casted a Muffliato to hide their noise, and let him embrace her as if she was his last hope.
And she, in turn, allowed herself to wrap both arms around him.
This was the first time she'd ever been close to someone; the last person she embraced was Harry, before she succumbed to death.
The floor was cold under her, and the walls were chilly against her back.
But James Potter was warm.
It was the warmest she'd ever been since she came to 1971.