Hermione sat alone on the windowsill in the Gryffindor common room, knees drawn up to her chest as she watched the school grounds bathed in the silvery light of the almost full moon. The stillness was a balm to her frayed nerves, but when Remus approached, she was grateful for his company. He eased himself down across from her, moving slowly, the pull of the full moon already evident in his weary expression.
"So, first couple's fight?" he asked, his voice gentle but laced with a hint of humour.
Hermione sighed, glancing at him. "Did James say something?"
"No, but he's been playing with his Snitch all evening, looking all pensive and broody. He only used to do that after every time Lily rejected him." Remus gave a little shiver, pulling his robe tighter around himself.
"Should you be out of bed?" she asked, concern flickering across her face.
"My best friend needs me," he replied with a faint smile. "So, unless it's literally the middle of the full moon night, I'm going to be here."
She softened at his words. "Alright… but let's at least move over to the couches near the fireplace."
"Not going to put up a fight about that," he said, and together, they relocated to the warmth of the fire, settling into a quieter, more comfortable space.
"So, what's going on?" Remus asked again once they were seated, his face etched with concern and a patience that always made Hermione feel like she could be honest with him.
"It's complicated," she started, twisting her fingers. "But the gist of it is that James is not too happy with me about how I've been treating Peter this last month."
Remus nodded thoughtfully. "It's not like you were that close before, but yeah, you've been kind of distant and guarded with him as of late."
"James believes I'm prejudiced," she muttered, avoiding his gaze. "Because of Peter's Animagus form."
Remus winced. "That's… a low blow."
Hermione gave a small, humourless laugh. "I mean, he's not entirely wrong, just not for the reason he thinks."
Remus glanced around, his face turning serious. He lifted his wand, casting a discreet Muffliato charm around them, not chancing that they were speaking in low enough voices to not be overheard. "Is it because you're from the future and know something?"
Hermione froze, her breath catching as if the air had been sucked from her lungs. She stared at him, eyes wide. "How did you know?"
He smiled, a soft expression filled with understanding. "I don't know exactly. It was a bunch of little things that added up. Like when you introduced yourself at the beginning of fourth year but seemed to already know me. You didn't need any guidance on where anything was in the castle. You guessed I was a werewolf far quicker than anyone ever had, as if you had already known. Then, you were oddly sure that James and Lily were meant to be together. Quite persistently adamant that there was no other possible outcome." He chuckled softly, though his eyes stayed serious. "Or when you looked at the Marauder's Map as if you already knew about it."
She looked down, unable to keep his gaze as he listed all the clues she hadn't realised she'd been leaving behind.
"But the biggest clue," he continued, "was when you said it was a 'security issue' that no one should know who you really were. And, of course, when you recognised Sirius and Peter's Animagus forms… as if you'd seen them before, which would have been impossible. And then suddenly, whatever anger you felt toward Sirius seemed to shift to Peter." He paused, studying her closely. "I figured you'd pieced together something about the future… something that you didn't have all the information on until now. But I'm glad it's not Sirius, even if the thought of Peter doing something awful in the future hurts almost just as much."
Hermione's shoulders slumped, her voice small. "Why didn't you say something?"
"I guess I was waiting for you to come and confide in me," he replied, shrugging.
She managed a sad smile. "I'm sorry."
"No, don't be. It's not like I go around telling my secrets voluntarily, either." His voice was warm, full of understanding.
Her gaze softened as she looked at him. "And you're… not angry?"
"Why would I be?" he replied sincerely, his hand resting on hers. "You're one of the best things in my life."
The words wrapped around her like a warm blanket, and she pulled him into a tight hug, her heart swelling with relief and gratitude.
After a moment, he pulled back slightly. "But… you should really tell James."
Her eyes widened. "What? Now?"
Remus's expression was serious. "The sooner, the better. But I understand if you'd rather wait until after the full moon, at least."
Hermione bit her lip, worry flickering in her eyes. "Do you think he'll be angry with me?"
"Probably," Remus admitted. "But he'll come around. You know he will."
Just then, a familiar voice broke the quiet, and they turned to see James barreling down the stairs. "There you are, Moony," he said, his expression turning surprised and wary when he saw Hermione and noticed the faint buzzing of the privacy charm. "Padfoot was looking for you—thought you'd only gone to the bathroom."
Remus gave Hermione a small, reassuring squeeze of her shoulder before dispelling the Muffliato charm and standing up, moving gingerly.
"I'll leave you two to it," he murmured, patting her shoulder in support before stepping past James, who watched him go, clearly confused by the interaction.
As Remus disappeared up the stairs, Hermione braced herself, looking up at James. She could see the mixture of hurt and questions in his eyes, and it twisted her heart. He sat down slowly, his gaze fixed on her, waiting.
With a steadying breath, Hermione prepared to share the truth that she had kept hidden for so long, her heart pounding as she finally gathered the courage to let him in. Funny how barely six hours ago she had thought she would never share her secret… But Remus put it together already and he was saying she needed to do this. She trusted his judgement.
James had never seen her look this vulnerable before, her eyes darting between him and the floor as if gathering courage with each glance. When she raised her wand to cast Muffliato around them again, he grew more concerned. Whatever she was about to say, he realised, it was no small matter.
"I'm going to tell you something, but I need you to listen and not interrupt until I'm finished," she began, her voice steady but her gaze uncertain.
"Alright," he replied, nodding, his heart pounding.
She took a deep breath. "I was born Hermione Granger, on September 19, 1979." She saw the shock ripple across his face, but quickly held up a hand to stop him from interrupting. "I started Hogwarts in 1991, where I met a boy named Harry Potter, who became one of my closest friends, along with Ron Weasley—Molly and Arthur Weasley's sixth son."
James stared, eyes wide as he struggled to keep his questions at bay. Hermione pushed on, her voice stronger now, as if each word was helping her ease the weight of this secret.
"Harry was the son of James Potter and Lily Potter, née Evans," she continued, her voice softening. "And they died on October 31st, 1981, after their location was betrayed to Voldemort. They had been under a Fidelius Charm, and everyone believed their Secret Keeper was Sirius Black. Including me."
James shifted uncomfortably, but he didn't speak, just clenched his fists on his lap.
"After the betrayal, Sirius went after Peter Pettigrew… and everyone thought he killed him. The only thing left of Peter was a finger, along with the bodies of twelve Muggles." She swallowed hard. "Sirius was sent to Azkaban for murder and betrayal, branded a traitor and a killer by everyone who knew him."
She hesitated, the memory of that time heavy on her heart, but she steeled herself and went on. "In my third year, I had a Time-Turner to take extra classes. But one day, after an altercation with a Slytherin, the Time-Turner was struck by a hex. The device malfunctioned, and I was flung back twenty years into the past, with no way to return."
James's eyes softened, a flicker of empathy mingling with his shock, but he stayed silent as she had asked.
"Dumbledore arranged for the Weasleys to take me in, under the guise of being Molly's second cousin. I didn't know you lot were Animagi in my time, or know much at all really about you, but when I saw Sirius and Peter's forms last month…" She hesitated, then went on, "It made me remember something strange about Ron's pet rat, Scabbers. He was missing a toe and had been with the Weasleys for far longer than any ordinary rat would live… twelve years, to be exact. Scabbers also looked very similar to Wormtail."
The realisation flashed across James's face, but he held his questions in check as she kept speaking.
"In my third year, Sirius had escaped Azkaban, everyone believed this was to kill Harry," Hermione continued, her voice barely a whisper. "But looking back, he wasn't going after Harry—he was going after Scabbers, Ron's rat, who was sleeping in the same dorm. And Crookshanks, my half-kneazle, after hanging around a large black dog on the grounds, hunted that rat relentlessly. Now I know many people might not put much stock into this, but Crookshanks was an excellent judge of character."
She paused, trying to rein in her emotions, her gaze meeting his. "So… I might be wrong, but I now believe that Peter Pettigrew was actually the Secret Keeper, not Sirius Black. And that he faked his death, framing Sirius for it, and went into hiding as a rat… as Scabbers. Now you know why I'm wary about Peter, and why that same distrust was previously aimed at Sirius, especially after the stunt he pulled in November, the two things compounding to fuel my anger. And you cannot tell anyone, especially not Peter, because if Voldemort gets a whiff about me being from the future, we are all doomed."
Hermione took a shaky breath, allowing a heavy silence to fall between them, watching James as he processed everything. His face was ashen, his fists clenched tightly in his lap, his jaw set. Finally, he broke eye contact, glancing away as if the weight of her revelation was too much to bear. She could almost see the rage simmering in his gaze, the betrayal as he processed the possibility that his best friend could have been wrongfully imprisoned, that the truth could have been twisted in such a cruel way.
But before he could respond, she dispelled the charm and, heart pounding, fled toward the girls' dormitory stairs, leaving him alone in the common room, her truth ringing in the air like a haunting melody.
There, curled up under the covers with the blanket pulled completely over her head, Hermione lay, heart racing, crying. She had finally told James the truth. Every possibility of what might come next played out in her mind, each one worse than the last. He would hate her for keeping her origins and what she knew a secret for so long. Realise that he was meant to be with Lily after all, move on, and she'd be left alone, just a stranger caught between two timelines. Her thoughts spiralled further and further, tightening into a knot of dread. Every worst-case scenario unfolded in her mind as she squeezed her eyes shut, shutting out the light, the memories, everything.
Her notebook flashed at her from the bedside, the glow pulsing gently, beckoning her to open it, to see his response to revelation. She could see his name faintly through the closed cover, but she didn't dare open it. She didn't know if she could handle seeing anger—or worse, disappointment—right now. She let it flash, undisturbed, burying herself deeper under the covers, hoping to muffle the bright reminder of her confession. Exhausted, her tears finally spent, she drifted into a restless, uneasy sleep.
When she awoke, her head felt like it was filled with cotton, heavy and unclear. She could barely move, achiness settling in her bones. She quickly buried herself back under the covers, hoping against hope that the symptoms were just from crying, but a nagging worry gnawed at her—she might actually be sick. Yesterday, she'd spent hours wrapped up with James, touching, kissing, sharing the cold February air. And tonight, he'd planned to accompany Remus in the Shack. Her stomach twisted. What if she'd passed something to him? She needed to protect Remus.
With a resigned sigh, she flipped open her notebook, pointedly ignoring all of James's messages from the night before, and scrawled a quick note to him at the bottom of the page:
I think I might be coming down with something. Just in case, please go down to Madam Pomfrey and get a Pepper-Up for yourself, especially if you're going to be in the Shack with Remus tonight. You know what happens if he gets sick.
Then, with a trembling hand, she shut the notebook and pulled the covers over her head again, hiding from the world.
A while later, Madam Pomfrey appeared at her bedside, potion in hand. She clucked over Hermione, feeling her forehead with the back of her hand before handing her the warm, tingling phial of Pepper-Up. "Take this. You may stay here with the curtains drawn, if you promise to remain in bed for at least four hours. If you feel better by then, you can get up after that. Rest is best."
Hermione managed a nod, drinking down the Pepper-Up, its warmth spreading through her and clearing some of the fogginess from her mind. Madam Pomfrey bustled back out of the room, and though Hermione felt better, she still couldn't bring herself to leave even after the time had passed. She didn't feel ready to face the outside world, to face the Marauders or James's reaction.
Guilt twisted inside her. She should have been with Remus, but then again, he had Sirius. They could manage without her—after all, they had managed full moons for years in her alternate past without her at all.
The hours passed, and the dormitory stayed silent and empty, save for the sound of her thoughts. She was lost in them, spiralling deeper, when the door creaked open. She blinked against the afternoon light that filtered through the bed curtains, momentarily unsure if she was dreaming.
It was James, broom in hand, his face full of worry as he came over to her bed. "Hey," he said softly, brushing his fingers against her forehead, feeling the coolness there. "How are you feeling? Madam Pomfrey came up, yeah?"
Hermione could only nod, unsure what to say, caught between relief and lingering guilt. His gaze dropped to the empty potion phial by her bed, and he gave her a small, reassuring smile. "Well, at least you took it. That's something."
He perched on the edge of her bed, glancing at her, as if trying to figure out what to say. "Look, I'm not sure if you read my messages, but… I just want you to know, I'm not angry at you," he said, his voice low and reassuring. "If you feel up to it, you're welcome to come with us tonight. But if you'd rather sit this one out, that's totally fine too."
Hermione blinked, struggling to understand. James wasn't angry? He was here, talking to her like nothing had changed. She barely nodded, still silent, unable to find the words.
He continued gently, "Moony's fine—doesn't seem to be symptomatic. And I'm alright too, took the Pepper-Up like you asked." He smiled at her, a bit uncertain, watching her closely. When she still didn't answer, he reached forward, brushing a stray lock of hair from her forehead, then bent down to place a light kiss there.
"We'll talk tomorrow, okay?" he murmured softly. "Please don't fret."
With that, he stood, casting her one last reassuring smile before heading toward the door, broom in hand, ready to leave for the Shack. As he closed the door softly behind him, Hermione lay still, wondering if she'd dreamt the entire encounter.
It was Monday morning, and Hermione had no choice but to brave the outside world after her self-imposed exile. She moved through the corridors toward the Hospital Wing, following her usual post-full moon routine of checking in on Remus. But when she arrived, the bed he usually occupied was empty. A strange mix of relief and melancholy settled over her—so the full moon had gone fine, then? She was equal parts elated and… disappointed. They hadn't needed her at all. Just like she feared.
Turning on her heel, she made her way to the Great Hall, each step feeling a bit surreal. Inside, the Marauders were already gathered, sharing a laugh at the Gryffindor table. She blinked, caught off guard by how lighthearted they seemed. Especially James. How could he be so unbothered after everything she had told him? How could he act like nothing was amiss around Peter? Her thoughts spun as she drifted over, still in a bit of a daze. She slipped onto the bench beside him, hardly processing it when James leaned over and pressed a quick, affectionate peck to her lips. For a brief moment, she even wondered if maybe she hadn't told him anything at all—that it had just been a dream.
"That's it, we're going to the Hospital Wing," James's voice broke through her thoughts, concerned as he looked at her, his hand hovering near her shoulder.
Hermione blinked, realising that her name had been called several times and she hadn't responded, but she still couldn't muster the mental fortitude to actually say something.
"Damn, Kitten, some date it was if you're still so out of it from the aftershocks," Sirius joked, grinning from across the table.
The laugh that escaped her in response was completely unhinged, a half-laugh, half-hiccough that tumbled out uncontrollably. She could feel everyone's eyes on her as she struggled to stop laughing, even as a stray giggle would slip through every few seconds. Finally, she managed to calm down, though she still felt slightly unsteady, a leftover giggle lingering here and there.
"I'm fine, but thank you," she muttered, reaching for some toast and pumpkin juice, trying to distract herself with breakfast.
"She speaks!" Sirius announced, dramatically placing a hand over his heart. His antics only earned him an amused look from Remus, who was clearly trying not to laugh.
James, however, continued to study her carefully, his eyes full of concern. He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her temple, and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.
"Thought we'd lost you there for a second," Sirius remarked, grinning as he tore into his eggs and sausages. "Prongs has been on edge since he heard you were under the weather. Had to talk him out of running up to your dorm every five minutes all day yesterday."
James shot Sirius a look that warned him not to push it, but his friend only grinned wider, unperturbed. Remus glanced between Hermione and James with a knowing expression but kept silent, respecting whatever it was that she and James were navigating. Remus alone had glimpsed a sliver of the truth behind her guardedness, though even he didn't know everything.
Hermione took a deep breath, trying to ease her racing thoughts. "I'm alright, truly. Just… the usual winter bug, I suppose," she replied, though she knew James could read the real story behind her eyes.
"You sure?" he murmured softly, so only she could hear. His tone was gentle, understanding, and she knew he was asking about more than just her physical health.
She nodded, squeezing his hand back and giving him the barest hint of a smile. "Yes, really. Thanks to Madam Pomfrey and some rest."
Sirius, seemingly oblivious to the undercurrent, leaned back, shaking his head in mock exasperation. "Honestly, Kitten, don't scare us like that again. Yesterday was too quiet without you bossing us all around." He winked, and Hermione managed a genuine smile this time, grateful for his oblivious levity.
"So, how are you feeling this morning, Remus?" she asked, finally directing her attention to her friend on the other side of the table.
"Splendid," he replied, the corner of his mouth lifting in a small, wry smile. "Thanks to this lot." He gave a sideways glance at Sirius, who smirked back, clearly pleased with himself.
"Good. That's… good," she said, nodding as she focused on her food, taking small bites in an attempt to steady herself.
James's voice drew her attention again, his tone warm and sincere. "We missed you last night, you know," he said softly. "Wasn't quite the same without you."
Hermione looked up at him, searching his face, trying to discern if he really meant it or if he was only saying it to make her feel better. His expression was open, earnest, his gaze meeting hers with a gentle warmth that melted away a bit of her earlier worry.
"You really mean that?" she asked, a soft vulnerability slipping into her voice.
James's hand tightened around hers, and he gave her a smile. "Of course I do. Moony kept looking around as if you'd appear any moment."
"Yupp, kept glancing over his shoulder at the trapdoor, no matter how much I tried to distract him," Sirius added with a smirk, nudging his friend. "It was all very tragic."
Remus rolled his eyes, a bit of colour finally coming back into his cheeks. "I don't remember much about last night, as you well know, but I'll take your word for it." He gave Hermione a grateful look. "Glad you're feeling better, though."
"Thanks, Remus," she replied, the slight tremble in her voice belying the emotional rollercoaster of the past few days.
James returned his attention to Hermione, his expression gentle but full of questions. "We'll talk later," he whispered, barely loud enough for her to hear.
Hermione's heart twisted, but she nodded. She knew the conversation they would have to have, and despite the fear, she was ready. For now, though, she was grateful for this moment—the warmth of their shared laughter, the comfort of James beside her, and the subtle reassurance that, somehow, things might just be okay.
As they stepped into the Room of Requirement after classes, it transformed into a cosy, quiet space: warm lighting, plush armchairs, and a soft fire crackling in the fireplace. James gently guided Hermione to sit, his eyes filled with understanding and something else—a quiet determination.
He took a seat across from her, leaning forward, his hands clasped together as he tried to find the right words. Hermione felt her pulse quicken as she braced herself for whatever he might say, still half-convinced he'd be furious, hurt… or, perhaps worst of all, indifferent.
After a pause, James broke the silence. "Hermione, you know… what you told me—it's heavy. These memories, the things you've seen—they're real to you, and I get that. But I need you to hear me when I say… none of that has actually happened. Not yet."
She swallowed, her gaze dropping to her hands in her lap, but he reached across and gently took one, giving it a reassuring squeeze.
"You've been carrying this burden on your own, I can't even imagine what it must've been like. But here's the thing: things are already different. I mean, we're here, together." He said it softly, the warmth in his voice unmistakable. "This 'future' you know about—some of it's just not going to happen, no matter what. I know in that version of events I'm supposed to marry Lily, that I'm meant to end up with her, and you probably believe it too. But that's not real, not for me—not anymore."
Hermione felt her chest tighten, her heart at war with her mind. "I know. But so many things are the same, James. If some of it still happens… if you still end up hurt… I don't think I can bear it."
"Then don't," he said simply, his thumb brushing her hand soothingly. "You don't have to live every moment afraid of some future that may or may not come to pass. I know things seem inevitable to you, but they don't have to be." He met her gaze, his brown eyes unwavering. "Look, I get why you were hesitant to tell me. But you have to trust that this doesn't have to define us."
Hermione let out a shaky breath, feeling the weight begin to lift ever so slightly. "I… I want to believe that. I want to believe that everything can change. That you'll all be safe. I think I've just been trying to… control everything, somehow, because I couldn't control it then."
James nodded, letting her words sink in. "But maybe that's where the freedom is. In knowing that whatever happens, we have the power to make our own choices. I appreciate that you told me—more than you know. That trust means everything. But we can't live our lives as if we're bound to this shadow you brought with you. I can't treat Peter—this Peter who is here right now—like he had killed me, because he hasn't. Not yet. And if we play it right he won't have a reason, or chance to. Ever."
She met his gaze, her heart pounding as the full weight of his words settled over her. "So… you really think we can just move forward? Just like that?"
"Well, I don't think it'll be 'just like that.'" He chuckled, his smile a little sheepish. "But I do think we're stronger than any vision or memory of the future. I mean, we're the Marauders, right? It's practically in the job description to go against the grain."
His words stirred something hopeful within her, a flame she hadn't dared to let herself feel in so long. She couldn't help but smile.
James moved to sit beside her, his hand lifting to tuck a stray curl behind her ear. "So what do you say, Kitten? Shall we write our own story from here on out?"
The fear wasn't completely gone, but in his eyes, she found courage. She nodded, a glimmer of a smile on her lips. "Yes. Let's write our own story."
With that settled, a sense of calm swept over Hermione, almost as if a weight had been lifted. James's optimism was infectious, pulling her out of her doubt and into a brighter, more hopeful future. She let herself relax, her nerves settling as she absorbed the reality of the present moment.
"So… uh… I know I said none of that has happened, and as we've concluded, we'll do everything to make sure it won't," he began, scratching the back of his head. "But… can you tell me about Harry?"
Hermione felt a bittersweet pang in her chest. The Harry she knew and had supported through thick and thin would, in all likelihood, never exist in this new future they were building. But she smiled anyway, the memories flooding back.
"I mean, I'm not opposed to naming our son Harry if we do have one. So there could still be a Harry Potter in the world. My grandfather was Henry, but he went by Harry… maybe that's where it came from?" he said, a bit sheepishly, halting her thoughts.
Hermione laughed, giving him a teasing smile. "James Potter, we've been together less than two months, and you're already talking about me being the mother of your children and planning names?"
He flushed, clearly embarrassed. "I know, I know, I'm prone to jumping the broomstick." He tried to look casual, but his pink cheeks gave him away.
"Oh, you're fine," she laughed, nudging him gently. "I was just yanking your chains."
James chuckled. "Well, that's a weird Muggle phrase, but I think I get the gist."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Anyway, I'd love to tell you more about him. He looked so much like you, same mop of hair, glasses, nose, the whole Potter image, though he was a bit short for his age, I doubt he would have been as tall as you are now at fifteen. His eyes; those were Lily's though. Same shape, impossibly green."
James's eyes softened, and he leaned forward, captivated by the mental picture she was painting.
"He was built more for Seeker than Chaser," she continued, "if you know what I mean. Scrawny, to be honest, but tougher than anyone ever gave him credit for. He was all heart and instincts, where you… well, you have a bit more flare."
"Was he? Seeker, I mean?" James asked, eyebrows raised, his interest immediately piqued.
"Yes," Hermione replied, a fond smile spreading over her face. "Harry made the team in his first year—youngest Quidditch player on a House team in over a hundred years."
James's mouth fell open, and he looked like he'd been handed the Quidditch Cup itself. "Youngest in a hundred years? That's my son, alright!" His grin was so wide it was nearly blinding. "How did that even happen? I can't imagine McGonagall agreeing to that, no matter how big a Quidditch fanatic she is."
Hermione chuckled, leaning forward to explain. "From what I gathered, they were absolutely desperate that year. Charlie Weasley, their previous captain and Seeker, had just graduated. The team had no viable candidates lined up. And then, during our very first flying lesson, Harry got into a fight with a Slytherin boy over a Remembrall of all things. All behind Madam Hooch's back, of course, after being specifically told not to get on the brooms until she returned," she added, rolling her eyes.
"Good Merlin," James muttered, already laughing. "And let me guess: he managed to catch the Remembrall like it was nothing?"
"Oh, you should've seen it! It was his first time on a broom, and he displayed so much natural skill that McGonagall—seeing the whole thing from her office window—instead of punishing him, marched right over and had him put on the team, even went as far as buying him a broom herself."
James threw his head back, laughing. "I can't believe it! Our dear Minnie, breaking the rules! The same McGonagall who's given me detention more times than I can count for the slightest toe out of line!"
Hermione's grin widened. "I know. It caused quite the stir... especially with Harry being famous and all. Everyone thought it was blatant favouritism until the first match, where he managed to catch the Snitch with his mouth, of all things—despite his broom being jinxed," Hermione explained, watching the widening astonishment in James's eyes.
"Okay, hold on," he interrupted, looking completely baffled. "There's a lot to unpack there. Famous?"
Hermione took a breath, choosing her words carefully. "Oh, yes. He was known as the Boy Who Lived because, well… he survived the Killing Curse from Voldemort as a baby."
James's face went blank for a moment, as if he were processing her words on a lag. At least Hermione had to give it to him, he didn't flinch at the name. "What? I mean, I know you said Lily and I died protecting him, but I thought…" he trailed off, his expression caught somewhere between confusion and horror.
"No one knows what happened that night exactly, but my best guess is that Lily must have performed some kind of sacrificial protective magic," Hermione explained softly, feeling a weight pressing on her as she recounted what she'd read so many times in the future. "Because after she… died—refusing to stand aside when Voldemort gave her the choice—the Killing Curse rebounded from Harry, hitting Voldemort instead."
James's brows knitted together, disbelief mingling with awe. "So… everyone thought he defeated Voldemort at what, one year?"
Hermione let out a small sigh. "Yes. Ridiculous, isn't it? That's why I've always thought it was something Lily did, not anything inherently special about Harry himself. Dumbledore said it was Lily's love that saved him though."
James stared off, lost in thought, as though he was trying to make sense of it all. "Alright, that makes sense. But why did Voldemort give her a choice to stand aside in the first place? That… that doesn't sound like the Dark Lord we've been hearing about. He's ruthless, single-minded. Sparing someone like that doesn't make sense."
She hesitated. "I have a guess… though you probably won't like it."
His gaze sharpened, but he nodded, urging her on. "Go on."
"Snape," she said quietly, bracing herself as she watched the anger flash in his eyes. "You know how close he is, or was, to Lily, and, well, considering the company he's keeping now… I don't think it's out of the realm of possibility that he might have begged Voldemort to spare Lily and just… just kill Harry and you."
James's jaw tightened, a muscle in his cheek twitching, but he kept his comment to himself, working to process everything she'd told him. Instead, he focused on one of the questions that had been lingering in the back of his mind. "Why would Voldemort even want to kill Harry in the first place? I thought… well, I assumed he was after Lily and me specifically. I mean, it would make sense, wouldn't it? Us being part of some kind of resistance against him?"
Hermione let out a small sigh, regret tugging at her features. "I don't know for sure, James, I'm sorry." She paused, gathering her thoughts. "Maybe he wanted to eliminate the whole family. He did the same with others—the McKinnons, for instance. Though… the part where he gave Lily a choice, that doesn't quite fit into this narrative."
He gave a small nod, thoughtful but not pressing her, understanding the limits of what she could know from her perspective. "No, it's alright," he said finally. "You were only fourteen when you came back, right? I can't imagine adults telling you every last detail about a tragedy that happened when you were just a toddler."
Relief softened her expression, and she gave him a grateful smile. "Thank you. It's just… I wish I could tell you more, James. There's a lot I know, but it's mostly just fragments of what was. Even when I was in the future, I don't think anyone ever really understood why Voldemort came after you both—or Harry. Or you know, if they did, it was a closely guarded secret."
"Still, this is already incredible insight we are gaining here," he said, his hand finding hers almost instinctively. He gave it a squeeze, his voice softening.
"With the whole blood supremacy rhetoric," James said after a moment, a thoughtful frown on his face, "he might not have thought Lily such a threat. Maybe he weighed that against the wishes of one of his followers… I don't know."
"What an oversight on his part," Hermione replied, her voice laced with pride. "In my time, Lily was remembered as the brightest witch of her age."
James's gaze softened, a smile tugging at his lips. "Well, I think she's got some serious competition for that title this time around."
Hermione's cheeks flushed as she quickly looked down, trying to hide her smile. But he wasn't letting her dodge that easily. "So, back to the Quidditch match—Harry's broom was jinxed?" he prompted, looking intrigued.
"Yes," she nodded. "We thought it was Professor Snape at first…"
"Professor Snape?" he repeated, raising his eyebrows so high they nearly disappeared under his hair. "Are you serious? If he was a Death Eater, the same person who'd been begging for Lily's life, how the hell did he end up with a teaching position at the school? Please tell me it wasn't the DADA position."
"No, Potions actually, but I don't know. That was just my conjecture anyway," Hermione admitted with a sigh, feeling the confusion and frustration of that mystery all over again. "Maybe Dumbledore vouched for him? Maybe he was a spy?"
James snorted. "Double agent more likely. Probably playing Dumbledore as well in that scenario. But what was he doing jinxing my son's broom?"
"Well… he wasn't, actually," she replied with a wry smile. "Like I said, we thought it was him at first. I set fire to his robes and everything just to get him to break eye contact."
James burst out laughing, a look of pride mixed with amusement lighting up his face. "You set fire to his robes? Little first-year Hermione Granger taking on Snivellus, setting teachers on fire? I should've known you'd be a Marauder right from the start."
She rolled her eyes at his grin, unable to help her own smile. "It was just bluebell flames. Wasn't trying to hurt him, just cause a distraction. Anyway, by the end of the year, we found out it hadn't been Snape at all—it was actually Professor Quirrell, the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. He was working with Voldemort, or rather, had Voldemort, in wraith form, attached to the back of his head."
James looked completely dumbfounded. "Wait… what?"
Hermione nodded. "Yeah. Voldemort was sharing his body, hiding under that ridiculous turban. Snape was actually muttering a counter-jinx the entire time, which was why Harry didn't fall off his broom."
James ran a hand through his hair, eyes wide. "So Snape was helping Harry? And you… you set him on fire?"
"Well, I didn't know that part yet," Hermione said with a small, sheepish laugh. "I saw him muttering and staring at Harry, so I assumed the worst. Luckily, I knocked Quirrell over in the process completely by accident, which disrupted his curse, otherwise…" She let her voice trail off, the implications clear.
James shook his head in disbelief, a huge grin breaking out on his face. "Merlin's beard, you were one hell of a first-year."
Hermione let herself laugh along with him. "Well, I was a bit… intense."
"A bit?" he teased, but his expression turned fond as he looked at her. "I don't think I could be prouder if I tried." He gave her hand a gentle squeeze, clearly enjoying the mental image of little Hermione causing mayhem in her first year.
"Just so you know, that was only the beginning," Hermione said with a grin, her eyes bright with mischief. "There's a lot more where that came from."
James chuckled, looking at her with an amused smile. But then his expression shifted, more serious as he considered what she'd shared with him already. "Wait… so after all of that—after Lily's sacrifice—Voldemort wasn't truly gone? He was still out there?"
Hermione sighed. "I don't know the full story. I know he wasn't gone completely. There was this diary that appeared in my second year, somehow enchanted with a part of him—like a memory of Voldemort in his teenage years. It was slipped into the bag of a student and started… influencing her. She ended up opening the Chamber of Secrets."
James's eyes widened, the lines of his face darkening with shock. "What the hell was going on at this school in your time? Where were all the adults?"
"Eh, passively encouraging Harry to dive headfirst into trouble, mostly," she said, giving him a sheepish smile. "Harry had a bit of a saving-people complex."
She couldn't help but let out a small laugh, realising just how much danger Harry had been in, almost constantly. Compared to her peaceful two years in this timeline, the chaos of her original years at Hogwarts was almost overwhelming in hindsight.
"Let me guess," James said, a half-exasperated, half-amused smirk tugging at his lips. "He was somehow right in the middle of all that Chamber of Secrets mess too, wasn't he? But what even is that?"
Hermione shifted slightly, gathering her thoughts, and tried to explain, "Salazar Slytherin's secret Chamber, hiding a Basilisk within right under the school. Only a Parselmouth can open it… which, well, Harry was."
James's eyebrows shot up. "Harry was a Parselmouth? And he was opening the Chamber of Secrets?"
"No, everyone just thought he was." She gave him a reassuring smile. "It was actually Ginny Weasley, but… well, not by her own will. She was possessed by that diary."
James was still frowning in confusion. "Harry being a Parselmouth makes absolutely no sense. We're not related to Slytherin—I had to memorise the whole bloody family tree as a child so I should know, and Lily's a Muggleborn. So how?"
"I don't know," Hermione admitted helplessly. "But Voldemort himself is a Parselmouth.
"You think it could be something that… transferred?" James asked slowly, his eyes widening as he processed the possibility.
Hermione nodded, letting out a sigh, though the theory still unsettled her. "I don't know, honestly. But he did have a strange… connection to Voldemort. Whenever Voldemort was nearby, Harry's scar would hurt him, like a kind of warning."
"What scar?" James's eyes narrowed slightly in confusion, leaning closer as if that might make sense of it all.
"The one he got from the rebounded Killing Curse," she explained. "It's lightning-bolt shaped, right on his forehead."
James ran a hand through his already-messy hair, a hint of worry creeping into his eyes. "A Killing Curse mark that still causes pain, even years after the curse? Merlin, that's… that's no ordinary scar. There's something deeper going on with that."
Hermione looked down, tracing her finger absently on the table. "It's part of the great mystery, I suppose. Why the curse rebounded, how he survived… and why this strange bond seemed to exist."
James blew out a breath, his face twisting in contemplation. "Just add that to the list of things we have to untangle, I guess." He paused, his gaze becoming almost calculating. "But back to what you were saying… did Harry have any other encounters with Voldemort?"
"No, third year was rather tame in comparison," Hermione began with a little laugh. "Well, it seemed terrifying at the time. We thought we had Sirius Black out to kill Harry, but… well, I suppose you already know what I figured out after coming here about that."
James's expression hardened slightly at the mention of Peter and Sirius, but he just nodded, letting her continue.
"And…" she went on, "well, the only other thing of note that year were the Dementors. The Ministry stationed them all around Hogwarts to keep Sirius out."
"Dementors?" James's eyebrows shot up. "They stationed Dementors—at Hogwarts? Around kids?" His voice held a mix of disbelief and anger.
Hermione nodded. "I know. It was awful, especially for Harry. He… well, the Dementors really affected him. Every time they got close, he'd relive that night with Voldemort." She paused, then added softly, "Hearing his mother's screams, that kind of thing. It was terrible."
The colour drained from James's face. "Merlin… that poor kid."
She could only nod. "But Professor Lupin taught him how to produce a Patronus so he could defend himself against them."
James's smile grew, his pride unmistakable. "That's incredible. Moony taught Harry to conjure a Patronus? And… he could do it?"
Hermione's smile brightened. "He managed it after months of practice. And when he finally produced a fully-formed Patronus…" She paused, watching his face as she said, "It was a stag, just like your Animagus."
James's eyes went wide with surprise and something softer, deeper. "A stag?" His voice was barely above a whisper, the pride and awe clear in his gaze.
"Just like you," Hermione echoed gently. "In a way, you were with him all along."
"And Moony?" James's face brightened a bit, a small smile breaking through his earlier frown. "He was teaching at the school? Really?"
"Yeah, he was the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor in third year," she said warmly. "Honestly, he was the best teacher we ever had. He made everything fascinating and practical. Everyone loved his classes."
James shook his head, chuckling softly, a hint of pride in his eyes. "I knew he'd make a brilliant teacher. So… things must be better for werewolves in your time if he could teach openly?"
Her smile faltered, and she took a quiet breath. "Not exactly. No one knew he was a werewolf—not the students, at least. I think the faculty knew, or some of them. Madam Pomfrey did, of course, since she was still on staff, but aside from Dumbledore and McGonagall… maybe only Snape. It was a closely guarded secret."
"Snape?" James looked at her in disbelief, frowning as he tried to wrap his mind around that. "Snape was helping Remus keep his secret? After everything that happened this November?"
She nodded, almost amused by his reaction. "Yes. He also brewed this fairly new and extremely complicated potion for him—Wolfsbane. It allows werewolves to keep their minds during transformations, so he could lock himself away somewhere safe without having to worry."
James looked genuinely baffled, crossing his arms as he processed this. "There's something to hope for in the future I guess. But Snape? Doing that. For Moony?"
"I know," she said, understanding his shock. "It seems strange, doesn't it? But he did."
James looked up at her, his disbelief softening into something contemplative. "So he never told anyone? Not even students? That's hard to believe, given the way he is now."
"Well," Hermione admitted, "not quite. I think he was still under that secrecy vow, but there was one time he let something slip, in a way. He'd been filling in for our Defence Against the Dark Arts class one full moon and assigned us an essay on werewolves even though we weren't anywhere near that in the curriculum. Remus cancelled the assignment in the next class, but…" She hesitated, smiling wryly. "I'd already finished it by then."
James stared at her, incredulous. "So… you knew? From that essay?"
She shrugged, laughing softly. "Yes. I pieced it together from all the little details. And from then on, I knew his secret."
James's grin softened into something thoughtful. "And you never told anyone, not even Harry?"
"No," she replied, shaking her head. "Remus was the best teacher we've ever had, and he was helping Harry tremendously, as I said. It didn't feel right to even hint at his secret, not when he'd been so careful to manage his condition. And as the year went on, I saw what an amazing person he was. Any fear or prejudice… it just seemed ridiculous."
He nodded, a proud light in his eyes. "So I guess I can thank Snape for your attitude towards werewolves when you joined us in fourth year?"
Hermione laughed. "Thank future Remus, more like. I don't think you could ask for a better introduction to werewolves than him. He was so different from anything the textbooks described these supposed monsters to be that any sensible person would stop and think before jumping to conclusions."
James's expression shifted to one of fond exasperation. "Pity there aren't many sensible people in the wizarding world."
"That's what I've been saying!" Hermione threw her hands up in mock exasperation, and they both laughed. "Honestly, it's as if having magic in their lives has stunted everyone's critical thinking. So many things taken for granted, so much blind acceptance."
He tilted his head, his gaze warm and admiring. "You've got quite the mind for turning things on their head. I think that's why we all knew you'd fit in right away. You question things… and it's a breath of fresh air."
Hermione looked up, caught off guard by the warmth in his gaze. "Maybe that's why I took to you all so quickly," she replied, unable to keep the humour from her voice. "You question everything, too—even if it's just to see how far you can push the boundaries."
James grinned, leaning back and laughing. "What can I say? It's practically a Marauder prerequisite. But you—" he stopped, looking at her more seriously. "You don't question things just to be difficult; you do it because you believe it'll make a difference. And that's rare around here. Maybe in any world."
The compliment hit her unexpectedly, and she found herself looking down, a blush warming her cheeks. "I suppose… I've never really thought of it that way."