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Chapter Text

The Evans family were proud to say that they were perfectly peculiar, thank you very much. Their home sat on the end of Church Lane, sat near to the dreary estate that trailed down to Spinner’s End, but close enough to the nice new builds and parks along the brighter side of Cokeworth. It was an oddly coloured house - crimson and orange bricks built the base, with a yellow-pebbled coating upon the first floor. Twists of sage vines lined the windows that jutted from the front, with soft buds of rose and lavender twisting beneath the sills. 

Moses Evans was a local plumber and a union man; a fact he was often keen to share with the young boys starting work. He was rather lithe, as one had to be in order to twist around the bends and trappings of pipes and toilets. His squarish jaw sported a pale beard as thick as his pale hair - blond and curled. Henrietta Evans worked the Saturday shift at the florists in the heart of town, though she much preferred her gardening to the selling of floral goods. She was a rather bright woman, with hair as shiny as copper and eyes such a vivid emerald that they gave the impression of always sparkling in merriment. 

The Evans had everything they wanted in their home. But their biggest pride and joy slept in the two bedrooms round the back, tucked beneath matching quilts in white-framed beds. Three daughters - all named for their mother’s favourite flowers at the time of their birth, and the heroic women of their father’s favourite myths. 

Petunia Aemelia Evans was their firstborn. She was an admittedly nosy child, always peering between the slats of the fences to spy on neighbours and scrutinising dustmen as they emptied the bins out front. As a rather quiet girl, her study was a rather silent thing. She observed, but she did not speak on that which she noticed. Instead, her parents watched her catalogue the world around her with round blue eyes that matched her father’s. Soft smiles and kind nods as she spent her days helping the flowers bloom and practicing scruffy stitches on old tea towels. 

The twins had followed, a mere two years after their elder sister. 

Lily Persephone Evans had been the first of the pair. She was rather similar to Petunia, though her curiosity lacked the scrutinising edge the elder possessed. Instead, the girl was simply fascinated by those around her. With bright waves, the girl would greet each neighbour and passerby - babbling stories as adults nodded and cooed at her precocious nature. She was the spitting image of her mother with all the handiness of her father. Thick and dark ginger hair tied in twin braids, always a little messy from play. 

Barely minutes following, in a birth that could only be described as deeply traumatic, was Marigold Hermione Evans. Now, the youngest of the Evans family was often hidden from the eyes of the neighbourhood. Rarely interested in peering at the world surrounding, the young girl was most often found curled in an armchair with one of her father’s books - a hand softly petting the family cat. From the moment she could speak, she had begged to be known by her middle name - grinning as her twin fumbled the clumsy syllables until ‘Hermione’ flowed from her lips. She was the perfect blend of her parents, with her dark coppery curls and pale, glassy eyes. 

When Mr and Mrs Evans woke up on a dull, grey Thursday in the midst of summer, they did not let the dreary skies bother them. Henrietta Evans fluttered her neat kitchen - pulling flour and eggs as she cracked ingredients together - and Moses Evans found himself busied with waking his three daughters for the morning meal. 

The youngest girls were set to begin at the local secondary school come the beginning of September. Petunia had been coaching them on all those little details that most children did not notice, sharing the best places to play and which teachers were most useful or useless. Their father found the three curled in the eldest girl’s bed - wrapped in her handmade quilt as she giggled about the nosy landscaper and how she was certain his wife was the bumbling deputy headmistress. He heard the young laughter of his eldest daughters and saw the gentle grin of youngest. 

Hermione did not giggle as her sisters did, though she was keen to extend them little wry smiles. Other parents might have found them odd for a child so young, but not these peculiar folk. Their youngest child had always been in a league of her own, always a little more perceptive than her sisters. And perhaps, if Hermione wasn’t so very kind a child, they might have sat her down and asked just what went on in that little head of hers. But Hermione was thoughtful in a very gentle way. 

Often, she let her sisters guide her through the world. Hands intertwined, the three would traipse the meadows behind their house until the street lights flickered into effect. Lily would collect wildflowers into bunches and crowns, draped upon their curls. Petunia would tell tales fresh from her imagination, stories of knights and princesses and magical things. 

But Hermione… sweet Hermione simply followed. She nodded and smiled, but she did not incite much of anything. Still, the Evans could not find any fault in the youngest child. She was kind, if quiet. 

She wasn’t the social butterfly that her twin was - always making new friends wherever she went, the most popular girl in their class. Nor did she possess the helpful presence of Petunia, who was so very useful in keeping the house running day-to-day. Hermione was simply a stable foundation to the home. An ever-present calming force upon her sisters. 

This fact was found transparent later that day. 

It was after Moses had returned from work, after his girls had flooded into the house after an evening playing in the meadows. He arrived as his wife was popping dinner in the oven - a whiff of casserole spreading through the home as the sounds of children screaming greeted his entrance. 

“You’re being unfair!” Lily howled. 

“You’re being naive!” Petunia bit back. 

With a sigh, he moved through the home, quickly bending a kiss to his wife’s cheek before stomping towards the cacophony of arguing children. The girls were sequestered in the sitting room, two warring sides. Petunia stood by the fireplace, her arms folded over her chest - over her neat uniform of a pale blue blouse and grey pleated skirt. Her lovely face was twisted into a scowl that pulled her brows close together and lips pinched. 

Lily and Hermione donned their winter uniform of a smart red blazer over a black pinafore dress - white shirt collar poking from beneath. Lily’s pose matched that of Petunia’s - the same scowl and same folded arms. But Hermione, always the quiet one, was curled into an armchair between them as she warily watched from behind a thick book propped upon her lap. Her eyes caught his first with a gentle smile - worn and wearied. 

“What in the Devil is going on, girls?” Moses grumbled as he stepped properly into the room. 

“Lily started it!” Petunia claimed - a finger of accusation pointed directly towards her sister. 

“I did not!” Lily gasped, eyes narrowing to a glare as she threw her arms to her sides. 

“Girls.” Moses spoke sternly, sighing as he waltzed towards his youngest child, propping himself on the arm of her chair. Hermione looked up at him with a slight smile, her gratitude at his interjection evident. “Do I need to repeat the question?”

“Lily’s made an awful new friend.” Petunia grumbled. 

“Just because he’s from Spinner’s End!”

“He’s a bully!”

“He is not!” The girls spoke over each other, volume rising until Moses noticed his youngest child flinch. 

“Girls.” Moses snapped, watching as his daughters flinched at the noise - turning to him with a chided tense of their shoulders and duck of their heads. 

“We were playing in the meadows the other week.” Hermione explained in her soft voice, scarcely more than a whisper. Still, it was enough to still the shouts of her sisters. Enough to draw all attention to her. “Lily… well, she was making things with the flowers. And this boy saw us and Lily went off to play with him. She’s been playing with him since.”

“What boy?”

“Severus Snape.” Lily raised her chin. 

“He’s awful.” Petunia growled, sticking her chin up defiantly. 

“He’s just shy!” 

“He’s-”

“Girls.” Moses sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose - a brief and commiserating glance exchanged with Hermione. “Why exactly are you fighting?”

“Severus is only nice to Lily.” Petunia claimed.  

“You’re not nice to him.” The girl bit back. 

“He started it!” 

Moses looked to his youngest child with a weary expression that the girl matched with her own grimace. 

“They’ve been at it all afternoon.” She sighed beneath the roar of her bickering siblings. “Petunia hates him.”

“And what of you?”

“I don’t like him.” Hermione spoke very quietly. It brought a scowl to Lily’s pleasant face as her yelling stopped abruptly, a contort of disappointment as she huffed and crossed her arms. 

“Why’s that, treasure?” Moses Evans frowned, brushing a hand over her thick curls. 

“He’s mean to me.” She scrunched her nose, flicking to the next page of her novel. 

That brought Lily’s scrunched face free of its bitterness - slackening as she blinked down at her twin. 

“He’s… mean?”

“He doesn’t like me or Petunia.” She explained with a slight scowl, eyes focused on the pages. “He says Lily’s magic, but he thinks we’re nothing. Not worth his time.”

“No he doesn’t!” Lily was quick to exclaim, though the furrow of her brow weakened her adamancy. 

“Doesn’t he?” Hermione raised a brow - eyes darting to her sister with a softness only found as she regarded her siblings. “When he finds us in the meadows, he only says hello to you. He only asks you how you are, and ignores when you tell him about things the three of us get up to.” 

“Tobias Snape’s son, isn’t he?” Moses asked, huffing as the girls nodded. “Not a very pleasant chap, that man. Refused to join the local union, the bloody scab.”

“He’s rotten.” Petunia nodded again. “And Severus is rotten, too.”

“He’s nice to me!” Lily squawked. 

“But it sounds as though he isn’t very nice to your sisters.” Moses sighed. “And I thought, well I hoped, dearest, that you would trust your sister’s judgement more than your want to have more friends.” 

“I…” she glanced at Petunia’s pleased expression with a frown that faltered as it flickered towards Hermione’s open face. “I… I won’t be friends with him if he’s mean to you.” Lily decided, though she clearly warred with herself at the decision. Hesitantly, she stood by Hermione, resting a clumsy hand on her knee. “I just got so excited.”

“I know.” Hermione smiled gently - her own hand reaching to squeeze her sister’s. “But you don’t need him to tell you that you’re magic. I’ve been saying it for years.”

“You have.” 

“And I… well, I don’t think he’s got a pleasant future ahead of him. Best not get involved.” 

“Is this another of your knowing things?” Lily asked, scrunching her nose. 

It was a common occurrence for the Evans sisters to put stock in Hermione’s intuitions. For the parents as well, really. After all, it was hard not to trust your daughter’s predictions when they all seemed to spark true. Hermione just… seemed to know things. 

“I suppose.” Hermione sighed, glancing up at her father’s knowing smile. “He’s coated by a rather awful shroud.”

“Is that so, treasure?” Moses raised a brow. 

“There’s a dark stain upon him,” she nodded, mindlessly scratching at her left forearm, “a Mark.” 

He suppressed a shiver as he looked to his youngest child. Sometimes, Hermione looked to the world with eyes too seeing for one so young. Neighbours liked to cal her an old soul, and… well, he truly saw their reasoning. There was something in her eyes, those irises that people likened to his own. Except… Hermione’s eyes weren’t blue like his. Not, not truly. They were an odd, almost colourless shade - like the sky reflected in a puddle of water. 

Eyes that matched a soul as wearied as her own, with those bouts of sorrow that seemed to cling to their all-knowing daughter. 

“Well,” Moses slapped his knees, wincing as all three of his daughters flinched at the noise. “If he’s unking to my treasure,” he ruffled a hand over Hermione’s hair, “or my precious,” he gestured for Petunia to come closer, his daughter resting her head on his shoulder, “then I don’t think I want any of my children talking to him. I’m sorry, dearest, but I won’t permit you to see this boy.”

Lily gasped, blinking widely at her father. 

“You’ve never forbidden me from doing anything.” She muttered, more to herself than him. 

“Never too late to start, isn’t it?” Moses grinned back, holding his daughters close. 

“I already said I wouldn’t speak to him.” She sniffed. 

“I know,” Moses lifted his arm from Hermione to motion for Lily to come over - the stubborn girl only hesitating a moment before bounding over. “But, now when he asks why you won’t play anymore, you can honestly tell him that.”

She blinked again, letting out a surprised little cackle - looking to Hermione to share her amusement. Her twin was looking to her with those pale eyes, soft and sentimental. Too aged for a girl that had lived for barely a decade. 

Chapter Text

When Marigold Hermione Evans had been born, she had been well aware of the wrongness of it all. After all, last she had known, was the heat of spellfire, the screams of anguish and burning of an untimely death in the place of a boy she considered a brother. Then, with a scream of air fresh from frail lungs, she was born anew. Harsh white lights and the stench of disinfectant were the first things she knew - the soft cradle of a mother was the second. 

Bit by bit, she pieced it all together. Forged the memories to concrete until she could accept just how utterly ridiculous it all was. This other life, one decades in the future, lost to warfare so brutal it had stained her soul. 

But she would not let that future repeat itself. Surely that was why she had been born to the family she had. That was why she had shared a cradle with a girl that would birth her future brother, it was why she had Petunia as her bright and caring elder sister. 

So, as she set about mastering walking and speaking, she began to plan. As a Granger, she had always been rather good at making plans. No one had really followed them, but in her heart she had known how decent they all were. 

And she made a new plan. 

It was perhaps not the most logical, but it was sure and sweet. Brought forth after a fretful night in which she had awoken from a nightmare. Petunia had crept into the room she shared with Lily - her twin still slumbering blissfully. And… she’d held her. Crawled into her little bed and rocked Hermione back and forth, whispering reassurances. 

She had forgiven the girl her future trespasses long ago, but something in that night cemented her decision. Petunia would not be left behind. Lily would not die. And Harry… Harry would know a mother and an aunt that loved him dearly. 

Hermione would die to ensure such a thing. 

But God did her sisters make it difficult. They so consistently butted heads that Hermione felt like her only job in this life was to keep the peace. Every squabble, every spat, every single argument that likely drifted the sisters to strangers in another life… Hermione sat as witness and mediator. 

She let Lily take her hand and drag her to practice making the flowers bloom - agreeing with Petunia to keep their magic hidden and just for them. When Petunia begged for help mending the tea towels, Hermione would sit and practice her stitches as Lily hung over her shoulder to point out the errors. She’d grin as Petunia chided her messy efforts, though the complaints were never as serious as others fretted. 

It was just… how they were. 

And bit by bit, Hermione Evans got used to being a sister. Over the years of playing and fighting, her life before became nothing more than cruel nightmares and old memories. Stories she told to help Lily sleep during stormy nights, tales she used as fables for her eldest sister in times of stress and argument. 

Sometimes, she dreamt of odd things. Hazy flashes of faces she had never seen before, of screams and giggles and things that almost tore her heart in half. 

As a Granger, she had never put much stock in Divination. But as an Evans… she’d be a fool not to trust the whispers of Fate when they were so loud in her ear. 

So when a witch in a large hat arrived at the door of the Evans household, it was Hermione that opened it. Eyes wide as she catalogued each detail that strayed from the Muggle - a bright grin as she saw just how real her memories were. For there, dressed in burgundy robes and hair pulled to a tight black bun, was a witch she knew well. 

“Hello, Professor.” Hermione smiled up at Minerva McGonagall - relishing in how the witch’s eyes widened at her. “Would you like to come in for a cup of tea?”

“Miss Evans, I presume?” The witch spoke after a moment, rolling her shoulders as she seemed to steel herself. 

“Hermione. I go by my middle name.” She nodded, stepping aside as she gestured a hand towards her home. “Lily’s here too. As are our parents and sister.”

“Very well.” McGonagall nodded. With a quick glance at the house exterior, the witch stepped inside and onto the floral painted doormat. Her eyes seemed to catalogue every detail of the house, noting all of Petunia’s embroideries, the books that littered the tables and sides. She offered Hermione a tight smile - though warm seeped through the clear trepidation - as she entered her home. 

“One moment.” Hermione smiled to the witch, before turning and cupping a hand around her mouth as she yelled up the stairs. “Lily! There’s a witch here to see us!” A brief look to said witch revealed her shock had grown exponentially. “Mom, Dad, Petunia! You’ll want to hear this, too!” 

With that, she motioned for McGonagall to step further indoors and carefully shut the door behind her. As she led the witch through to the kitchen there was a thundering down the staircase as her entire family ran to check on her. Her dad arrived first - panicked eyes as he skid to a halt at the kitchen door - panting as he tried to catch his breath. Soon followed both of her sisters with their hands clasped together, their mother quick to bring up the rear. 

“This is Professor McGonagall. She’s here to tell us that magic is real.” Hermione explained, turning to pour the startled witch a cup of earl grey. It seemed the type of tea best suited for such a regal lady. 

“Is that so, treasure?” Moses raised a brow, scanning the odd ensemble of the witch before shrugging and stepping aside to let his daughters filter through, 

“Right you are.” McGonagall nodded, looking to Hermione with wariness. “Though I had not been able to explain that yet.” 

“Hermione knows things.” Lily explained with a shrug of her own, stepping to pull a bottle of milk from the fridge as Hermione reached for the sugar. The witch watched the pair sort out her beverage, offering the mug to her with matching bright smiles. As she took a hesitant sip, as she blinked in disbelief, Lily shot Hermione a grin. 

“I see.” McGonagall nodded. 

“I hope the tea’s alright.” Hermione smiled as she moved towards her parents. “You seem the type to enjoy half a sugar and just a splash of milk.”

“Right you are, Miss Evans.” McGonagall blinked, quick to shake off her utter bemused as she set the mug back down on the counter. Her hand darted into her pocket and retrieved two envelopes - both sealed with a thick wad of red wax. Naturally, Lily snatched up the pair and tossed one to Petunia as the girl inched closer to her sisters. 

“Hermione, dear.” Henrietta finally spoke up, flustered and bewildered but suddenly realising the seriousness of the current situation. “What is this about magic?”

At that, the twins had the decency to look apologetic. They exchanged a look with Petunia, the older girl nodding to the pair before Lily replied in her sister’s place. 

“We’re magic, Mom.” Lily flushed pink as she glanced to her socked feet. “I… I make the flowers bloom.”

“And Hermione can make flames in her palm.” Petunia preened, grinning at her sisters. “But… I told them that we had to keep it secret. Especially after that Snape boy.” 

“Is that so?” Moses raised a brow. His eyes darted to meet his wife’s, a silent conversation shared before both adults nodded and turned their attention to the strange witch in their kitchen. “I s’pose you ought to say whatever spiel you came to say. As wonderful as my daughters are, they’re the type to forget certain details that a parent ought to know.”

“Certainly, Mr Evans.” McGonagall nodded. “I’ve come from Hogwarts, a school of witchcraft and wizardry, located up in the Scottish Highlands.”

“Well that explains the accent.” Henrietta sighed, watching as her daughters scanned through the parchment. She waved her hand just a smidge and Petunia offered up the letter that she’d held for her mother to scan. 

“Your youngest daughters are both witches. They have the innate ability to perform magic, as evidenced by their acceptance into Hogwarts. It is a school for young witches and wizards to be trained in the magical arts.” 

It was a practiced speech, one clearly planned precisely and perfectly from years of visits just like these. Her gaze so careful inspected Mr and Mrs Evans, spying how Henrietta paled and Moses let out a shaky laugh. 

“Do you have proof?” Henrietta blurted. “We value a scientific mind in this household. I would be remiss not to ask for evidence of such claims.”

“Certainly.” McGonagall nodded, drawing her wand from her pocket. With a flick of her wrist, the teacup before her shifted into a golden chalice. 

“Fascinating.” Moses murmured, eyes wide as he looked to the matching smiles upon his huddled children. “You’re saying that my daughters can… they can learn to do that?”

“Indeed.”

“But we’re ordinary.” Henrietta frowned. “A little eccentric, sure, but no one in our family has ever done anything like this.”

“It happens on occasion.” McGonagall explained. “Muggle-born witches - that is, those born to non-magical parents - are rare but not unheard of. It is a blessing, and Hogwarts ensures they receive the education that they deserve and require.”

“Is Petunia magic, too?” Lily asked, her head rested against her sister’s arm - blind to how the elder girl stiffened. 

“No, I’m not.” Petunia sighed. “I’m just ordinary, aren’t I?” She looked to McGonagall with a gentle sorrow. 

“No one with a mind as brilliant as yours could ever be truly ordinary.” Hermione scoffed, folding her arms over her chest. “You may not have magic, Petunia, but that doesn’t make you less special than us.”

“Right you are, treasure.” Moses nodded, smiling warmly at his children. “And I, for one, am glad to have one child that won’t be leaving me in the dust for this… magical business.” He waved a dramatic hand, his smile widening as Petunia let out a huff of laughter. 

“I suppose it does make sense.” Henrietta finally acquiesced, finally dropping the letter to the kitchen counter as she offered Lily a wry look. “Roses don’t often bloom in April.” 

“And Hermione always knows… well, she just knows things.” Petunia pointed out, nudging her littlest sister. 

“It is a rare talent for a witch.” McGonagall spoke. “Very rare.”

“I had figured.” Hermione shrugged, a little bashful as she looked to the witch. “But I saw you coming. Though, I thought you’d be wearing green and blue.”

“Those are my robes for the Sorting Ceremony.” The witch smiled knowingly. 

“They suit you well.” Hermione replied, smiling to herself.

*-*-*

In the weeks following the visit of Minerva McGonagall, there was a shift felt inside the Evans home. Magic was real. It was tangible, proven by a real witch with a real witches hat, and no longer kept secret for the sisters. Instead, the family began to prepare for the twins’ departure in the following school year. Their father wrote the local grammar school to inform of their acceptance to an ‘academy’ in Scotland, told the neighbours of how his children had been hand-picked for a school prided on brilliant academics. 

Lily was ecstatic. Her specialness was true and real, her future more than a simple life in Cokeworth. Though she could not discuss the details with her Muggle friends, she still gossiped over her future in the Highlands and school inside a real castle. Even their mother was coming around to the idea - especially when Hermione figure out how to spell the icebox to stay cooler for longer. 

But in these days of excitement, the twins could not help but notice as Petunia retreated into herself. More often than not, she was locked inside her bedroom. Though she would come out for dinner - sporting new embroidery on her cardigans and showing neat watercolours that their mother hung above the fireplace and on kitchen cupboards - there was a gloominess that clung to her. A sorrow that could not be shaken, not by any amount of offers to play or whispers about their planned trip to Diagon Alley. 

And so, as all good sisters did, the twins took it upon themselves to try and salve their sister’s disappointment. With the magic that they wielded and the creativity Petunia had encouraged them to grow, they set themselves up at their desks and began to weave a special gift for their big sister. Simple but beautiful; a present to remind Petunia of how deep their affections went, regardless of their differing abilities. 

But they didn’t have any ribbons. 

Any other time, the pair would have made do without. They would have torn up some old fabric from their mother’s sewing box, pulled ties from old skirts. But that would not do for something as serious as this. 

Luckily for them, Petunia was currently out getting groceries with their mother. They wouldn’t be long, but it would be just enough time to sneak into her bedroom to fetch a couple of her nice satin ribbons and hurry out before she’d get back. 

Unfortunately for Hermione, they did not find their sister’s room as pristine as it always was. Instead, there were half-finished embroideries scattered across her desk and a collection of parchments and papers atop the mess. Lily’s curiosity naturally bested her manners, and soon Hermione was forced to keep guard as her sister shuffled the pile to scan through the pages. She lingered behind her twin, already knowing what the parchment would read. It would be polite but distant - a kind gesture from a man that liked to hand such things out though he would never follow through. 

Still, as she watched Lily scan the page with a growing frown, she missed as a head of blonde peered through the doorframe behind her. 

“Why are you in my room?” Petunia growled. 

Both girls froze, awkwardly turning towards their sister with panicked and guilty eyes. 

“You wrote the headmaster?” Lily frowned. 

“You snoops!” Petunia snapped, snatching the parchment from Lily’s hand. 

“I’m sorry.” Lily’s head tilted downcast - eyes fixed on the carpet. “I was just trying to find some ribbons.” 

“We wanted to make you a forever flower crown.” Hermione chimed in with her gentle voice. “So you could have it, even when we’re gone, and know that we’re missing you just as much as you’re missing us.” 

Petunia sniffed, transfixed by the yellowed parchment. 

“I’m sorry that you can’t come.” Hermione sighed, leaning forwards to rest a hand on her arm. “It isn’t fair, not at all. If I could pack you in my trunk, I’d take you with us in a heartbeat.”

“But when we’re older, we can bring you places with us.” Lily beamed. 

“We can find a way to bring you to all the magical place, Petunia. We’ll bring you back as much magic as we can, every Christmas and every summer.”

“It… hardly matters if I’m not magic.”

“Oh, Petunia.” Hermione frowned. “You’re the most magic of us all. You don’t need witchcraft to bring beauty to the world. You do that with your creativity, with your flowers and your sewing. Just because you can’t do the things that we can, it doesn’t make you any less magical.” 

“It makes you incredible.” Lily nodded. 

“And it makes us lucky that we get to have a big sister like you to keep our ambitions in check.” Hermione nodded. 

“Oh, alright.” Petunia sniffled, resting her head against Hermione’s shoulder. “It’s just… rotten luck.”

“I know.” Hermione sighed. “But it doesn’t change how much we love you.”

“And we hope it doesn’t change how much you love us.” Lily chimed in, gnawing at her lower lip. 

“No. It doesn’t.” Petunia smiled through growing tears. “You promise you’ll include me? No matter what?”

The twins darted a look towards each other. 

“We promise.” They replied. 

Perhaps, in another life, Lily might have felt apart from her family. The words of a lonely boy, the reassurance of her otherness as part of something greater, it could have brought her further away. In that life, when the girl received her letter, she might have spoken unkindly about her sister’s attempt to write the Headmaster of Hogwarts - caught in the bitter ramblings of the only boy to see her worth. 

In that life, Petunia would have retaliated as she knew best. With cutting words and cruel insinuations born of bitterness and hurt. The pair would have splintered apart - the bonds of sisterhood second to the sorrow of very different lives ahead. 

 But this was not that world. Instead, there was always a thread that bound the family together. Though often quiet, often a little in a world of her own, the youngest sister always seemed to know the right thing to bind the others together. 

It was what she was born for, after all. 

Chapter Text

The suitcases had been triple checked by the time they were thrown in the back of Moses Evans old brown car. First by Hermione - the youngest of the family always the most organised when it came to this sort of thing. She spent the evening prior with her twin, loudly informing her of how they could not bring summer clothes when the season was so soon to shift. In the morning, both Petunia and Henrietta Evans scanned the contents with methodical eyes. Several of Hermione’s books were returned to their shelves (though the girl was quick to sneak them back into her trunk after a wink from her father). 

Their journey to London was undertaken as dawn broke through the indigo sky, painting streaks of pink and lavender through the thick clouds. It was a tad of a squeeze to fit them all in the car along with the luggage, but none of the family planned to miss the occasion. Certainly not Petunia, first to slide into the backseat of the car - fingers thrumming a steady pattern on her thigh as she yelled for her sisters to ‘hurry up!’

With a shared flagon of tea, several sandwiches tied in old napkins, and a promise of sweeties for the journey, the family happily undertook the long drive. Never a morning person, Lily was quick to tuck her head onto Petunia’s shoulder and catch some shut eye as Hermione regaled the family with all she knew of this magical school. On her lap sat a copy of her new favourite book, Hogwarts: A History. Many evenings had been spent with the three sisters combing the pages, pointing out each odd detail with little laughs and great giggles. 

By the time they reached the station, Moses Evans was lamenting his sore knees and Henrietta was fretting how close to the train time they had arrived. 

“Barely twenty minutes, Mosey!” She stressed, snapping the boot undone and hurriedly helping Petunia yank the suitcases free. The twins grabbed matching satchels from the boot and tucked them over their shoulders. They held their school robes (as students supposed changed on the train, according to Professor McGonagall), a book and coin purse each, and a surprise of sherbet lemons and toffees (that Henrietta had snuck beneath the folds of fabric). 

“I know, darling.” The man replied to his wife, sharing a brief smile with his youngest children. 

“I told you that we should have left earlier! I ought to have just picked Lily out of her bed and flung her in the car.”

“Mom!” The ginger girl gasped, utterly scandalised by the suggestion. 

“They’ll make the train, don’t worry.” Moses sighed as he collected the cases - one in each hand as his wife locked the car and ushered the family towards Kings Cross. Hermione’s trunk pulled his arm a little lower, though Moses was quick to adjust his grip before his wife could catch wind of how hefty it was. “Besides, I’m certain that if they did miss the train, that McGonagall woman would be more than happy to help us out. She was wonderful about taking the girls school shopping.”

“Yes, well…” Henrietta spluttered, her hands tight on her daughters’ shoulders. “She’ll be busy preparing for the new arrivals, won’t she?” 

“Mom, we’ll make it.” Hermione promised, offering one of her wry smiles. “We just have to make it through to Platform 9 and walk through a wall.”

“A what?” Her mother gasped, forcing the girls through the entrance. 

“A wall.” She simply repeated. “I’m sure we’ll catch some other families arriving at a similar time. See? That lot’s got to be going to Hogwarts, too.”

Hermione pointed towards a family with similarly reddish hair to their own, set with identical twin boys and an older sister. The children (a few years older than themselves) pushed trolleys of luggage as they nattered amongst themselves - their parents watching the discussion with fond amusement. They wore almost ordinary clothing, save for how the fabric seemed too smooth and the stitching too precise. That, and their shoes all curled slightly upwards at the toe. 

“There’s an owl on the girl’s trolley.” Lily gasped, darting a hand to grab Petunia’s. 

“Well, that is how that Professor said mail was carried.” The blonde laughed, squeezing her sister’s palm. “Hogwarts keeps a few olds for those without, according to that book of Hermione’s.” 

Henrietta shot a look towards her husband. 

“Shall we follow?” 

“We shall.” He nodded. 

Their journey took them past the morning bustle, straight to Platform 9 (as Hermione had already informed, and promptly reminded). In their hurried walk, the family spotted several more teenagers with pets in cages and parents with odd clothing yelling for their children to hurry up. As they neared the spot that the families seemed to be congregating upon, they noted how none of those they’d followed seemed present any longer. Instead, the platform was filled with normal folk dressed in normal clothes, all seemingly waiting for the train to Victoria Station. 

It left the Evans family stuck on the platform, all looking utterly out of their element. Well, save for Hermione. She merely grinned up at the rest with that all-knowing look she so often sported. 

“First time?” The family spun to face the witch from before, her family stood behind as she scanned the Evans with a warm smile. She had a pleasant face, aged by smile lines around her eyes and a few deep creases upon her forehead. Her dark hair was braided into an ornate bun, eyes lined with a vivid blue - a few shades lighter than her almost-navy eyes. 

The teens in her company took after the man that stood stoically at her shoulder. All sported that bright shade of ginger hair, bright blue eyes and round faces that all offered shy but kind smiles. 

“Oh, yes!” Henrietta blinked, eyes scanning the witch - a hint of a frown tugging at her lips as she unconsciously smoothed her own orange locks. 

“It’s rather simple, really.” The witch spoke kindly. “You just walk through the wall. Better to do it at a run if you’re nervous.” She looked to the girls with a wink. “My children can demonstrate, if you like?”

“That would be much appreciated.” Moses nodded. 

“Fabian!” She called, looking to one of the twins. “You’re up first.” 

“I’m not Fabian, I’m Gideon.” The boy rolled his eyes. “Honestly, woman, you call yourself our mother?”

“So sorry, Gideon.” The witch sighed. 

“Only joking, Mum.” The wizard grinned, exchanging a wicked grin with his twin. “I am Fabian.” With that, he marched his trolley through the wall and was seen no more. The Evans girls watched on with matching grins of their own, darting looks to each other of utter amusement - none with more glee than Hermione. 

“Those boys will be the death of me.” The witch huffed. “At least my Molly is a sensible witch.” 

Again, the sisters exchanged glances. The eldest child of this magical family - a nearly-adult girl with bright ginger hair fashioned into a braided crown - had the same glint of mischief that her brothers shared. Considering how her lips were coated in a pinkish lipstick and the cut of her shirt, there was likely a boy waiting for her on the train. One that Hermione suspected her parents were not yet aware of. 

“Off you go, Gideon, Molly.” The witch nodded to her children, eyes lingering on her daughter. “Keep those brothers of yours in line, won’t you?” 

“If I must.” Molly rolled her eyes, shoving her brother forwards. Soon, the pair too vanished through the brick wall. 

“Oh!” Henrietta gasped, watching as the wall rippled back to brick. 

“Magic really is a wonder, isn’t it?” Moses smiled, adjusting his grip on the trunks. “Shall we, girls?” 

“We shall.” Hermione beamed, quick to take the first step towards the entrance. With decisive footsteps, she quickly stepped through the brick wall and into whatever lay behind. Petunia followed through next, her hand still clutching Lily’s as the ginger rushed behind her - eyes snapped shut and breathing rapid. Slowly, she peeled her eyelids open until her emerald eyes were wide and unblinking. She scanned each detail of the platform with wonderment and glee. 

“It’s real.” She breathed. 

“Of course it is, Lils.” Petunia laughed, tugging her to join Hermione. As their parents joined the trio - eyes equally filled with awe - Petunia’s gaze remained fixed on Hermione. If she hadn’t looked, she might have missed how different her sister’s expression was from the rest. 

Hermione Evans did not look at the platform as though it were anything new. She did not marvel at the wrought-iron archway where the barrier had been, nor did she gasp like Lily at the scarlet steam-engine that children were hurrying onto. Her brilliant sister, who saw so much and knew far more, looked as though she were coming home to a place she had thought long gone. Her pale eyes shone with familiarity as she turned them to her family, as though burning their smiles into memory. 

It was enough to bring tears to Petunia’s eyes. For, as peculiar as her sister’s reaction was, she still the glue of their family. She was still the girl that would see something brilliant and turn to see if the rest had spied it too. 

With a grunt that hid thick emotion, Moses rushed to the train citing the need to stow their suitcases (though it was likely just to hide his tears). Their mother busied herself with speaking to the kind witch that had helped them, a darted look to the girls as they prepared to say their goodbyes. 

“Promise you’ll write me.” Petunia sniffled, wiping at her eyes with one of her familiar embroidered handkerchiefs. 

“I promise.” Hermione nodded, tearing up as she looked to Petunia with fondness. “And I’ll make sure Lily remembers write you, too.” 

“I’ll remember!” The other twin squawked, her sisters exchanging an amused glance before the trio burst into giggles. 

“I’m going to miss you.” Petunia announced through her tears, looking to her younger sister’s with the softest of eyes. 

“We’ll miss you more.” Hermione wiped at her wet cheeks, pulling her satchel higher up her shoulder. “It… it’s going to feel very strange to not eat breakfast with you.”

In her own odd little way, Hermione’s words were always what a person needed to hear. She did not offer goodbyes, not ever. But she did offer promises of remembrance. A known vow to think of her big sister every morning as she buttered her toast. 

The twins exchanged hugs with their parents once Moses had returned from stowing their suitcases. Tearful goodbyes that were cut short by the warning whistle of the train. 

“We’ll miss you!” Lily called out the train window once the girls were aboard. “And we’ll write as soon as we can.”

“You’d better, missy.” Henrietta warned, though her sniffles weakened the threat. 

“We love you!” Moses smiled, ears teary but bright as he waved a callused hand - the other resting on Petunia’s shoulder as she sobbed.

The train began to move with a shudder. Still, the twins stood for as long as they could by the window as they waved at their family. Despite her usual primness, Petunia began to run alongside the train until it was too fast to follow - half-laughing, half-crying as she blew a kiss to her sisters and paused by the end of the platform. 

For a gentle moment, the twins watched as houses flashed past the window. 

“I think I’ll search for a compartment.” Hermione spoke after a minute. “Would you like to watch the view a little longer?”

“I think so.” Lily nodded as her sister unwound their arms and untucked their heads. “Do you… Petunia will be alright, won’t she?” 

“She will.” Hermione spoke with certainty. “She’s the toughest of us, after all.” 

With that declaration, Hermione spun to stalk the corridor. She darted a look into each compartment, shaking her head at each one before she moved onto the next. And Lily, eyes still misty and worries still present, let her head turn back to the window as she watched houses turn to fields. 

She would miss Cokeworth. She would miss the neighbours that gossiped with her over the garden fence, the flower shop her mother worked in, all the day-to-day brilliance of their lovely town. However dour it may look - coated by thick smog, dark rivers and dust from the mines - it was the only place she’d ever known as home. And though she’d never admit it to her, Lily thought she’d miss Petunia most of all. 

What would she do in the evening if not sit and watch Petunia sew? How would she know if she was being facetious or naive if Petunia was not there to tell her so?

“Lily!” A familiar voice boomed behind her, jolting her spine as the ginger girl spun slowly. 

“Hello, Sev.” Lily smiled rather awkwardly, eyes darting the corridor in the hopes of spying Hermione. 

“I haven’t seen you in a while.” He frowned, his discontent quickly smoothed over as his eyes sparkled brightly. Severus wore his usual dark trousers and greyed jumper - both worn but clean. “But I was right, wasn’t I! Magic is real and you’re really a witch.”

“I know.” She nodded politely, fingers fumbling with the end of her braid. “Hermione is too.” 

He blinked. 

“Really?”

“Uh-huh.” Lily nodded. “And… I didn’t like how you spoke to her.” 

“I didn’t speak to her.” Severus spoke slowly, almost as though testing the words as a frown pulled at his brow. 

“Exactly. You just ignored her.” 

“Well, I didn’t know she was magic!” He exclaimed with a nasty huff. 

“You didn’t bother to get to know her.” Lily amended. “If you had, you would have realised that she’s the most magical of the pair of us.” 

“It’s not my fault that she’s a bloody mute.” He folded his arms over his chest. “She didn’t speak to me either.”

“No, Sev.” Lily sighed. “You just… you dismissed her before she could.” 

Severus Snape blinked at her words, a furrow forming between his brow. And though Lily wished that they could be friends, there was too much evidence against that notion. He was not deliberately calloused (like Petunia grumbled), nor was he simply oblivious (as Lily had hoped). 

It seemed Hermione was right. He was just… coated by a bitter shroud. One she did not want to cling to her, too. 

“Lily!” The ginger girl’s head snapped, spying her sister peering from a compartment a little down the train. Her face was bright - those pale eyes lively and utterly fixed upon her. “I found us somewhere to sit! You have to meet these oafs.” She grinned. “They’re the most ridiculous lot I’ve ever seen.” 

“Goodbye, Severus.” Lily turned to the boy she had almost befriended. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.” 

With that, she turned her back on the boy she barely knew, traipsing down the corridor until she reached her sister. Hermione was leant against the frame of a compartment, eyes glowing with amusement as they fixed on the three boys that sat inside. The trio were a perfect mix of features: one with black hair, one with brown, and one with blond. 

The boy with black hair had it slicked back with gel. Cut close around his ears, a little longer on top and messed slightly as his curls fought the hold. He was the palest of the boys, with skin free of any freckles or moles. A sharp nose and full cheeks completed the oddly aristocratic look of this child, as did the black shirt and trousers that he wore. They were clean, clearly new, and made of a shiny sort-of fabric. And for as regal as he seemed, the smirk upon his thin lips suggested a certain level of impishness that the nobility liked to pretend wasn’t rampant in their ranks. It was obvious in how he was sprayed across the bench, foot propped on the bottom of the window. 

Sat beside him was a boy that could only be described as his complete opposite. Despite his lanky height, he’d tucked himself as close to the corner as he possibly could - pale green eyes darting between the compartment and corridor. His tanned skin was littered by freckles and little scars that were long-healed but still faintly present. Long blond waves curled around his ears, almost a curtain around his thin face. Unlike the boy next to him, he donned an old-looking jumper and jeans - thumbs sticking out of worn holes at the edges of the sleeves. He wore his nerves like a familiar coat, with tight muscles and a tighter smile. 

For as fretful as the blond boy seemed and as arrogant as the black-haired boy presented, the boy opposite matched in equality. Though he sat widely, his shoulders were tense and eyes a little fearful. They were a wonderful shade, almost akin to a blackthorn tree - more maroon than brown behind his squarish glasses. Despite the sleek straightness of his dark brown hair, it was messed terribly. Probably from how he kept running his hand through the locks, sometimes wincing at he caught at tangled strands. His shirt was crumpled but clearly expensive, patterned with a reddish paisley. His dark skin was clear of blemishes, save for a couple moles by the corner of his lip that tugged with his anxious smiles. 

All in all, it was a clear meeting of three boys from very different lives. Delightfully awkward for them all, though the black-haired boy was doing a fairly decent job at masking his discomfort. 

“Ah! Another ginger to add to the mix, eh?” The black-haired boy winked at Lily, grinning as she flushed scarlet. 

“So you won’t mind then, if we crash your compartment?” Hermione asked with a roll of her eyes, leant against the entrance. “You’re the first lot of first years I’ve found that aren’t insufferable.”

“Not yet, anyways.” Lily muttered, grinning as her twin shot her a reproachful glance. 

“So are we alright to join?” Hermione waggled her brows at her sister. It was a gesture Lily had never seen her do, yet after five minutes watching these boys she’d adopted the mischief they radiated. It was oddly spooky. 

There was a hefty pause as the three boys stared at the twins. 

“Yes!” The bespectacled boy suddenly blurted - his voice an odd mix of Kentish propriety and something unfamiliar, foreign, and utterly musical. “I’m James!” 

“Hello, James.” Hermione smiled wryly, nodding his way. “This is my sister, Lily.”

“And this is my sister, Hermione.” Lily chimed in, linking an arm around Hermione’s. 

“I’m Sirius.” The black-haired boy grinned.

“And I’m Remus.” The final boy nodded, offering a shy smile. He had a familiar welsh drawl - a pleasant and melodic softness to each syllable.

“You can sit next to me.” James exclaimed, patting the bench beside him as he shuffled closer to the wall. 

“Much obliged.” Hermione laughed, pulling her sister to sit next to the window as she propped herself in the middle of the mess. “We got to the station rather late, this morning.”

“Long journey from Cokeworth.” Lily explained. 

“I came up from Wrexham.” Remus spoke softly, offering a Lily a little smile. “Dad’s got a dairy by the border.” 

“Oh, wow!” Lily beamed. “Are you Muggleborn, too?”

“Half-blood.” He shook his head. “But my Mam inherited the farm from her parents, so Dad keeps it running. Mum made us drive up so she could see me off, too.” 

“Sounds wonderful.” Hermione replied politely. “Our Mom works in a florists on Saturdays. Dad’s a plumber.” 

“You’re up near some mines, aren’t you?” Remus asked. 

“Uh-huh.” Hermione nodded. “Though, Dad’s never worked up there. Says there’s too much soot for his liking.” 

“Mrs Waller next door works up at the laundry.” Lily chimed in. “She’s always complaining over how the water turns black after she washes workwear.” 

“How riveting.” Sirius deadpanned from opposite. 

“Just because you don’t know what we’re discussing, doesn’t mean you need to be flippant.” Hermione rolled her eyes at him, her lip twitching at the boy froze - clearly caught off guard by how well she’d read him.

“Spoken like a Gryffindor.” James grinned at her, prompting Hermione’s nose to scrunch. “What house do you think you’ll end up in, then?” He asked, running a hand through his messed hair. 

“Not sure.” Lily shrugged, her twin shooting her a grateful glance at the interception. “Hermione’s practically memorised that book on Hogwarts, so I’m certain she’s got an idea. Likely Ravenclaw with all her smarts, seems a decent place.” 

The group all looked to the girl in the middle, Hermione’s cheeks flushing slightly as she pulled at the end of her braid. 

“Ah, Lily.” She spoke dryly. “Haven’t you noticed? We’re sat amongst Gryffindors, such a notion is blasphemy to them.”

“Right you are!” James grinned, sitting a little taller as he smiled at her. “My dad was in Gryffindor, ‘where dwell the brave at heart!’, though my mum was a Slytherin.”

“My whole family’s been in Slytherin.” Sirius lamented, flopping deeper onto the seat. “I think I’d leave if I ended up there, though. Who wants to spend seven years in a dungeon?”

“Well I think that Ravenclaw seems alright.” Lily replied, folding her arms over her chest. 

“You would, wouldn’t you?” Sirius laughed. 

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” She frowned in reply. 

“He’s hiding his lamentation over not knowing what book you’re referring to.” Hermione grinned at her sister, before turning to Sirius with a wicked smile. “It’s called Hogwarts: A History, by the way.”

“Sounds dull.”

“Oh, I don’t know. The chapter on secret passages was quite brilliant.” 

“Secret passages?” He blinked, perking up. “Where? How many?” 

“You’ll have to read and find out.”

“Blimey! Maybe you’re a Slytherin, then.” He huffed. 

“I’d sooner chop off my toes and wear rags than spend time in a snake den.” Hermione replied in her usual matter-of-fact way. It brought a laugh to the compartment - the humour quickly interrupted by a scoff of derision from the corridor. There, stood as though he’d been listening in for quite a while, was Severus Snape. He was looking to Hermione with a seething scowl, as though truly vexed by her words. 

“Got a problem with that, mate?” James asked the boy with narrowed eyes - gaze flittering between Severus and the twins. 

“No.” Severus replied, though his mild sneer suggested otherwise. “If you’d all rather be brawny than brainy-”

“Where’re you hoping to go, seeing as you’re neither?” Sirius bit out, glaring at the newcomer. 

“Goodbye, Severus.” Hermione sighed deeply, waving a dismissive hand. “I hope Hogwarts is everything you’ve dreamed of it being.” 

With a splutter, Severus took the opportunity for a hasty exit - swishing from the doorway with a dramatic flair to rival even that of a Shakespearean actor. 

“Blimey, Hermione.” Lily laughed awkwardly. “You really took Mom’s ‘kill ‘em with kindness’ lecture to heart.”

“It isn’t his fault that he’s so…” she trailed off, frowning to herself as she tried to find the right word. 

“Irritating?” James offered. 

“Obnoxious?” Sirius supplied. 

“Downright moody.” Remus quietly huffed from his seat beside them, prompting a little giggle from the ginger girls. 

Their conversation teetered off after that. The twins pulled out a book from Hermione’s satchel, laying it between them as they quietly reread one of their favourite tales. Naturally, Sirius and James kept their lively banter going - gaining a few chuckles from both the ginger girls and the shy boy that sat opposite them. 

By the time that the train pulled into Hogsmeade Station, the girls had hurried off to get changed and the boys were discussing the latest Quidditch match for the English Cup. As neither had really heard of the sport before - their only knowledge being footnotes in the books they’d scoured over summer - they bid the boys goodbye and made their way to the yelling Groundskeeper on their own. 

“Firs’ years! Firs’ years over here!” Called the largest man they’d ever seen. He had truly mad hair - frizzy and sticking out from his head like a wild halo - and a scruffy brown beard that was caught by his robes at the bottom. Despite his fur coat that was more burns and scratches than fabric, he wore a beaming smile and bright glee. 

“His name is Hagrid.” Hermione whispered to her sister, linking their arms as they descended down the platform. 

“Is that so?” Lily raised a brow. “How’d you know that?”

“I just do.” Hermione shrugged, dragging her sister along toward him - ignoring how Lily laughed at yet another of her ‘knowing things’. 

“Lovely to meet ya, firs’ years!” Hagrid beamed down at the assembling children. “C’mon, follow me!” 

The hoard of eleven year olds followed the large man down a long and winding path, their journey lit only by a lantern and the flickers of moonlight that passed through the tall trees. Whispers of excitement sparked through the children, compounded by Hagrid’s occasional comments on ‘almos’ there’, and ‘you’ll see o’ Hogwarts in a sec’. But the loudest whispers came as the group finally stepped past the trees and found themselves at the edge of a great and dark lake. 

Then, did they spy the true visage of Hogwarts Castle. 

It was truly something out of a fairytale. Built of pale and brown stone that carried across an entire mountaintop, its windows sparkled with reflections of the starry sky. There were easily a dozen turrets and towers of old copper - vast and marvellous in its might. None of the descriptions had truly captured just how spectacular the sight really was. And yet, as Lily glanced to try and share her excitement with her sister, she saw only sorrow in her eyes. 

With a squeeze of Hermione’s arm, the girl snapped from her melancholy to offer a cheeky smile. She let herself be pulled towards the boats as the twins clambered beside two girls with snooty sneers and pug-like noses. 

“I’m Lily.” She stuck her hand towards the two, frowning as the pair refused to lift a hand in greeting. Instead, they merely exchanged a rather mean look before they turned to look out onto the lake. Huffing, Lily let her sister pull her to sit - hands interlocked as the fleet of boats began to move forwards. 

Once they arrived at the castle, they were led up a long flight of stone steps and ushered to crowd by a ginormous oak door. With a knock from the groundskeeper’s thick fist, the door swung open at once. Inside stood a familiar dark-haired witch. 

“Thank you, Hagrid.” McGonagall nodded to the man. “I shall take it from here.” 

She pushed the door wide, motioning for the crowd of children to step into entrance hall. 

“You could fit our whole primary school in here.” Lily muttered, gasping at the flaming torches that lined the tall walls. 

“Wait until you see the Great Hall.” Hermione fondly chuckled in reply. 

The group were stilled by another set of large wooden doors. Behind, they could hear the drone of hundred of voices - other students all sat awaiting the show for the night. They did not cross through, not yet. Not when McGonagall called out to the group - voice echoing off the walls with a heavy reverberation. 

“Welcome to Hogwarts.” McGonagall smiled down at them. The gesture was a little stiff, but by no means unkind. “The start of term banquet will commence shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. For your time within Hogwarts, these houses will be your family. You will sleep in your house dormitory, take classes with your housemates, and have a common room to spend free time within.” 

As she droned on explaining the differing traits of each house, how the rules worked and what merits there were to win each year at the school, Lily took the time to scan the surrounding crowd. 

These people would be her company for the next six years. They would eat together, sleep side-by-side, work with each other on class projects, and everything that came with living in the school you attended. And as she looked to these people, she could not see many that looked like her. Few wore ordinary (read ‘Muggle’) clothing beneath their school robes. Many looked to her and Hermione with barely concealed interest - scanning their greyish cardigans beneath the plain black robes. A few even sneered their way before turning to ignore them entirely. 

“We’re still the odd ones out, aren’t we?” Lily huffed, turning to her sister with sorrowful eyes. 

“Maybe.” Hermione shrugged. “But give them some time. And try to get yourself into Gryffindor, won’t you?” 

“Alright.” Lily hummed in amusement. “You’ll be joining me, won’t you? Keep up the good old tradition of sharing a room?”

“You’ll do alright without me, Lily.” Hermione smiled sadly. “You won’t need me to make this place a home.” 

“I still want you there.” 

“I know.” She sighed, muttering her final words under her breath as though hoping Lily would not hear them. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I’m a Gryffindor anymore.” 

Before she could question those quietly uttered words, Professor McGonagall had begun to lead the crowd through the large doors and into the Great Hall. Soon, her attention was lost to the wonder of such a truly magical place. 

The Great Hall was lit by thousands upon thousands of candles that floated in the air - too tall for anyone to touch. They brought a warm glow to the four long tables that the rest of the students were sat at: one blue, one green, one yellow, and one red. At the end of the hall was another long table, placed perpendicular to the rest. There, did the faculty of Hogwarts congregate.

But none of those features mattered much once Lily’s sister pulled her eyes to the ceiling. It was bewitched to look like the sky outside, as Hogwarts: A History had informed them. But the matter-of-fact description could not truly capture the utter brilliance of the velvety blackness above, dotted with stars and wisps of clouds. 

It was hard to believe that there was a ceiling there at all, and that the hall didn’t reveal the true sky above. 

And beneath that magic, placed on a four-legged stool at the front of the Great Hall, sat a patched and frayed hat. It was still for a moment. Then, with a twitch, a rip formed near the brim - wide as a mouth - and the hat began to sing. 

‘Oh, gather ‘round and lend an ear, 

By train, by boat, you’ve come to me,

For the time of sorting now is here, 

To Ravenclaw go the wise and keen,

Those of bookish smart and intellect,

Where learning reigns for that which is seen, 

Perhaps you’ll find your heart as bold, 

In Gryffindor where courage calls, 

And your daring deed become tales retold, 

Or perhaps you’re sharp, with cunning mind, 

And power is the prize you claim, 

Find Slytherin has droves in kind,

But don’t forget the steadfast few, 

For those whose loyalty and patience shine, 

Hufflepuff will be the place for you, 

So place me here upon your head, 

For Hogwarts calls, your journey starts, 

And I will see where you’ll be led.’

The whole hall erupted in applause and laughter, save for the utterly flabbergasted first years that crowded the singing hat. 

“Blimey.” Lily murmured, turning to Hermione. “I didn’t think it’d actually sing.”

“It’s a yearly tradition.” Hermione smiled at her. “I suppose it likes to flaunt in the short window it gets around students, before it’s shoved back in Dumbledore’s office.”

“Professor Dumbledore.” Lily chastised her sister, groaning as Hermione merely grinned in reply. For as serious and polite as Hermione was, she’d never taken well to authority. Another of her odd quirks, the Evans family had always supposed. 

With a nudge, Hermione redirected Lily’s attention to Professor McGonagall - the witch now unfurling a long roll of parchment.

“When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted,” she explained. “Abbot, Amelia!” 

A blushing girl from near the front stumbled from the group, half-dragging herself towards the front. The hat was placed upon her head - falling right below her eyes, as she sat upon the stool. It only took a moment before the hat called ‘Hufflepuff!’, and the girl was rushing to join the table of yellow as they whooped and cheered. 

By the third name, as hush fell upon the hall. It was Sirius from the train - his surname prompting chatter from the Slytherins as several members nudged each other. But as the hat called ‘Gryffindor!’, their smiles fell to horror and the cheers did not sound. Though the Gryffindors were quick to force a cheer, none were blind to how his sorting brought a great unease throughout the room. Especially Sirius, whose head was hung though a smile was clear upon his pale face. 

She couldn’t decide whether it was lucky or not to have her surname so close to the start of the alphabet. When McGonagall called out ‘Evans, Lily!’, she decided that it was probably best to get it over with instead of standing around waiting. 

With a comforting squeeze from Hermione, she lifted her chin and strode towards the stool. The hat was placed upon her head, and soon the world went dark. 

‘Oh, there’s but one choice for you,’ a small voice whispered in her ear, ‘better be Gryffindor!’

Grinning, Lily jumped from the seat and ran to the cheering red table. Her robes began to bleed with colour - a red border along the collar and sleeves. Eyes flitting to Hermione, Lily spied only a radiant joy upon her sister’s face. Bright and merry as she applauded. 

She sat beside the three Gryffindor to have been sorted so far, offering a warm smile that was met by a blessing grin from Sirius, and kind nods from the two girls she would be rooming with. 

“Evans, Marigold!” McGonagall called, offering Hermione an apologetic look at having to use her first name. 

Lily sat with bated breath, watching with fear and fretting as her sister sat upon the stool and placed the hat upon her head. 

Please be with me, she thought, with hope her desperation might be heard by either her twin or the old hat atop her head, please stay with me. 

But the hat did not hear her worry. And her sister, as close as they were, could not read her mind. When the hat spoke a house, it did not speak the same as her own. Instead, almost with mocking, it claimed Hermione as a ‘Hufflepuff’ and soon her sister was rushing to the yellow table as her robes began to shift to match. 

Sirius offered her a commiserating glance, applauding with the rest of the school as Hermione sat beside the two others of her year group; a pair of cousins from the Abbott family, Sirius informed her in a whisper. 

As the sorting finished - with six others joining her new house - Lily’s eyes remained fixed on her plate. She did not greet the rest of the boys from the train, nor did she introduce herself to the girls that would be sharing her room. There would be time for it later, when she wasn’t panicking at seeing her sister don robes unlike her own. 

But eventually, as the Headmaster finished his opening remarks and food appeared before them, she was forced to draw her attention to the others as she piled potatoes and beef stew upon her plate. 

“Never would have thought your sister would be right.” Sirius told her, his face gaunt as he looked between the Gryffindor and Slytherin tables. 

“Hermione has a habit of it.” Lily shrugged in reply. 

“I would’ve thought your sister would be here with you.” James frowned, his eyes darting the the Hufflepuff table. 

“Me too.” Lily admitted, craning her neck to spy her twin. “But Hermione’s always had a terribly strong sense of justice. I’m sure she told the hat that she wanted to be wherever I was, and it put her there since’s she’s so loyal.” 

“Patient too, considering how she put up with Sirius’s nattering on the train.” James nodded sagely. 

Lily giggled at his words, eyes fixed upon her sister until she saw the girl’s head darting to face her - a soft nod shot her way before she turned back to the other’s sat around her. It was barely a glance, really. Enough to sate her concern, but not enough to soothe her worries. 

“She’ll… she’ll be alright, won’t she?” A frown tugged the ginger’s lips. “We’ve never been this far apart before.” 

“I’m sure your sister is just as stubborn as you.” James smiled.

“Hufflepuff won’t know that hit them.” Sirius grinned.

And though she did not know how well she’d cope with being apart, Lily knew that much was true. In fact, no one was ready for the whirlwind of Hermione Evans. 

Lily just hoped her sister would be alright without her. She wasn’t sure she would be, after all. 

——————*——————

For your records (and so when these names pop up later, you can flick back here to double check the houses), the sorting goes as follows:

Gryffindor (10) - 

- Sirius Black

+ Alice Brown

+ Taylor Burgess

+ Lily Evans

- Remus Lupin

+ Emma Macmillian

+ Marlene McKinnon

+ Paris McLaggen

- Peter Pettigrew

- James Potter

Slytherin (9) - 

- Hercules Avery

+ Rosemary Avery

+ Sasha Bulstrode

+ Ava Clearwater

- Antonin Dolohov

+ Yasmin Gibbon

- Gregor Mulciber

- Aykut Shafik

- Severus Snape

Ravenclaw (8) -

- Barty Crouch Jr

- Caradoc Dearborn

- Marcus Edgecombe

- Xenophillius Lovegood

+ Polly Patel

+ Jodie Prichard

+ Pandora Rosier

- Aiden Turner

Hufflepuff (8) -

+ Amelia Abbot

- Dennis Abbot

+ Amelia Bones

+ Hermione Evans

- Augustus Rookwood

+ Mary McDonald

- Kingsley Shacklebolt

- Wilbur Turner

(Male students are indicated with a ‘-‘, and female students by a ‘+’)

Chapter Text

“Petunia’s apparently having a terrible time without us.” Hermione Evans announced without preamble, flopping onto the bench beside her twin - head rested upon her shoulder. She ignored the few gasps that sounded around the table, Gryffindors a little surprised to see a student from a different house sitting to eat their breakfast. 

For the first week at this new school, Lily’s twin had not dared to join the raucous Gryffindors at mealtimes. She’d offered smiles across the Hall, but had not stepped closer to the table than to nod for her sister to join whatever adventure she had planned for the day. 

It had been difficult for Lily to accept that her sister would no longer be sharing her room, that she would no longer wake to Hermione’s morning routine of turning on the radio and coaxing her from deep slumber. But she had lovely girls in her dorms - mainly Purebloods, a few Half-bloods scattered too - and the girls were kind enough to rouse her and drag her to breakfast as Lily yawned through her sleepiness. 

Still, she would be lying if she said she wasn’t disappointed in Hermione for ending up in a different house. At least her sister had explained it on the first morning inside the castle. Apparently, she had really begged the hat to let her stay by her sister’s side. It was rotten luck that the grouchy rags had decided such a gesture marked her loyalty above her bravery, and had sent her to the house of yellow. 

The Hufflepuffs were rather lovely, though. Evenly split between male and female students, the lot had taken Hermione in with grins and brightness. She was not alone in her Muggle upbringing, sharing a dorm with another Muggleborn girl - another Muggleborn boy in the rooms on the opposite staircase. 

Mary McDonald - a kind girl with thick course curls that rivalled Hermione’s, and kind dark eyes to match - seemed thrilled to get to know Lily. She called her an ‘honorary housemate’, citing their shared knowledge of the Beatles and Dad’s Army as enough to make them friends. Though Wilbur Turner (a boy that much preferred the show Porridge, and the band Herman’s Hermits) was quiet at first, he’d soon warmed up to her as she’d spoken of their dad’s job as a plumber. Apparently, his uncle worked the same trade, just further south in the New Forrest. He sported unruly brown hair and bright grey eyes, and liked to leave a space for her at dinnertime so the twins could gossip about their differing days and differing classes. 

And the Gryffindor girls seemed taken with Hermione, too. Marlene McKinnon, a blonde girl with an almost regal quality to her beauty, had been fascinated by Hermione’s dry wit. One time, when Hermione had invited Lily’s dorm mates to join them in the kitchens, she’d snorted pumpkin juice from her nose as Hermione recounted her first History of Magic Lesson with their ghostly professor. Alice Brown, whose name was rather apt with her pale brown hair and eyes, had similarly found comfort in Hermione’s warm compliments and sarcastic quips. Given her shy nature, she seemed keen on Hermione’s quiet humour - likely enjoying how neither Evans twin pressed her for comment or forced her to speak when she could not find the words. 

All in all, the pair of twins were finding their place in this large school. And if it happened to be that their lives (despite their different houses) were with each other, well no one minded having the extra company. 

“Is that so?” Lily raised a brow, quick to pour a cup of tea and pass it her way. 

“Rotten Rudy, from up the estate, has been saying that she’s the dumb one since she didn’t get into the smart school with us.” Hermione huffed, accepting the cracked teacup with a tired grin. “I’ve already written her back, telling her that he’s a moron, but if you could send her something too?”

“I’m trying to press some of the local flowers for her.” Lily nodded thoughtfully. “But I’ll send her a letter after Potions.” 

“That’s good.” Hermione replied through a yawn. “I think we ought to see if one of the older girls can help us charm some ribbons for her. Apparently Rudy ripped one of her favourites, the nice checkered one.”

“Rotten boy.” Lily spat, frowning as she grabbed a scone and placed it on her sister’s plate. “I bet we could make her some new ones, in as many colours as she’d like.” 

“I’ll ask Professor McGonagall after Transfiguration.” Hermione smiled, snatching up the marmalade to scoop a spoonful beside her scone. 

With a clatter of a hearty schoolbag on the floor, Peter Pettigrew slumped onto the bench opposite. Bleary eyed, he grasped the first piece of food he spied - gnawing on a rasher of bacon. 

She’d met Peter after the Welcoming Feast - the boy quietly watching the table for the duration of the meal. It was only after they’d arrived in their Common Room (and James Potter had introduced them all to the quiet boy) that she’d gotten to meet him. He was short, a little stocky, but very friendly. More shy than anything else, really. He had wiry blond hair cut neatly, and beady blue eyes that held his nerves as he watched those around him. 

Truth be told, Lily Evans had been a little worried for the last Gryffindor sorted in their cohort. Shyness did not seem a trait the rest of their housemates shared, but with his rowdy dorm mates he seemed to be slowly opening up to them all. Not enough to risk befriending anyone in a different house (or to ask personal questions of any Gryffindors), but enough that he would politely ask about people’s days and if they’d done the latest homework assignment. 

Plus, he seemed to loathe their early waking even more than she did - making Lily seem practically a morning person when compared to his rumpled yawns and grumbles. 

“Oh, hello.” Lily greeted, sharing an amused glance with her sister. 

“Oh, hiya Evans.” The boy nodded, glancing up briefly before his gaze returned to the plates of grub. Then, almost comically, his eyes snapped back upwards as he caught sight of Hermione. 

“What’s the Puff doing here?” Peter frowned to himself, retreating to hunch as he kept watch over the newcomer. 

“That’s Lily’s sister, you oaf.” Sirius clapped him across the back of his head as he sat beside him. “She’s usually here for breakfast, you just tend to stumble in once she’s headed to run errands.” 

“Hello, Peter.” Hermione nodded at the boy, smiling kindly (if a little stiffly). 

“How do you know my name?” His eyes widened as she shrugged in reply, waving a hand dismissively. 

“I know many things.”

“Hermione’s sort of psychic.” Lily grinned, leaning in to whisper the words conspiratorially as her sister scowled at the phrase. 

“Like a Seer?” Sirius chimed in, eyes sparkling as he glanced at the Hufflepuff. 

She merely rolled her eyes at the term. Though Lily was aware of her sister’s distaste for Divination (likely stemming from several ill-fated meetings with fairground psychics and fortune tellers), she knew the girl could not deny her talents as mere luck. No one was that lucky. And even though Hermione was the smartest person she knew, she could not know all she did through mere approximation. 

“Lily’s convinced so.” She laughed, wrinkling her nose with distaste. “Though, I hardly think I am.” 

“You knew that Severus would be bad news.” Lily pointed out, a small smile curling her lips upwards. 

“That awful Slytherin?” A voice chimed in. 

The group glanced up as James Potter flopped onto the bench beside Hermione - eyes sparkling with interest. He offered the Hufflepuff girl a brilliant smile, nodding in greeting as he set about picking at the cooked display before them. 

“He lives near us, but he was always rotten to Hermione.” Lily nodded. “She said I ought to stay away and, well… look at him now.” She grimaced. 

“Any other things you simply know, oh wise Seer?” Sirius asked with a waggle of his thick brows. 

Hermione’s eyes fixed upon him - those pale, watery irises. For a moment, Sirius looked rather startled by it, though he was quick to mask his trepidation with that familiar cocky grin.

“You have a brother.” 

Sirius stiffened. 

“Any old idiot could have told you that.” He scoffed, folding his arms over his chest - though his gaze was weary as he looked her over. 

“He has a scar, by his eyebrow.” Hermione shrugged, fetching another scone from the plate between her and her twin. 

“No, he doesn’t.” 

“Doesn’t he?” She raised a brow, almost confused at his dismissal. “It’s just below it, right next to his eye.” 

“I promise you, other Evans,” Sirius rolled his eyes, “he doesn’t have any scars.”

“Huh.” She frowned a little, before shrugging off Sirius’s words. “Not yet, I suppose.” 

“Hermione does tend to be right about this sort of thing.” Lily preened. “I’d keep an eye out, if I were you.” 

“Whatever.” Sirius scoffed, dismissing the claim with a roll of his eyes. 

Hermione sighed as though he were some foolish child, turning to her sister with a shake of her head. She was finished with this topic, it seemed. Lily could hardly blame her - twin pride or not, Hermione never appreciated when Lily informed people of her talents.

“Lils, will you come with me to the Hospital Wing? I need to drop off some chocolate.”

“Sure.” Lily shrugged, pulling her satchel over her shoulder before downing the last of her tea. “We can pop by my dorms after, yeah?”

“I have envelopes in my bag.” Hermione smiled, stepping from the bench to offer her sister her hand. Lily accepted it with a broad smile, letting herself be pulled from the Hall - neither noticing the eyes that followed them. 

But the three Gryffindor boys that had just arrived at breakfast kept their focus on these sisters. They exchanged amused glances - more worried, in Sirius’s case - before shrugging off the prediction with a joke and a hearty laugh. It would not do to dwell on such silliness, after all. When Remus arrived to join them (a bar of chocolate clutched in his hand), they did not even mention it. 

But they were reminded of Hermione Evans words as the four Gryffindor boys descended from the Hogwarts Express for Yule break. Though they’d not spent much time with the witch - the twins seeming content in each other’s company whenever Hermione joined the table at mealtimes - her predictions were something whispered about amongst the first years. 

For starters, she’d somehow known the exact colour of Dumbledore’s socks on no more than seven separate occasions. Naturally, Sirius had claimed she must have seen him earlier in the day and tricked them with her ‘creepy pale eyes’. He continued his incredulity as she ‘guessed’ who would win the next Quidditch match three times correctly, and somehow knew that their Herbology professor was dating the Divination professor before even the seventh years started speculating. 

Only Remus took her predictions with the same seriousness she held while spouting them. Though, that was likely due to how she’d know he would miss certain days of school before the boy even caught ill. He had a weak constitution, apparently. One that meant he tended to end up in the hospital wing once a month. After the first month (in which he’d tried to avoid her, still watching her with terror), the boy had calmed about her ‘knowing things’. Though, that was likely due to the chocolate bars she’d slip him on the day before he took ill. 

He did seem to love chocolate, after all. 

Unfortunately for Sirius’s scepticism, as they caught sight of his family on the platform the boy could deny her talents no longer. 

The Blacks were sequestered as far from the Muggleborn’s relatives - sneers plastered upon snooty faces as they glanced through their noses at those surrounding them. His mother, a woman who looked as though her face had been stuck in a scowl by some strong gust of wind, wore heavy dark robes and heavy dark makeup. His father, who looked uncomfortably like he’d rather be anywhere else, had his hair styled with slick gel and a thick moustache over his thin upper lip. 

They, despite sharing many of Sirius’s features, did not hold his beauty. Ugliness grew with each dour thought and cruel intention. And, quite frankly, it was clear on their faces just how rotten their thoughts really were. 

That is, save for Sirius’s younger brother. Though his posture was proper and tight, he wore a weary expression upon the face that nearly matched his brother’s. The same aristocratic quality to their features, same sharp nose and pale skin. Though he tore dark and heavy robes, he glowed with the same brightness of his brother. Twin stars amongst the inky abyss of a cruel, dark sky. 

And across the platform, the four Gryffindor boys could spy that Regulus Black had a scar, parallel to his brow - pulled to the side of his eye. It wasn’t obvious at first, but as the boy scratched at his eye, none were blind to the curious little mark. New to his brother, but healed enough to suggest he’d had it for quite a while. As he caught sight of Sirius, it crinkled with his smile. 

“I thought you said he didn’t have a scar?” James frowned, nudging his friend and waggling his brows.

“He… he didn’t last I saw him.” Sirius blinked, eyes darting the crowd before resting on the oblivious Evans. They were wide and distrusting, but utterly resigned as he looked back to his friends. “That girl really is a Seer.” 

“So?” Peter frowned - his gaze a little wary as it lingered on Hermione Evans as she wrapped her arms around a girl a few years older than them. Petunia, likely, considering how the blonde wept and clutched her close. The three sisters seemed very close, if Lily’s nattering was true. That, and the amount of times the two girls mentioned writing her letters - or how they’d join each other at breakfasts to compare the bulletins of separate notes send to them simultaneously. Checking if the details aligned for both, whether it seemed that their sister was keeping details from either. 

She never seemed to be. If anything, the three seemed unbearably close. Ridiculously in tune, even with the distance between them. 

“I’ve never heard of a Muggleborn Seer.” Sirius spoke with a frown. “I… I didn’t think it was possible.”

“Well, it’s just magic, isn’t it?” 

“Family magic, usually.” James explained. “It’s a bit odd to just crop up.”

“Must be a squib in their line or something.” Sirius shrugged. “Don’t tell Lily, though. She’d likely find that an insult.” 

Remus snorted at that statement, nodding along with Sirius. He was the one that saw the Muggleborn Gryffindor the most, as both liked to study in the library before dinnertime. Hermione apparently liked to frequent these study sessions, handing out personalised study guides to whoever tagged along. She would listen to people lament their struggles one day, arriving the next evening with research lists of helpful books. Whenever Remus missed classes, she’d duplicate hers or Lily’s notes and compile them for him to sort through on the weekend. 

Though, she seemed to loathe any gratitude that was passed her way. The Hufflepuff would shrug off praise or thanks, citing her actions as ‘not worth such acclaim’. It was entirely opposite to her sister, who seemed to bask in whatever praise she received for helping with homework or fixing potions mid-class when someone had messed up a step. 

But it seemed the most key feature of the Evans twins. Lily Evans would glow in the spotlight - seeking whatever recognition she could find and celebrating each time someone realised her brilliance. Hermione, on the other hand, was perfectly content to stay in the shadows. Her help was not done for any acknowledgement, but rather as ordinary kindness. 

Remus liked to joke that she was the truest Hufflepuff at Hogwarts. Loyal to a fault, even to those she hardly interacted with. 

“C’mon, guys.” Remus sighed, scanning the platform until he caught sight of his parents. “We can gossip after the break.”

“Is this goodbye then, Remus?” James laughed, smiling brightly at him. 

“It’s a long drive back to the farm, and dad gets stressed driving in the dark.” He shrugged. “Don’t want him to have a conniption.” 

“Alright.” Sirius chuckled, eyes darting to his rather flustered looking mother. “I’ll see you all in January, yeah?” 

“Yeah, yeah.” James agreed, adjusting his grip on his trunk as he caught sight of his parents. “Happy Yule, boys.”

“Happy Yule.” They chorused back. 

Chapter Text

Hermione Evans was an enigma. 

Though everyone at Hogwarts seemed to know of her - from the seventh years that nodded her way in the corridors, to the Slytherins that all gave her a wide birth in the library (only a handful that would deign to join her table) - few truly knew the frizzy-haired Hufflepuff. 

In his three years as a Gryffindor, James Potter had been one of the many that knew of but not about the Hufflepuff girl. He knew she was helpful, that she spent most of her time with Kingsley Shacklebolt (a fellow third year Hufflepuff) and Xeno Lovegood (a third year Ravenclaw), but he didn’t know where she spent her time or what it was that she and Lily Evans got up to when the pair snuck off on Sundays. 

Sometimes, though he’d never admit it, the Gryffindor boy liked to watch her. Whether at mealtimes or in classes, there was something about her that kept drawing him in. Maybe it was her brilliant curls - raucous and wild, the colour of copper coins. It was different to her sister’s flat locks, almost red when compared to the true orange of Lily Evans. Or, perhaps, it was those pale eyes that Sirius always lamented as creepy. They were a watery shade that were difficult to track - not like Lily’s emerald irises that felt so obvious as she glanced between people. 

There was nothing about Hermione Evans that could be described as plain. Not her looks, not her smile - crinkling lopsided as her head would shake a little with amusement - nor her eclectic style of corduroy trousers and girls blouses on weekends under embroidered jumpers with squarish necklines. She stood out from the other girls in their year who always wore skirts and dresses, even her sister donning long florals that matched her name. 

And she was perhaps the smartest person he’d ever met. Though Lily’s hand would always shoot up in class to answer questions, it was Hermione that scored highest on essays and tests. Her marks at the end of first and second year had apparently rivalled those of Professor Dumbledore’s, and all their teachers seemed to believe she’d trump his OWL marks when she took them. Not that she spent much of her time studying in the library, none more than a few hours a few times a week - tucked in a chair close to her sister as she offered insights into what books to find sources in, or what phrases the professors wanted written in assignments. 

Truth be told, he’d only started noticing her after her prediction of Sirius’s brother had come true. After that, he’d been struck by how quietly brilliant she was. Once the boys had come back from Yule - and after they’d calmed Sirius post a truly wretched break spent with his godawful family - he’d paid attention to how every single one of her predictions came true. 

First, she’d known exactly when it would start snowing after Yule in second year. He’d heard her chat about it all week prior, saw her bundled up in a woollen hat and gloves before dinner one day, yanking her sister to sit outside as the snow began to fall. Several Hufflepuffs (and all the Gryffindor girls) had joined, though the lads had dismissed it at the time. But when the group had emerged for dinner, snow covered and giggling brightly, they’d all regretted brushing aside yet another of Hermione’s predictions. 

When the summer came, she’d congratulated the Divination professor on her engagement before the Herbology professor had even popped the question. Luckily, Professor Manto had been so thrilled to find a true Seer that she hadn’t minded having the surprise spoiled. She’d merely thanked the girl the next morning, and told her she’d be seeing more of her in classes next year. The very moment that the professor had turned her back, Hermione Evans had rolled her eyes and whispered something to the boy next to her. Whatever it was, it caused the boy to snort pumpkin juice from his nose. 

So far in third year (and in both years prior), Hermione Evans had predicted the results of every single Quidditch match with accuracy, and had even known that their new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor was a former Auror before he’d told the class in October. 

It was a rare gift to be a Seer. Rarer still, to be a Seer of a Muggleborn family. Though she did not advertise her talents, they were widely known amongst the Hogwarts population. Sixth years would come and ask her if the boys they liked would be asking them to Hogsmeade, fourth years would question if they were likely to be assigned homework over holidays. And, as the truest Hufflepuff of them all, Hermione always answered these questions with kindness and politeness.

And though he’d taken the time to observe her, James had never truly formed an opinion on the witch. None more than that she seemed a decent sort, or that she laughed prettily. 

So it was somewhat of a surprise to his friends when one afternoon, the Potter boy seemed to have made his mind up about the Evans girl. He arrived in the Great Hall late for lunch, his gaze unfocused as he approached the three boys he roomed with. 

“Lads,” James clapped a hand on both Sirius and Peter’s shoulders as he slid onto the bench between them. “I think I’m in love.” 

“Is that so?” Remus’s brows raised as he stared at the love-struck Potter heir.

“With who?” Sirius chimed in, propping his chin on his hand - elbow rested the table. 

James’s eyes fluttered to spy the object of his affections, freezing upon the Hufflepuff table. The Evans sisters were sat there this lunchtime, surrounded by laughing Hufflepuffs as Hermione seemed to be telling some hilarious story. Oh, how he wished to know what she was joking about. 

“With Evans?” Peter blinked, face scrunching as he glanced between the twins. 

“Which one?” Sirius grinned. 

“Hermione.” James sighed - utterly wistful and soppy. “Isn’t she brilliant?” 

“She hardly knows you exist, James.” Sirius pointed out, raising a brow at his love-struck friend. “And she’s a bit of a… well, she’s a bit weird, isn’t she?” 

“She’s brilliant.” He breathed a wistful sigh, ignoring how Remus elbowed Sirius - fixing the black-haired boy with a glare. “Avery, the big one, that is, knocked me over when I was headed to the owlery and she fixed my glasses. I don’t even know the spell for it but she did.”

“And?”

“And she told me to look after myself better.” He laughed brightly, a dopey smile plastered upon his face. “Said I shouldn’t let Avery bother me, not when he’d be failing most of his OWLs this summer.”

“She’s not wrong.” Remus spoke, lips twitching upwards. “I spied him with McGonagall the other week when I was getting that textbook. She was reaming him out over his latest essay.” 

“Uh-huh?” Sirius raised a brow. 

“Apparently he wrote ‘hag’ wrong in three different ways.” The blond snorted, shaking his head in amusement. 

“No worse than what that Lockheart fella keeps writing in DADA.” Sirius shuddered. “You know how Professor Zenith gave me that detention where I had to grade second years’ essays?” The boys nodded. “Well, Gilderoy thought that you could defeat a vampire by wearing a garlic necklace!” 

A chorus of laughter erupted from the group as their gaze flickered to the Ravenclaw table. There, they spied the boy in question - blond hair pulled into an obnoxious quiff - trying to hold court amongst his disinterested housemates. 

“Merlin!” James chuckled, fingers reaching beneath his squish frames to wipe budding tears. “No wonder he wears all that perfume. Probably hiding the stench of garlic in his pockets!"

That brought another wave of giggles to the boys, their eruption of humour drawing attention from those that surrounded. 

“What’s got you all so amused?” Marlene McKinnon asked from further down the table - green eyes narrowed in suspicion. 

“Lockhart’s overindulgence of perfume.” Remus replied with a chuckle. 

“Oh.” The blonde rolled her eyes. “It is heinous, isn’t it?” 

“He won’t even say where he buys it!” Peter lamented, shooting a quick glare across to the Ravenclaw table. “Whenever he catches anyone looking, he tries to hide the label.” 

The group turned to blink at him. 

“I didn’t realise you were interested in his scent, Petey.” Remus remarked rather dryly. 

“No!” The boy blushed, eyes wide and panicked as he continued speaking. “It’s just rude not to let others know.” 

“Whatever you say, Pete.” James laughed, clapping his friend on the back with an amused waggle of his brows. The blond responded with a grumble, ducking his head as he went to grab more grub for his plate. 

“Oh, shut up.” Peter scowled, though his blush weakened his harsh words. “You’re the one that’s got a crush on an untouchable girl.”

“She’s not untouchable!” He retorted, eyes darting to watch Hermione anew. His dark irises fixed upon her, softening as he spied her offer the last of the strawberries to a sniffling first year. Her smile was beautiful and kind, something whispered to this child as she squeezed their shoulder. Something that made the boy smile, blush, and wave at her as he went back to his spot with the other firsties. 

“Oh, please.” Sirius barked a chuckle. “You might as well have said you’ve a crush on Mother Teresa.”

“Who?” James blinked at him. 

“Lady I learned about in Muggle studies,” Sirius waved a dismissive hand. “She’s a saint, or something.”

“She’s opened a bunch of schools or hospitals or something.” Remus explained, rolling his eyes as Sirius’s antics. “People talk about her like she’s some untouchably decent person.” He shrugged. “Plus, she’s a nun.”

‘Those Muggles that won’t shag?” Sirius shuddered. 

“That’s one way to put it.” Peter laughed. 

“I’d still love Hermione, even if she said we could never shag.” James declared, still starry-eyed as he watched the auburn Hufflepuff. 

“Sure, mate.” Remus snorted. “I’m going to remind you of that comment in a couple years time.” 

*-*-*

Lily Evans, despite the prolific nature of the Marauders, was perhaps the most well known Gryffindor of their year. Not only as she one of the top scorers on every test, Lily was known for her participation in several different clubs and societies around the school. Along with Hermione, she attended weekly meetings of the Gobstones club on Tuesdays - the pair also enjoying to pop by the Wizard Card Collectors Club to offer those rare cards they’d found in chocolate frog packets. But there was one club in particular that promoted her above the others in their year. 

The Welsh Dragon Art Club, a formerly defunct social group that the Muggleborn had reformed after Lily had found a hidden room behind a large painting of a green dragon snorting flame from his nostrils. It held a half dozen easels, several large canvas frames with half-completed paintings, and an impressively large quantity of small tapestries that members had woven in their meetings after lessons on Thursdays. With her textiles knowhow, she had stitched protective thread along the seams of the tapestries, plotting with the members over which bare walls would be best to hang the creations. 

Their membership spanned all seven years of the school, though it was unanimously decreed that Lily Evans was their leader. She had, after all, been the one to send out the first wave of invites and bribe Slughorn into being their faculty advisor with his favourite pineapple sweets. 

And it was where, on the first Thursday in April, Remus Lupin knew he’d find the girl. 

Sure enough, surrounded by half-finished artwork and reams of thread, sat Lily Evans. Her long hair was pulled into a chaotic updo - held together by what looked like ribbon and hairpins. The shirt of her uniform was rumpled, her tie pulled loose, as she placed all her attention on the tapestry she was crafting. 

There were a few others scattered within the room, all hard at work on their own art. Chatter was faint, dimmed by the soft Muggle tunes that bled from the record player in the corner. Remus was fairly certain it belonged to a seventh year Gryffindor, considering how it was always sat to the side whenever the older years held a party in the Common Room. 

“James has a thing for your sister.” Remus announced by way of greeting, flopping beside Lily as she wove red thread through her loom. 

The girl snorted at the notion, hands deftly twisting thread as she glanced up at him. 

“She’s so out of his league.” Lily giggled, more to herself than to Remus. Still, the boy felt that incessant need to defend his pack. 

“He can be decent.”

“He’s a moron.” She laughed dismissively. “He’s at least decent enough not to prank anyone but the Slytherins and snootier Ravenclaws, but he’s not exactly winning the social competition. Not like her.”

“Ah yes. And how exactly is it that Hermione has so many friends?”

“She’s a Hufflepuff.” Lily laughed brightly. “Even if she’s not the most social, she’s too bloody decent to not turn away anyone that wants help with studying or book recommendations. I think that’s how Fabian managed to ask her out, anyways.” 

“Prewett asked her out?” Remus blinked. “When did that happen?”

“Last weekend.” Lily replied idly, once again fixed on her forming tapestry. “I think it’s ‘cause she’s the only one that can tell him and Gideon apart. He’s been harbouring a crush on her since first year, really.” 

“Took him a while, then.” 

“She’s impossible.” Lily giggled, eyes finally darting to his with great merriment. “Every time he tried, she was completely oblivious. Kept on offering him help with his History of Magic homework until he eventually dragged her into Tomes and Scrolls and got her talking about fiction.” She scanned the room, ducking closer to Remus as she whispered. “He asked her about her favourite romance book, then he snuck a kiss after she lamented how Gatsby ought to have just told the girl how he felt, rather than staging all those silly parties.”

“Gatsby?” 

“It’s a muggle book.” Lily smiled warmly, her breath tingling the side of his cheek. “I’ll see if she’d lend you her copy, it’s rather good.” 

“That’d be nice.” Remus blushed, ducking his head backwards. 

“I’m sure she’d be happy for you to borrow it.” Lily shrugged, oblivious to his fluster. “Hermione told me once that you’re the person that looks after her books the best.”

“Oh… thank you?” 

“Thank her.” She laughed, twisting thread as she wove it. “It’s the highest honour, really. She hates people messing up her books, but she’s always lending them out anyways.”

“She’s a Hufflepuff.” Remus chuckled the statement. 

“That she is.” Lily languished. 

Chapter Text

“You cannot be serious!” Lily gawked at her twin, eyes wide as she watched the girl drape a beaded necklace over her neck. 

“No, that’s the imbecile in your house. He once asked me if I was sure both our parents are Muggles, you know?” Hermione rolled her eyes, gaze focused on the mirror in Lily’s dorm as she contorted the strands of beads to sit nicely against her chest.  

It was odd to see her sister so dressed up. Even when Petunia begged her, Hermione would refuse flouncy clothing - only pulling out a dress when going to weddings or fancy occasions. Hell, she went on dates in collared shirts and corduroy trousers. 

Yet, on a random Friday in May, here was her sister donning a long gauzy gown and all the adornments that came with such an item. Her hair was pinned half-up with floral clips and twisting curls - a crown of braids that cascaded into neat ringlets against her shoulders. 

The dress itself was something out of a magazine. The bust was fitted nicely, tucked pleats beneath her breasts that made her chest seem larger - the neckline tugging to meet where her bra began. Long, billowing sleeves coated her lithe arms, with a long and flowing skirt that ended with attached ruffles to match. Though it was patterned, it was by no means overly gaudy. Small floral buds - dark blues and dim yellows - coated the fabric, similar to a Liberty print that Lily had spied in a catalogue some months prior. 

And it was frankly bizarre for Lily to stumble upon her sister dressing this way, especially when she’d barged into Lily’s dorm room with her charmed satchel and demanded help with pinning her unruly curls in place. 

“You can’t just… go to a seventh year party!” Lily hissed, eyes darting the closed door as she pitched her voice lower. “Just because your boyfriend invited you along, doesn’t mean the professors won’t give you detention when they shut it down. And you told Petunia about it, judging by that necklace of hers that you’re wearing! You really think she won’t tattle to mom and dad?”

“I know she won’t.” Hermione turned to her with a grin. “I’ve bribed her for her silence.”

“Blimey.” Lily eyes were wide. “I don’t know whether to be impressed or horrified.” 

“Choose impressed.” Her sister offered, grinning faintly as she went to organise the bag that lay on the vanity. It was a small shoulder bag with a long strap. One that Hermione had charmed to fit more than its exterior would suggest, some months prior. No matter how much Lily begged, Hermione refused to do the same for her own satchel - instead handing her the book she’d found the spell in and wishing her ‘good luck’. 

“Where’d you even get the frock, anyhow?” 

“Well, Auggie's sister works at Twilfits, so he wrote her to ask a favour.” Hermione shrugged, a little uncomfortable with the nepotism that had gifted her such a lovely frock. “Petunia found the fabric and sent it to the shop so Edwina could use it for a couple pieces.”

“Such as?”

“Such as a lovely a dress, and a skirt for Petunia.”

“Nothing for me?” Lily gasped, outraged. 

“Not until Christmas.” Hermione retorted. “It was supposed to be a surprise.” 

“I suppose I can allow it, then.” Lily grumbled, folding her arms over her chest. “Rookwood’s sister does make lovely things.” 

“Auggie’s is a gem, Lils.” Hermione grinned, her reddish lips stretching lopsided. “You’d like him if you got over his surname.” 

Augustus Rookwood had been a surprise sorting in their year. The Hufflepuff boy, a half-blood from a family that despised all that weren’t ‘pure’, was a fairly decent fellow once a person looked past his stuttering and hopeless insecurity. According to Hermione, he’d grown up quite a bit since his awful introduction to Lily in first year. She very much doubted it, but liked her sister too much to say. With his rather pinked face and sharp features, he would hardly win any beauty contests. Still, he was smart enough to place alright in their year, and he knew far too much about Herbology. Enough that he’d helped the Amelias (Bones and Abbot) found a business at Hogwarts selling… more unsavoury plants. 

And, though he was a Hufflepuff and one of Hermione’s many friends, Lily simply did not like him. Not because of his surname (as Hermione believed), but because she knew for a fact that he had a crush on her sister. Why else would he give her favours like that? 

“Ugh!” Lily groaned, flopping onto her bed with all the dramatics of a teenager. “I forbid you from going to this party.” She declared, leaning up on her elbow as she pointed at her twin. 

“Seriously?” Hermione arched a brow.

“Deadly.” Lily retorted. “We’re only fourth years! You can’t go to a party where everyone will be drinking.”

“Because you forbid it?” Hermione asked, reaching for a pair of dangly earrings that Lily recognised from Petunia’s jewellery box. “Or because you’re jealous that you weren’t invited?” 

“Well, I…” she spluttered in reply, sitting upright. 

“Just put on a frock, for God’s sake.” Hermione shrugged, turning back to the mirror to thread the earrings into her ears. “I doubt anyone will mind if I bring you with me.”

“I don’t want a pity invite.” Lily scowled. 

“It isn’t pity, you toerag.” Her twin rolled her eyes. “I came here because I honestly thought you were planning to sneak in with Marlene and Alice.” 

“They’re what?” She gasped. 

“I’m fairly certain that they are.” Hermione shrugged, pale eyes glinting wickedly. 

“How’d you know?”

“Dreamt it.” She grinned. 

“Ugh, I hate your predictions sometimes.” Lily grimaced. “But, if everyone’s going, I suppose I ought to get ready.”

“Glad you’ve come around.” Hermione beamed, quick to shove a hand into her bag and thrust some bundle of fabric Lily’s way. The girl caught it on instinct, blinking as she unravelled a rather low cut shirt. It was a lovely shade - a sort of periwinkle - with neat stitching along the hems. “Petunia sent this for me, but I hardly have the chest for it.” 

“Are you sure?” Lily blinked, eyes darting from the soft fabric to her sister’s warm face. 

“Quite certain.” Hermione nodded, turning back to the mirror as she fussed with tucking stray curls into her braided crown. “Though, speaking of, you ought to write Petunia back and ask her to send through that nice plaid skirt.”

“The purple one?” Lily asked, clambering from her bed as she went to pull her loose shirt from her body - a soft smile as she tugged the hand-me-down over her plump chest. A brief glance in the mirror informed her that it was a perfect fit, the fabric clinging quite nicely to her shapely form. It was a pleasant bustier, ruched in the centre of the bust and tied with a bow behind the neck. At her waist, it drew inwards to pleasantly accentuate the curve of her hips. 

“That’s the one.” Hermione reached for the mascara, plumping the wand before she swiped it across her lashes. “Petunia says it’s too small for her now, but she reckons it’ll fit you nicely.”

“Not you?”

“I’m too skinny.” She shrugged.

Lily rolled her eyes at that but did not speak her inner complaint. 

Her sister was always doing that. Lamenting her perfectly lithe form, her beautifully slim body, as she loudly wished to be shaped like her twin sister. It was something of an unspoken thing in the Evans family that somehow Lily had not been blessed with a body like her sister’s. Hermione took after their father - skinny and perfectly average in height. Compared to her twin and elder sister, the curly haired girl simply stood apart as something far more palatable, especially to their mother. 

Henrietta Evans was a plump woman that consistently lamented her size. From the plump chest that two of her daughters had inherited (Hermione was somewhat unfortunate with her rather flat chest), to her large hips, their mother often spent her time on fad diets and forcing her children to join her exercise. Childbirth was allegedly her curse. Before having the twins (as she so often liked to complain), she had been just as slim as her youngest child. It was unfortunate for her, that Hermione clearly did not appreciate her constant self-flagellation wrapped in empty compliments. Instead, the youngest of the Evans sisters would forcefully express excitement to look like her sisters one day, citing them as the most beautiful people in the world. 

If only Lily could believe it. At least Petunia did, always so very touched by how loudly her sister loved her. It saved their older sister from going the curse of diet after diet. 

“You look bewitching.” Hermione’s kind voice snapped Lily from her dour thoughts as the ginger girl glanced her sister’s way. Her pale eyes were bright, her thin cheeks pulled upwards into a gentle smile. 

“It is a good fit.” Lily begrudged, moving to sort through her wardrobe, hunting for the right skirt to match the lovely top. 

“I know.” Hermione grinned widely. “Lupin won’t be able to make eye contact.”

Lily’s face blushed scarlet, mouth hanging open in disbelief. 

“Oh… shut up!” She spluttered, reaching to throw a pillow her sister’s way. “And go snog your boyfriend or something!” 

“Gladly.” Hermione winked. 

*-*-*

In her other life, Hermione had not seen much of Gryffindor’s raucous celebrations. There was a war going on, after all. One that lingered within the walls of the castle - painting each achievement with its bitter truth. Even when their team won matches or exam season finished, there was always a fight for their lives to taint whatever fortune they found. 

But in the seventies, as war loomed but did not envelope the castle… well, parties were commonplace. From the spirited dancing and smoking of the Hufflepuff house, to the raucous letting down of hair of the studious Ravenclaws, there would always be random Fridays with a curfew set for the younger years. The Common Room would be blocked for those under the age of sixteen, and mayhem would ensue. 

It was Hermione’s good luck that in this life she’d happened upon the affections of one of Gryffindor’s most energetic members. 

Fabian Prewett was simply a force to be reconned with. He was as fiery as his bright ginger hair - orange waves swept back with gel - and as brilliant as his wonderful smile. When the pair had begun dating the year before, Hermione ought to have known it would lead to moments like this. She ought to have suspected that he’d beg her to attend one of Gryffindor’s parties once he was old enough to attend. 

That night, he was waiting for her at the base of the stairs to the girls dorms. His hair was neat, his smile blinding. A dark blue shirt coated his muscular form - thick arms from his role as a beater on the Quidditch team. Corduroy flares matched the rather Muggle ensemble, with black boots upon his large feet. 

All in all, he looked quite the dream. A perfect movie star waiting for his perfect girl, hand already extended to pull her in as she descended the stairs. His hand snaked around her waist, dragging her close as he planted a kiss upon her styled locks. 

“Blimey, you’re tryna give me a heart attack, aren’t you?” He greeted her, pulling back just enough to offer what she could only describe as an incredibly cheeky grin. 

“Hello, Fabian.” Hermione smiled up at her boyfriend. 

“Hello, Hermione.” He replied with a soft grin, eyes roaming her body until they rested on her own - a heated warmth to the dark blue irises. “You look bloody incredible. My whole House’ll be jealous you’re on my arm. Where did you get that dress?”

“Oh, this old thing?” She laughed, smoothing imaginary creases on the shoulders. “Let’s just say, Auggie owed me after all the help I’ve given to his illicit business.” 

“Oh, yes.” He chuckled. “And how did my perfect-record Hermione end up working in the smokeable plant trade? You’ve never had a single detention, oh wise Sage.”

“The Amelias needed someone that no professor would consider to move their product.” She shrugged, eyes glinting wickedly. “And, well I suppose I was owed a touch of rebellion.” 

“A touch?” He raised a brow. “You’re the only person Professor McGonagall permits to call her by surname.” 

“Exactly! It’s not rebellion if everyone lets you do it!” She huffed. “Even Dumbles tolerates my nicknames.” 

“Oh, rue for you.” Fabian laughed. “How awful to be everybody’s favourite.” 

“I’ll bite you.” She glared as he leant closer. 

“I’ll enjoy it.” He grinned in reply, breath tingling his skin. 

“Oh, stop.” She swatted his arm in jest, eyes twinkling. “Aren’t you going to give me the tour?”

“Certainly, my darling Seer.” Fabian extended an arm for her to link hers to - his hand gently clutching at her own, thumb rubbing over the thin sleeves. 

True to Gryffindor’s spirit, the Common Room was utterly strewn in golds and reds. Though she’d seen it dozens of times in this life - from studying with her sister to secret sleepovers with the girls - she had never seen it decorated for a party. Sparkling streamers defended from the walls like curtains of glitter, twirling against the warm glow of candlelight. The high ceilings were enchanted much like the Great Hall, only with bursts of golden sparks like shattering stars. 

Chatter, laughter, and the strong smell of firewhiskey coated the air, mixing with the soft hint of the butterbeer that a few of the younger lot were drinking. Someone had managed to levitate a Muggle turntable into the centre of the room, spelling Bowie’s tunes to fill the twinkling air. Battered and worn armchairs had been pushed aside to give way for a makeshift dance floor - students giggling and twisting as their chatter matched the volume of the beat their feet shifted to. 

It was Gryffindor at its rawest and most brilliant. Filled with reckless, loud, and utterly unforgettable mirth. 

“Which of your housemates organised this?” Hermione queried, eyes roaming the burgeoning mess - tipsy antics soon to turn drunken as punch flowed from glass bowls and bottles rolled across the rugs. 

“Well,” Fabian grinned, “Titus McLaggen likes to think he sorted everything, but between you and me, it was that Potter boy in your year.”

“Really?” She blinked. 

“Uh huh.” Fabian smiled wickedly. He always did so when he knew something she didn’t. “Potter got all the music and decorations set up so that the seventh years would let him and his group join in. Otherwise, they wouldn’t be allowed since they’re only fourth years.”

“I’m a fourth year.” She pointed out, arching a brow. 

“Ah, but my Mione, you’re with me.” He winked at her, grinning as she blushed prettily. 

“You’re rotten,” she snacked his arm lightly, though the twinkle of her eyes and twitch upwards of her lips gave away her approval, “see if I come to another one of these.”

“You will.” He replied with certainty. 

“Is that so?” She arched a brow. 

“Of course.” Fabian nodded. “You love me.” 

“Begrudgingly.” She tutted. “Now ask me to dance, won’t you? I didn’t wear this dress for nothing.”

“Oh, certainly, my lady,” he grinned, bending to bow before her - hand extended for her to take. “A gem like you simply must be shown off.”

Chapter Text

Hermione Evans had always known her years were short. Her death was a fixed point, a place marked by an ‘X’ on an old map, one that spanned far further than that mere little blemish of a spot. She did not know her sisters’s futures, but she knew they did not belong with her. 

Her life was a clock that ticked down seconds, a little quicker with each pulse. It was a bitter flame that was easy to snuff, a simple spell so easy to wave away. 

Though she’d died once in fire and burning, she knew that was not the path for her in this new life. No, she would die with a flash of green and a final gasp. She would stand before a crib and she would not be afraid. Wand clutched in her hand, blood already smeared on the crib behind her, Hermione would lift her chin and straighten her shoulders. She would hear James screaming up the stairs, begging a wizard to let him go up - pleas buried under shouts of a deal that had been made. One life to be spared, just not her own. 

‘Tom,’ she would say, ‘I Saw you coming.’

‘Clever witch,’ he’d sneer, face hidden beneath his dark cloak, ‘but not clever enough.’

And with a flash, she would live no longer. 

Hermione had always known how she’d die. She’d never minded, not really. Already, she’d been given more time than she’d thought. A whole new life to live, two decades more than Hermione Granger had ever gotten. 

Still, it was hard some days to appreciate it. Especially when she was sleep-deprived and fed up with having visions of the future every time she entered deep slumber. 

On one such morning, after a dizzying dream of a rat scampering across a dungeon floor, Hermione was wishing she’d not woken at all. At least they were serving scones and marmalade for breakfast that morning, however odd the selection was to some. 

“Morning, Auggie.” She greeted, flopping beside her friend at the Hufflepuff table - head rested on his shoulder. 

“Morning, ‘Mione.” The brunet boy greeted with amusement, his plump lips twisting to a smile. “Rough sleep?”

“Oh no, I slept wonderfully.” She snorted. “But the Amelia’s kept me up til the early hours so we could chat Hogsmeade plans.” 

“Aren’t you going with Prewett?”

“Last I checked.” She hummed, eyes fluttering shut as she let out a little sigh. “Bones is off with Edgecombe, and Abbot’s still hoping that Shafik will look her way.”

Augustus Rookwood snorted a laugh. 

“That’ll be hard for him to do while he’s watching Kingsley’s sister from across the Great Hall.” 

Her head snapped up from his shoulder, eyes wide as she gawped at him. 

“I knew it!” She grinned. “Amy said I was being absurd, but I knew he had a thing for her! Kings is gonna be so annoyed that I saw it coming. He’s always pissy whenever anyone’s panting after his sister.” 

“That’s certainly one way to put it.” A smooth voice sounded above them, causing Hermione to wince as she slowly spun to spy her best friend. 

Kingsley Shacklebolt had always been perhaps one of the most handsome boys at Hogwarts. With his lovely dark features and carefully styled hair - laid in waves from the crown of his head - he spent an awful lot of time having to reject new suitors. 

Hermione counted herself as rather lucky that he’d decided to stick by her side in their first year. Before her predictions even became well-known, before anyone had trusted her Sight, he’d respected her opinions. He’d welcomed her first as their Sorting Feast, marvelled at her Muggle insights, and quickly the pair had become close friends. With Auggie by their side, the trio were unstoppable. 

“Oh, hey.” She half-sung the words - voice laced with awkwardness. “I thought you were at that prefect meeting.”

“The one you should’ve been at?” He raised a brow. 

“That’s the one.” 

“It finished early.” He laughed, slotting onto the bench beside her. She had to wiggle a little, given his larger stature and muscles from playing as Hufflepuff Beater. “And Head Boy’s quite vexed you weren’t there.” 

“Benjy Fenwick would’ve be annoyed even if I’d showed up.” She rolled her eyes rather pointedly. “He’s still upset that I predicted his girlfriend would break things off him. Honestly, he ought to have seen it coming.”

“Bertha has always been a free spirit.” Augustus nodded. 

Kingsley let out a snort. 

“Free spirit is a kind way to put it.” He laughed. “I heard she’s already trying to hook Edgar Bones.”

“She’s going to have a rough time learning that Bones is more interested in male anatomy.” Augustus snickered, eyes darting down the table to where the seventh year sat - her lashes fluttering as she nodded along to whatever the oblivious boy was nattering about. 

As she rolled her eyes at the ordeal, Hermione’s gaze flickered to rest upon Kingsley’s watch. With panic, she snatched his arm towards her, gawking as she read the time. 

“Oh, bugger,” Hermione suddenly exclaimed. “I’m late!”

“For what?” Kings asked, glancing her way in amusement as the witch hastily threw her bag over her shoulder and forced the last of her breakfast into her mouth. 

“Tutoring!” She exclaimed after an uncomfortable swallow. 

“Say hi from me to Reg!” Kings called out as the witch rushed from the table, a brief wave of goodbye thrown over her shoulder. 

She made her way through the halls of the school with great haste, almost knocking into Potter as she ran out the doors of the Great Hall. He was mildly damp, hair oddly slicked and moist. 

“Hiya-”

“No time!” She interrupted, offering a wave over her shoulder as she ran. Only briefly did she turn her head to offer a polite smile. “Good luck with your Quidditch!” 

“Thanks!” He called after her, laughing as she skidded round the bend on her way to the library. It was a practiced route, both in this life and her last. By now, she knew which pathways got her there quickest - down to the secret passage that would cut out half her walking time. By the time she made it to the right corridor, her breath was quick and short. 

Hermione’s steps were hurried as she wove through the shelves and tables, searching for her perfect spot. It sat by a large window, just behind the tomes on object and animal Transfiguration. Once at her table, she almost fell into a seat - frowning as she spied the empty spot opposite. 

It was incredibly unlike her friend to be late to their study sessions. Had she known he’d be absent when she arrived - twenty minutes late, herself - she wouldn’t have rushed so intensely. Still, at least the library was quiet. With deft hands, she plucked the necessary books and equipment from her bag, dumping it by her feet as she rolled her neck to hear the satisfying pop. 

Fifth year was somehow more stressful now she wasn’t fighting a war. Without Umbridge or any of that mess, her attention was focused solely in hers and her study partners’ educations. And she had a lot of them. From the couple of Slytherins that she tutored, to the many Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs that would join her frazzled efforts, Hermione was worn out. 

Still, at least in this life she had a boyfriend to help distract her when necessary. Even with NEWTs around the corner, Fabian was more than willing to drag her out from her piles of tomes and parchment. They’d go for walks around the castle - Fabian always greeting everyone they passed with friendly smiles and accidental brags. As the weather turned warmer, he’d take her out to the lake with scones wrapped in cloth and they’d sit to feed the Giant Squid. He’d nicknamed the great beast ‘Nessie’ after she told him of the myths in Scotland one day. 

And Hermione knew that in some ways, she was the barmiest person around. In all her dreams of the future, she had known that their relationship would never last. Just as she knew that she and Fabian would never see past their early twenties. 

There was a trickiness to dating as a Seer. In a way, she supposed herself lucky that Fabian had made a move on her those two years ago. In her third year, she’d still been hopeful. Her visions had been calmer, filled with the mundane as though her Sight were a mere party trick. But as she aged, as the clouds darkened and war loomed like crackles of thunder in the distance, it was hard to remember the present. They were alive, and they were happy. It would not be forever, but it would be for long enough. 

And Fabian… well as much as he liked her, he liked the spotlight more. He was fickle, quick to change his mind, and terrible at remembering to miss people. Every summer, she’d hardly hear from him. Not when he spent his time with his friends that were born into magic, his days in a world that she could only see during term time. It was the worst trait he had, perhaps, that he only ever seemed to love her when she was in his sight. 

“What are you doing?” A familiar voice grit out, filled with barely-controlled loathing. Her fingers clenched around a quill - that barely audible snapping of feather as she winced.  

“Hello, Severus.” Hermione sighed, voice carefully neutral as she bid him a nod. “Might you clue me in as to what I’ve done to upset you now?” 

In her wonderful life, Hermione had been given so many blessings and beautiful friendships. She supposed her good luck could only extend so far. 

His hair was greasy an unkempt - straggly strands falling before his spotty face. They were a testament to his poor hygiene, the boy more keen on spending time in Slughorn’s classroom experimenting rather than showering. It was rather unfortunate for him, and did little to help his poor social standing. For, as much as he was rather gross, Severus Snape was also incredibly standoffish. He could be unkind in his opinions, sharp in his judgements, and frankly rude if he thought a person’s intelligence was below his. That seemed to be the case for most people, save for a couple of Professors and prefects, and Hermione’s sister. 

If there was one peer he treated without contempt, it was Lily Evans. And so, it was somewhat confusing for Hermione that he hated her so deeply. 

For her five years at Hogwarts, Snape had consistently found ways to belittle and ridicule her. Whether picking apart her essays over her shoulder or snickering at her newest attempts at fashion, anything she did was something he disliked. 

And ever the stoic, she never did tell her sister about it. Nor did she mention it to any of her Housemates or friends. The Marauders knew, she was certain. Snape was the main target of their little pranks. Sometimes, when she was looking hard enough, she’d catch James Potter watching for her reactions. Whenever they’d target Snape in the Great Hall, Potter’s eyes would brush over hers, almost looking for something. 

But as much as she felt vindicated by their japes, she’d never show it. Hermione may have been spiteful at heart, but she was also a rather good actress. And she’d spent five years playing the part of the peacemaker and diplomat, she would not dare let anyone know just how vicious she could truly be. 

So when Snape showed up to ruin her day, or the Marauder’s turned his hair into snakes, she did not give any party the pleasure of a reaction. 

“You can’t seriously be planning tutor Shafik.” Snape growled, face flushed as he held in his anger. 

“Why not?” She arched a brow. “He said you’d refused to.”

“That is because he ought to figure it out on his own. Just as we’ve done.” 

“Not everybody has our aptitude, Severus.” She huffed, rolling her eyes at his bravado. “He asked and I said yes. It’s that simple.”

“It’s absurd.” He gravelled. “You’re just a-”

“A what?” Hermione grit out, sharp eyes piercing into him. “I’d be careful throwing words like you’re thinking around. Very careful.” 

For a moment, the pair simply stared at each other. Hermione’s face was carefully blank as she watched Severus’s ears turn pink, then red. When finally he opened his mouth - another insult likely brewing on his tongue - they were interrupted by the quick shuffle of footsteps. 

Then, set with all his usual charm, a voice called out in question as a boy rounded the corner of the bookshelves.

“Did you bring that tome on-” The query was halted as the boy froze in place at the sight of Severus. 

Hermione forced herself to suppress her relief as she spied a familiar head of dark curls. There, with all his feigned properness - straight shoulders and ramrod spine - stood Regulus Black. His uniform was immaculate and his robes were pressed clean and neat. Even the satchel over his shoulder was a polished leather. 

It was a delightful contrast to his rather rowdy brother. Where Sirius held those same regal features, he wore them with messed hair and messier clothing. Regulus fit the mould he was born into, forcing himself smaller in that very same way that Hermione did. Both of them were actors, performing their parts. 

“Hello, Snape.” Regulus spoke in greeting, his nod sharp and awkward.

“Black.” The older boy grit out, eyes darting between the heir and the Muggleborn. 

“Are you joining us in studying?” He tilted his head as he appraised Snape. “I did not think you needed tuition in Transfiguration.”

“Not you as well.” Snape groaned, darting a glare at Regulus. “I thought Blacks prided themselves on their purity.”

“And I thought you were panting after her sister.” He replied in an unimpressed voice. “Imagine how she’ll feel when I visit that little art club of hers and mention catching you trying to threaten her sister.” 

Severus’s hands clenched and unclenched at his sides as his face grew unnaturally pink. His mouth opened and snapped shut just as quickly - jaw tight as he swallowed. He glanced between Hermione and Regulus with unhidden hatred, eyes dark and narrowed. Finally, accompanied by all the dramatics that the boy so often had, he spun from the table and stalked through the library. His robes billowed behind him with the sharp movement. 

The very moment that Snape was no longer in view, both of their shoulders dropped. Regulus huffed a little sigh, reaching up to run a hand through his curls - messing their neatness as he shook his head. 

“You alright?” Regulus asked, a raised brow as he motioned to where Snape had stormed away. 

“Quite peachy.” Hermione promised. “A little fed up, truth be told, but that’s hardly anything new.”

“He does have such a way of making a nuisance of himself, doesn’t he?” Regulus huffed a laugh, slotting opposite her at the library table. His hand reached for his tie, tugging it looser. 

“Indeed.” Hermione failed to suppress a giggle at his words. 

“For all his panting after your sister, you’d think he might try being kinder to you.” Regulus chuckled, pulling his books from his schoolbag and dumping the stack rather unceremoniously between them. 

“Ah, but Reggie,” she grinned, “that would require him to have more intellect than simple potions proficiency.”

“A pity for him, then, that the only talent he has is dicing ginger root correctly.” 

Hermione let out a rather unladylike snort, shaking her head fondly at her friend. 

“You’re late, by the way.” She chided him, reaching for the textbook on the top of the pile. 

“I got caught by the latest of my brother’s pranks, if you must know.” Regulus huffed. “They put a bloody river in the dungeons.”

“Did they?” She arched a brow. “That’s quite impressive, actually.”

“It’s annoying, ‘Mione.” He rolled his eyes. “It was right at the entrance of the Slytherin common room.” 

“Another of his jokes on you, then?” She huffed the question, though she already knew the answer. 

Sirius Black’s treatment of his brother was part of the reason as to why she spent very little time with the Gryffindors. While the Black family was heinous and frankly evil, it was cruel to lump his hatred of them onto the younger brother he had left behind. 

That was the truth of it. Sirius had found solace and refuge with the Potters, but he had never once thought to invite Regulus to join him. Instead, he’d lumped the poor boy in with his relatives the very moment his tie turned green - ignoring how the boy studied with a Muggleborn, consistently read Muggle books, and very often acted as the voice of reason amongst more… blood-purist housemates. 

If the Gryffindor Black deigned to notice his brother, he might have noticed just how frequently Regulus was in the company of Hermione Evans. Whether studying in the library or waltzing Hogsmeade, the pair often found themselves drawn together. 

“I figure we’ve a lifetime to find each other again.” Regulus shrugged. “What’s a few years of bullying when we’ll share a crypt?” 

Hermione let out a half-hearted laugh. 

Of all her friends, Regulus shared more traits with her than any other. Kingsley may have matched her logic and compassion, Auggie her wry humour, but it was her Reggie that shared her heart. They were twin flames. While she loved her Hufflepuff confidants, her few Ravenclaw and Gryffindor compatriots… it was always Regulus that knew her best. 

And it was a shame, a pitiful and ruthless shame, that Hermione Evans had known their deaths before she knew their names. That she had known how Regulus would be scarred before she knew just how brilliant he was. 

Looking to him now - her beautiful and young friend, born of darkness and sustained on light - she was not sure if she could survive his. She was not sure if she could handle not being the first to go. 

And just like that, on an ordinary Thursday, Hermione accepted a truth that she would never share out loud. If she could only prevent a single death, it would be his. Damn it all, damn Death herself… Regulus Black would live. 

Chapter Text

Having a crush was a heinous thing. 

James Potter had quickly realised that fact, some two years ago. It was as though the very moment he realised that he liked Hermione Evans, she’d fallen in with Fabian. As though the universe itself was cursing his thoughts. Before he could even formulate a plan to ask her out, she was walking the halls with her hand entwined with Fabian’s. She sat in the Gryffindor stands for Quidditch matches (provided Hufflepuff wasn’t playing), wearing his ruddy jersey. 

Growing up, James had always been encouraged to pursue whatever he enjoyed. From flying circles around the Manor, to his mother permitting his many short-lived hobbies… he’d never really faced many difficulties in life. His parents loved him with that wholeness of those that had not thought they’d have children. Every whim, everything he wanted, they were always his. 

Hermione Evans was clearly his punishment for having such an easy life thus far. 

At a certain point of getting everything you want, luck ought to run out. And James’s luck had officially run out when he’d spied Fabian plant a smacker of a kiss on Hermione, right as the messy-haired boy had planned to confess his feelings. 

Frankly, he wasn’t sure how to feel about it. 

On the one hand, she seemed happy. That would always be his priority, though he rued the notion. Her eyes would crinkle and sparkle when Fabian spoke. Hermione’s lips would twitch - soft and wry - and she’d offer him a brilliant smile. She’d sit by his side at the Gryffindor table, gifting those beautiful smiles to his friends as Fabian puffed his chest and showed her off. 

But some days, when he’d catch her out of the castle roaming the dewy meadows, he… could see it. There was this overwhelming feeling in his chest - tight and unpleasant - as he’d watch her. She did not ever look happy when she was alone. 

Perhaps that was why Hermione Evans was always in the company of others. It was hard to get her alone when she would always be studying with a tutee, or traipsing the halls with her friends. 

Sometimes, when he hoped none of the other Marauders were looking, James would follow her name. He’d watch her footprints traps the corridors, watch them rest in her dorm or climb the Astronomy Tower. Whether joined by Fabian, by Lily, or even by some Slytherin… Hermione Evans was never truly alone. 

Neither was he. It was something of an open secret in the Gryffindor Tower that James Potter James Potter could not bear to be alone. He would perform pranks with his Marauders, play exploding snap with Marlene, sneak to the kitchens with Pete or Frank. Even when he slept, he did so surrounded by friends. Every second, every moment was accounted for. 

Except for a random Saturday at the end of April. 

Frankly, James was a little put out by it. When he’d woken up - just shy of midday - it had been to silence. There was no idle chatter of Remus and Sirius, nor the soft scratches of Peter’s sketching. Birds were not singing and the breeze was idly still. 

With a frown, he unscrewed an eyelid - a single hazel eye flittering the room, vision blurred and unfocused. Huffing, he opened the other eye, throwing his hand towards his bedside table. Once his fingers wrapped around familiar wire frames, he yanked his arm back and let his eyes shut anew. 

In the warm and quiet, mind still hazed with slumber, he thought about going back to sleep. It was out be an easy task, a simple lull. He could be roused when someone came back to the dorm, let himself wake up to the chatter of a day he’d entirely ignored. Maybe Sirius would return with some tale of a new fling or a prank notion. Or Remus would lie beside him, lamenting the latest Ancient Runes revision session. 

James chose to do just that. 

Unfortunately for him, said decision occurred roughly four seconds before the bouncing footsteps of Sirius Black thundered up the staircase. His movements were hasty and clumsy, the jolt and smack of him slipping promptly snapping James from his rest. With bleary movements, James Potter pulled his head off the pillow and glasses onto his nose just as the door to the dorm flung open. The wood thudded against the stone wall, a wince knocking from Sirius as he slid into the room. 

“Prongs!” The boy breathed in excitement - the end still on the knob tugging the door shut behind him. His hair had grown tremendously over the span of the school year. After he’d skipped his usual awful Yule haircut from his mother, the curls had regained vigour as they grew. They reached his shoulders now, parted along the middle like curtains around his face. 

It was the popular Muggle fashion, according the Lily. Though James wouldn’t trust her for fashion advice after she’d told Marlene to use Muggle bleach to dye her hair. Everyone in the Gryffindor Tower had heard her scream after a clump of her hair pulled out. They were rather lucky that Hermione Evans was tutoring some younger students in the Common Room. 

And that she’d apparently known how to cut hair. 

“Oh Merlin, Pads.” James groaned, burying his face back in his pillow despite how it knocked his glasses against his nose. “What?” He spoke into the pillow. 

“Mate, wake up!” Sirius jumped onto his bed, flopping down beside him. “Oh, I promise it’s worth it.” 

“I was sleeping!” James lifted his head to say. 

“It’s lunchtime!” Sirius scoffed. “Even Pete woke up before ten. Face it, Prongs, you’re a lazy sod.”

“Oi, watch it!” James reached blindly for a cushion, promptly throwing it in time to hear a satisfying thump. 

“Oof!” Sirius gasped, rocking the mattress. “Godric, you’re a real Grinch when you’ve overslept.”

“A what?” 

“Muggle fella. He got so peeved about these people singing and stuff, that he nicked all their Yule presents.” 

“Blimey.” James huffed, begrudgingly turning over. His hair squished against pillow as he blinked up at the canopy. “Is it really lunch?”

“It’s nearly over in the Hall.” Sirius shrugged. “But Dotti would certainly be happy to grab you a little something if we sneak away to the kitchens.”

“Shit,” James muttered, turning his head to face his friend. Sirius was laying on his stomach, legs swinging in the air. His chin was rested on his palms, elbows propped against the base of the pillow. All in all, James did not think he’d ever meet another boy that looked so comfortable in someone else’s bed. Especially not one wearing glittery purple eyeliner. 

It was rather nice, actually.

“You been with the girls?” James asked through a yawn. 

“Huh? How’d you figure that one out?”

“You’re sparkly.” He tugged the blanket higher, yanking as it caught underneath Sirius’s torso. 

“Oh, forgot about that.” Sirius barked a laugh, reaching to tuck his hair behind his ear. “I bumped into Alice on the way through the Common Room and she and Mary wanted to test it out. You know I can never say no to them.” He winked. 

“Ugh, if you’ve woken me to tell me about your first threesome, I’m going to hex you impotent.” James groaned, turning to lay on his side. 

“Please, Prongs.” His friend scoffed. “I’d announce that in the Great Hall with fireworks. No, this is more your alley than mine.”

“Uh-huh.” James inwardly rolled his eyes, privately deciding to tune out his friend until he fell back asleep. At this rate, he ought to be able to sleep the whole day away. That’d be a personal record. Certainly someone would wake him for dinner. He could hear all about Sirius’s shenanigans over his roast. It was always more palatable when he had eaten. 

“Oh, for fuck sake,” Sirius reached over to shake James. “Evans and Prewett broke up.” He announced in a sing-song voice. 

The effect in his friend was immediate. 

“Really?” James blinked, straightening up. “Are you sure?”

He propped himself up on his elbows, a quick movement to straighten his glasses before gawking at his best friend. Of all the jokes Sirius pulled, he’d promised to never pull one like this. James’s crush on Hermione was a sacred thing.

And he seemed… genuine. Though Sirius Black was often a jester, he was loyal to a fault. He would never dare trick another Marauder, not about something as serious as this.  

“Quite certain, yeah.” Sirius grinned. His cheeks were flushed, eyes excited. “I watched them do it.”

“Is she alright?” James asked, though his burgeoning smile weakened his concerned words. 

“She was the one to do it.” Sirius laughed, rolling to sit cross-legged opposite James. “Apparently, she Saw him cheating on her once he finished his NEWTs and decided to break it off before future heartbreak. And Prewett kept claiming he’d never do that to her, but she mentioned some witch called Emmeline and he was quick to shut his trap. Apparently, she’d already made some moves on him that he hadn’t spurned.”

“I’ll kill him.” James growled, already making to stand. Sirius was quick to nudge him by the shoulder, forcing him back onto his bunk. 

“That’s Lily’s job, you nutter.” He barked a laugh, shaking his head in fond amusement. “Besides, word’s already out that he would’ve cheated on the Pride of Hufflepuff. If you think anyone’s on his side, you’re barmy.”

“Good.” James nodded. Then, with a sudden pull of his lips to a frown, James shot his friend a questioning look. “Where’d it even happen? I doubt Evans wanted an audience.”

“That’s the funniest part.” Sirius exclaimed, slapping his knee. “Happened by the greenhouses.”

“Really?”

“She’s a Hufflepuff, Prongs.” He rolled his eyes. “You think she doesn’t partake in their most lucrative business?”

“She was buying weed?” James blinked. 

“Selling, more like. The Amelias have a couple plants behind Greenhouse Three and she handles the sales since, you know, she knows who’s cool and who’ll try and snitch.”

“And how do you know that?” 

“Where’d you think I get our bud from?” He raised a brow. “I heard about it from Crouch, who heard about it from Shafik, who told me that Hermione was the middle-man. Though, she’s a bit stingy with it. Tries to only sell me the exact amount I’d need for a night, no more.” 

James blinked at him. 

“Speaking of.” Sirius reached a hand into his pocket, throwing a small pouch that was strong-smelling onto the duvet. “You’re lucky I was able to get it today. After she figured that I’d heard everything, Evans wasn’t exactly in the mood to sell me the last of her current supply.” 

“You heard her break up with her boyfriend…” James gawked, “and you still bought drugs from her.”

“Well, yeah. Obviously.” Sirius scoffed. “Why would I let her personal life get in the way of my own affairs?” 

“You’re barmy, mate.”

“I prefer the term ‘brilliant’.” Sirius flicked his hair. “Though, I keep hearing the Ravenclaw’s call Hermione that, so perhaps I ought to pick a new word.” 

“Brilliant!” He spluttered. “I can’t believe my Hermione sells drugs.”

“She’s not yours, Prongs, blimey!” Remus scoffed as he entered the dorm, shaking his head in disapproval. He was dressed in his usual oversized ensemble of borrowed clothing. A jumper from James, a pair of slacks from Frank. In the soft glow of the midday sun, his blond hair looked almost golden. It shone through his pale eyes, painting his skin a lively hue. 

Unfortunately, whatever lovely effect it might have had, the midday sun could not hide how sour faced Remus was. His jaw was clenched, eyes narrowed, as he stalked towards James’s bed. 

“Not yet.” Sirius snickered, quick to duck away as the werewolf went to snack him with a rather large library tome. 

“Give it a rest, Pads.” Remus rolled his eyes. “I get enough of Lily complaining about Prongs’ obsession, I don’t need you feeding it.” 

“What’s up your arse, today?” Sirius yelped, hands thrown defensively before his face. “Not your ‘time of the month’ for another week, isn’t it?”

James winced as Remus’s face hardened, a look of utter irritation plain as day. He smacked Sirius with the tome again, before throwing it at the boy’s chest. 

“You watched it happen?” Remus asked incredulously. “You fucking waited around and watched it happen, then you bought an ounce?” 

“Oh, that.” Sirius laughed nervously. “S’pose I might have?”

“Are you asking me, or telling me?”

“Telling?”

“You’re a knobhead.” Remus scoffed, stepping back from the bed. “And Lily’s planning to kill you, so look forward to that.”

“Ugh, for what?”

“For witnessing her twin sister’s breakup and telling her that ‘at least she’s got the other one to give a whirl’.” Remus growled. “I mean, shitting hell.”

“It was funny!” Sirius yelled back. “She laughed, I swear.”

“Yeah, well, Lily’s not laughing.” His arms folded over his chest, fists clenched under his armpits. “And I get enough of an earful about the pranks, I don’t need you cocking it up with Hermione. Just because you’re unnerved about the whole Seer thing, doesn’t mean you need to act like a pillock.” 

“Lads,” James clapped a hand on his leg, interjecting the brewing row. “I’ve got an idea.”

“Oh, Merlin, someone call a Mediwitch.” Sirius joked, flopping back onto the mattress.

“Shut it.” James knocked his ribs with a knee. “Moons, you think you can convince the House Elves to make us some of those pastries they give you after full moons?”

“Maybe?” The boy eyed him suspiciously. 

“Brilliant. Pads, you’ve got that in with Rosemerta, right?” The boy nodded. “Think you can score us a crate of butterbeer?”

“Sure can.” He grinned. “We throwing a party?” 

“Indeed we are!” James grinned. “Everyone needs some cheering up, I recon.”

Remus snorted. 

“Everyone, or specifically Hermione Evans?”

“Everyone.” James scoffed, though his lips pinched briefly. “But if Hermione happened to come, and if she happened to be needing a rebound… well, who’d sneer at fate?”

“Moron.” Remus mocked lovingly. 

*-*-*

“Which McGonagall do you like best, then?” Sirius huffed, resting his chin on his hand. “Our Original Minnie, or her gallivanting younger brother?” 

“Oh, give it a rest.” Marlene rolled her eyes. “We all know you’ve got a thing for McMale.”

“I appreciate beauty.” Sirius purred. “Speaking of, you’re looking particularly fit tonight, Marls. New dress?”

“It is, actually.” She shook her head in amusement. “Lily’s sister is practically throwing away her whole wardrobe.”

“Can you blame her?” Dorcas scoffed, giggling into her glass as she took another sip.

“Oh?” Sirius blinked, lips stretching into a wicked grin. “Dorcas, I sense a tale.”

“Is Lily near?” The girl asked, eyes darting the room until the group found sight of the redhead. She was over by the record player having what appeared to be a vigorous argument with Pete over whether to play more Bowie (Pete’s choice) or flip over to the latest ABBA (Lily’s clear demand). 

“You have to promise not to tell Lils that we told you.” Marlene spoke with solemnity. 

“Or I’ll tell McMale that you’re writing your name with his surname in your textbooks.” Dorcas piped in. “Worse, I’ll tell old McGonagall.”

“Oh, you’re a rotten pair.” He grinned in reply, miming a cross over his heart. “I swear it.”

“Alright.” Dorcas leant in closer. “So you know how Hermione and Fabian called it quits?”

“I was there.” Sirius nodded. 

“Well, Pandora - you know, that weird Ravenclaw with the ribbons in her hair - caught Hermione crying in the toilets. Apparently, she’s having this whole crisis over all the things he bought her. Pandora recommended that Hermione give it all away to free her soul or some rubbish. Lily came into the dorms yesterday with a handful of dresses and a fistful of jewellery.”

“She’s just handing it away?” He blinked, brows high. 

“Uh-huh.” Dorcas chimed in, leaning in. “Amy Bones says that she came back to the dorms yesterday to find all of Evans stuff on the floor. Apparently, she’d been getting rid of everything that reminded her of him. She even chucked her perfume.”  

“Personally,” Marlene leant closer, “I think she’s just trying to mess with Fabian. It must be odd seeing all the Gryffindor girls now wearing the dresses you bought your ex.”

With that, the pair of witches leant back and let out a lively cackle. 

“Blimey.” Sirius barked a laugh. “Remind me to never get on a witch’s bad side.”

“Oh, please.” Marlene snorted. “There’s a storm brewing for you, sunshine. Just you wait.”

Her grin was utterly wicked. As was Sirius’s expression as he scanned over her with bright eyes. 

“Is that a promise?” He winked. 

It was as classic as a scene could be. From the japes of their group, to the cackles of laughter and whoops from the other side of the Common Room, the party was in full swing. 

Yet, despite the raucous scenes of the Common Room, James Potter’s eyes remained fixed on the door. All evening, he watched as people entered - stumbling through the portrait with bottles of liquor and whoops as they spied friends. Yet of all those people, none were the one he wanted to see. 

There were a gaggle of Ravenclaw witches with their brows plucked and hair permed, a hoard of Hufflepuff blokes already steaming drunk and rowdy. Surprisingly, a handful of Slytherins swung by - just Shafik and Rosier (the pair practically dragged in by Rosier’s sister). 

Yet of all the people, there was only one that James hoped would arrive. 

“She won’t show.” Remus warned, slumping onto the couch beside James. His hair was slicked back with sweat, flashing the scars across his face. They almost glowed under the candlelight. 

“Says who?” James waved a hand towards the room, waggling his brows with pride at the mess he’d created. From the snogging seventh years to the tipsy fourth years that had snuck their way in as the cacophony expanded, all seemed merry. 

“Oh, Prongs.” Remus huffed, a hand raised to rub at his temples. “You really can be a prat, mate.”

“Oi!” He reached to slap his friend, only halting as he caught the telltale flash of gold that suggested such an action would not turn out well for him. 

Still, he kept vigil. Remus was quickly dragged to dance by some of the girls, begrudging but smiling as they made a show of getting him to twirl them around. Though he rolled his eyes and made a show of being annoyed, it was clear how much he was enjoying himself. 

A quick glance around the room showed Pete by the window with Sirius, the pair sharing a spliff as they giggled into the moonlight. They were unbridled; both looked so incredibly happy as they knocked each other in jest and whispered into the cool of night. 

And James… he was happy watching. 

Outside of the chaos, he was struck by the beauty of it all. Despite the conflict between houses and the usual stress of school, everyone looked so happy. Between chugs of cooled butterbeer and spins on the makeshift dance floor, there was a true freedom. The liquor was flowing, most of the snacks provided had been pilfered, and there was not a hint of sorrow. Not when there was lively music and livelier people to be around. 

As much as he loved it, as much as James Potter would always rather be at the centre of the storm than caught in the peripherals… he simply could not bring himself to stand. Not when there was a risk of someone taking his spot, of him missing when Hermione arrived. 

Yet as the night wore on, as students from other houses bid their goodbyes and the Gryffindor girls stumbled up the stairs, he found himself unrelentingly alone. 

It was only as Sirius and Pete fell asleep on the sofa by the window - the pair oddly intertwined in their slumber - that Remus came back to sit by James. His hair was messed, his cheeks flushed, but his eyes were dimmed. 

“You alright?” James asked, fingers drumming the side of the sofa. 

“Tired.” Remus huffed, leaning his head against the back cushions. “Next time you plan a party, can you do it when there’s not a full moon coming up?”

“Certainly.” James mocked a salute. 

The other boy exhaled a chuckle, eyes screwing shut. There was a silence that spread, one only a particular kind of friendship could bring. It was not a suffocating silence, nor one of awkward pause. Instead, their silence was one of familiar comfort. 

Then, all too soon, Remus shuffled on the sofa, eyes fluttering open as he looked to James. 

“You were a bit of a wallflower tonight.” Remus remarked. 

“I had fun.” James spoke, his tone a tad defensive. “I’ve never really… I’m always in the middle of things. I never get the chance to just watch it all unfold.”

“Not why you did it though, is it?” Remus scoffed, lifting his head to pierce James with those knowing eyes. “Honestly, mate. You wasted your night waiting for her.” 

“So why didn’t she come, then?” He finally asked. And he watched as Remus opened his mouth and shut it again. As his friend seemed to weigh his words before he spoke. 

“The Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw DADA class faced the boggarts today.”

“And?” He frowned, a little lost. 

The boggarts hadn’t really been too bad. Sure, it had been daunting to have all their classmates witness their fears, but the majority had been fairly harmless. Large spiders or Muggle clowns were the worst of it, really, save for Remus’s bloodied wolf that Professor McMale McGonagall (as the lads liked to call him) had slammed the door on. 

“And,” he stressed, “for a fella so wound up about her, you ought to have noticed their chatter tonight.”

“What happened?”

“Her boggart was so bad that McMale dismissed the class early.”

“What… what was it?”

“No one told you?” 

He shook his head. With a sigh, as though deeply troubled, Remus glanced at the last dredge of partygoers - quickly waving up a ward to block their chatter. 

“She… it was her, a little older than now, stood in front of a cot. And she was screaming for someone to leave her baby alone. ‘Not my Harry’, she said.” Remus informed him, voice a little hoarse. “It was something ghastly, apparently. And when Polly - that Ravenclaw with the ridiculously long hair - asked her about it, Hermione admitted that it was her vision of her own death.”

“She’s seen that?” James exclaimed with great horror. 

“She’s a Seer, Prongs. If she knows who’ll win each bloody Quidditch match you think she doesn’t know how she’ll die, too?” 

“How… how old was she?”

Remus winced at the question. 

“She couldn’t have been a decade older than she is now.” He admitted. “I overheard Kingsley - Shacklebolt, that is - say she looked barely twenty. Poor fella seemed rather distraught about it. I recon it’s why he got so slaughtered tonight.”

“Fuck.” He whispered. His head turned to lean against the sofa, eyes drawn to the tall ceilings. 

Sometimes James wondered if they only pranked other houses to see if their Common Rooms’ were better. While Ravenclaw was a brilliant view and some neat architecture, it was too filled with whispers and studying - shelves of books lining each wall. Hufflepuff were admittedly quite lucky with their Common Room by the kitchens. Sure it was a tad too yellow, but overall it had comfortable sofas and the odd feature of old weaponry on the walls. 

The Sytherin dourness of sleeping under a lake… well, the absurdity of sleeping in the dungeons naturally put it in last place. 

There was no house like Gryffindor. No place quite as cosy, no ceilings as beautiful or paintings as proud. 

Yet if he could have swayed the hat, James would have begged to be a Hufflepuff. He’d never admit it, certainly not to his Marauders, but he walked up to that stool and hoped to be in Hermione Evans’ house. It was dumb luck that the hat barely scraped his head before yelling out his fate. 

Still, he’d be lying if he said that she’d not crossed his mind on that first day. And he’d be lying if he said that he wasn’t always trailing her path with his hazel eyes - hoping she might glance his way. She may not have come to his party, but that was not the end of his attempts. 

And when Hermione Evans sat for breakfast, trying her very hardest to ignore all the whispers and gossiping, an owl swooped to drop something upon her empty plate. It was a bundle of flowers wrapped in simple brown paper. A bright bouquet. Attached with a neat pouch strung to a bow, was a small vial of perfume. 

Gently, she raised the vial to her nose - nostrils scrunching as she unclasped the lid and sniffed. For a moment, she seemed to mull it over, before soon placing the vial to her wrists. It was with a delicate smile that she sealed the lid anew, placing the vial in her pocket as she turned to her friends. 

Though he had not let a note of his name, Hermione still looked to the Gryffindor table - even as she spoke to her house mates. Her eyes met James Potter’s across the Great Hall and his breath caught in his throat. 

Her head tilted into a nod, a curve to her lips and spark to her eyes saved just for him. And then, as soon as his heart began to squeeze, her eyes flickered away. 

Chapter Text

Hermione had not seen her sister in a week. 

Well, no more than spying her sleep-deprived scowls as Lily beelined for the library - not even glancing up to wave hello. From what the Hufflepuff girl had heard, her sister had been… well, she was rather tetchy about these exams. Apparently she’d been snapping at anyone that came near to her crowded table. Lupin had tried to sit beside her, only to get an earful when he’d moved one of many tomes she was revising from. 

In the end, their cohort had decided it was better to leave her alone than to risk her wrath. And Hermione, familiar with Lily’s bouts of rage, had decided that it would only serve to stress her out in a time that she needed peace. They had a summer to spend together after it all, one in which Petunia could soothe Lily’s worries. 

As the fifth years sat their exams, she kept her distance. When the year group left their final test, she let her sister flop into the embrace of her dorm mates and found solace in her own company. Xeno was off with the Ravenclaws, all comparing their answers as though they might be able to predict their results. Kingsley was rushing out to get in one final practice before the last Quidditch match of the year. Auggie was somewhere with his Gobstones club, trying to smuggle in alcohol for a party that night. 

And Hermione, as she so rarely was these days, was left blessedly alone. 

It was odd to think about. Popularity wasn’t something she was used to, not in this life or her last. Hermione Granger hadn’t been friendless, not with Harry and Ron usually by her side, but she’d never been truly liked. There were always girls that found her insufferable and boys that thought her to be stuck up. 

Yet as a Hufflepuff, as a Seer, she was regarded rather highly. People came to her for advice, they came to her for company. 

She hadn’t… there was nothing about herself that she’d really changed. She hadn’t forced herself to be friendlier or less wry, nor had she tried to hide her intelligence. Yet people still treated her far better in this life than in her last. 

Perhaps it was growing up with sisters that had changed her. She was certainly less abrasive, less frustrated by things out of her wheelhouse and all that. Now she held those Seer traits she’d always judged as poppycock, she understood that there was more to the world than what she learned in academic journals. And with sisters like hers, always spouting the silliest of things, she’d learned to be less judgemental. 

Whatever force had shifted her, Hermione begrudged its brilliance. 

“Evans!” 

She froze in her path, oddly startled. With just a dash of trepidation, Hermione spun in place to spy a familiar Gryffindor just behind her. His robes were absent, his tie tugged loose over his crumpled shirt. And his hair, those messed dark curls, were pulled off his face as he tugged a hand through them. 

“Oh. Hello, Potter.”

Hermione wasn’t entirely sure what to do with James Potter. 

He was oddly persistent. Though he never quite pressed to ask her out, he was certainly laying the groundwork. From the bouquets at breakfast, to his odd comments in the corridors, it was evident that he had something of a crush on her. 

It would pass, she thought. He’d come to his senses and see Lily as the goal (even if she knew her sister would loathe such an idea). But for right now, he was caught on that same allure that had dragged Fabian into her orbit. Though she was sure he’d never admit it, James Potter was simply another that thought her Sight to be something of a novelty. Something to covet. 

At least he wasn’t as transparent as the other boys. 

“Finished up with exams, then?” James smiled, eyes bright and lips wide. 

“Indeed.”

“I bet you did brilliant.” He grinned, leaning against the archway. “You’re probably the smartest person I know.”

“Cheers for the acclaim.” Her lips tugged upwards in amusement. “I’m sure you did well on your exams, too.”

“Seen it, have you?”

“Perhaps.” She shrugged, inwardly rolling her eyes. “Or, maybe I just have faith in you.” 

“That’s a rare compliment.” He hummed, lips stretching upwards into a wide grin. 

“Don’t let it get to your head. It’s already far too big.” 

James let out a snort of laughter, regarding her with that odd glimmer to his eyes. It always left her a little uneasy, stomach twisting in an unfamiliar way. 

“Thought you’d be with your boys.” James remarked, eyes darting the empty air behind them. 

“Unfortunately for me, my two best friends are off with their boys.” Her lips twitched upwards. “I’m just on my way to enjoy the sunshine.”

“Well, I’ll leave you to it. Don’t want to interrupt or anything.” He blushed, lips twirling into one of those blinding smiles. 

“That’s alright, Potter.” She smiled back. “It was nice saying hello.” 

They parted ways with a wave, neither daring to prolong their chatter. Not when Hermione was half-sure she’d interrupted him brewing up some prank. And not when James still struggled to talk to her for more than a minute before his mind tried to blurt his affections. 

She traipsed the halls of Hogwarts, stepping past classrooms and tapestries on her path to the fifth floor. There, tucked behind a painting of a rabbit resting atop a summer hat, was a secret passage to the far edge of the lake. 

In her years at Hogwarts - both in her past life and her current one - it was somewhat of a hobby to plot out each hidden passage and room. Ever since she’d learned of the Chamber of Secrets, Hermione had been desperate to know it all. How many dangers lurked beneath the grounds? How many ways were there for someone to break in?

So far, she’d found six passages outside, and three hidden rooms. The passages popped up all over the place outside, from near Hagrid’s hut to all the way in Hogsmead. The rooms, however, were far more interesting. First, naturally, she’d rediscovered the Room of Requirement. It was rather useful when she needed a break from being cheerful, especially when Lily had found her second room to mull around in. The Welsh Dragon Art Club now sat within her secret room behind the dragon tapestry. 

Though Hermione could hardly blame her sister for following her around and finding the room, she was still a little peeved that Lily took the credit for it when she co-opted it. Hermione had been hoping to use it as a potions space. 

Instead, she used the Chamber of Secrets for that. 

All in all, it had been terribly easy to find the right tap in the girls loos on the second floor. It had been easier, still, to recall what Ron had whispered to both the tap and the round door that rested beneath. With a borrowed rooster (that Hagrid had been more than happy to lend to the Pride of Hufflepuff, it has been ridiculously simple to kill off that ruddy basilisk buried within. 

She felt that she was owed that victory, after what it had done to her. She’d been aware the entire time she was paralysed by it. Frozen like stone, hearing every word and remembering them all. Every time Harry had snuck in at night to visit, every time Ron had cried when they were alone. She’d known that Fred had visited her to hold her hand and tell her that she deserved a happy life, though he never admitted to it. 

Besides, considering her recent breakup, Hermione had been looking to let off a little steam. Defanging a basilisk and cleaning up a secret lair had been rather good for her. Now, with stolen good from the Room of Requirement, Hermione had a neat potions space in the corner of an absurdly large hall. Since getting down there was such a chore, she’d elected to stuff a mattress and pillows nearby. Some evenings… sometimes she needed to be alone. And if finding it meant sleeping in the creepy snake cave, she wasn’t going to say no. 

That day, however, Hermione did not go to one of her secret rooms. She travelled down the tunnel behind the rabbit painting, wand lit to guide her way through twists and pivots. After a few minutes, daylight began to shine from the other end. She dimmed her wand and pocketed it, hands ready to push through the vines and leaves that coated the exit. Peering out onto the shore of the Black Lake, Hermione briefly glanced to check she was alone before stepping through fully. 

From there, it was a short journey to her favourite spot. It was the perfect thing for viewing the horizon, just high enough to spy how it reflected off the lake. With a transfigured blanket to sit on and a scone she’d snatched at breakfast, Hermione let out a hum of contentment. Her OWLs were finished, the year close to its conclusion, and she was doing okay. Slotting all the pieces into place, preparing for the battle ahead. 

Though her life would be short, Hermione would use it well. Her second chance would be one for them all, even if she’d never live to see as those she loved got to grow old. Hell, she’d do anything to know Lily would one day have greyed hair and smile lines. That would be her victory. One life traded for hundreds didn’t seem like too bad a bargain. 

Though she tried not to think of that. Not that day, not with the sun so bright and the lake so beautiful. And certainly not when she could hear footsteps approaching. Hermione did not bother to turn, not when only one person knew of her favourite spot to sit. 

“How’d you think you did?” Regulus asked kindly, sitting beside her on the stone step. 

“Better than a Gryffindor, perhaps worse than a Ravenclaw.”

“Oh, please,” he snorted a laugh, “I’ve heard them lament your talents. Surely you’ll top their scores handedly.”

“Perhaps.” She shrugged. “But I’m certainly not going to beat Lily’s. She’s been studying like mad for these exams.”

“Only because she knows you’re the smarter Evans.”

“Hey!” She gasped, swatting his arm. 

“I’m only speaking the truth, ow!” He rubbed his smarting arm, shooting her a friendly glare. “You’re twice the witch she is, ‘Mione, why’d you think she’s so stressed about the OWLs? As much as she’s a decent sort, and brilliant at that, your sister has never had the same natural talent as you.”

“She’s extraordinary.”

“Certainly.” He nodded. “But she’s still not you. That’s why she simpers before Slughorn, and it’s why she’s been refusing to hold court with you for the last month. Lily knows that you’re going to get straight O’s without trying.”

“Don’t… presume to know her.”

“I wouldn’t dare.” Regulus mocked. “She’s hardly the sort to be kind to a Slytherin, what with all that inter-house rivalry. No. Your sister was draped in red and decided that it meant she was better than everyone else, yourself included. We can hardly blame her for it, I’m certain that Gryffindors have weekly meetings to praise themselves for the Hat’s decision, but it hardly makes her inclined to even pretend to tolerate us Slytherins.”

“Or us Hufflepuffs.” Hermione begrudgingly huffed. 

“Caught on, have you?”

“To what?” She huffed, brow raised. “How she’ll sit at my house table and only speak to me? Or how she’ll parade me around those wretched Gryffindors and spout how I’m the only Hufflepuff worth knowing?”

“A shame for her.” Regulus patted her shoulder. “If she could look past her stuck up nose, she might find more friends.”

“I think, Reggie, that you ought to stop talking.” Hermione spoke carefully. “As much as I agree, it would not do for me to let my friends talk of my sister that way.” 

“Certainly.” He grinned knowingly. “Siblings are so very complicated, aren’t they?”

She let out a snort. 

“At least you’ve got your Muggle sister.” Reg replied, unperturbed by the sharp glance Hermione gave him at that descriptor. “Must be nice to have someone a little older to calm the tides.”

“You have Andromeda.” Hermione pointed out.

“I had Andy.” Reg snorted. “Hard for my cousin to support me when she’s been disowned.”

“Fair.”

“I think Sirius is next at this rate.” Regulus huffed out, with brow furrowing as his eyes darkened. “The moment that our parents figure out that he’s more interested in male anatomy, he’s gone.”

“He’s in for heartbreak.”

“Because Lupin’s got a thing for your sister?” Reg raised a brow. “Or because he’s soon to be kicked out of our family? Which thing have you Seen?”

“Both.” Hermione admitted with a sigh. “It’s all so… complicated.”

“Teenage hormones, or the future?”

Despite their familiarity, she bristled. For as much as she had originally welcomed being known as the Seer at school, she was growing rather tired of it as her defining characteristic. Still, Reg never seemed to hold it as more than a novelty. He took stock in her predictions, but usually found a way to add levity to their horrors. 

“Both.” 

The pair exchanged amused looks, settling in their spot as they purposefully ignored all the chatter that seemed to come with their friendship. Slytherins walked past with upturned noses, Gryffindors whispering of how ‘poor Hermione’ could never seem to give up on a lost cause. 

But that day, with the sun so very bright and the lake so very clear, they could not find it in themselves to care about the gossip. 

*-*-*

When Hermione departed from Regulus’s company, it had been with the plan to find her sister and convince the girl to sneak off to the kitchens. They deserved a nice treat after the horror of their OWLs, after all. 

Her favourite spot to sit was a fair distance from the castle, closer to the lake than anything else. It made the trek back to the castle somewhat of a journey, though one she greatly enjoyed. There was something about the air around Hogwarts. Maybe just the air in Scotland, but still. Hermione took gulping lungfuls, trying to balm her lungs before a summer under the smog filled skies of Cokesworth. 

Maybe she’d ask Kingsley if she could stay at his for a bit of summer? He lived in Suffolk with his parents and grandparents - their manor overlocking the ocean. That ought to be a pretty sight. Or she could ask Xeno if he’d let her tag along as he went with Pandora to hunt for yet another never-seen-before magical creature. Though they’d be unlikely to find anything, the search would surely be entertaining. 

She wouldn’t ask Auggie to visit over summer. Not when his uncles were definitely Death Eaters. They’d continue as they always did, sending letters back and forth with the help of his personal house elf. 

Still, it was oddly reassuring to know that there were people she could turn to. She had her boys as she always had. Only now, instead of her Harry and Ron and Neville, she had Kingsley and Auggie and Xeno. 

A whooping distracted her thoughts, pulling her attention to the hilly fields to her left. There were some people sat in groups on the outskirts. But in the middle, surrounding the tree that curved to the east, there must have been dozens of students. 

What were they doing? 

Curiosity, as it always did, propelled her to alter her path. She stepped into the grass, travelling through the different groups with waves and greetings, until she found a tree stump to stand on. Steady as she looked over the crowd, she spied the most frustratingly unsurprising thing. 

Bloody Sirius Black was spelling Severus Snape upside down. 

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Hermione muttered under her breath, pinching the bridge of her nose as she hopped off the stump. 

Of course it was today that this would happen. She’d been so preoccupied with her many ventures to remember this vision of hers. On this day, Snape would never be Lily’s friend again. This was the day that he ruined whatever friendship her sister had salvaged behind her back. 

Only in this life, it could never be Lily at the centre. Not when there was a person that Severus hated more than James, especially now that James had never openly wooed Lily. 

No. It had to be Hermione. It had to be the girl that Severus blamed for most of his miseries, however minor a part she played. 

It had to be her. 

She pushed through the crowds of gathering students, most of them stepping back once they saw that it was her trying to get pass. 

“Leave him alone.” Hermione sighed, finally past the first wave of students. She was close enough now to see the abysmal display. Snape was strung up by the ankles by a spell of his very own creation. She knew it well from each time he’d taunted James with it. 

She could see the soiled hems of his trousers. How his jumper was far too big and unravelling at the base. Sirius was laughing in his face, James snickering behind him. Oh, he must’ve felt so embarrassed. No wonder he wore his cloak like a shield against the world. 

“Are you serious?” James gawked, blinking at her widely. 

“No, that’s your oaf of a best mate,” Hermione rolled her eyes. “Just let him alone, alright?”

“I’m not blind, Evans.” He huffed back at her, eyes darting to pin Snape with a glare. “I know what he’s been saying about you.” 

“So what?” She snapped, arms folding over her chest. “Does it matter that he hates me, or that he’s got a thing for my sister? It isn’t your concern, Potter.”

“Not my concern?” He squawked in reply, blinking at her widely. 

“No. It isn’t.” She replied simply. “I’m not your housemate, nor am I your friend. I know I’m Lily’s twin, but that doesn’t inspire any sort of connection between us. You don’t like me, Potter, you just enjoy a good chase.” 

“Rubbish!” He gasped out, brow furrowed and eyes wide - uncomprehending of her words. “What do you call what I’ve been doing? All the gestures and flowers and-”

“Put him down.” Hermione interjected with a weary tone. “I can fight my own battles.”

“But, Hermione-” James tried to interject - his indignant squawk interrupted by a sternly raised hand. 

“Enough, Potter. Just… give it a rest.” She turned to Sirius, arching a brow. 

The air stilled around them, whispers dying in the crowd as the two standing Marauders glanced at those surrounding them. There were heads being shaken, some glancing at the ground in disappointment, and the pair knew their time was up. 

And so, with a glare shot to Hermione and a growl at his position, Sirius Black waved away the spell in place. Severus fell to the ground in a clump of indignation and too-large robes - the thud heard across the clearing. 

“There.” Sirius growled. “You’re lucky, Snivellus. Lucky Evans was here.” 

It ought to have been the end of it. Severus ought to have brushed off his trousers and taken the loss, marched back to the dungeons and plotted to fight the Marauders another day. 

But he was a boy scorned. One born to a shitty life, one that thought his only chance at salvation had been stolen by her snooty sisters. As much as he loved Lily, he hated Hermione Evans. His embarrassment at the Gryffindors’ antics was merely second to his loathing of the Hufflepuff girl. How humiliating to be saved by the girl he teased the most, the girl he considered to be the wretch that ruined his chances at a better life. 

He had survived years at Hogwarts by staying under the radar. Sure, he was known as one of the Marauders’ favourite targets for their pranking, but he’d never been truly perceived beyond that. Few knew of how he would taunt the Hufflepuff Evans, of how he’d always tease her with snide whispers in the corridor or deliberate spills in Potions whenever Slughorn partnered them together. 

In the end, Hermione had always known that Severus would snap. And she had always known it would be this moment. 

“I don’t need help from filthy mudbloods like her!” He spit out, eyes suddenly widening as they darted through the gasping crowd. Their gaze flittered between his reddening face and the weary expression of Hermione Evans. 

And the whispers began. Mutters of how calm she seemed against his wrath, how familiar the girl was with being taunted by this boy. Murmurs of how Hermione Evans was a decent kind of witch, one that always helped whoever needed it - regardless of house or affiliation. 

With one awful line, Severus Snape had revealed his true nature before almost his entire year. None would forgive this trespass, not even those in Slytherin that vouched most strongly in favour of blood purity. Not when the Hufflepuff Evans had been kind to them, too. Not when they considered her gifts to place her above the ranks of muddied blood. 

“Take it back!” James roared, lunging forwards with his wand brandished - teeth clenched and lips tight. 

“Oh, just stop it.” Hermione sighed. With a wave of her wand, the group of boys were pushed apart - the Gryffindors sprawled by their favourite tree as Severus fell onto his arse. 

“He… he called you that awful word!” James spluttered, crawling up to rest upon his elbows. 

“I know.” She shrugged, smiling with true sorrow. “Better me than anyone else. I’ve gotten rather used to it, after all.” 

“But-”

“Give it a rest, Potter!” Hermione finally snapped, blushing as it caused a jolt of shock through the surrounding group. “You can be just as rotten as him, you know.”

“I’d never call you that!”

“No, but you’ll jinx and hex whoever you feel like, all in the name of fun.” She bit out, waving her wand to freeze Snape as he tried to right himself. “Always messing your hair ‘cause you think it looks best after a broom ride, always taunting whoever you think is looking at you funny, priding yourself as righteous simply because you’re a Gryffindor. Grow up, for fuck’s sake! You are a conceited, little boy that thinks the whole universe revolves around him and what he wants! I never asked for your attention, never wanted it.” 

Severus let out a snort. 

“And you!” She rounded on him, finger pointing in accusation. “I tried to ignore you! I hoped you’d grow up and realise that it wasn’t me that denied your friendship with my sister, but your own ridiculous nature. You’re a toad in a snake den, hoping the others will see your green as scales and not the pathetic jealousy that it is! Grow up, Severus! Fucking grow up!” 

Her breath came out in pants, her eyes narrowed and cheeks pinked from the force of her fury. Severus Snape stood there, silent and stunned, as his own face flushed scarlet. His eyes darted to the crowd and his head sunk in shame. 

Hermione clearly hoped that would be the end of it. As did the Marauders, now stepping backwards as their house mates and year group tutted at their pitiful display. But Lily Evans - now at the border of this fight - would not let this scene play out without putting her own word in. Her fists clenched, cheeks pinking, as she marched towards Hermione. 

“How long?” She demanded, ignoring the way the crowd tensed at the arrival of the fiery Gryffindor. “How long has he been bullying you?”

“Does it matter?” Hermione’s voice was weary, eyes darting to the crowd with growing embarrassment.

“It does to me.” 

“Since first year.” She sighed, glancing over to Severus with pity. “But he was always kind to you, so I saw no point in shattering the illusion.” 

“You’re shitting me.” Lily deadpanned, utterly aghast. “He’s been calling you… that word for years, and you never said? What the fuck, Hermione?”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not mad at you, blimey, you’re a pacifist to a fault.” The ginger huffed, reaching a hand to squeeze her shoulder. “But I am going to kill him.” 

Hermione blinked at her, head tilting as those all-seeing eyes looked right through her. 

“Oh. Alright then, if you must?”

“Hey!” Sirius raised his arms. “Why’d she get a go and not us?” 

“She’s my sister.” Hermione sighed. “I could never deny her anything.” 

That seemed to be all the permission that Lily required. With thundering steps, she stalked towards Severus. Her fists were clenched at her sides, shaking with fury as she pinned him in place with utter fury. 

Then, with such force it brought a resounding crack that echoed through the clearing, her fist sunk into his cheek. The dark haired boy staggered backwards, stumbling until he fell onto his bottom. His eyes widened as his hand clutched his cheek, looking up at her with betrayal. 

“If that’s how you feel about us Muggleborns, about my sister, then you ought to do the right thing and leave us alone. Go wash your trousers, Snape, and stay in those dungeons. I never want to see your face again.” 

“Lily-” he began, a wince catching in his throat. 

“Don’t you dare.” She seethed. “You know, Sev, I almost bought it. I almost believed that you really were this poor kid on the outskirts, the easy mark for everyone to bully. But you aren’t that, are you? Your heart is rotten and we can all see it. You’re only kind if it gets you something.”

“But, Lily-”

“I don’t care!” She screamed, Hermione’s hand slipping onto her shoulder with a gentle squeeze. “Look at yourself, for God’s sake.” 

“Come on, Lils.” Hermione spoke ever so gently, easily tugging her arm around Lily’s shoulders to lead her away. 

The crowds watched on, silent and guilty, as the two sisters departed. They watched and whispered as their cloaks began smudges on the horizon. And though they saw fit to shame Severus - to shame the Marauders for their antics, too - none present saw fit to shame themselves. They would never truly know how harshly their watching had rattled the Seer of Hufflepuff, nor of how her trust in them cracked and fizzled. Although the boys had been the ones to embarrass her, it had been all her friends in other houses that had simply watched. None fought for her side, none offered support in the aftermath. 

No, they’d found pleasure in her ridicule. Maybe not for the sake of mocking, but certainly to spin the cogs of the gossip train. 

And Hermione thought of the war that was set to come. Of all those that were set to be lost, and all those that would force their way through it. All those lives she’d vowed to save, all those souls she deigned to free. 

Yet, there was something in her heart that seemed to ebb that day. It washed over her, rippled through each limb and nerve and vein. Though she was desperate to save them all, she could never trust them again.