Dedicated to Sam (HP Slash Luv) for winning a competition of mine

Written for The Journey Through Hogwarts Challenge (Transfiguration - write about an animagus - strict, difficult, "looks can be deceiving")

Written for the Acrostic-y Challenge of Chapter Titles II (Umbrella, Used Bookstore)

Written for R13 of the Quidditch League (Chudley Cannons - free choice)

Under the Umbrella

"Ugh!"

How on earth was she supposed to find anything in this dump? There were books everywhere but where they belonged. Some were resting on top of bookshelves, others on the floor. Some even had finger mark stains on them from children whose parents had allowed them to run wild in such a fragile shop. Chocolate stains, peanut butter stains… who knew what else.

Hermione picked up a copy of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and cringed at how unkempt it now was. This had belonged to some child who had probably adored the story it told. They had probably passed it on, hoping that a bookstore would take good care of it.

Feeling sadness at its condition, Hermione decided to buy it. She'd read the story a thousand times, and had three copies of her own, but she was not going to allow any more damage to be done to it.

Tucking it under her arm, she took it, and the three other books she had rescued to the counter and paid for them without speaking. She probably came off as rude, but she didn't care. The owners of the second-hand bookstore were rude for not taking better care of the books.

After receiving her change she took the wrapped packages outside.

"Great," she muttered, glancing up into the sky. It was raining, and she was in Muggle London, meaning she wasn't able to conjure her umbrella, which she had left at home.

"Here."

Hermione was startled by the appearance of a stranger. She couldn't see their face due to the rain, but they placed their own umbrella over her.

"Thanks," she muttered, covering the already frail books with her coat.

"Do you need me to get a taxi for you?" the stranger asked.

"I can do that," Hermione informed him, snappier than she intended to be. She was still appalled from being in the used bookstore, that her mood was now set.

"No, allow me." The stranger passed her the umbrella and stepped out into the rain himself. He stuck out his arm at the side of the busy street and hailed a taxi. The driver pulled over, conferring with the man for a few moments.

Finally, he returned and said, "All yours. Tell him where you need to go." He passed her a heavy pouch, which Hermione assumed was some money.

"I-I can pay for it myself." She tried to pass it back, but he shook his head.

"Yours," he informed her.

Hermione looked from the taxi to the stranger – whose face she was still unable to see. "Th-thanks."

The stranger nodded. "Anytime." He took the umbrella from her again, and Hermione dashed to the warm, dry car.

"Where to?" came the voice from the driver.

"Um, Wapping, please. Huddersfield Road."

She had rented a flat not so long ago, close to the city and to the Ministry. Although she could have Apparated there just as quickly, she found the walk on most days pleasant.

The driver took off without another word, and Hermione relaxed, glad to be dry.

They had been driving for only a few moments when Hermione felt the heavy purse digging into her pocket. Curious as to why a stranger would do something so kind, she opened it to see how much he had provided her with.

Rather than closing it again, a gasp escaped her and a few of the coins flew from the pouch. How had he –?

"Everything alright back there?" It was the first time the taxi driver had spoken since asking her where she needed to go. He had a thick, cockney accent; Hermione hadn't been expecting it.

"Uh, fine." Hermione bent down to retrieve the few stray Galleons that had fallen onto the car floor. Galleons? How on earth had the man with the umbrella known she was a witch? She had been in Muggle London, for Merlin's sake!

"Coming up to Huddersfield Road," the driver then said. "That'll be three Galleons, Madam."

"Excuse me?"

"Three Galleons for the trip."

Hermione opened her mouth, but no words came out. First the stranger had offered his umbrella, hailed a taxi and given her wizarding money to pay for a Muggle service; and now the driver was asking for payment in goblin gold?

She had never had a more adventurous time in Muggle London since she was five years old and had unintentionally burnt the wheels of a car driving by.

"I… you…." Hermione passed over three of the gold pieces to the driver's outstretched hand.

"Looks can be deceiving, my dear," he chuckled, putting the coins in his pocket. For the first time he turned to face her and Hermione gasped again.

"Dean!" she cried.

"Hey, Hermione!" His accent had reverted back to what she remembered from Hogwarts.

"What on earth is happening?" she demanded.

Dean shrugged. "No idea. That man in London just told me to take you home and charge you in wizard money. Seemed to know I was one, too."

"Why are you even… is this your job, Dean?"

The man shrugged. "Only on Saturdays. Getting work where I can. Baby on the way, you know. Need to earn some money in the Muggle form, otherwise it will be a nuisance having to go to Gringotts every week to exchange. The wife hasn't got a clue how it works."

For the first time since she'd entered the bookstore almost two years ago, Hermione smiled. "I see. Well, I don't see the point in you pretending to be… not you, Dean."

Dean shrugged. "Part of the job. Sorry, habit."

Hermione handed him the whole purse. "Has to have at least thirty Galleons in there," she informed in. "Take it, if you're having a baby. You'll need it more than I will."

Dean didn't argue; instead looked rather grateful. "I'll see you around, Hermione."

Hermione shot him another smile before climbing out of the taxi. It was still pouring with rain, so it was now the mad dash with books under her coat and to the safety of her flat.

Once inside, she set them on the table. "Oh, what a day," she groaned, rubbing her eyes. What a difficult Saturday morning it had turned out to be. She normally spent her days off in Muggle London, but she was wishing she had just stayed in bed.

"Oh, what a day, indeed."

Hermione nearly jumped out of her skin, her first instinct was to draw her wand.

"You again!" Her hand trembled slightly at the sight of the stranger standing in her home. Now that he had the umbrella down and she wasn't blinded by the rain, she felt he looked strangely familiar. "Who are you?"

"You don't know me."

"Who are you?"

"Somebody you probably know of."

Hermione bit her lip. "Who. Are. You?" She tightened the hold on her wand. What on earth was happening?

The stranger held up his hands. "I am somebody you believed to be dead – and was dead, in a sense – but… now I need to talk to you, Hermione Granger."

Hermione's grip tightened, but she allowed him to continue.

Looking directly at her, the stranger smiled and it was a smile Hermione had known since she was eleven, but different. She gasped.

"You know who I am now?"

"I… but how?" It couldn't have been. Surely she was imagining things, surely it was her mind playing tricks.

The stranger sat down in the armchair, looking intently at her. "I need you to contact my son."

Hermione shook her head. "No."

"Please."

"I… I don't understand." She lowered her wand and looked at the man in front of her. "How are you… how did you…." It was rare that Hermione Granger was ever lost for words, but this moment was one of them.

In front of her, in her house, was James Potter. The James Potter. The one who had been murdered by Lord Voldemort twenty-five years ago. Her best friend's father. He was sitting in her living room, asking her to contact Harry.

"Obviously, you'd have a lot of questions, but less than Harry would, I can imagine, which is why I feel you should be the one to approach him first."

Hermione shook her head, disbelieving.

James looked at her with a slight smirk on his face, but with serious eyes. "I was in hiding, but I didn't know who I was. When the curse was fired, it missed me and I was knocked unconscious. To anyone who saw me in that moment, I was dead. When Dumbledore found me, he realised. Then he found…." At this, James choked. "Then he found Lily and Harry and knew what he had to do. He took Harry and wiped my memory and took my son to Lily's horrid sister and her husband."

"Why?" Hermione's voice was barely a whisper. Was this really happening?

James shrugged. "To protect Harry," he said. "It was all to protect Harry."

"But Harry –"

James nodded, cutting her off. "I know. I know the life he lived, the abuse he experienced. As I said, Dumbledore faked my death. If I had known, I would have taken him away straight away, but… I didn't even know who I was."

Hermione bowed her head. This was all very surreal. "And you managed to get your memory back?"

"It was restored to me by Dumbledore right before his death, but he warned me to stay away until Voldemort was defeated."

"And the last seven years?"

"I was afraid. But I've seen him. He seems happy. And then I heard that you'd restored your own parents' memories, so I have come to you. It's time. I have a grandson, don't I?"

Hermione nodded and James smiled affectionately. "What's his name?"

"James."

"Oh."

"Listen… James. I believe you, I really do, but I don't think I can be the one to tell Harry. You need to do that."

The older man bowed his head, nodding. "Perhaps bring him over for dinner – he and his wife – and…."

Hermione sighed, glancing to the three books she had purchased earlier. What a simple day this had not turned out to be.

…

"Are you sure this will work?"

"I don't know."

"What if he's upset, angry?"

"He may be."

"What's he like, Hermione?"

"I told you – everything you would be proud of and more. James, would you please stop pacing?"

Hermione had managed to keep the secret for two weeks now, and in those two weeks James had lived with her. She had a spare bedroom and he had offered to pay rent for it. She had accepted, and since then, they had formed a rather close bond.

What Hermione liked about the man who had so unexpectedly approached her was his sincerity. He was everything the history books had told her he was. He was kind, loving and passionate about things. He had a wicked sense of humour – which he did try to keep under check, but slipped out every once in a while – and there was never a dull moment between them.

When Hermione had told him of Remus' and Sirius' deaths, he had been devastated. His eyes had darkened at just the mention of Peter, and teared up at the thought of Lily. He was a gentleman in his old age, and his experiences had toughened him up in a way that Hermione could only begin to relate to through her memories of the Second Wizarding War.

"Sorry, Hermione." James stopped walking backwards and forwards across her living room. "I'm just… nervous. My only memory of him is as a baby."

Hermione smiled. "He'll be delighted to see you," she assured him. Neither of them spoke of the shock that would probably also come, and possibly the anger and disbelief as well.

"So, tell me, Hermione." James took a step closer to her, looking her square in the eye. "What's his family like?"

"Lovely," Hermione answered, turning red at their sudden closeness. She could now see almost every scar, every wrinkle, and every hidden fear. She gasped, before regathering herself. "Gi-Ginny is a Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies. She's pretty good, but she's retiring at the end of the season and taking up a position with the Daily Prophet." They'd already talked about this.

James moved even closer to her. "And James Number Two?"

"Cute." Hermione averted eye contact with the greying man. "A good baby, so I hear."

The older James nodded, appearing thoughtful. "And you're the godmother?"

"Yes."

"I see."

Hermione chanced a glance back again, realising that he was now watching her intently. She blushed furiously. "H-Harry should be here any mo –"

She was cut short by James' lips pressing against hers and his arms slinking around her waist. To her own horror, she didn't shy away, but forced the kiss to go longer. He was rough and passionate, but she could also sense the gentleness in him at the same time.

When they broke away, it was James who chuckled. "I've never met someone who gets so flustered after I kiss them." He laughed again.

Hermione stepped away. "I… well… I wasn't expecting it." She coughed.

James moved towards her again, leaning forward for another kiss; this time, however, Hermione put up her guard. "Harry'll be here at any moment," she informed him, "and we need to prepare for any… fallout of your revelation. Not to mention that I've known for two weeks now, and haven't told him."

James nodded. "You're right," he said. "Harry comes first. However, when he leaves…." He left the meaning to Hermione's imagination, who blushed again.

"Nothing is to happen tonight." She was going to remain strict about that.

"Very well." James faked disappointment.

Before the conversation could continue, there was a knock at the door. The pair of them stiffened, looking at each other.

"Here goes," James murmured.

Hermione nodded. "Here goes," she responded, taking a deep breath and turning towards the door. As her hand made to turn the handle and invite Harry in, she couldn't help but wonder how different her life would have been had she not gone to that bookstore that day. Or if it hadn't rained.

She opened the door and was greeted by her friend's smiling face.

Or if she hadn't decided she was in love with her best friend's father.

Well that was certainly new for me, but I'm actually rather pleased with how this turned out. I tried to make it as believable as possible without any time travel cliches. So I hope I have done okay!

If you read it, please leave a review to let me know what you think. Thank you!