Yesterday is Tomorrow (Everything is Connected)

SIXTEEN

We're searching for Ariadne's thread, the one meant to guide us along the right path. A beacon in the darkness. We'd love to know our fate. Where we're headed. But the truth is that there is but one path through all times. Predetermined by the beginning and by the end. Which is also the beginning.

- Dark, S1E4 "Double Lives"

August 1976

Hermione's correspondence with Barty and Regulus - and by extension, Alphard Black - was in direct opposition in written content to the owls she sent and received from James Potter. If she wasn't used to the subterfuge that came with her previous life as Hermione Granger and Dumbledore's Army, then she was sure she would've messed up somewhere along the line with her letters.

But she was Hermione no-longer-Granger, but Evans, and she didn't make those kinds of mistakes.

Immediately following her date with James, Hermione returned to Cokeworth. After the events of the cave and their second horcrux, pretending to be visiting Petunia to hide her actions from her parents and Lily, she ended up actually visiting Petunia. The eldest Evans was entering her second year at uni and had decided to move permanently to London for school but would wait until the end of the autumn term.

With the new bonds between the eldest and youngest sisters, Hermione relished Petunia's more devious streak and ability to keep and hone secrets in ways that Lily - a Gryffindor - would not be able to do. Lily was too emotionally invested, too bold and bright, to seek the darker things involved in hunting horcruxes or engaging with Dark Magic. It was something that Hermione, Harry, and Ron learned during their horcrux hunt - just how difficult it was to hold onto their morals and ethics when burdened with Tom Riddle's soul whispering sweet nothings to them, whispering to the most hidden, most secret desires and wants and hoping to drag them into the light.

They had been so naive, so close to failure when on their own. Hermione would not see that happen again, this time around.

Maybe it was providence then, this time around, that her best friends were two teenage boys (but not Harry, not Ron, a part of her cried): one the son of a Dark family, volatile and emotional (although she had yet to see Regulus scrap the bottom of that barrel; it was coming, she knew), and the son of the head Auror, a politician, who had a tenuous grip on reality as it was and loyalty in spades.

Both were… flexible in ways that Ron never had been - and both were much cooler and savvier in their handling of things than Harry was. Hermione remembered that much. But she couldn't remember Ron's laugh or how Harry's broodiness could cut like diamonds. Those were fading, and in a way, Hermione mourned.

But then, here she was, at Alphard's Haberdashery, with Barty and Regulus, doing a planning session on how to destroy the horcruxes without tipping their hand to Voldemort or his Death Eaters, and the pain that the loss of Harry and Ron was, lessened.

It didn't go away and it never would, not completely - but it lessened. There were more important things to focus on.

"-It really comes down to these two possibilities," sighed Regulus, looking at the collection of parchment the four of them had drawn up over several hours worth of discussion. "Either we destroy them now, or we wait until we're out of Hogwarts."

"If we destroy them now," began Barty tentatively as he nibbled nervously on a finger sandwich Alphard's house-elf brought them earlier that afternoon, "will he know?"

Hermione shrugged. "Unsure. I never could figure that out. But I think since each piece of soul is slivered off his original, it becomes separate enough that he can't tell. Especially in inanimate objects."

Alphard, from where he sat in his wingback chair, turned his mercurial eyes on her and pursed his lips the tiniest bit. "Inanimate? Are you implying that someone could make a horcrux of something animate?"

Regulus looked sick. "Like - like an animal or something?"

There was a sour look to Hermione's face, as though she were upset at her slip. But she thought back to Nagini and Harry, and muttered, "Or something alright."

"Well, let's shelve that then," said Barty instead, plowing through the awkward silence that fell on the group.

"And stick with objects," added Alphard, stroking his beard. "I believe I have a lead on one."

Immediately, three heads turned his way and their voices rang over one another:

"You do?"

"Where?"

"How did you find that out?"

Alphard grinned, the expression making him look far younger than he was. "Well, now, that's a story! It was last week, and I was at Lady Selwyn's tea party for Archibald, and it was the loveliest weather, so we were all outside at the pavilion when your cousins appeared. And why wouldn't they? Narcissa and Bellatrix are ladies of influential houses-"

Hermione snorted.

"-Of course, Narcissa was wearing the most fetching shade of cornflower blue - it complements her hair, being the only blonde in the family, you see - and her dress was absolutely exquisite! Bellatrix, well, she always prefers black nowadays…"

Regulus was staring at his uncle in horror while Barty seemed to be hanging on his every word, leaning forward, and watching the older man intently, even as he absently took bites from his finger sandwich.

"Well! Imagine my surprise to see my nieces, but I went and said hello," continued Alphard, a tiny smile on his lips. "Narcissa was doing well, it seemed, absolutely glowing. Perhaps Cygnus and Druella will have an announcement soon?"

Doubt it, thought Hermione.

"Bellatrix, on the other hand, was dour as ever, but seemed to enjoy her position and instead of graciously thanking Lady Selwyn for the invite to her crup's party, began ordering the woman about! I say, it was terribly embarrassing."

Regulus' horror turned to confusion. "Wait, I thought the party was for Archibald."

"It was," agreed Alphard.

"But you said the crup…?" he made a face.

Barty, however, cut his eyes at his friend. "Keep up, Reg, the crup is Archibald." He turned back to Alphard. "Please, sir, what happened next?"

Regulus sent a glare at Barty while Hermione tried to hide her snickers behind a hand even as Alphard continued his story.

"Thank you, Crouch." Alphard nodded in Barty's direction and Barty preened, a slight blush to his ear tips. "Before I was interrupted - Bellatrix was talking about how she was given an important piece of history recently, as her dedication to the 'cause.'" He even raised his hands and made air quotes with his fingers. "It turned out she went to Lady Selwyn's tea party as an attempt to recruit."

"Did she manage?" asked Hermione, curiously.

"A few seemed interested," agreed Alphard, slowly, "But to be honest, her audience was the wrong sort. Gentle witches? Charity wives? Ladies of leisure? Not exactly the type to proclaim their undying loyalty to a dark lord."

Barty nodded. "A very good point."

"Can we get back to this important piece of history?" asked Regulus instead, annoyed. "Did you get anything else from her?"

"Me?" Alphard blinked in surprise. "Goodness! I didn't speak to Bellatrix! Why in Merlin's name would I have done that?"

"To… get… information?" asked Regulus between gritted teeth.

Hermione shook her head. "That's like casting a lumos in a dark room, Reg. It would've been too obvious."

"Indeed," agreed Alphard, a stern look at his nephew. "I did not receive more, as Lady Bishliwick began speaking very loudly about her son's recent accomplishments at the Ministry, so I paid attention to that-"

"WHY?" moaned Regulus.

"-because one never knows when such information might be important," concluded Alphard with a glare, speaking as though Regulus has not spoken. "And after the party, when I returned, I sent an owl to my brother and cousin."

Hermione inhaled sharply. "Whatever for?"

"Well, I figured Cygnus would want to boast - he was always the type - and Orion has Grimmauld Place locked down enough that I need to ask to see the library," replied Alphard matter-of-factly.

"Is that safe?" Hermione's mouth turned down into a frown. "They won't suspect something?"

"Father will suspect," muttered Regulus.

"Your father hasn't been himself these last few months," countered Alphard sharply, "And while he might be the Black, I am also one and can handle myself."

Regulus crossed his arms and sat back in his chair. "It's not Father I'm worried about."

Hermione and Barty shared an awkward glance as the two Blacks glowered at each other across the tiny table filled with finger foods and patisseries. Barty reached for a chocolate-dipped biscuit.

"If this leads us to another horcrux, it's worth it," Hermione finally said quietly, breaking the glare between the two. "Although if Bellatrix has it, it's likely not at the Lestrange house."

Alphard sighed in agreement. "True, m'dear. There's only one place she would keep it."

Barty put down the biscuit. "Gringotts."

"Possibly." Alphard inclined his head. "Which is why I need to speak with Cygnus and Orion. They will confirm it."

Regulus' pale complexion whitened further. "Be careful, uncle."

There was a wane smile on Alphard's weathered face when he replied. "I always am, m'boy."

He wasn't.

Alphard Black - officially - died on August 20th, 1977, according to Regulus and the Black family tapestry. Unofficially, Regulus mentioned that his father and uncle found Alphard's body, delivered to the front steps of Grimmauld Place the morning of August 27th, just before dawn.

While there were no marks on his body, it was clear he was tortured before he died.

Given the numerous friends and contacts that the man had, his funeral was a large one, hosted by the Black family. Officially by Arcturus and Melania Black at their estate in Suffolk instead of Pollux and Irma Black, Alphard's parents, who were both still alive – but it meant that Arcturus and Melania had to open the estate for the many walks of life who would be honouring Alphard.

Hermione was directly invited by Regulus as his friend, or so people thought, instead of as an accomplice to Alphard Black. Both were true, ultimately.

Unfortunately, Hermione was unable to remain at the Black Estate – due to her "unfortunate heritage", or so Regulus mockingly called it in his owl to her – so Barty stepped up with an invite from his parents, and now she was packing for a three-day stay at the Crouch London townhouse. Both Bartemius Crouch and his wife, as well as Barty, were attending and given his father's position as Head Auror, it provided Hermione not just an excuse to attend, but protection, as well.

Crouch arrived at her parent's home in Cokeworth on a dreary, rainy day, looking exactly like Hermione remembered him from the Quidditch World Cup, in a bespoke, dark suit. He had an umbrella at his side and his bowler hat matched the suit and shoes, and although the grimace on his face could have been mistaken for the situation, Hermione read it in the way he wiped his leather shoes several times once inside the entry hall of the Evans' home.

"Thank you for the invite, Mr. Crouch," said Hermione, after introducing her parents and Lily to the man; both Leonard and Rose seemed half in awe, and half at ease at the very English gentleman. Rose kept trying to offer Crouch tea, while Leonard was muttering at Hermione to be kind and a perfect houseguest.

"We'll need to leave shortly," apologized Crouch when he found a natural break in the conversation in the sitting room. "Wizard funerals are long, drawn-out affairs; Alphard Black's will be doubly so."

Leonard nodded. "Which is why Hermione will be away a few days; we understand."

"I will be sure to return her safely by Sunday," the Ministry employee promised. "Despite the circumstances, I have wanted to meet my son's friend, and my wife is eager to have a witch visit."

At Rose's confused look, Crouch elaborated, "We have only our son."

Some of Rose's confusion eased, and Hermione made a note to speak to her mother. Instead, Rose and Leonard stood with Crouch, and Lily a half-second behind Hermione, sneaking glances at her younger sister.

"Do you have your effects?" asked Crouch at Hermione.

She nodded.

"Then say your goodbyes and we shall Apparate directly to the house," the man instructed, stepping back into the entry hall to give Hermione privacy as she turned to her parents in the living room.

Leonard hugged her and kissed the top of her head, passing her to her mother. They hugged and whispered their goodbyes, and then Hermione paused in front of Lily. The tension was obvious to everyone in the room, even if her parents didn't know why.

Lily's arms were tightly wrapped around her chest. "Take care."

"Thanks." Hermione pursed her lips, nodded, and then strode to the entry where Crouch was looking at a pocket watch. He snapped the cover closed when he noticed her, tucking the gold piece away in his waist coast.

He held out his elbow and Hermione curled her hand around the offered gesture, and with a step, they turned and reappeared hundreds of miles away, in the receiving room of the Crouch London townhouse.

Hermione's first impression was that the townhome absolutely reflected Bartemius Crouch and the fact that he was competent Ministry employee, because not only did the home reek of money, it was nowhere near the dark, Victorian tones of what Grimmauld Place had been, but decorated in a tasteful, classy but very 1970s manner.

The receiving room – or entrance, really – was a large white marble tile flooring, edged in black with gold gilded furniture: a console table, a large mirror, a chaise lounger, and two matching armchairs in deep royal blue. A chandelier hung above, directly central to the room, tossing glittering reflections of light beams around the shiny room.

Double-doors in near-black wood were then thrown open, Barty sliding and skidding into the receiving room, flailing his arms as his shoes made a very loud noise against the marble flooring.

His father shot him a glare and Barty cringed. "Sorry Father, I was excited to see—"

But the elder Crouch scowled and dipped his head once, at Hermione. "My son will show you to your room while you stay with us, Miss Evans. We will leave for the funeral tomorrow morning at first light. Please be prepared then."

"Thank you again, Mr. Crouch," Hermione had time to say before the man swept from the room through the same doors Barty appeared from, although he took much of the dourness that had seeped into her and the room as he did so.

"So. That was my father," said Barty, rolling his eyes. He reached for Hermione's hand and tugged at her. "C'mon, I'll show you to your room and then Mother wants to meet you."

The room Barty showed her to was near his, at the top of the townhouse. The room was light and airy, slightly feminine with its lace curtains and soft fabrics on the bed, and there was a house-elf putting her things away in a drawer.

"Hermione, this is Winky," introduced Barty, gesturing at the elf, who squeaked and turned when they entered. "She's our house elf. You just need to call her name and she'll attend you if you have any need."

Inwardly, Hermione Granger's annoyance of bonded house-elves rose. Rationally, Hermione knew about house-elves bonds from her previous life, but there was a part of her that still bristled at their treatment and how poorly wizards and witches treated them – regardless of what the house-elves themselves needed or thought.

"Hi Winky," she said instead, mustering up a bit of a weak smile. "Thank you for your help."

Winky's bulbous eyes popped open, rounder and wider at the kindness.

"Miss." She curtseyed and then glanced at Barty. "Young master Barty."

She then popped away.

Hermione glanced at Barty, who shrugged. "House-elves don't see much kindness." He then grinned. "I guess you're just different and special that way."

"Uh-huh."

The two stared at each other for a moment longer, and then Hermione launched herself at him, her fingers finding his side as they wriggled back and forth. Barty shrieked, skipping backward from her, using his arms to ward her off.

He twisted out of her way, slipping behind her and catching her around the middle, using his height to his advantage as he locked her in place and kept her arms at her side. "Yield!"

Hermione stomped on his instep, and Barty muttered an oath under his breath but didn't let go. She then went entirely limp, and he suddenly had her whole weight in his arms and in surprise, let go.

She landed in a crouch on the floor and then sprung up, her own arms outstretched and ready to tickle her friend some more.

The two were eyeing each other from across the room when a feminine presence appeared in the door, bringing in the soft smell of gardenias. As one, the two Ravenclaws turned to look at the door.

Barty immediately dropped his arms and stood straight, smoothing his hair down. "Mother!"

Iris Crouch was tall, willowy, with thin collarbones and pale blonde hair, as well as tired blue eyes and lines around her mouth. But she looked soft – that was the first word Hermione could think of that described the woman. She smiled softly, and when she opened her mouth to speak, it was softly, as well.

"Hello, Barty," she murmured, her eyes crinkling at the side when she smiled at her son. Those kind eyes were turned to Hermione next, and she stepped into the room – quietly, softly – with her hands extended in greeting. "And you must be Miss Evans – it's so nice to finally meet you, my dear."

"Mrs. Crouch," began Hermione, stepping away from her friend and smiling back. "Thank you for inviting me into your home."

"Anything for Barty's friend," the woman turned her eyes back on her son. "Would you two care to join me in the parlour for tea?"

"Of course," agreed Hermione for them both.

Mrs. Crouch's smiled turned into a beam, lighting up her entire face. "Lovely." She turned back to her son and sighed, "Oh, Barty-bear, your hair is such a mess—"

Hermione did her best not to snicker when his mother reached up and patted down at his fluffy, floppy hair. Barty squirmed from her, whining, "Mother!"

She sighed, retracting her hand. "I'll see you two shortly, then."

Barty's face was bright red after she left the room, and Hermione couldn't hold in her grin. "C'mon, Barty-bear. Let's go have tea with your mum."

He groaned. "Don't call me that!" Then he paused, and whipped his head around to plead, "Don't tell Reg about my Moher's nickname for me!"

"Aww, why not? I think it's cute." Hermione grinned at him as Barty led her out of her room and back down the winding, ornate staircase in the middle of the townhouse.

Scowling, Barty muttered, "Only Mother can call me that."

Softening to her friend, Hermione reached forward and clasped his hand. "It's cute. And it's clear she loves you very much."

So much so, thought Hermione, with a tinge of sadness, that she would give her life for yours in a heartbeat, no matter what you do.

Chuffed, Barty ducked his head and grinned. "Yeah, well, I love her, too."

"I'm guessing she did the raising when your dad was at work," began Hermione hesitantly.

Barty's grin turned into a scowl. "Father… he was always busy. Is still busy with the Ministry." His voice went a bit distant. "I don't really have that many memories of him as a child, and by the time I went to Hogwarts, he had… these expectations for me, I guess."

Hermione narrowed her eyes.

Sighing, Barty finished, "At least I ended up in Ravenclaw. He can get away with saying I'm studious. I'm not sure what he'd try to tell his Ministry friends if I were in Hufflepuff or Gryffindor. Slytherin would've been preferable, too, I suppose – then I'd be ambitious, and he might have been prouder."

"Was your dad in Slytherin, then?" asked Hermione, trying to cast her mind back – and forward – in time, if anyone had ever mentioned what house Bartemius Crouch, senior, had attended.

"Ravenclaw," answered Barty as they entered the parlour, where Mrs. Crouch already had high tea set up for them with Winky's help.

"Speaking about Hogwarts, dears?" the Crouch matron asked, looking up from the teapot as she began to pour into delicate china teacups with fancy, floral patterns.

"Just about Houses and where Father went, Mother," answered Barty, promptly collapsing into a couch.

His mother sent him a look and he hastily sat upright, and Hermione bit back a smile as she carefully sat, primly tucking her knees together and kicking her heels back and under the seat. Mrs. Crouch smiled at her approvingly.

"What house were you in, Mrs. Crouch?" asked Hermione, as she took an offered plate and began a careful survey of the finger sandwiches and treats.

"Hufflepuff," the woman sighed. "But don't think that we aren't stubborn! Loyal, hardworking. It's a good house for a Farley, and my parents never complained."

Hermione could see the woman as a Hufflepuff – the woman who sacrificed herself, even in frail health, for Barty to live, and she wondered how the old Mrs. Crouch from her time would've reacted, knowing that her husband put her son under the imperius curse and left him alone, a prisoner in their townhouse basement for over a decade.

Something melancholy must have passed over her face because Mrs. Crouch immediately launched into a soft-spoken, but animated, story about a young Barty exploring their yard and falling into the koi pond.

Barty hammed it up, animated as his mother told stories of his youth. Pride was so very clear in her face and voice as she spoke, and Hermione cast aside the memories of a future that would never be, enjoying the sun-dappled parlour as she learned more about her best friend. There would be enough time – tomorrow at the funeral, and in the future – for somber reflections.

September 1976

The Hogwarts Express was a bit awkward. Hermione traditionally sat with Regulus and Barty for the ride to school (and every other ride that they took, whether that was for Yule or the end of the school year) but this was the first time she – or Barty, or Regulus – had a significant other to consider.

Which led to the large group of Gryffindors, two Ravenclaws, and a Slytherin, clogging up the train corridor somewhere near the back of the Express, causing a large number of grumbles from other students trying to find somewhere to sit.

And at the center of it all, were James and Hermione.

Who were swivelling their heads back and forth between their two friend groups; James' hands twitching nervously at his side as he struggled to keep them down instead of running through his hair, and Hermione with her hand rubbing against her collarbone, feeling a familiar, phantom ache.

Barty and Sirius were glaring at one another; Remus looked rather stricken, trying to slink back and hide behind Peter Pettigrew, despite his height was comically similar to Barty's own gangly form, and Regulus kept his mercurial eyes fixated on his brother, betraying not a single emotion.

"This is going to end in bloodshed," muttered James, glancing between the two groups.

Hermione privately agreed, eyes stuck on Barty. His face was flushed in anger, and she was sure he was about ten seconds away from drawing his wand on Sirius.

"At least being with you isn't dull," huffed Hermione.

James sent her an affronted look. Then, he sighed. "I just wanted to sit with you on a train before I had to do patrols…"

"Let me calm down Barty. Then I'll join you."

Hermione sidestepped James and planted herself in front of Barty. Had James not already seen the two of them before, in the Room of Requirements – and if that wasn't something he'd have to mention at some point – he would have burned with jealousy when Hermione bodily pushed up against Barty, her chest somewhere level with his stomach.

She muttered something lowly, something so low only Barty, and Remus if his twitch was any indication, heard. But it was enough that Barty's glare turned into a scowl, and his brown eyes slid off Sirius and toward his friend.

His hand, the one clenching his wand, slowly eased from a white-knuckle grip as he placed it back in his holster.

"One day," began Barty slowly, "One day – you and me – we're going to have a – discussion."

Grimly, Sirius flattened his mouth in a line but nodded. His friends had forgiven him for that night after their OWLs, but with James and Hermione dating, Sirius knew he owed something to her friends as well. He had previously gotten away with saying nothing, but that was a coward's way out, and that shamed him.

"Later," murmured Regulus, steering Barty away, and then down the corridor to their usual compartment.

Hermione sighed and entered the nearest one, practically falling into the seat while James followed her in; Sirius trailed after him, with Remus and Peter bringing up the rear. The group was rather solemn after the interaction, which wasn't how James wanted to start off Hermione's official introduction to the group.

"So…" the silence stretched between the five in the carriage, even as Sirius did his best to dispel it. "How was your summer, aside from Uncle's funeral, Princess?"

Hermione made a face. "I really wish you'd stop calling me that."

"I will once it stops bothering you because right now it's really fun," retorted Sirius quickly, flashing her a grin from the opposite seat.

Still better than 'kitten,' she thought. She sighed. "It was fine. I kept busy."

"Doing what?" asked Peter, inquisitively. He even leaned forward when he asked.

Hermione glanced over, mouth pulling at the corners the tiniest bit as distaste grew. Was there a polite way to say, 'none of your business?' to the Gryffindor without insulting James' taste in friends?

Remus must have sensed something, because he instead asked, "Are you planning on taking any N.E.W.T.s this year, Hermione?"

Hermione shook her head. "No – two during O.W.L.s was enough. Everything else is scheduled for my seventh year."

Bored with the conversation, Sirius, who was slouched in his seat, loudly spoke up. "Blah, blah, blah. We're not even at Hogwarts yet, and you two are already talking school!" He groaned. "This is what happens when you put two bookworms in the same space."

With experienced patience, James asked, "Well, what do you want to talk about then?"

Sirius sat up, a gleam in his eyes. "With the money Uncle Alphard left me, I have enough for a motorcycle. I've been dreaming of one for ages. It'll be a chick magnet."

"Do you know which you want?" asked Hermione curiously. She knew he had a Triumph Bonneville, which Harry had taken to driving obnoxiously whenever he visited Dudley in her other life.

Sirius shrugged. "As long as it's loud, it'll annoy old Wally, and that's all I care about."

Well, that was the same, thought Hermione. "My uncle has a motorcycle. If you want, I can send a letter home and have my parents ask him about his, to give you a starting point."

Sirius turned his grey eyes to Hermione, surprised. "Really, Princess?"

"Would you stop calling me that, if I did?" she asked.

He grinned. "Depends on what information your uncle provides."

From there, the conversation turned to additions for a motorbike, with Peter suggesting the sidecar, and Remus focusing on its safety features. James and Sirius hammed up the bike itself, suggesting wilder and wilder options, including its future flight feature.

Hermione kept quiet, unless someone asked her about Muggle laws, to which she knew little about, but as time went on and the conversation grew from there, she found herself relaxing.

Yes, Sirius was still loud, with his barking laugh and brash personality – but this Sirius was also so stupidly immature that he was nowhere near the pale shadow of his future self.

Even Remus, her favourite professor, was far more outgoing with his animated conversation about cushioning charms, anti-crash jinxes, and rain-repelling charm for the future motorcycle that Hermione had trouble connecting him to the pale-faced, lonely (and sometimes, cowardly) man that taught her.

Peter, Hermione was surprised to find, was nowhere near as sycophant as she originally thought. He still hung off of James and Sirius's every word, but he also offered his own suggestions and wasn't afraid to talk smack back when Sirius dismissed his sidecar idea originally, even if his response to why a sidecar was needed was more R-rated than Hermione would've thought. It did win over Sirius, though.

James was already so far from Harry in her mind that the two weren't even in the same sphere to her – despite their spitting image looks.

Why did you spend so long hiding from these people? She wondered to herself, relaxing back in the plush red velvet of the carriage seat, James' arm around her shoulders. You never gave them a chance.

Perhaps Room-Harry was smarter than she initially thought – or, rather, her subconscious took the easiest and more acceptable route to get her to socialize more with her peers in this reality. She wasn't an interloper, an outsider who appeared and meddled. Hermione was part oft this world, built in and existing to the point that she touched people and influenced them regardless if she separated herself from the Marauders – or, Lily, or Snape, or anyone else. Things in the future still might happen the way she knew, independent of her, but she had to stop comparing the past that she knew – her past – to what she was experiencing now. It was no way to live, in the past, constantly under the shadow of people's future actions and expectations.

Something heavy felt like it lifted off her shoulders with the realization, despite James' comforting weight. It was like the last of her reservations were finally gone, and with that, she snuggled a bit more into James' side.

He glanced down at her, that silly, lovely lopsided grin of his, and pressed a kiss to her temple. It left her warm and comforted, and she smiled into his shoulder.

Scheduling time to spend with her boyfriend - God, that's weird to think, thought Hermione with a tiny face - was difficult.

Hermione did not want to give up her Saturdays spent in her research classroom with Regulus and Barty, especially as their work into Voldemort's horcruxes was necessary to end the war. She also had several side projects, and needed time to visit the Room of Requirement to practice her transmutations, preferably with Regulus and Barty so that they could improve their spellcasting in addition to her own homework (easily completed). She was also vaguely social, between Barty and Regulus, Regulus' Quidditch matches, and Dirk, in addition to James and the Marauders now.

James, being a seventh year, had N.E.W.T.s to study for (including a surprising N.E.W.T. to take in Arithmancy, so their Fridays would continue with tutoring in the library, in "their" corner). He was also the Gryffindor Quidditch captain, after four years on the team as chaser, and now Head Boy. While the latter was a surprise, it did mean that he had patrols, responsibilities in scheduling the prefects, setting prefect meetings, and distributing and managing issues that prefects and students brought to him. Between his patrols, meetings, study sessions, homework, and Quidditch, there wasn't much time for Hermione.

"This would be so much easier if you were a prefect," whined James during one of their Friday tutoring sessions.

It was a guise of a tutoring session, although mostly for Hermione's sake. They did arithmancy and James spent the majority of the time studying while simultaneously finding ways to distract Hermione by playing with her hair and brushing up against her side, as he had moved his chair to next to her instead of across.

"Me being a prefect wasn't on anyone's notice," replied Hermione wryly, "despite my stellar grades in a few classes."

James looked at her curiously. "What about Crouch?"

Hermione grinned. "He said no. Wasn't interested."

"Sounds right," snorted James. "And Regulus is a prefect, isn't he? I think Sirius mentioned something about that last year…"

Hermione hummed her agreement. She then tapped the parchment in front of her with her quill. "Now, explain to me again Al-Khalil's probability theory."

James groaned, but grinned that lopsided grin of this, and began.

Forty minutes later, their tutoring session eased into general conversation and comfortable silence. James had an arm around the back of Hermione's chair, his hand brushing against her shoulder and arm every so often while his other played with her fingers, plucking at a few or running his forefinger down the groves and lines of her palm.

"I hope you're not going to try to read my hand," she said at one point, derision in her voice. "Palmistry is hardly a reliable form of reading the future if someone even thought divination was accurate at all!"

A wicked glint appeared in James' hazel eyes.

"Oh, no…"

The Gryffindor sniffed, affected a strange tilt to his head, and began, in a highly affected voice, "Ah, my dear, look at this hand! Did you know you have an air hand?"

"Excuse me?" Hermione's tone was dry as she glared, trying to tug her hand away but James' hand tightened around it. She was having Hermione Granger flashbacks to throwing her hand in the air to answer questions.

"Air hands are those with square palms and long fingers," explained James, tracing the inner side of the fingers and making Hermione squirm when it tickled. "Air hands are intellectual individuals, who are curious and have innate analytical abilities and communication skills." He looked up. "Or, so Madame Mimi says."

"Madame Mimi, huh?" Hermione rolled her eyes. So that was the name of Trelawney's predecessor. Hermione still didn't hold much stock in the field of study, especially in comparison to something more logic-based to divine probability and outcomes.

"Uh-huh," grinned James, giving Hermione a knowing look, "And air hands are easily distracted and, if not stimulated, can become anxious or edgy."

Hermione was not impressed. "Don't even think of reading the lines, James."

Deftly twisting his wrist to look at his wristwatch, James went, "oh, look at the time," only to take a double look and actually yelp, "Merlin - look at the time! I have patrol in fifteen minutes."

Eyes wide, he caught Hermione's gaze. "I'm so sorry, I need to go-"

He began to gather up their study notes and spare parchment, Hermione leaning over the table to help him until everything was in a neat pile for him to shove into his satchel. James was muttering to himself, out loud about his potential patrol route, and completely distracted. He even ran his hands through his hair a few times, messing up the thick black hair so that there were several cowlicks and curls sticking out straight, especially at the back.

It was a bit cute, Hermione thought, but anything else froze when James leaned over, pecked her lightly on the mouth, and muttered, "See you later," only to sprint out of the library looking a bit like a madman, with his hair and wide eyes.

Hermione brought a shaking hand to her mouth and lightly touched her fingertips to her tingling lips. "See you later," she murmured after him in the silence of the arithmancy section of the library.

Since when had they upgraded to kisses goodbye? They had only officially been together since midsummer, and even then, they had only seen each other a handful of times before meeting up on the Hogwarts Express. And it was only the third week of school!

With a sigh, Hermione began to clean up her arithmancy books, stacking them neatly with the intent to return them to their shelves. With an absent wave of her hand, the books floated up and off the table, bobbing gently behind her as she made her way down the stacks in a circular fashion so that she would return to her table and bag after finishing the last text.

But something caught her attention as she was shelving the second to last book: a rather familiar voice from the stack over.

"-wanted to apologize, but you just… ignored me," the male said, voice soft if not terse and frustrated in a low baritone.

"Well, what did you expect?" Lily's voice replied, just as terse and thick with her accent. "It had been a busy year for you: Macnair and Avery used that Dark curse on Mary and got away with it; you defended them, and then you - you used that word!"

"I didn't say it to you!" the male retorted - and Hermione knew it was Lily and Snape, in heated whispers, having their first conversation in nearly two years. She felt vaguely dirty at eavesdropping, but then mentally shrugged and pressed a bit closer to the books on her side of the stack.

Lily scoffed. "No, you said it to my sister."

"She didn't seem to care," mumbled Snape, mulishly.

"I care," stressed Lily. There was silence, and then she sighed, long and low. "What did you think was going to happen, Sev? When you said that word? After everything you were getting up to with - those - those-"

"You mean my friends?" Snape's response was icy. "You weren't my only friend, Lily. I was in Slytherin; did you think I would just be social for you?"

"I - No -" but the hesitance in her voice made it clear to Hermione that that was what she honestly thought. Eventually, Lily said, quietly, "I don't like seeing you with them."

"And I didn't like seeing you around Lupin and Potter, but well, we can't get what we want, can we?"

"I'm not-!" Lily let out a long, hissed breath. "They're my housemates."

"And Macnair and Avery are mine," replied Snape just as quietly. He paused, and then added in a bit of a lighter voice, "At least Potter isn't sniffing around you anymore."

Lily let out a choked huff of laughter. "Yeah, there is that."

Tentatively, Snape continued, "I, uh. I heard that Potter and Hermione are… they're together?"

"Yeah, they are."

"And, um. Um, you're okay… with that?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" asked Lily, bewildered.

Snape cleared his throat. "Well, there was a time…"

She groaned. "Oh, not you too! Why does everything think I fancied Potter? I mean… yeah, I guess… I liked the attention. I liked being singled out - but I have with our professors, too, when I do a spell right in class. And it's… weird… not having his attention on me anymore. But it wasn't because I fancied him, Sev!"

"Well, that's good to know."

Ah yes, thought Hermione with a grin, there's that awkward boy I grew up with. I can picture him standing stiffly and looking around anywhere but Lily with the way this conversation is going.

"To be honest, if I knew that all I needed to do to get Potter off my back was introduce him to Hermione, I would've done it ages ago," said Lily quietly, and Hermione's grin dropped off her face, turning into a frown.

"She hates attention," chuckled Snape, "And she would've hated Potter from the start."

"That might be an Evans thing," laughed Lily, "Disliking Potter. But, well…" she trailed off. "He's been good for her? Since she started tutoring him, did you notice?"

"I don't pay much attention to her, Lil," sighed Snape.

And we all know why, thought Hermione, pressing on her toes to look over the edge of the books on the shelf and to peer across the stack into the aisle on the other side. Snape was pinching his nose, eyes closed as if pained, while she could only see the back of Lily's shiny red hair.

"Oh," said her sister. "Well, she's just - much more outgoing at home now! Participating in family meals and hanging out in the evenings instead of retreating to her room. And," now her voice turned sad, "she's spending a lot of time with Tuney-"

"She's a Muggle, who cares?" muttered Snape.

"Sev!"

"What?"

"I just miss how it was before Hogwarts, the three of us together," said Lily quietly, reaching up and playing with a strand of silky hair. Her voice was despondent. "I hoped we'd have that here at Hogwarts, but she seems to spend more time with Tuney than me, and I…"

"Lily?" Snape's eyes were wide and slightly panicked.

"I miss her," choked out Lily, her voice thick with tears. "I miss Hermione. I haven't spoken to her since… since that night, and then she was hurt, and we're not talking, and-"

Snape hesitantly reached out and patted Lily on the shoulder. "Um, it's okay, um-"

Lily sniffled and wiped away tears with her hands. "You're still terrible at this."

"I know. I'm sorry." He looked awkwardly around and Hermione quickly fell to the flat of her feet to avoid being seen when his dark eyes swept the stack. "Do you, um, want me to stay…?"

"No, it's okay," came Lily's quiet reply. "I think it's best that I clean myself up."

"Okay." Snape paused. "Lily? It was… it was good to speak to you again. I missed you."

"I missed you too, Sev," Lily replied, happiness leaking into her voice.

There was a shuffling noise, and then Snape departed, leaving Lily huffing and trying to control her emotions.

Hermione stalled for a moment, glancing at the two remaining books that were bobbing patiently at her side and then soundlessly sighed. She shelved one in its proper place and then walked down the stack, hoping her acting skills had improved. She rounded the corner, and, upon seeing her elder sister leaning against the stack, arms held tight to her chest, Hermione stopped in surprise and went, "Oh."

At the noise, Lily's head shot up, along with her wand. She then let it drop. "Hermione!"

Hermione cleared her throat awkwardly. "Lily."

She glanced around, hoping it looked like she was uncomfortable. In a way, she was, after hearing all that, but she also missed her sister. She peered at Lily, lingering on the puffiness and red tinge around her eyes. "Are you okay?"

Lily sniffed, tilting his chin up. "Yes, fine."

"Fine," echoed Hermione dubiously with a frown.

With a scowl, Lily stressed, "Fine."

This is going so well, thought Hermione as the two sisters eyed each other warily. Finally, Hermione sighed, thinking, this was a mistake.

"Well. See you around," she said lamely, giving a small wave and turning on her heel to leave the aisle.

She made it two steps before Lily called out, "Hermione, wait!"

Hermione stopped, glancing over her shoulder at her sister but otherwise not facing her or leaving. She was tired, so tired of this song and dance. "What, Lily?"

"I-" Lily choked off and Hermione turned to look at her. The Gryffindor had stopped several feet away, near the middle of the aisle, and was blinking rapidly at Hermione. When she noticed her looking, Lily's green eyes darted away. "How have you been?"

Hermione's eyebrows jerked up. "What's next, are you going to ask me about the weather?"

Lily huffed, crossing her arms.

Sighing, Hermione answered her. "I'm good, Lily. Just as fine as I was at home this summer."

"You were barely home," muttered the redhead, slowly sinking down until she was sitting on the hardwood flooring of the library with her knees up, pressed against her chest with her arms looped around them.

Hermione took a few steps forward. "What are you talking about? I only went to Tuney's for about a week in July, and then I was with Barty at the Crouch's for a few days for Alphard Black's funeral. James and I saw each other maybe, I dunno, four times all summer?"

"Maybe you were physically present, Hermione," began Lily, a bit cattish, "But you weren't there mentally. You were always off in your own world."

"I've got a lot on my mind," replied Hermione dryly, mimicking Lily's earlier pose and crossing her arms.

"Well, I wouldn't know that, would I?" retorted Lily hotly, and then she flushed, the blush of her cheeks clashing terribly with her hair. "I'm - I'm sorry, that was cruel of me-"

Hermione sighed and walked over until she was next to Lily, and then she sank to the floor herself, crossing her legs and fixing her skirt so it covered the important bits. "No, you're not. You're pissed with me."

Lily's nose wrinkled. "Pissed with you? Are you drunk now?"

Mentally, Hermione went over the sentence again and nearly groaned. "Pissed off with me," she corrected, annoyed that a future slang word crept into her vocabulary despite her having never used one before; idioms and allusions, yes, but full slang? Her cheeks heated.

Lily was silent for a moment or two before quietly admitting, "Yes. I'm upset with you. I have been for a while, I think."

"So, it's not about Snape, is it?" asked Hermione. "It was me. You were angry at me and used that afternoon after your O.W.L.s to take it out on me."

"Got a bit of a bob on yourself, have you?" scoffed Lily, glaring at Hermione. "It's not all about you, you know."

Hermione stared at Lily.

The other girl resisted a few minutes before sighing, loudly, and saying, "Alright, it was about you. I just… I had these - plans - and you…"

"Mucked them all up?"

"Well…"

"Sorry I disappointed you," murmured Hermione, looking down and picking at a bit of thread on her jumper. "I think I disappointed a lot of people."

"I shouldn't have put those pressures on you." Lily shook her head. "I had this - grand plan - about what our life at Hogwarts would be, both of us in Gryffindor, and I never… I never asked if it was something you wanted. I just took it for granted." Her voice dropped lower. "I think I took you for granted for a long time."

Hermione glanced at her in shock.

"Oh, don't look at me like that," the older girl sighed. "I think you know it, too. Tunney was… she's the big sister. She looked out for us. I was the precocious middle child, able to be perfect and get away with everything and the first witch in the family. But you… no one quite knew what to do with you."

"Wow. Thanks, Lily." Hermione stretched her legs out and rocked them back and forth a bit. She knew she had never meant to be born, anyway, despite what the room said, but now that she was part of this world, it hurt to think that her strange, melancholy behaviour as a toddler once she realized where and who she was, had established the relationships that lingered between her, her parents, and Lily.

"No! No! I didn't mean-" Lily exhaled loudly and squeezed her eyes shut. "You were just so different from Tuney and I. I don't think any of us knew what to do."

Hermione kept silent.

"I think… you just saw things differently to how I did," continued Lily quietly. "And I don't think I liked that very much."

The two sisters sat side-by-side, silent in their thoughts.

Finally, Lily asked, very, very quietly, "Why didn't it bother you?"

"Hmm?"

"Being… being called that."

Hermione frowned and smoothed her uniform skirt to bide her time as she collected her thoughts. She knew what Lily was referring to; it seemed she was destined to have this conversation twice in less than four months, both with Gryffindors.

"It's… it's just a word," Hermione tried to explain. "Like… we spent eleven years of our lives not knowing what 'mudblood' means, and then suddenly we enter the magical world and Purebloods throw it around with an insulting tone and we're supposed to instinctively just get it?" She shook her head. "The word only holds power over us if we let it."

"They'll still think we're… less than," Lily hesitantly put out, glancing at her younger sister. How was it that there were times when Hermione seemed to be the elder? she wondered. "I… try so hard in class, to make sure I get every answer right and to be first to complete a spell, and it's never enough."

Hermione pursed her lips, thinking back to how she was when she was a Granger. "They don't care if you're Morgana reincarnated; it just won't ever be enough for their tiny, inbred brains."

"But it means we don't belong," whispered Lily, her face stricken. "That we're never going to be good enough for this world."

Hermione scoffed, tossing her curly hair a bit as she did so. "Not good enough? Are you listening to yourself? We're magical. We have magic in our blood. While they might consider my blood to be mud, it's fucking magical, and they can't change that."

"You're so sure of yourself," whispered Lily, eyes downcast. "You sound more like a Gryffindor than I do right now."

"Maybe I just don't care," retorted Hermione, just as quietly. And, in her previous life, she grew not to care about the word, wearing her scar like a badge of honour. "I'm here for me, Lily. I'm studying magic because I want to; because I have goals and dreams."

Lily finally looked at her, a curious gleam in those familiar, emerald eyes. "Which are?"

But Hermione shook her head, continuing to speak in a low voice. "My goals won't matter at the end of the day to those wizards and witches out there who believe in the Sacred Twenty-Eight, or Voldemort, or whatever convoluted, backward ideologies they hold. I can't change their minds, and I don't want to take on that responsibility! Either they'll realize that muggleborns are an essential part of magical society, that we don't steal magic, and we're just as goddamn good - or better - at what they do, or they won't."

"Do Crouch and Black see it that way?" asked Lily, something settling in her.

Hermione gave a tiny laugh. "Barty doesn't give a shit about anything or anyone."

"He cares about you," protested Lily, nudging Hermione's shoulder. When Hermione caught her eye, she wiggled her thin eyebrows. "Huh? Huh?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Don't you start, too." She sighed. "Barty and Reg are… they're like… like my limbs."

"What?"

Lily's flat, accent-thick tone complimented her equally flat stare, enough so that Hermione chuckled at the look.

"Barty and Regulus are parts of me," she tried explaining. "Like, extensions of myself. I couldn't function properly without them. They're as much a part of me, as I am to them. I'd survive if they left me, or we grew apart, but I'd be… changed."

There was something heartbreaking on Lily's face, enough that Hermione replied with her own, "what?"

"I always thought that me and Tuney were like that for you," she mumbled through trembling lips. "That we're part of you."

"And you are!" Hermione turned on the floor so that she was facing Lily, an earnest look on her as she implored her sister to hear her. "You and Petunia are simply different parts of me, part of my soul. You're family, my blood."

"But they own a part of you," complained Lily bitterly.

Hermione sighed. "They don't own me, Lils." At the childhood nickname, Lily's head snapped up. "You and me and Petunia are Evans'. We share blood. Barty and Regulus and I share the same brain, the body."

Hermione bit her lip, and slowly, she reached out and took Lily's hand in hers. Lily twined her fingers with her younger sister and squeezed.

"I'm sorry I was so terrible to you," the redhead whispered, bowing her head toward Hermione.

"I'm sorry I didn't help you understand me more," replied Hermione, equally quiet and bowing her head to her until their foreheads met and their hair - curly auburn and straight red - mixed.

"I'm sorry I didn't make more of an effort here or at home," continued Lily.

"I'm sorry I was so stubborn and angry about things after your OWLs. We should've talked things out."

Lily shook her head, a tiny snort escaping her. "I wouldn't've listened."

"I should've tried-"

"Don't be barmy," chided Lily. "'Sides, what is this? An apology competition? We've both said sorry, now let's move on."

"Okay." Hermione felt her lips twitch into a tiny smile, and her eyes closed in contentment.

The two fell silent, and after a few minutes, Lily sighed. "D'you think we'll get as close as we should've been?"

"I don't know."

Lily paused, then breathed, "I want to be that close."

Hermione equally paused, and replied quietly, "Maybe one day."

"But not today?"

Thinking back on the hurt, the words Lily spewed at her, and the distance that had grown between them since her second year - now, four years ago - Hermione knew the hurt was still raw and bleeding. "No, not today."

Lily's sigh was bitter, defeated, but she understood, and it was conveyed when she said, "Okay," and that was all that the two needed.

Following her talk with Lily, Hermione felt that things were improved but not enough to be fully social with her older sister. Lily stopped to say hello during meals, and whenever they saw each other in the halls between classes. It was enough that her friends – Marlene, Mary – would also nod or say a hello, even though Hermione was aware that Marlene was still sour toward her (although she had no idea why).

Lily speaking to Hermione also had another side effect: Snape was beginning to eye her again and had approached Regulus about her in the Slytherin common room one evening, in which he vaguely asked how she was doing.

("How I'm doing?" Hermione had echoed, incredulously, when Regulus told her.

He had shrugged his shoulders. "I know, right?")

But someone else noticed: James.

He was waiting for her the Friday morning following Lily's increased presence in her life, leaning against a wall close to the Ravenclaw common room but far enough away that it appeared as though he didn't know where the Ravenclaw dorms were (which was a lie). His arms were crossed, and his hair looked windswept, and there was something in his hazel eyes that made Hermione approach him cautiously.

"James," began Hermione slowly. "Morning."

He reached forward and tugged her close for a hug. "Good morning."

Hermione was still wary, even as she returned the squeeze. She drew back and looked up at him. "What's going on?"

James appeared hurt. "What makes you think something is going on?"

"You have this… look on your face," replied Hermione dryly.

Said face soured and his mouth pulled down. "I do not!"

Hermione raised her eyebrows in response, and James' scowl deepened into a pout. He stepped back, and took her hand, lacing their fingers together, as they began a slow walk toward the Great Hall for breakfast.

"So… you and Lily are talking again," he began, in what he clearly thought was a subtle prompt.

Gryffindors really don't do subtle, thought Hermione with a grin. She quickly wiped it from her face when James glanced at her. "So we are."

"Is that… is that okay?" he asked, peering at her intently.

A warmth spread from Hermione's chest as she realized that he was worried about her and their previous encounter: the large blow-up that resulted in them not speaking for over a year.

Hermione squeezed James' hand. "Yeah, James. It's okay. We talked."

He let out a long exhale. "That's good."

At some point, he began to swing his hand, the one she was holding to, as they walked. They entered the Great Hall together and this time, only a few people glanced over and began to whisper. At this point, they were old news, but there were still quite a few who were watching them curiously. After all, it had been well known that James had wanted to date Lily for some time.

Hermione waved to Barty, who rolled his eyes and turned his back on them, eagerly shovelling food into his mouth. Opposite him but facing her at the Slytherin table, Regulus toasted her with his tea and then returned to staring intently at Barty – in some sort of game the two had invented, which apparently involved Regulus wiggling his eyebrows a lot.

"What in Merlin's name are they doing?" muttered James against her ear, his breath hot as he steered her to the Gryffindor table.

"I have no idea," replied Hermione, eyes wide even as she found herself sitting opposite Sirius and Remus at the Gryffindor table, with James at her side and directly opposite Sirius. Peter yawned from James' other side, having left them a gap at the bench.

"Morning Princess," greeted Sirius through a mouthful of toast. He bit down and then held out the slice of toast in a parody of one of their first interactions, two years ago. "Want a piece?"

James scowled and deliberately spooned some scrambled eggs on her plate, sniffing as he retorted, "No, she does not."

"She has a voice," grumbled Hermione, batting away James' hand as he tried to plate beans for her. "And she doesn't like beans on toast."

Remus offered a shy, slightly tense smile. It was one he often used around her – like she made him nervous. "Did you sleep well, Hermione?"

"As well as I usually do," she replied, elbowing James when he animated the sugar, honey, milk, and pumpkin juice all in one go with a wave of his wand. "Stop that." She turned back to Remus. "And you, Remus?"

"I'm feeling a bit under the weather," he admitted with a grimace.

"Yeah, it's Moony's time of the month," snickered Sirius.

Hermione rolled her eyes even as James comically, and loudly, shushed his friend. Instantly, a squabble broke out between the two.

"Don't you shush me, Potter!"

"Then try to be a bit more discrete, Padfoot!"

"I'm a fucking Gryffindor, Prongs – if you wanna talk about fucking discretion—"

"So, hey, Dumbledore's missing again," broke in Remus, raising his voice a bit over the two.

The group fell silent and as one, the four Gryffindors turned to look at the Head Table, where McGonagall glanced over, frowning down at them. Hermione, however, calmly dipped honey in her tea.

"Prophet came in earlier," began Peter quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "There was another attack last night, against Bagnold."

"Is she alive?" asked Remus, just as quiet.

Peter nodded, and Sirius exhaled loudly in relief. "Thank Merlin. At least when she was at Hogwarts, she had a proper defence professor. It's been a joke for the last decade and I don't see much of our generation surviving once we graduate this year."

"Professor Merryweather is decent," argued Remus. "And she was an Auror."

"Yeah, but Proctor and Vorpe before her were lousy," reminded James. "Remember the incident with the knockback jinx that crossed with gemino with Vorpe?"

The four teens collectively winced, and Peter went as far as shifting on the bench. Hermione looked around curiously. "I didn't hear about that one—"

"No offense, Princess, but you were in your own little world back then." Sirius cleared his throat. "And I'm pretty sure Vorpe did his best to keep that as quiet as possible, given…"

Hermione stared at Sirius before looking around at the other teens; Remus busied himself with his tea, and James was staring at the enchanted ceiling like it held the answer to the universe. Peter caught her eye and his mouth pulled down into a frown.

"It was pretty bad," he confirmed with a slow, solemn nod.

"What I wouldn't give for a decent defence professor," sighed Sirius. "How am I supposed to join the Aurors without an EE in the class?"

Remus scoffed. "You'd get an EE with your eyes closed, Padfoot. It's your Charms grade I'd be worried about."

"Not true!" protested Sirius. "Besides, the N.E.W.T. examiners look for examples of exceptional wandwork and spells that would benefit the Auror Corps, especially with this Dark Lord the Prophet keeps going on about. I want to ensure I have a leg up against the competition when I enter the Corps."

"Unless you find yourself a tutor, I don't think you can dazzle them with your exquisite lumos," laughed Peter, pointing a finger at Sirius, who scowled in response.

But James was looking at Hermione, eyes wide behind his glasses.

"You're really good at defence," said James, not even thinking about it.

Hermione blinked at him, looking up from the tea she had been stirring. "Pardon me? How would you know?"

James, brain catching up to his mouth, sputtered, "Well – you know – I hear things—"

Sirius snorted.

"You hear things," echoed Hermione, staring at him.

James blushed. "Okay. So. I mean – there was Diagon Alley that one time—"

Hermione's lips tightened into a flat line.

"And, well… I kind of, erm…" James blushed a furious red and ran the rest of his words together quickly: "SawyouintheroomwithCrouch."

Hermione's eyes widened. Remus dropped his spoon, and Sirius laughed loudly, pounding at the table. Peter's mouth dropped open and he squeaked, "Crouch?"

James shot him a horrified look. "Not like that, Wormtail – I mean –" he turned back to Hermione. "When the two of you – defence – your spell—"

But Hermione's chest was tight with anger and betrayal. Her hands clenched tightly into fists, so hard that the skin around her joints was white. Her magic roared up, ready to be used and from the corner of her eye, she saw Sirius rear back with wide, grey eyes and exclaim, "Whoa, Princess, is there lightning in your hair?!"

"What." The word was ripped from her mouth before she realized she had spoken. It was icy, and even as she exhaled, for a moment, she thought her breath came out as mist.

James had his hands up in a placating gesture, but there was panic in his eyes even as he focused on Hermione. "I just meant, you're really good at defence—"

"Really good at a lot of things," muttered Sirius, but he was watching the two with intense eyes.

"—and I remembered the fight in Diagon Alley," continued James, stuttering a bit. "How well you fought against that woman before my dad and I jumped in—"

"But that's not what you meant," interrupted Hermione coolly. "Was it, Potter?"

Peter winced and hunched over, ensuring his entire body was hidden behind James'.

"Erm, well, no…"

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Then explain. Succinctly. Quickly."

James' eyes darted toward Sirius and Remus, looking for backup, but Remus merely turned to his mostly empty plate.

Sirius shrugged. "She's Reggie's mate, Jimmy. And she knows quite a few of our secrets already and hasn't ever said anything about them. What's one more?"

James sighed. "We have this map—"

"Map?" echoed Hermione, but then frowned. "Poincaré theory."

"I – what?" James blinked.

"A while back. We were talking about reference points in arithmancy. Poincaré." Hermione's eyes were sharp when she looked at James. "You used arithmancy with his theories of reference points to create a map of Hogwarts."

Peter's eyes were wide. "How did you…?"

"It's Hermione," answered Remus, as if that explained anything.

"It shows where everyone is, in real time," added Sirius, proudly. And he was proud of their accomplishment. "It's great for pranking, not like James is doing much of that recently…"

Horrified, Hermione turned to James. "You were watching me? When?"

"All the time," replied Sirius with a bit of a smarmy grin to his face.

"When I was in the toilets?" Hermione's voice rose shrilly.

James paled and then winced. "That… sounds a bit creepy when you put it that way."

"You think?"

But then Hermione paused: hadn't Harry done something similar when they were on the horcrux run? Watching the map obsessively – saying it was to watch the Death Eaters in the school – but in reality, to keep an eye on Ginny?

She sighed. Like father, like son, I guess… but she did eye James up and watched for a moment as he squirmed under her glare. "Don't do it again. It's invasive and frankly, incredibly disturbing."

James leaned forward, reaching out and clutching at her hands with his, cupping them. "I promise, I swear," he babbled earnestly. "Marauder's honour."

She eyed him. "Isn't that what got you into this to begin with?"

Sirius laughed, and even Peter and Remus snickered when James looked a bit abashed. "But I did mean it – I saw you and Crouch. Practicing. And you're great, Hermione. You're a great teacher."

"She's that good?" asked Sirius, now eyeing Hermione as well.

She shook her head, tossing her hair a bit. "I'm really not – Barty and I know each other well. He takes instruction easily."

"She's phenomenal," spoke James over her, directly at Sirius. "She's already got nonverbal spells down, and her reactions are instinctive—"

Sirius looked over at Hermione appreciatively. "Care for another student, Princess?"

Hermione scoffed. "You'd actually listen?"

"I'd train with you," said James loyally. "And I'd listen to instruction."

"Yeah, okay, James," laughed Hermione, bringing her cup up to sip. Her eyes flickered at Sirius. "I'll tutor you in defence so can get into the Auror Corps. You'll even be able to cast a patronus when I'm done."

"Really?" Peter's eyes lit up. "Can I join?"

Taken aback, Hermione stuttered, "Y-yeah, of course—"

"How does Sunday sound?" added Remus, pulling out his planner. "There's no patrol scheduled for us that day—"

"Quidditch isn't on then, either," added James pleasantly.

Taken aback, Hermione's mouth dropped open as her eyes moved between the teens. "Well, that is to say, I wasn't really—"

"There's loads of empty rooms we can use," added Sirius enthusiastically.

"You would know!" laughed James.

Stunned, Hermione could only watch as the Marauders planned a study date with her for Sunday, for defence of all things. Lightly shaking her head, she took a deep breath and went back to her breakfast, sure that this would fizzle out well before the end of the weekend.

And yet, on Sunday, she and Barty met James Sunday evening outside of the Ravenclaw common room.

"Finally!" James sprung back up against the wall and bounded excitedly toward her, reaching forward, and sweeping her off her feet in greeting.

He swung her around even as Hermione laughed and cried, "Put me down, Potter!"

With that lopsided grin of his, James did so. But he also slid his hand up along her neck to cradle the back of her skull, tangling his fingers in her curls. He then leaned down and brushed his lips against hers – lightly, at first – and then with more pressure as he angled his head and Hermione pressed back.

"Annnnd that's enough of that."

The two broke apart, slightly breathless, to glance at Barty who was looking anywhere but at the two of them. When he finally glanced their way, he pointed asked James, "Don't we have somewhere to be?"

"Oh, right!"

James grabbed Hermione's hand and began tugging her down the hallway. Hermione tripped over her feet to match his stride, Barty's long legs keeping up easily as they continued their brisk pace to a part of the castle Hermione never really explored in either of her lives.

"And, voila, Hermione!" James said, theatrically as he swung the door open. "Your pupils!"

Hermione sighed, stumbling into the room behind James even as Barty brought up the rear and let out a long, low whistle of appreciation. She stumbled to a halt, mouth dropping open as she looked around the room.

She thought it would be a small tutoring session – Barty had even come just to wind up Sirius and make Remus uncomfortable, in a thrilling way of annoying them – but it wasn't just the Marauders in the long, rectangular room.

Regulus leaned against a desk by the far wall, Sirius straddling a chair backward beside him and trying to engage his little brother in conversation (although Regulus was doing an admirable job in giving one-worded answers).

Remus and Peter were sitting like students at two desks, and Remus even had parchment and a quill out for notes, while Peter was frantically skimming through their Defence text.

But Lily was there, at the opposite side of the room from Sirius and Regulus, with Marlene and Mary, and even the ditzy Phoebe Sinclair as she twirled a piece of her hair around her fingers.

Dirk grinned and waved from where he stood, near the other Gryffindors.

Ten, thought Hermione, stunned. Ten, not including Barty and Regulus. That's how many people showed up for a tutoring session. What. Is. Going. On.

"Might I present our instructor for the evening?" grandly began James, gesturing widely as he stepped back and let Hermione take center stage. "The amazing, magnificent, brilliantly clever witch and my talented girlfriend, Professor Evans!"

Sirius let out a loud catcall and even Peter and Remus took up loud clapping and cheers, with Dirk not far behind them. Lily beamed at her, even as her friends took their time to politely clap.

"I – what – I thought—" Hermione twisted to look at James. She hissed, "This was supposed to be a small tutoring session for your friends!"

"Yeah, about that…" James reached up and ran a hand through his hair, and weakly chuckled. "So… Cresswell overheard us, and then Lily did, and she told her friends… And I figured you would bring Crouch and Regulus…"

Hermione sighed, muttering something about redoing her lesson plan.

James winced. "Sorry?"

"It's fine," she murmured in reply, shoulders dropping a bit. Was this how Harry felt when she ambushed him in their fifth year?

"So, are we doing this or what?" called Sirius, loudly. "I wanna kick some dark wizard arse!"

Hermione stepped away from James and surveyed the group as they turned their eyes on her. She took a deep breath, fortifying herself for what she was sure was not going to be a single tutoring session.

She wasn't Harry – creating Dumbledore's Army was not in her plan and she wasn't really feeling charitable enough or close enough to the headmaster to recreate that. Perhaps if they kept it at its original name – the Defense Association – she could justify the connection to her past, but Hermione bled for Dumbledore, the Order, and for that cause once before.

If she was going to teach these people – her friends, her sister, their friends – to protect themselves from Death Eaters (none of whom had even reached near the peak of their depravity yet), then she had her work cut out for her.

There wouldn't be second chances.

It would be on her terms, this time.

With a slightly cool smile, Hermione brandished her wand, and began, "Alright then. Let's get started."

TBC...