A/N: What if Lily still had sacrificed herself that night in Godric's Hollow, but James survived to raise Harry? Three years after the war, Harry has defeated Voldemort, but he and Hermione still carry the scars from the war. While Harry managed to move on with his life and now plays professional Quidditch, Hermione hasn't fared so well. Now she's determined to stop hiding and rejoin Wizarding society again. All she has to do is pass a flight test and she'll be able to begin work with the Ministry. Unfortunately, she hasn't been on a broom since the night Ron died...

Disclaimer: I only like posting these once, at the beginning. I didn't invent the world of Harry Potter (that was J.K. Rowling). While my alternate universe may echo certain events, I am merely playing around with my favorite characters. Thus, I reserve the right to shamelessly play about with canon. ;)

FALLING SLOWLY

I: The Flight Conundrum

Rain made the ground slick beneath her feet, cold and icy over numb hands as she closed her fingers over the wet broomstick. She closed her eyes and focused on her magical core, on the surge of warmth and scent of cinnamon sparking through every nerve ending. Only then did she slowly begin to push that magic into the broom.

You're in control.

The broom lifted her body weight until the tips of her toes barely touched to solid ground. Hermione took another deep breath.

You won't fall. Not this time.

Her toes left the ground and the rain seemed to fall harder, sharper. Breath escaped her mouth in heavy puffs.

It's fine. You're still in control.

She slowly opened her eyes.

Instead of the soft emerald green of her yard, Hermione saw flashes of magic sprayed in harsh multi-coloured lights. Screams and shouts filtered past her ears and Ron's grip tightened on her waist.

"Hermione! Go! Go!"

The broom jerked too hard up as her magic spun out of control and Hermione screamed her panic. She lost her grip and fell to the earth.

"Shit!"

Pain shocked its way through her shoulder and hip.

Her pride was bruised far worse.

She clutched her chest as she bit hard on her lip to stifle her sobs and attempted, once again, to purge her failures.

"It wasn't your fault, you couldn't have known. It wasn't your fault…" she repeated the words that had become her mantra over the past three years. Her Muggle therapist had said as much when she explained who she lost due to her "car wreck."

Hermione groaned as she rolled onto her back and blinked dully at the passing clouds. The rain was slowly easing up at least. Her clothes were absolutely soaked. She didn't even want to think about the state of her hair on top of her fresh aches and pains.

Three years later and she still couldn't mount a broom properly.

Two more weeks and there wouldn't be any more time left to re-learn before the test.

It shouldn't matter whether or not I can fly. Why fly when I can Apparate?

Hermione covered her face with her hands and rubbed the layer of tears, mud, and rain away.

One last chance to pass the test and her chance at a job with the Department might as well be null and void.

A repetitive ringing echoed from inside her house. Hermione sighed as she climbed to her feet. She cast an accusatory glare at the now lifeless broom in her hand as she headed inside.

She was dripping all over the living room carpet, but she at least managed to reach the phone before the last ring.

"Hello?" She cursed how weak her voice sounded, cleared her throat and added, "Granger residence, this is Hermione speaking."

"Hermione? I almost didn't recognize your voice. Are you all right?" Her best friend's voice struggled over the chaos of the Quidditch arena.

Hermione bit her lip with relief and shame as she sank onto her couch. "Hi, Harry."

Harry hesitated, grumbled aside, "—gimme a bloody minute, then I'll answer their questions."

She couldn't help her smile as Harry brushed off his manager. "You can call me later if it's a bad time," she offered.

Harry seemed to have moved a bit, or cast a Muffliato charm to smother the distant roar of fans. "Sorry about that. It's been bloody crazy lately. I've actually been trying to find a moment to call you for days," he grumbled.

Hermione's smile stretched across her face and she almost forgot the twinge in her shoulder, the ache in her hip. For the past three years, Hermione had insisted Harry contact her by telephone, as it was easier to avoid tipping the magical world of their location that way. For a moment, Hermione chastised herself over their lingering paranoia. She felt ever-so-much older than technically twenty-two.

"It's fine," she finally replied. "I know how the season goes. I just wish I could be there."

"Me too…" Harry's ire was traded for something warmer, softer, something reserved for just them.

"It's just us now, Mione. No matter what, you'll always have a home with me," he had said.

"So, have you made any progress yet?" Harry-in-the-present interrupted. "Your last message claimed you were on the verge of a breakthrough."

Hermione sighed at the laughter in her friend's voice.

At her lengthy pause, where she just knew he was running an awkward hand through his windswept hair, Harry added, "That bad?"

Hermione fell back into the cushions and wrapped the curling cord around her wrist in the process. "Not even above a bloody meter."

Harry chuffed at her language. At Hogwarts, Hermione had always been careful to never use such base language. Perhaps because Harry and Ron had used crude language too much. Someone had to balance and refine them, after all.

Things had changed after Ron…

"—Mione? You still there?"

"Hmm?" She shook her head. "Sorry, Harry, feeling a bit knackered today." She tugged at the phone cord to punctuate her lie. It fell so easily from her lips, she hoped Harry wouldn't see through her again. It was easier when they weren't face-to-face.

Harry sighed, pulling away to growl, "You can wait another bloody minute Colin. It's Hermione."

Her blue mood nearly evaporated at her best mate's declaration. She could always count on Harry to choose her. It was part of the pact they'd made as children. No matter what they would look after one another.

"Sorry about that. You know how Creevy gets. Thinks he can bloody boss me around just because I pay him to."

"At least you're both living your dreams, Harry. You shouldn't be too hard on him. He's still a friend." She held up her filthy hand and wrinkled her nose. This would require much more than a simple Scourgify.

"Yeah… suppose you're right. Seriously though, Mione, are you all right? You sounded out of breath when you answered. Don't like you practicing without me."

Hermione nodded and cleared her throat when she remembered he couldn't see then said, "I'm fine. I just…" Her breath hitched and her tongue caught over the words she wanted to but couldn't say.

I can't fly. I'm going to fail the test and be stuck taking notes at a desk for the rest of my life. Which is great, because I'm a Witch and will, therefore, live past a hundred…taking notes.

"Hermione," Harry spoke her name firmly yet gently as if he knew exactly where thoughts were teetering. "It's okay to need help. In fact—I may have asked for someone to help you out, at least until I can get back next week."

"What?" She sat up, every muscle tense and her voice more cutting than she intended. "Harry, please tell me you didn't hire anyone from the Ministry. If word of this gets out before my test…" Her breath came in shorter, sharper spurts and her hand found its way to the scar at her side. A deeper, older pain flared.

"Well, not exactly," Harry was quick to protest. "Look, it'll be fine, yeah? He is literally the best flyer I know and when I brought up the idea he understood. He won't tell anyone, I solemnly swear."

Hermione's laugh was too shrill even to her ears. "Right, no Marauder's oaths, please. I'm trying to take you seriously and you aren't helping. Harry James Potter, you swore to me already you wouldn't tell anyone about this, on pain of hex, and you know the one I'm talking about."

Harry sighed. "I know, and I'm sorry I'm breaking my promise, but Hermione, you told me yourself you need help. If I can't be there, I need to know you'll have someone looking after you. Be mad at me if you want, just… look for his owl tonight, yeah?"

"What? No! Harry, we said no owls," she hissed.

Harry's sudden laughter grated her already frayed nerves. "If anyone could trace his owl, they should be named Minister of Magic. Trust me when I say we've got you covered, okay?"

Hermione pressed a hand to the place between her eyes and replied. "Fine. Are you at least going to tell me what to expect? Who is it, a flight coach from your team?"

The roar of the crowd was suddenly back, along with Creevey's reedy voice in the background. Harry's reply came suspiciously quick and rushed. "Sorry, Mione, gotta run. I'll owl you later. Love you, bye!"

"Harry, don't you dare..." The call ended abruptly and Hermione shoved the phone back into the receiver with a spark of magic.

"Boody Quidditch," she grumbled as she managed to stand and make her way to the bathroom.

Two hours and a good soak later, Hermione felt much more human and less angry over Harry's little arrangement. She should have expected something like this sooner, she realized, after wrapping up her hair and heading to the kitchen for food.

He is a second-generation Marauder, she reasoned. Hadn't Harry done everything in his power while they were Hogwarts to resurrect the memory of his father and uncles' glory days? He had constantly been dragging her and Ron from one scheme into another. It was a wonder they passed their OWLS.

Even greater miracle we survived.

Each school term had seemed to end with one ridiculous challenge or another, be it facing a cerberus, acromantula, centaurs, not to mention the slew of dark wizards that suddenly popped up Fourth Year. Harry, of course, attracted the bastards like honey to flies and seemed to think it was their duty to protect the Wizarding world. Having been raised by living legends, Hermione could easily understand why.

Doesn't mean I've completely forgiven him, though, she thought the same moment her familiar hopped onto the kitchen counter.

"Crookshanks! No, off, you naughty thing! I'll have your supper ready in a second."

Her pet kneazle released a petulant "meow," turning up his nose in disgust before hopping back off the counter.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him as she shifted over to begin preparing his meal first. "Some gentleman you are, not letting a lady eat first."

Crooks meowed again and rubbed against her legs.

For one peaceful, too-quiet moment, there was only the sounds of Crooks purring, the crickets chirping outside her country cottage, and the incessant pecking of an owl at her window.

Wait, what?

Hermione nearly spilled Crookshanks' meal on his head as she jerked towards the sound. It had been so long since she heard an owl, Hermione stared for a long moment at the black feathered creature tapping her kitchen window. After another beat and annoyed meow from Crookshanks, Hermione set the dish before her kneazle and crossed the room.

She opened her window and the owl wasted no time fluttering in. Hermione bit her lip as it settled on her counter, a letter held up by its left foot.

"Um, t-thank you," she stammered as she took the folded parchment.

The bird's golden eyes seemed to glare at her reproachfully as Hermione waited for it to fly away.

"Oh! Sorry," she blurted. She didn't keep owl treats in her home anymore since Harry lost Hedwig. Setting the letter aside, Hermione dug through her fridge until she came up with a bag of baby carrots. Holding the bag up over her shoulder she asked, "This do?"

The owl ruffled its feathers as it continued to groom its wings.

"Right…" She pulled three carrots from the bag and set them on the counter beside the owl. "Here you go."

The owl bent over to inspect the carrots while Hermione returned to her forgotten mail. Upon opening, she found a message scrawled in a sharp, but fine hand, stating:

Hermione,

Our mutual acquaintance has, by way of blackmail and nefarious coercion, enlisted my services as your personal flight instructor. Since I'm not in the habit of leaving distressed damsels unaided, I'd be honored to help you prepare for your test.

I have also been informed that should word of this arrangement reach the wrong ears, our acquaintance will suffer by way of a most heinous hex. I solemnly swear, I am quite skilled in keeping secrets and subterfuge. Thus, if you are agreeable, kindly send your reply with the owl and meet me at nine o'clock Thursday in Godric's Hollow.

Sincerely yours,

J.M. Potter

"Oh gods, he didn't…" Hermione's fingers wrinkled the parchment before she could control her reflex. "It's official, I am going to kill Harry Potter," she told Crookshanks.

Review: If you fancy :)

A/N #2: Welcome to a new Jamione fic! For those of you who have read my main fiction, A Darkly Slanted Mirror, you may know how I stumbled into this rare pair over 8+ years ago. I've read so many fun time-turner Marauder stories staring Hermione and the gang, so I knew I wanted to write one. But what would happen if she lost her memories of the future and fell in love with James Potter instead? I was forever ruined after this of course.

The idea for Falling Slowly was in part inspired by the James that lives on in my ADSM head-cannon, and another "what-if?" Instead of time traveling shenanigans, we're posed with a post-war present where James survived both wars. How would things be different?

I'm not sure how long this will end up being, but I hope you'll join me as we explore a more adult Jamione fic. Next chapter we'll finally get to meet James :D