Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The little girl awoke and wondered where on earth she was. Things didn’t seem right here. Her body didn’t feel right, for one: all the wrong shape—a good deal thicker, but somehow a lot lighter than it had been before. She was also lying on something huge and very thick and soft, not like a normal bed at all, and her head was lying on a pillow, but a huge one. Was she even on planet Earth? The gravity didn’t feel right. But no, that was a question only a muggle-born could have thought up. There was no reason (and probably no way) for magic to take her to another planet.

She tried to move her limbs, and her hands gripped something big and soft and fluffy. She fumbled with her hands a little. They felt awkward and clumsy and much less nimble than she was used to, but she started feeling around, trying to take stock of her body. She realised with a start that her head felt too big, and her hair was short and curly, not even reaching her chin, not the long, bushy mane she was used to. Something was very wrong.

The girl opened her eyes, blinking in the morning light. The room was a familiar one—the one she had slept in for most of the first twelve years of her childhood plus summers afterwards, but it looked different—bigger than it did before. She looked down at her hands. The soft thing she was holding turned out to be an enormous stuffed otter, nearly as big as she was. Her hands looked fatter than they should be and oddly smooth and unwrinkled, even delicate-looking.

On closer inspection, she found she was in a bed after all, but an impossibly large one…and why were there safety rails on the sides?

Then, in a flash, she remembered.

Her name was Hermione Granger. She had been through seven years of increasingly insane and dangerous fights, culminating in a battle in which fifty-four good people, many of them friends, had died. And so had one very bad person in particular.

Voldemort was dead, and the nation had felt like celebrating, but to those who had lost so much, there was no cause for celebration. They buried their dead and did their best to move on with their lives, only that turned out to be the hardest part of all.

She had survived the war, and against all odds, so had Harry Potter, the love of her life. When they finally got a chance to hold each other after that battle, they never wanted to let go. Now that it was over, they thought they could finally give their relationship a real try and actually act on all those feelings they had pushed aside for so long for the sake of the war. And they had tried, and it was good a lot of the time, but after all that, a year after the final battle, Harry wasn’t happy. She wasn’t happy. They truth was, they were broken. Both of them had lost too many people—good people—family, friends, and mentors, all the way back to Harry’s parents.

And it was that last part that had really got her thinking.

What if it didn’t have to be that way?

She had worked on it, to some degree, almost from when the bodies were still warm on the battlefield, as if she knew instinctively that it would come to this.

She had walked into the Department of Mysteries (there were perks to being a war hero) and asked the Unspeakables if there might be a way to change what had happened. Of course, the answer was no. They had tried long-distance time travel before, and it hadn’t ended well. But Hermione had asked to see their files anyway, and, working together, they had come up with the idea of possibly sending a message instead of a person, which, with some further refinement, led to the plan they had ultimately tried. It was stupid and dangerous and crazy, not to mention a one-way trip, but she had to do it. She had to do it for him—for all of them, but especially for Harry.

The ritual required a young mind to undergo it—something about the plasticity of the brain. The older a person was, the higher the risk that it would drive them insane. By twenty-five, they were plum out of luck. But whoever did it had to go back so far; they would have to have been alive and able to communicate in the fall of 1981. At twenty, Hermione was the only person capable of making the trip who was crazy enough (or desperate enough) to do it, and realistically, there was a good chance she would fail.

And even if she succeeded, it’s not easy to convince your parents that you’ve suddenly woken up with eighteen years’ worth of memories from the future on your second birthday.

Hermione was pretty sure she wasn’t insane, unless this was all some big hallucination, so that was a good sign to start out. The next step was to talk to her parents and convince them that she wasn’t insane. Well, nothing for it. It was early enough that they would probably still be in bed. She crawled out of her own bed and planted her feet on the floor.

And promptly fell flat on her face.

Being so short, it didn’t really hurt, but she definitely didn’t have her grown-up legs that had carried her all over Britain on the run from Death Eaters for a solid year. Her proportionally thicker two-year-old body wasn’t used to heavy exertion and didn’t have the muscle control and coordination she was used to. Still, she was a girl on a mission. She picked herself up and toddled to her parents’ room, where she climbed up on their bed.

Dan and Emma Granger slowly blinked awake to find their daughter sitting quietly on their bed, watching them intently. Oddly, to them, Hermione was struggling to hold back tears. They looked so young, she thought. Predictably enough, she didn’t have any memories of them looking that young. It was also weird to see them looking that big, though neither was unexpected.

“Er…hi…” she said, trying her voice for the first time. It was high and squeaky, but hopefully not too hard to understand.

“Hi,” her mother said with a smile, no doubt thinking Hermione was in one of her strange toddler moods. “Happy birthday, sweetie.”

“Happy birthday,” her father repeated.

“Thank you,” she said, a little dismissively. “Mummy, Daddy, we need to talk.”

Her parents giggled at what they must have thought was a two-year-old trying to sound like a grown-up. This wasn’t going to be easy. How could she to explain to them that she wasn’t the same little girl they had tucked into bed last night, but a much older, wiser, and more troubled version of herself, who had seen things no little girl should see?

“Now, Hermione, just because it’s your birthday doesn’t mean we’re going to change your nap time,” Mum said patronisingly.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Not about that, Mummy…Listen…This is going to sound completely insane, but…” She took a deep breath. Might as well just dive in: “I’m actually Hermione from the year 1999. I’m a witch, and I went to a school for witches and wizards for seven years, and I sent my memories back in time to stop an evil wizard from killing my boyfriend’s parents.”

Despite being away from the muggle world for so long, she was well aware of how ridiculous that sounded. What she hadn’t been prepared for was that it sounded even crazier in her squeaky two-year-old voice. Sure enough, her parents started laughing. Even though it was possible no twenty-four-month-old in history could have strung together sentences like that, they couldn’t think of anything but their daughter playing a very bizarre little game.

“That’s really very clever, Hermione,” Dad said. “You weren’t talking nearly that well yesterday. How did you ever come up with all of that? And who’s this boyfriend you mentioned?” he teased.

Hermione gave a heavy sigh that she hoped got the frustrated twenty-year-old attitude across: “His name’s Harry Potter, and he’s rich and good-looking and really nice, and he’s got this annoyingly noble saving people thing, and he was famous for defeating the evil wizard, but now he’s not because it hasn’t happened yet.”

Mum giggled again. “Well, it sounds like you’ve got your fairy tale ending all figured out.”

“I will have done if I save his parents. Can we go to London today? Pleeease?”

“London? Why do you want to go to London?”

“To change some pounds to galleons, buy my wand if Ollivander’s made it yet, and catch the bus to Hogwarts—that’s the magical school—so I can tell Professor Dumbledore how to beat Lord Voldemort.”

“Well…well…well, we can’t go to London today,” Mum said through her laughter, surprised that her daughter was keeping this up for so long. “All of our family and friends are coming for your birthday party.”

And now, Hermione realised her first miscalculation. “Oh, no. Mummy, Daddy, do they have to?”

“What? Don’t you want to have a birthday party?” ask Dad.

“But now I’ll have to pretend to be two all day.”

“But you are two, sweetie,” Mum said. “That’s what your birthday means.”

“I know that, Mummy. But my body is two. My mind is twenty. That’s what I keep telling you. I don’t even remember how to be two.”

“Whatever you say, dear.”

“But I’m telling the truth! Oh, if only I had my wand, or I was old enough to do accidental magic. Stupid two-year-old body.”

“Hey, now, there’s nothing wrong with being two years old, Hermione,” Dad said. “You’ll grow up soon enough.”

“But I only have till Halloween to save Harry’s parents!”

“Well, that’s a long way away then. If you’re good, maybe we can go to London tomorrow.”

“It’s only forty-two days, Daddy, and I…Oh, fine,” she grumbled. “We can go tomorrow, then, or…what day of the week is it today?”

Mum started up her little-kid-teaching tone: “Well, yesterday was Friday, so…”

“Right. Well, Sunday’s probably the best, anyway.” Hermione took a deep breath to calm herself. “I mean, we’ve got until Halloween. We’ll probably meet fewer students roaming the halls on a Sunday, and—”

“Hold on,” Dad switched gears. “Hermione, did you just count the number of days until Halloween in your head a minute ago?”

“Of course not, Daddy. I made sure I knew before I came back. Anyway, on a Sunday, Dumbledore will be able to call in McGonagall, Hagrid, and…Snape…anytime. Hmm…I’ll have to think about what to do about Snape.”

“Wait, what?” Dad said. “Who’s Snape? And…and Hagrid…and…?”

“They’re teachers at the magic school,” Hermione said. “Dumbledore is the Headmaster, McGonagall teaches Transfiguration. Snape teaches Potions, but he’s also a double agent in the war, and Hagrid—well, right now, he’s the groundskeeper, but he started teaching Magical Creatures after the whole Chamber of Secrets incident…Merlin’s beard, I’m gonna have to tell Dumbledore to clear Hagrid’s name, too…I’d better start a to-do list. Is there a pen here?” She climbed off the bed, toddled to the bedside table, and stood on tip-toe to look in the drawer.

“Merlin’s beard?” Mum said in confusion.

“Aha!” She fished out a notepad and pen from the drawer and climbed back up on the bed with a grunt. Flipping open the notepad, she began to write: “To…do…” She frowned when the letters came out as a barely legible scribble, like she was trying to write left-handed, at best, but she pressed on. “Go…to…Diagon…Alley…” The letters started to run together. “Augh! Stupid two-year-old motor skills. Here, could you write this down for me please, Mummy?”

Mum took the notepad with that same patronising smile, but it was quickly wiped off her face when she saw the letters. Hermione could have smacked herself. She should have thought of that to start with. “Dan…” Mum whispered, showing him the pad. His eyes grew as wide as hers. “Hermione…you can write?” she said.

“Yeah, well I could write a lot better if I had a fully-developed cerebellum,” Hermione grumbled and crossed her arms.

“But…how…?”

“I told you. Magic and time travel.”

“Magic and time travel?” Dad said incredulously.

“Yes—You don’t believe me, do you?”

“Well, it’s just that…uh, we really wouldn’t think you could do either of those things, Hermione.”

“Well, I can. I’m not lying, Daddy. And I’m not crazy. I’m a witch, and I can do real magic.”

“I’m sure you can.”

“I’m not playing a game! I could show you if I had a wand.”

“Oh, and where would get a wand?”

“At Mr. Ollivander’s shop in London. I already told you,” she said exasperatedly. “Why won’t you believe me? Oh, I wish I could just do some accidental magic. It would make things so much easier.” She wondered if she was actually capable of it at this age. She tried to concentrate on doing something—levitating the bedside lamp maybe.

“Sweetie, we want to believe you,” Dad said soothingly. She had to question the truth of that. “But you’re not making any sense.”

“I’m making perfect sense,” she snapped angrily. “You just don’t want to believe me. I know it sounds crazy, but it’s true. I used magic to come back in time from the year 1999. You have to believe me!”

“Hermione, please calm down,” Mum said. Hermione had noticed that Mum had become very quiet, trying to figure out how she could write on the notepad and use the big words she’d been using.

She didn’t let up. “I will not calm down!” she cried shrilly. “I’m trying to save my boyfriend’s parents! There’s an evil wizard who wants to kill them because of a prophecy, and I’m the only one who can stop him!” Actually, she was starting to think maybe it wouldn’t be that hard to be two. It must be her two-year-old limbic system, which was not yet developed enough to properly handle adult emotions.

Her mother’s voice hardened: “Hermione, I think maybe you need a time out.”

Hermione grew angrier still: “I do not need a time out. I’m twenty bloody years old! I’m trying to save the world here, and you two are acting like a couple of bloody idiots!”

“That’s it,” Mum said. “You are definitely getting a time out. You are not to call names or use that kind of language.” She picked Hermione up to carry her out of the room.

Hermione started flailing and kicking. “NO I WON’T!” she screamed. “WON’T! WON’T! WON’T! WON’T—!”

And then it happened. The bedside lamp rose up into the air. It vibrated for a moment, and then the light bulb exploded. (Thankfully, the shade blocked the flying glass.) Then, the whole thing crashed to the floor.

Mum and Dad both gasped, and Hermione suddenly went limp with exhaustion. She felt like she’d just run a marathon, or whatever the two-year-old equivalent happened to be.

“Wh-what was that?” Mum said fearfully.

“What was that?” Dad echoed.

“Magic,” Hermione said wearily.

“Magic?” Mum said. She sat back down on the bed with her.

“Uh huh.”

“But then…it’s all true?” Dad said.

“Every word—about the magic, I mean,” Hermione said tearfully. “I’m really, really sorry. I didn’t want to call you names. I didn’t mean any of it. I don’t think you’re idiots. It’s just that I needed to work myself into enough of a tantrum to do accidental magic.”

“Accidental magic? That’s what that was?” Dad said. “But how…why…?”

“Young children can do accidental magic before they can control it with a wand,” Hermione said sleepily. She was suddenly aware of how nice it felt lying in her mother’s arms, even if she was trying to give her a time out. “It’s powered by strong emotions. That’s why I had to throw a massive temper tantrum in order to do it. I really am sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“But then…the boyfriend? The evil wizard? The time travel?” Mum said in horror.

“All true.”

“But then you’re really—” Dad said.

“Twenty years old, yes.”

“Oh, my baby,” Mum said, hugging her tight. “Eighteen years? We’ve missed eighteen years?”

“Mummy, please try to keep it together,” Hermione said quickly. “I promise you both of you were wonderful parents for the next eighteen years, and once we get this sorted out, I hope we can find a way to get those years back, but we need to deal with the evil wizard first.” Then, she yawned with a squeak. “I need a nap, now.”

“Wh-what?” Mum said in confusion. “A nap? B-but you just got up. Are—are you feeling alright?” Her maternal instincts reasserted themselves, and she felt Hermione’s forehead.

“I’m fine,” she said. “It’s just that accidental magic took a lot out of me.”

“Huh? How’s that?” Dad said.

“It’s hard to do magic before age eleven and a lot harder before age five. My body’s really not ready for it.”

“Well…do you need to see a doctor?” Mum asked.

“No! No. Magic needs to be kept secret.”

“But if it’s hurting you—”

“It’s not hurting me. I’m just tired. Really. Please don’t call the doctor. He’ll just start asking questions I can’t answer. It’s only magical exhaustion. I’ve had a lot worse.”

“But—”

“Mummy, Daddy, please trust me on this. I promise I’ll explain everything later, but right now, I really need that nap.”

Her parents finally acquiesced, and Hermione rolled over, curled into her mother’s side, and went to sleep.

Hermione woke again, still in her parents’ bed. Mum was lying down beside her with one arm wrapped around her. It was surprisingly comforting waking up in that position. She had a lot of complaints about her two-year-old body, but that was one perk to it. Mum was awake, but looked dazed. Hermione could see she’d been crying. She pushed herself up, leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.

Mum blinked back to awareness, sat up, and sat Hermione on her lap. Hermione freely cuddled into her side. It seemed strange to do that at her mental age, but she really felt like she was picking up some natural two-year-old mannerisms. It must be her limbic system again. That was probably why she kept calling them Mummy and Daddy, too. Dad was sitting in a chair by the bed, looking tired and concerned.

“Okay, Hermione,” Mum said softly, though she struggled to keep her voice even, “we’re all a little calmer now, so can you please start at the beginning and tell us exactly what’s going on?”

Hermione was a bit more on top of things, herself. “That depends,” she said. “How long do we have before the guests arrive?”

“Oh, goodness, the guests, I forgot.” Mum laid a hand to her forehead and checked the clock. “About an hour, and we still need to get ready. But what am I saying? How can we have a party at a time like this? I’ll just call it off.” She started to rise.

“No, Mummy, wait,” Hermione stopped her. “You were right before. We can’t just call it off. Magic has to be kept a secret. There’s something called the Statute of Secrecy. I’m going to have to do my best to act two, and you’ll have to cover for me.”

“But you…you’re…you said you were…” she started to choke up again.

“I know, but there’s nothing we can do. It could cause a lot of trouble if anyone else finds out about magic. You two are allowed to know because you’re my parents, but that’s it…And besides, it is technically my birthday. It was my birthday when I came back.”

“Oh…well…well, then, happy birthday,” she replied uncomfortably, then muttering to herself, “We can do this. We can make this work.”

“Er, thanks,” Hermione said. “Don’t worry. It’ll be okay.”

“Okay, Hermione,” Dad finally spoke, “but we still need to know what’s going on, especially with that evil wizard you were talking about.”

“Fine, uh, let me just give you the quick version. You’ll learn the long version tomorrow if all goes well, alright?” Her parents nodded. “Okay, so magic exists. Most humans have no magic powers, but a few do. People with magic are called witches and wizards, and people without magic are called muggles. Don’t ask me why; they just are.”

She cursed her squeaky two-year-old voice again. She just couldn’t sound serious with that voice, and she wasn’t sure how long she could keep up talking. “Now, there are about ten thousand witches and wizards in Britain,” she continued. “They have their own society that’s cut off from the muggle world, but about ten percent of them are muggle-born, which specifically means that they have no magical parents or grandparents—people like me.

“The problem is that some witches and wizards think muggle-borns are inferior to everybody else, and there’s this terrorist group called the Death Eaters who want to get rid of us, and Magical Britain is basically fighting a civil war against them. Their leader calls himself Lord Voldemort, and he’s so evil and powerful than most people are afraid to say his name.”

That probably wasn’t what her parents were hoping to hear. They were both staring at her with their mouths hanging open. Hermione reached up with one hand and pushed Mum’s mouth closed. She couldn’t help but giggle.

“I don’t think this is a laughing matter, Hermione,” Dad said. “Are we in danger here?”

“No, we’re fine, Daddy. My accidental magical from earlier would have registered at the Ministry, but the Death Eaters wouldn’t bother with that kind of thing until I turn eleven, even if they have access. But that’s not the important thing. The important thing is that there’s a baby boy named Harry Potter who lives in…in…come on, I know where he lives…” she said to herself, but she really couldn’t think of it. “Wow, I really don’t remember where he lives…oh, but that’s a good thing! It means the Fidelius Charm is working. Okay, so his location is magically protected from anyone but a few trusted people knowing it.”

“And Harry Potter is this boyfriend you mentioned?” Dad clarified.

“Yes, and he’s absolutely wonderful, Daddy, so you don’t have to worry. But he and his family are in hiding right now because Harry is prophesied to be the one to defeat Voldemort…well, actually, it’s a lot more complicated than that, and the prophesy doesn’t actually have to be fulfilled, but that’s basically it.”

“Prophesied?” Mum said incredulously.

“Magic,” Hermione reminded her. “Anyway, what they don’t know is that the person they entrusted their location to is a traitor. And on Halloween night…” The pain started to come back to her. “This is what’s going to happen if I don’t stop it. On Halloween night, Voldemort is going to kill Harry’s parents. And then he’s going to try to kill Harry, but because his mum will die to save him, Voldemort’s curse will reflect back on him. It’ll destroy his body, but it won’t kill him completely. And then…” Her voice choked briefly. “And then he’ll come back to life in 1995—the end of my fourth year at Hogwarts, the magic school.”

“He can do that?” Mum gasped.

“Yes, he can. Long story—really gruesome, honestly. I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow. After that, the war will start up again. Harry and I and some other students will join the effort to fight Voldemort—yes, I know we’ll only be kids, but there won’t be much else we can do—another long story. The upshot is that Harry will kill Voldemort for good in 1998, but by then, a lot of good people will die—far too many.”

“And you…you already lived through all that once?” Mum said in horror.

“I did, Mummy,” Hermione said, her voice cracking.

Mum just held her close to her chest and started crying again, words failing her.

“Mummy—Mummy, please don’t cry,” Hermione said. “If you start crying, then I’ll start crying, and the whole afternoon will be a wash.” Unfortunately, Mum didn’t seem ready to let up, and Hermione was starting to break down, too. “M-Mummy, p-please, I can’t do this,” she said. “I need to stay focused. I only have a two-year-old’s amygdala. Please don’t cry. I got out of it fine, and so did you two. It was Harry—he was hurting so much after…But it was all of us really. We’d lost so many, I had to come back.”

“So you—you used magic to time travel?” Dad said. “Or to send your memories back rather? To save the people who died in war?”

“Yes. That’s why I came back—to stop it—stop it as early as possible. I have the knowledge of how to get rid of Voldemort now, or at least soon, and I can save Harry’s parents, hamstring the Death Eaters, and end the war before many more people have to die. But I need to tell it all to Albus Dumbledore as soon as possible—he’s leading the war effort against Voldemort. He’s very powerful, and he’s the only one Voldemort’s afraid of. And he’s also Headmaster of Hogwarts.”

“He’s a schoolteacher?” Dad said.

“Daddy, when there’s only one school in the country, it’s a huge strategic asset.”

“Okay. Okay…so that’s why you need to go to London?”

“Mm hmm. It’s complicated, but I have some stuff I need to do there tomorrow. But that’s not important right now. I can walk you through it just fine tomorrow. Right now, the important thing is to get through the party without making anyone suspicious. Mummy, are you gonna be okay?”

Mum started inexplicably laughing and crying at the same time. “Y-you—you’re asking me?” she said. “After everything you’ve been through? And I—I’ve missed so much of your life, now—”

Hermione stood up on Mum’s lap and put her arms around her neck. “Mummy, it’s going to be okay,” she said. “I’m still your daughter, I’m still the same Hermione. I’ve just grown up a bit.”

“A bit?”

“Okay, more than a bit. But I promise it’s gonna be okay. We’ll find a way through this. Believe me, I want to get those eighteen years back as much as you do. I can’t very well grow up with my boyfriend being nineteen years younger than I am.” Mum and Dad both sputtered at this point. “And I don’t want to hurt you like this either. I do have a vague idea on how to do it, but I’ll need to ask Dumbledore, and we really need to get rid of Voldemort first. Okay? We should really get ready.”

Finally, and with difficulty, Mum collected herself, and she and Dad did their best to put the party together. Hermione asked a few questions about how she had been talking and acting and tried to adjust her speech patterns to something believable. It wasn’t easy. Even being a very bright child, she had to try to limit her vocabulary to a hundred words or so, to not speak in any sentences longer than three words, and to use fewer pronouns and very sloppy grammar. They only hoped the natural unpredictability of two-year-olds would be enough to cover up any slips.

Her parents’ emotional states, especially her Mum’s, were the hardest things to cover up. Mum had pretty obviously been crying all morning, but she managed to pass it off as tears of joy at seeing her little baby growing up. Hermione was just spotty on the point. When the guests arrived—her grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and a couple of family friends—her reaction was actually pretty realistic. It had been so long since she had seen most of her muggle family that, embarrassingly, she didn’t know them a whole lot better than on a two-year-old level anymore. On the other hand, even with her underdeveloped limbic system, it was hard for her to act properly enthusiastic about her birthday presents, and the politeness drilled into her in her later years made her seem implausibly courteous, thanking everyone for their gifts without being prompted. And that bit was after the meal, where she had been so careful with the silverware that the only mess that she made eating the cake was due to her poor hand-eye coordination, not childish sloppiness.

But still, her parents managed to pass her off as her usual intelligent self, and by the time all the guests had left, not one of them had asked a question they couldn’t answer, though it left them all exhausted.

“Phew,” Mum said when she had shown the last guests out. “And I thought regular birthday parties could be tiring. If this goes on for long, we may need to cut back on our social life.”

“Speak for yourself, Mummy,” Hermione said. “All of my friends are babies.” She yawned and curled up on a single couch cushion. “Wake me in time for dinner.” She heard Mum apparently chuckling at her cuteness as she drifted off to sleep.

Once again, one thing Hermione wasn’t complaining about at this age was quality time with her parents. The three of them sat together on the sofa that evening, having a very, very odd chat. She’d seen so little of them since…well, since she started at Hogwarts, really—she’d only gone home for Christmas in her first year—it was good to be able to talk to them again, even if a lot of it was giving horrifying highlights of all the times she had nearly died at school.

“Third year?” she said uncomfortably. “Third year was dementors…er, you don’t want to know. Just…trust me on that. You don’t want to know. Some things are better off left buried.”

“Worse than a giant snake that can kill with a look?” Dad said incredulously.

“Definitely.”

“And you still liked this magical world of yours? I’m sorry, Hermione, but you make it sound like a really awful place.”

“Oh, no, Daddy. The magical world is a beautiful place. I’ve seen wonders there you can’t even imagine. I’ve…I’ve slept under the stars indoors in the Great Hall. I’ve ridden across the country on the back of a dragon. I’ve seen sports played on broomsticks at a hundred miles an hour. I’ve turned invisible. I’ve made friends with giants and elves and werewolves and Veela. It’s so beautiful there—you’ll see tomorrow. I want you to see—oh, I should’ve tried to bring you into the magical world more the first time around. I want to make it up to you. You’ll see—you’ll see tomorrow.”

“Okay, Hermione,” he said, albeit sceptically. “I’m sure we will.”

Chapter Text

Hermione again woke before her parents the next day. Funny how her two-year-old metabolism did that—or maybe her parents just couldn’t get to sleep very well last night. Without anything else to do (her age-mismatched birthday presents went nearly untouched once the guests left), she again went to her parents’ bedroom and climbed up onto their bed, sitting and watching them sleep.

Her presence gradually awakened them. Mum rolled over and looked up at her worriedly, an unspoken question in her eyes.

“Nope, not a dream,” Hermione said squeakily.

Mum groaned and covered her eyes.

“Sorry to wake you,” she said, “but we should get an early start. Talking to Dumbledore might take a while.”

Mum and Dad slowly got out of bed and got ready to go. Mum made breakfast, and Dad packed the car for a day trip and scrounged together enough cash (“Better exchange at least five hundred pounds, just to be safe,” Hermione said.) Hermione tried to help out, but while she managed to dress herself, her motor skills weren’t good enough to do much else. It was a little embarrassing that she needed Mum’s help to brush her own teeth.

Things were going okay, though, until then went to pile in the car, and she saw the perambulator. “Um…” she said, starting at it uncomfortably.

“Is there a problem, Hermione?” Dad asked.

“Three, actually. For one, I won’t be able to see that well from the pram,” she said. “For another, I need to be able to whisper instructions to you. But most importantly, I need to have skin contact with you for you to see through the Anti-Muggle Charms.”

“Anti-Muggle Charms?” he said.

“Well, how else do you think we hide things from muggles?”

“And the only way we can see the magic is by touching you?”

“Not the only way, but the only one we have right now. We can get another way to counter them a couple of ways, but it’ll be easiest to just ask Dumbledore.”

Dad sighed: “Okay, we can carry you, then.” He lifted her into the car seat. “Oof. It’s been a while since I tried to do this all day, though.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay. We’ll make do.”

Hermione frowned at being strapped into the car seat—it felt so restrictive—but she didn’t say anything. She was far too small to use a normal seat belt. She was finding that in many ways, being two was even more inconvenient than she’d expected. She was just glad that her body was (barely) developed enough to skip toilet training. She didn’t know if she could have handled that.

But still, they were off. Her plan was in motion—literally, as they drove up to London. They found Charing Cross Road, and she directed Dad to the nearest car park to the Leaky Cauldron (the street layout was the same as in the 1990s). When they climbed out, Dad lifted her up in his arms against his left shoulder so that she could put one arm around his neck. Her other arm hung free, and Mum reached up so she could wrap her hand around two of her fingers. Some women they passed in the street smiled and cooed at how cute they apparently looked.

However, Hermione was mostly preoccupied with whispering instructions to Mum and Dad. “Remember, you’re going to look suspicious already, wearing muggle clothes,” she said. “Having a two-year-old with you will peg you as muggle-borns rather than muggles, but the war’s against both of us, so if anyone asks, you’re Daniel and Emma Granger, half-bloods from the House of Dagworth-Granger. You both lost your wands in an attack and need to get new ones. If they keep asking, mention Daddy’s Great Uncle Hector. That should shut them up. The landlord’s name here is Tom. Don’t talk to anyone else if you don’t have to.”

“I think I’ve got it,” Dad said.

“Is this the place?” Mum said as they came in front of a grotty little pub in between a bookshop and a record store that none of the other passers-by seemed to notice. She let go of Hermione’s hand and quickly grabbed it again with a soft yelp when it appeared to change into an abandoned shop front.

“Yes, this is it, Mummy,” she whispered. “Now, listen. Things are going to get weird, and they’re probably going to keep getting weirder all day. Just act like it’s all perfectly normal.”

“Okay, perfectly normal,” Dad said. “As if any of this is normal. Right, let’s go.”

Actually, the inside of the Leaky Cauldron still looked pretty normal by seedy pub standards, except that everyone was wearing robes and witch’s hats.

“Okay, I think we’re good,” Hermione said. She dropped Mum’s hand and moved her other arm down to Dad’s shoulder, finding that they could now see clearly.

Dad nodded slightly and walked up to the bar. A few people looked up suspiciously at the newcomers, but no one spoke to them directly. “Excuse me, Tom,” Dad said quietly. Old Tom turned to look at them. Hermione noticed that he still had some teeth. “My wife and I both lost our wands in the last attack. Could you open the entrance to the Alley for us?”

“Oh, of course, of course,” Tom said. He came around the bar and let them to the back of the inn. “Dark, dark days,” he muttered. “People losing their wands, disappearing, turning up dead…” Hermione was a little surprised that he would confide such gossip with people he didn’t know, but she remembered that her parents looked like obvious muggle-borns. “Did you hear about the Prewett Twins last week?” he added.

Hermione froze.

“Um, no, can’t say we have,” Dad said.

Tom lowered his voice to a whisper. “Well, they’re not saying much, of course, sir,” he said, “but the rumours coming from certain quarters—brought down by five Death Eaters they say—five of them! You-Know-Who really must have had it in for them, if you believe it.”

“Vo—? Ouch!” Dad started to say before Hermione pinched him as hard as she could. Saying Voldemort’s name was the worst way to draw attention to themselves right now. Inwardly, her heart sank. She had not come back early enough to save the Weasleys’ uncles, nor Marlene McKinnon, as she recalled, nor several others. She wondered if there was anyone else in the Order besides Harry’s parents who was marked for death and didn’t know it.

Dad tensed up as the brick wall opened. Hermione could tell he was struggling not to show his awe at the wonder of Diagon Alley. Ironically, Hermione was underwhelmed. The street was toned down and half-closed up like it was during the worst days of her own war—a pale shadow of the place of vivid life and activity that it was in 1991.

“Thank you, Tom,” he said shakily, and he and Mum strolled forward. “Okay, now where to?” he whispered to Hermione.

“Gringotts. The wizard bank,” she whispered back. “The big marble building with the pillars.”

“The bank’s open on a Sunday?” Mum said in surprise.

“The Goblins who run it have a very strong work ethic.”

“Goblins?”

Gringotts was impossible to miss, looming over one end of the Alley as it did. Mum and Dad walked up the street in relative isolation. They attracted some suspicious glances, and they kept making some furtive glances of their own at all the odd shops and shoppers. Some people said hello to them, but no one asked them any questions. They eventually stopped in front of the doors of Gringotts, where the guards stood poised with their battle axes—no doubt more than prepared to use them in these turbulent times.

“Those things are goblins?” Mum whispered.

“Mm hmm,” Hermione replied. “Just be polite to them, and it’ll be fine.”

They nervously passed the two pairs of goblin guards into the bank, where Hermione could tell Mum’s and Dad’s eyes were darting around frantically, trying to take in the strange sight. She gave Dad a kick with her toe, and he passed her over to Mum and walked up to the first window. The goblin teller gave him a stern look, but he just held his head up and said, “Hello, I’d like to convert five hundred pounds to galleons, please,” as Hermione had told him.

Hermione whispered something in Mum’s ear, and she spoke up: “Oh, and we should get a new moneybag, too, dear.”

“Huh? Oh, yes, and one of those.”

The teller looked at the three of them suspiciously, but he conducted the transaction with no trouble, sending them on their way with five hundred pounds’ worth of wizard money, less the cost of the pouch they were carrying it in.

“Okay, so far so good,” Hermione whispered. “Now we just need to go to Ollivander’s. That way.” She discretely pointed in the direction they needed to go.

They walked back up the Alley until they came to Ollivander’s little shop front, the one with a single wand in the display window. She’d always wondered if there was something special about that wand, but probably Ollivander just liked to let his craft speak for itself.

“Are you sure he’ll be open on a Sunday?” asked Dad.

“He will. The rest of the building is his house, and he gets so little business during the school year that it doesn’t cost him much to unlock the door every day.”

Dad hesitated in confusion. “That sounds a little backwards,” he concluded.

“Well, Ollivander is pretty eccentric, but he’s very good.”

Sure enough, the door was unlocked. A bell rang as they entered, but the dusty shop remained silent for a couple of minutes. Finally, Ollivander shuffled into the front room. He looked nearly the same as before. He had a trifle fewer lines on his face, his silver hair was noticeably darker, and—Hermione nearly missed it, but it disturbed her to no end when she spotted it—his silver eyes were also darker to match his hair.

Ollivander looked the three of them over with a puzzled expression. “Hello, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you before,” he said. “Just arrived in Britain, have you?”

Mum and Dad looked at each other nervously. “Er…not exactly…” Dad said.

But then, Hermione spoke up. “Hello, Mr. Ollivander,” she squeaked, to his surprise. “Do you happen to have a vine wood and dragon heartstring wand in stock? One that’s ten and three-quarter inches long and fairly springy?”

Ollivander just stared at the tiny, impossibly eloquent little girl in her mother’s arms. Hermione had seen him this surprised only once before, when Harry had told him things about Voldemort he couldn’t possibly have known in Shell Cottage—and she had never seen him this confused.

“Mr. Ollivander, sir?” she repeated.

“I…I do have a wand of that exact description,” he said. “But I don’t see how you could possibly know that, little girl. I only made it a few weeks ago. Nor can I fathom why you would ask.”

“I would like to buy it, please.”

“What?” the wandmaker half-laughed. “My dear, you are far too young to use a wand properly, if you can make one work at all. And besides, you can’t just ask for a particular wand, no matter how you know about it. You see—”

“The wand chooses the witch,” she quoted, to his further surprise. “But I happen to know that particular wand is mine. Please trust me, sir. It’s very important.”

Ollivander looked from her to both of her parents for confirmation.

“I think you should trust her,” Mum said. “That’s what we’ve been doing all morning, and she hasn’t steered us wrong yet.”

“I…well…alright, we can try it. I still wouldn’t expect much if I were you, though.” He went back into the stacks and a minute later came back carrying a thin, tan-coloured wand with a lovely vine design carved into it.

Hermione let out a childish squeal of joy and reached out and grabbed the wand—her wand—before Ollivander could even try to put it in her hand. It was like meeting an old friend again. The last time she had seen this wand was when the Snatchers had taken it from her at Malfoy Manor. It was the very same one, though twice as long in proportion to her hands. She gave it a forceful wave, and a shower of sparks erupted from the tip. Both of her parents jumped, and Ollivander staggered back in shock, clutching his hand to his chest. Emboldened by her glee, she swished and flicked her wand at the empty wand box on the counter and squeaked out, “Wingardium Leviosa!”

Unfortunately, she forgot that with her poor motor skills, she couldn’t aim all that well. The air was suddenly thick with flying wands. Ollivander looked close to diving for cover under the counter. However, within seconds, Hermione started to feel dizzy and lightheaded. She stopped the spell and flopped onto Mum’s shoulder, still smiling.

Ollivander snatched one of the flying wands as it dropped and waved it. All of the others leapt back into their boxes and returned to their shelves. He looked back at the young family and saw the little girl cuddling the wand almost like a teddy bear and nuzzling her cheek against it. “Mm…I love my wand,” she said contentedly. Her parents stared at her a bit worriedly.

“Little girl,” Ollivander said shakily. “How did you know that wand would choose you? And how can you perform spells like that at your age?”

Hermione smiled. This might be the only time anyone ever got Ollivander with this line: “Magic.” She giggled and then began laughing loudly.

“Now, really, Miss…” he said, perplexed.

“Granger. Hermione Granger. And I’m sorry, but I really can’t tell you anything more, Mr. Ollivander. Maybe someday—after the war.”

That was about as big a clue as she was willing to give him, and he caught on quickly, nodding knowingly. “Very well, Miss Granger. That will be seven galleons.”

They paid for the wand, thanked Mr. Ollivander, and left. Hermione smiled as they walked back up the Alley. “This is the same wand I had in the future,” she whispered. “I lost it in the war. It’s really good to have it back, even though I can’t really cast spells with it yet.”

“But why do you need a wand if you’re not strong enough to cast spells?” Mum asked.

“We need to get back to Charing Cross Road,” she said. “Then you’ll see.”

Diagon Alley was nearly deserted as they walked back to the Leaky Cauldron. Hermione tried to make whispered conversation when there weren’t passersby too close to them.

“So what do you think of the magical world so far?” she asked.

Dad tried to answer. “It’s certainly very…different…and impressive, but…”

“Not exactly as beautiful as I said, I know,” she finished for him. “I forgot that things would be pretty dreary with the war going on, but Hogwarts is a beautiful place, that’s for sure. I’m sure it is even now—” She cut off abruptly, and her eyes widened as she saw who was walking towards them. “Watch out!” she hissed. “Death Eater at twelve o’clock!”

Of all the luck. A much younger Lucius Malfoy was walking straight towards them. At his side was an equally young Narcissa carrying a baby Draco in her arms. Hermione felt Mum tense up, trying to be ready should anything happen. She hoped the Malfoys would just pass them by without comment, but she soon realised her mistake.

Lucius slowed to a stop in front of them, cleared his throat and said, “You shouldn’t let your child play with your wand like that, madam.”

Mum hesitated for only a fraction of a second. Then, she snatched the wand out of Hermione’s hand. “Yes, I know, excuse me,” she improvised. “Little Hermione can get a bit grabby.” For once, Hermione was thankful that she had an unconventional, pureblood-sounding name.

“A firm hand is what’s needed for that,” Lucius drawled. He turned to Dad. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you before. Are you new here, Mister…”

“Granger,” Dad said smoothly. “We’re just in town to visit my Great Uncle Hector.”

Lucius nodded in recognition. “Lucius Malfoy. Pleased to meet you,” he said ingratiatingly, shaking Dad’s hand.

“Likewise,” Dad replied. “We’d love to stay and chat, but we really are very busy.”

“But of course. We shan’t detain you,” Lucius concluded, and they each went their separate ways.

“Phew, that was close,” Hermione whispered once they were out of earshot.

“Who was that?” Dad whispered back.

“Lucius Malfoy. He’s You-Know-Who’s richest and second-highest lieutenant.” She giggled. “If he knew he’d just shaken hands with a muggle…” Under the circumstances, Mum and Dad didn’t appreciate the humour.

They got back through the Leaky Cauldron and out to Charing Cross Road without having to speak more than a couple of words to anyone, and then it was time for the next part of her plan. “Mummy, I need my wand back, please,” she said. She moved her spare hand up to Mum’s neck. “Daddy, you need to hold on…And brace yourselves.” Dad put his hand over hers. Then, Hermione pointed her wand out to the street.

BANG!

A bright purple triple-decker bus appeared right in the middle of Charing Cross Road, despite the fact that there was no room for it there. None of the other passersby seemed to notice.

“Yikes!” Mum yelled.

“What the heck?” Dad said.

But a moment later, their confusion was answered as out of the bus stepped a much younger Ernie Prang. “Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard,” he said. “Just stick out your wand hand, step on board, and we can take you anywhere you want to go. And, eh, where are you off to today?”

“Gates of Hogwarts, please,” Hermione said. Mum quickly took her wand back from her.

Suddenly, Ernie Prang smiled. “Well, aren’t you a cute one,” he said. “And what’s a little witch like you up to at Hogwarts today?”

“Personal business,” Dad said quickly.

“Well, step on board. That’ll be thirty-three sickles. Snacks are two sickles each.”

“Get a snack,” Hermione whispered. “That’ll make it two galleons one. Oh, and hold on tight.”

“What?!” Mum hissed.

During the day, the inside of the Knight Bus was filled with chairs that weren’t bolted down. That didn’t seem very safe at the best of times, but now Hermione realised how very unsafe it looked for a woman carrying a small child. Fortunately, it did have the typically vertical bars to hold onto. She grabbed the nearest one with both hands and held on tight.

“Um, Hermione?” Dad whispered.

BANG!

“AHHHHH!”

“What’s the matter?” Ernie Prang said. “Never had to take the Bus before?”

“Are you trying to kill us?” Mum screamed. Hermione would have castigated her for breaking character, but she was too busy trying not to crack her head on something. Mum quickly passed her back to Dad, who had a better chance of holding on to her.

It was a harrowing experience, bouncing all over Britain in the Knight Bus whilst not really having a body that could handle it and two muggle parents who didn’t have a clue what was going on. She acquired several bumps and bruises that were exceedingly painful to her two-year-old nervous system. The good news was that the Knight Bus staff were generally none too bright, so they didn’t get suspicious. And they were also discreet. And finally, they reached their destination, paid Ernie, and eagerly stepped out of the Bus.

“Ugh. Okay, I know what you’ve seen of magic so far probably hasn’t impressed you much,” Hermione told her increasingly impatient parents, “but this is one of the most beautiful places in the world. She motioned out across the grounds.

“Um, Hermione, baby,” Mum said, “that’s an old ruin with a sign that says, “Unsafe Structure. Keep Out.’”

“Huh? Oh,” she grumbled. She reached out and grabbed both of her parents’ hands.

“Wow!”

Their eyes grew wide as Hogwarts Castle became visible before them—gleaming in the sun with its many turrets and towers, standing tall and strong as it overlooked the Black Lake, clean and undamaged before that final battle. Even after so many years, Hermione still marvelled at it: a High Medieval castle, but taller and fancier than any ever built by muggles. And in front of them, before the hill that led up to the great oak doors, was a huge, wrought-iron gate standing between high stone pillars, each topped with a winged boar.

“Pigs with wings. Figures,” Dad said.

“There. Now do you see?” Hermione demanded.

“You were right, baby. It is beautiful,” Mum agreed.

“Yes, very much so,” Dad said. “But how do we get in? The gates are chained shut.”

“Mummy, I need my wand again, please.” She pointed it at the gates and cast, “Alohomora.”

Nothing happened.

“Was that supposed to do something?” asked Dad.

“No, I’m sure they’re charmed against it. But I was hoping it would alert someone we were here. She reached out and tapped her wand to the lock four times.”

Suddenly the familiar voice of Minerva McGonagall echoed out, seeming to come from the bars themselves: “This is Professor McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress. Please state your name and business.”

“Well, that works. My name is Hermione Granger. I need to speak to Professor Dumbledore at once. I have critical information for him regarding the war effort.”

There was a pause. She seemed to have caught McGonagall off guard. “Professor Dumbledore is a very busy man,” she finally said. “I can meet with you if you like.”

“Please, ma’am, I need to speak with Professor Dumbledore directly. This involves the Order of the You-Know-What.”

There was another pause, albeit a shorter one. “Stay where you are,” McGonagall said quickly. Hermione could practically see the woman’s stern face. “We will escort you to the castle forthwith.”

“Order of the what?” Mum asked.

“Not here. Wait till we get inside.”

A few minutes later, two teachers were hurrying across the lawn towards the gate, wands already drawn to cover them. One was a welcome face—a middle-aged Minerva McGonagall, her hair tied in a tight bun, the same as always. The other, Hermione saw, was not so welcome: a very young man with a hook nose and greasy black hair. Merlin, Severus Snape was practically her age.

“You are Ms. Granger?” Snape said, pointing his wand at Mum’s face. Mum stepped back worriedly.

“No, I am,” Hermione squeaked from Dad’s arms.

Snape gave her only a glance and kept his wand trained on Mum. “I want to know why you’re here and how you know about the Order.”

“I am Hermione Granger,” she repeated. “I’m here to tell Dumbledore how to stop the war and save a lot of lives—including the woman you love, Professor Snape.”

“What?!” Snape snapped his wand at her, barely even noticing the strangeness of a two-year-old speaking like an adult, much less knowing his name. Dad took a step back. Hermione made a point of not looking Snape in the eye.

“Severus?” McGonagall said in confusion. “What woman you love?” Then her eyes grew wide: “Unless you still—”

“Silence!” Snape hissed. “It is far too dangerous. How can a little child know anything about that?” he demanded. “She should barely be able to speak at her age.”

Hermione then looked McGonagall in the eye. “The same way Barty Crouch Junior was able to take twelve O.W.L.s,” she said.

McGonagall’s eyes grew even wider, while Snape said, “What? What is she talking about?”

“I’m sorry, Severus, it’s classified,” McGonagall told him.

“I must know,” he said, grinding his teeth.

“And that is why I need to talk to Professor Dumbledore,” Hermione interrupted. This younger Snape seemed even more short-tempered than the one she knew before—and not surprisingly; this Snape still had something to lose.

“We need to know before we let you see him—”

“Several of the things I have to say are for Professor Dumbledore’s ears only. However, I promise you that I am categorically against Voldemort—” Both Snape and McGonagall paled. “—and I have information that could end him for good. Go ahead and Legilimens me if you don’t believe me.”

“What?” McGonagall said.

“What?” Mum and Dad repeated.

“Mind-reading,” Hermione informed them. “Go ahead, Professor Snape.”

Snape narrowed his eyes suspiciously at her. But then, he waved his wand, and incanted, “Legilimens!”

Hermione had learnt Occlumency in her year of preparation for just such an occasion. However, she didn’t block him out entirely. There would be no point to that. Instead, she let him see a single word: horcruxes.

Snape turned white as a sheet as he broke off the spell. “The child is right,” he said. “We must take her to Dumbledore at once.”

“What?” McGonagall repeated. A two-year-old speaking like she was twenty was strange enough; asking to be Legilimensed was insane. But now, what could Severus have found in her mind that had affected him so? “Severus, what is it? What did you see?” she asked.

Snape gave her just a tiny smile: “It’s classified.”

McGonagall sent a Patronus message to Dumbledore to expect them, and then the two teachers led the small family up to the castle under close guard, one on each side of them. It didn’t take long for them to notice how the three of them constantly stayed in direct skin contact.

“Miss Granger, are you a muggle-born?” McGonagall asked.

“Yes, and it’s very inconvenient,” Hermione said. “I hope you have some spares of those Anti-Anti-Muggle Charms that you give to the parents of all the muggle-born first-years.”

“Um…I’ll see what I can do.”

The group entered the castle and passed through the long, ornate galleries. Mum and Dad seemed like they would have liked more time to admire the place, but their escorts hurried them along. Soon, they had climbed up the seven flights to the Headmaster’s office, and McGonagall spoke the password to enter the turning staircase.

“Thank you for your help, Professor,” Hermione said politely. “Oh, and by the way, tell your husband to be more careful around the Venomous Tentacula.”

“What?” she gasped. “I am not married, Miss Granger.”

Hermione just grinned at her.

But to her dismay, though not her surprise, McGonagall and Snape came with them into the Headmaster’s office. But that was momentarily forgotten when they opened the door.

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore sat behind his large desk amid his many twittering silver instruments with that same old twinkle in his eyes. At a hundred, he didn’t look that much younger than when she’d last seen him, but he certainly looked a lot better, even notwithstanding the fact that he’d been dead. Tears filled Hermione’s eyes, and she just managed to squeak out, “Professor Dumbledore, sir, it’s so good to see you alive again.”

McGonagall gasped softly, but Dumbledore just raised his bushy eyebrows, having no idea what was going on. Still, being Dumbledore, he could roll with it. “Why thank you, my dear,” he said, “I find it very pleasant to see me alive, too.”

Hermione giggled.

“Again?” Snape said suspiciously. “Foolish child. I hardly think you’ve met him before, and certainly not in any condition but alive.”

Hermione cursed under her breath. It wasn’t mission-critical, but it was more than she had been hoping to give away.

Dumbledore looked between them in confusion. “Perhaps someone could explain the situation?” he suggested.

Professor McGonagall walked behind the Headmaster’s desk and whispered in Dumbledore’s ear. His eyes widened in surprise. “I believe we can humour Severus that much, Minerva. Of course, Severus, this should be kept in strictest confidence.

Meaning not going back to Voldemort, Hermione thought. Snape nodded his assent.

“It appears that young Miss Granger, here, has brought with her information from the future.”

“The future?” Snape said. “She’s a seer? A decent one this time?”

Hermione barely managed to suppress another giggle. It was the perfect cover. She made her squeaky voice as deep as she could and said, “I have Seen many things, Severus Snape.”

“I do hope so, for all our sakes,” Dumbledore said. “I should very much like to hear what you have to say, Miss Granger.”

“Sorry, sir. I’m not saying anything with Snape in the room,” she answered.

Snare glared at her Mum and said, “Well, I see you haven’t taught her manners.”

“Don’t talk to Mummy like that,” Hermione snapped.

“Seer or not, you will respect your elders, girl,” Snape said icily. His short temper was showing again.

“I respect only those who are worthy of it,” Hermione countered, glaring at him.

“Insolent brat! Just because you can provide some useful information doesn’t mean—”

“Severus Tobias Snape!” she interrupted. She pointed her wand at him, willing some sparks to shoot from the tip. “Call me an insolent brat again, and I’ll see just how strong a hex I can cast with this thing. Physically, I may be a child, but mentally, my mind has travelled far and wide, up and down the streams of time. In those terms, there’s less than a year between us in age, and I will not be spoken to like a child, least of all by the likes of you.”

Well, that was it. She’d all but blown her cover to Snape. If he didn’t make the connection, it was only because he was expecting a copy of the whole person to come from the future, not just memories to come to the original. But maybe, she reasoned, this was one more thing that she needed to do something about.

Dumbledore coughed softly: “Miss Granger, perhaps that’s enough for now.”

Hermione made a snap decision. “No, Professor, he needs to hear this, and he needs to hear this now.” If she was going to play this game, then it was time to nip Snape’s reign of terror at Hogwarts in the bud. She geared up for—not a full-blown tantrum, like yesterday, but definitely a serious rant. “Listen up, Severus,” she said, “I am your Spirit of Past, Present, and Yet-to-Come. Yes, I know you know that reference. I know a lot about you. I know that you’re secretly a half-blood raised in the muggle world.” Snape froze in horror. Very few people knew that, and it could be bad for him if it got out. “I know what your mummy was like, and I know what your daddy was like.” Hermione suddenly turned sharply away from him so he couldn’t see her eyes. “And get out of my head! I already showed you everything I wanted you to see.”

Mum and Dad glared at Snape who was by now definitely feeling himself at a disadvantage and growing very worried about she would say next.

“I know who your only friend was before coming to Hogwarts,” she continued, still not looking at him except from the corner of her eye. She saw him pale still further. “I know why she hates you now. I know why she’s in danger. I know why you became a spy for Dumbledore, and I know where your true loyalties lie.”

Snape instinctively drew his wand. He couldn’t afford to have that information floating around. But Dumbledore stopped him with a wave of his hand. “I am sure she is not a threat, or else she would have taken this information elsewhere,” he said softly. Snape lowered his wand.

“As for the present,” Hermione continued. “I know that you’re a terrible teacher. Your teaching style resembles a cookbook, except with more insults and less discussion of theory. You berate, insult, and harass your students as if you were still a student yourself. Your disciplinary practises are blatantly unfair, particularly in giving and taking points. You are far too lenient with Slytherin and unfairly harsh to the other houses, especially Gryffindor. After only one year of teaching here, the number of students taking N.E.W.T.-level Potions has dropped dramatically, both because of lower grades and because you make people hate the subject, and within five years, that will put serious strain on the hiring of new Aurors and Healers. And don’t give me some excuse about Potions being a difficult subject needing a firm hand. Slughorn never had that problem.

“You see, I know what kind of man you are, Severus, and I don’t like what I see—not in the past, and not in the present. And I also know that if these shadows remain unaltered by the Future, you will be the kind of man who actively bullies a thirteen-year-old boy just because he lacks self-confidence and isn’t very good at Potions—to the point of trying to poison his pet toad with his own potion. You will be the kind of man who tells a fifteen-year-old girl who’s self-conscious about her teeth that you ‘see no difference’ when she’s hit by a Tooth-Growing Hex.” She felt Mum tense up when she made the connection and thought she might be about to get up and slap Snape. She squeezed her hand to keep her calm.

“You will be the kind of man whose method for teaching a fifteen-year-old boy Occlumency is to tell him to “clear his mind” and proceed to repeatedly batter his mind without further instruction. The kind of man who singles out that boy for the greatest amount of verbal abuse and unfair treatment of anyone during his entire time at Hogwarts just because he resembles his long-dead daddy. Who assumes he’s pampered like his daddy when he was actually raised in a neglectful and emotionally abusive household even worse than yours, which you should have been able to spot from day one. Who assumes he’s an arrogant toe-rag like his daddy when he’s really sweet and kind and caring, just like his long-dead mummy, and he even has her beautiful green eyes.”

Snape had been growing increasingly pale with brief flashes of anger as he listened to this rant, delivered in the shrill voice of an angry two-year-old girl, but with a terrifying weight of truth behind it. His face turned a sickly grey at that last line. Even Dumbledore was growing more and more disturbed by the revelations, but Hermione wasn’t done yet. “In the end,” she said, “you’ll be forced into killing the only friend you have left—the only man who was willing to give you a second chance in life, despite the fact that you’re a bigger git than James Potter ever was. It will only be sheer dumb luck that you don’t die alone and hated by everyone you care about.

“Now, if you really want to fix all that, I suggest you take a literal page out of Mr. Dickens’s book and learn to be a decent human being. As for our current conversation, I know where your true loyalties lie, but my little clue earlier should tell you how dangerous and confidential this information must be. And besides that, what I have to say involves the full contents of the prophecy, to which I know you are not privy…so kindly butt out.”

As she finished, Hermione wasn’t sure if Snape was going to hex her, angrily demand to know how to save Lily, or cry, but in the end, he did none of those things. He forced his face back into a stoic expression, though he still looked deathly pale, and stood up. “Headmaster, I fear I shall be indisposed for the rest of the day,” he said shakily. “I trust that you will deal with the matter of the Potters’ safety?”

“Don’t worry,” Hermione said. “I’ll make sure of it.”

“Very well. Good day.”

He turned on his heel and hurried out of the office. As sound as the door closed behind him, Hermione giggled incongruously and said, “I’ve been wanting to do that for eight years.”

Chapter Text

“Miss Granger,” Dumbledore said, “I would scold you for so berating my Potions Master, but I fear that little else would inspire him to better himself.”

“And I’d scold you for rudeness,” said Mum, “except that if what you said is true, that young man sounds like he deserved it.”

“It’s true, Mummy,” Hermione said meekly. “I was trying to be fair about it, but he really needed to hear it early. In my time, a solid majority of the students would have given their wands to say all that to him, and they would’ve been much ruder about it.”

“I take it that you had the pleasure of experiencing his classes?” Dumbledore asked.

“Six years of them,” she grumbled. “Five in Potions and one in Defence, which was no better. The fact that you were forced to keep him on so long is one of the things I wanted to fix.”

“So it’s true, then?” McGonagall said. “You have found a way to travel through time long distances?”

“Yes, ma’am. Or to send my memories back, rather. My mind is…” She snuggled up closer against Dad in his lap, illustrating her point. “I don’t know. Somewhere in between, I think. I’m not as emotionally stable as I was before. Anyway, it took me a year and a large team of Unspeakables, but we did it.”

“I see. How far?”

“Eighteen years.”

“Goodness. And these—your parents?” She looked at Mum and Dad.

“We—we didn’t come back with her, if that’s what you mean,” Mum said wearily. “It’s been a hard couple of days.”

“I’m sorry. This must be very hard for you, especially as muggles new to our world. And you, Miss Granger, you have come back now to…”

“To tell you how to win the war, yes,” she said. Dumbledore’s eyebrows rose. “And I’m sorry, ma’am, but I would prefer to tell this to Professor Dumbledore alone.”

McGonagall hesitated, looking to Dumbledore.

“I will handle this, Minerva,” he said.

She nodded. “And your parents?” she asked.

Hermione smiled slightly. “They’re muggles. Who’re they gonna tell?”

“Very well.” McGonagall headed for the door.

“By the way,” Hermione stopped her, “you were my favourite teacher, ma’am.”

McGonagall flashed a rare smile at her: “Why thank you, dear. That means a lot coming from…someone so obviously accomplished.” She slipped out of the room.

“Alright, Miss Granger,” Dumbledore said, “Your story is very interesting, and you have already demonstrated intimate knowledge of things you would be highly unlikely to know or guess. However, I’m afraid that nothing you have said so far is incontrovertible evidence. I hope you understand that for security reasons, I must be certain.”

“Hmm…” She thought about the various secrets she knew about Dumbledore and the war. “What if I told you the full contents of the prophecy, sir? I believe only you and the Keeper of the Hall of Prophecy know that.”

Dumbledore nodded with interest: “That is correct and would be appropriate.”

Hermione cleared her throat and spoke: “The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches...born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies...and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not...and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives...the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies.”

As strange as things had already become, that still surprised Dumbledore. “I see,” he mused. “Very well. I see that your story must be true. There is certainly no other way that you could have learnt that prophecy.”

Mum and Dad looked equally surprised by those words. “So…the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord—that’s Harry?” Mum said.

“Harry Potter?” Dumbledore asked.

“Yes, he is—or he would be.”

“But how can you defeat him if only Harry can do it?” Mum asked.

“Prophecies don’t work that way in the magical world, Mummy.” Hermione turned to Dumbledore. “You told Harry that, Professor. They’re true if we believe they’re true. If we refuse to abide by them, they won’t happen.”

“Well…yes, that is true…” Dumbledore said nervously, “although I confess I’ve only ever understood that as a hypothetical. Human nature always seems to bring the prophecies about, even if the subjects technically have the choice to do otherwise.”

Hermione bit her lip. That was a snag she hadn’t expected. But she was still Hermione Granger. She was smart enough to work around it. “Prophecies are fluid, though, sir,” she said. “Harry already fulfilled the prophecy in my time. That could count. Or…in the future, you said that the power Voldemort knows not is love. Maybe you were right…but it’s not Harry’s love. It’s mine…because I love him…and I’m doing all this for him…You might even say that I’m Harry’s right hand.”

“Don’t tell me you’re looking to go out and fight,” Dad said quickly.

“Of course not, Daddy, but dying by the hand of the other could be metaphorical. If I tell Professor Dumbledore how to beat him, even that could still count.”

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled. “Yes, I suppose it could,” he said. “And regardless, I should very much like to hear what you have to say, Miss Granger.”

“Alright,” Hermione said excitedly. She giggled and made a show of cracking her knuckles. “Where to start…well, the most pressing thing is that Voldemort’s spy in the Order is Peter Pettigrew.”

“Peter!” Dumbledore gasped. “But he—”

“Is the last person you’d expect? That’s the beauty of it. He’s been feeding information to Voldemort all year.”

“Peter. I never thought—” Dumbledore shook his head.

“Well, his animagus form is a rat,” she said.

The old wizard’s eyes grew wide.

“Oh, that’s right, you didn’t know that…well, now you know.”

“Animagus?” Dad asked.

“He can turn into an animal. It’s a rare skill…Maybe I should learn it this time around. Of course, my form won’t be a rat. It’ll be an otter—”

Dumbledore cleared his throat softly.

“Oh, right,” Hermione said. She was starting to think her attention span had been affected, too. “Peter’s lost hope that you can win, Professor. The Death Eaters approached him a year ago and scared him into working for the Dark Side.”

“The Dark Side?” Dad said sceptically.

“It’s as good a name as any,” she said. “I’m sure they were very convincing.” She giggled again and said in a very deep voice, “You underestimate the power of the Dark Side.”

Mum and Dad stared at her in confusion, and Dumbledore looked a bit worried. She looked between them and realised her mistake: “Oh, that’s right, Return of the Jedi doesn’t come out until “83. Never mind then. Okay, Professor, the next thing that you need to know is that Sirius Black is not the Potters’ Secret Keeper. That’s a ruse to throw Voldemort off the scent.”

Dumbledore paled. He didn’t like where this was going. “And who is?” he asked.

“The last person you’d expect,” Hermione said seriously. “Voldemort’s planning to kill them on Halloween. In my timeline, he killed Harry’s parents and tried to kill Harry, but he invoked a sacrificial protection when he killed Harry’s Mummy that broke his power and nearly killed him and also marked Harry as his equal. That ended the first war.”

“There was a second war, then?”

“Yes, but hopefully we can avoid that. Anyway, Sirius Black was blamed and spent the next twelve years in Azkaban—without trial, I might add. You might want to do something about Barty Crouch—both of them, in fact.”

“One moment, Miss Granger,” Dumbledore interrupted. “I should record this.” He pulled a scroll of parchment out of his desk and a Dictaquill, which stood on its point and began writing on its own. “Perhaps you could start from the beginning?”

Hermione sighed. “Okay, the spy in the Order is Peter Pettigrew. Peter Pettigrew is also the Potter’s Secret Keeper, not Sirius Black. Voldemort is plotting to kill the Potters on Halloween, thus marking Harry Potter as his equal. Barty Crouch Sr is a wannabe dictator who’ll throw people in prison without trial if you give him a chance…so’s Rufus Scrimgeour, come to think of it.”

“Who?”

“Eh, he’s probably just a junior Auror right now.”

“I see. I will take action to better protect the Potters immediately. What of the Longbottoms?”

“They’re fine for now. I don’t know how they’re hidden, though. All I know is that in my timeline, after Halloween, Frank and Alice Longbottom were tortured into insanity by the Lestranges and Barty Crouch Jr.”

“Barty Crouch Jr.?” Dumbledore gasped.

“Yes. His father doesn’t know yet, although he broke him out of Azkaban after throwing him in there by having him switch places with his Polyjuiced, dying wife. But we’ll get to the Death Eaters in minute.”

“Um…Very well. Are there any other spies in the Order?”

“None that I know of, although I wouldn’t trust Mundungus Fletcher as far as I could throw him.”

“I quite agree. Please continue.”

“Okay…other things you need to know soon…Is Dorcas Meadowes still alive?”

“No, I’m afraid not.”

“What about Edgar Bones?”

“Yes, he is.”

“Good, you need to watch him. Sometime before Halloween, Death Eaters are going to attack him at home. In my timeline, his niece, Susan, was the only Bones still living, although his sister, Amelia survived until the second war.”

“I will warn them at once,” Dumbledore said.

“Good,” Hermione said. “That’s the only attack I know about before Halloween. Now, to win the war, I have some very useful information…” She grinned. “I know where Voldemort’s horcruxes are.”

Dumbledore gasped for a third time and began coughing so violently that Mum rose from her seat to help him. Hermione was glad he hadn’t started his sherbet lemon kick yet, or he might have choked to death.

“Horcruxes?” he stammered when he finally caught his breath. “Plural?!”

Hermione nodded solemnly: “Yes, sir. He has five, with intent to make a sixth—on Halloween.”

The old man leaned back in his seat, looking very pale.

“Um, sorry, horcruxes?” Dad asked.

“They’re literally the darkest magic in the book,” she explained. “He breaks off a piece of his soul with an act of ritual murder and sticks it in a physical object. He can’t die until all the horcruxes are destroyed, and not coincidentally, they’re nearly indestructible.”

“Oh, lovely,” Dad said, while Dumbledore looked physically ill at the sight of a two-year-old girl calmly explaining this darkest aspect of magic.

“Yes, I know it’s pretty gruesome,” she said. “To destroy the horcruxes, sir, unless you’re very proficient with Fiendfyre, I recommend a basilisk fang. You can find a basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets. Go to the second floor girls’ loo, the one haunted by Moaning Myrtle, go to the broken tap and say the password, “Hesha-hassah.” Yes, that’s parseltongue. I learnt it from Harry. Long story. Go down the chute, speak the same password to the second door and then say, ‘See-aachs ungatas Seleetheyin’ to summon the basilisk.”

“You just said, “Speak to me, Slytherin,’” the Headmaster interrupted.

Hermione smiled. “Harry told me you knew Parseltongue. If you go down there with a rooster and take Fawkes as backup, you should have no problem.”

“Um…no, I suppose not,” the Headmaster said distantly, blindsided by this wealth of information about the fabled Chamber of Secrets that he never would have thought would be relevant, delivered at a mile a minute by a toddler. There was silence for a minute, except for the softly twittering instruments and the scratching of the Dictaquill.

Hermione giggled and said in a gruff voice, “Snakes. Why did it have to be snakes…? Has that one come out yet?”

Dad chuckled weekly. “Yes it has, dear,” he said.

“Oh, and by the way,” she added, “Hagrid’s innocent of killing Myrtle, and he never opened the Chamber. It certainly wasn’t that acromantula of his that killed her. You can probably find enough evidence down there to clear him.”

“Uh, okay, I’m lost,” Mum said.

“So am I,” Dad agreed.

“It’s a long story. Don’t worry about it,” Hermione said. “Professor Dumbledore just needs to kill that giant snake I told you about last night.”

“It seems that my to-do list will grow quite long before this is over,” the old man quipped.

“Now you know how I feel, sir. Now, about the horcruxes themselves. The first one’s the easiest. The Lost Diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw is right here in the castle. Voldemort hid it here when he applied for that teaching job back in “57. Walk three times past the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy on the seventh floor whilst thinking, “I need the place where everything is hidden,” and the door to the room you need will appear. You’ll have a job finding it, though. There’s a thousand years’ worth of junk in there.”

Dumbledore nodded.

“Second one: the locket of Salazar Slytherin. It was in a sea cave near Voldemort’s childhood orphanage, guarded by an army of inferi, but luckily for you, Regulus Black turned on his master and stole it before he died. It’s now in a display case in the first floor drawing room of the Black Family Home at Twelve Grimmauld Place in London. You’ll probably want Sirius to handle that since his mother is still there.”

“Regulus Black?” Dumbledore said in surprise.

Hermione snapped her fingers twice. “Please try to stay with me, sir. Kreacher—the family elf—can corroborate the story. You’ll need to be careful with that one, though. You have to open it to destroy it, and you have to speak Parseltongue to open it: “Hesha-hassah” again. And when you open it, it will manifest shades of the people you care about most who will torment you with your darkest fears and regrets and then try to possess you.”

Dumbledore paled again, but Hermione just kept going. “Third horcrux: the old Gaunt Family ring is under the floorboards of Voldemort’s mother’s childhood home, the Gaunt Shack just outside of Little Hangleton. You’re going to want to take backup for that one. The ring has a very powerful Withering Curse on it and possibly Compulsion Charms. In my timeline, you put it on when you retrieved it, and you were fatally cursed as a result.” Dumbledore turned even paler. “Also, I might as well warn you now, since you’ll recognise it. The stone in the ring is the Resurrection Stone.”

“The what stone?” Dad said as Dumbledore began to look light-headed.

“It’s not what it sounds like, Daddy. It only lets you talk to the dead. And it also causes suicidal depression with prolonged use.”

The Headmaster took a few deep breaths. “My apologies, but I may need a minute,” he said.

“Sorry about this, Professor,” she squeaked. “It must be a lot to take in at once. We had two years to go over all of it.”

After a few minutes of thinking and rereading the transcript of the conversation, the old man collected himself and said, “Please continue, Miss Granger. You said there were two more horcruxes?”

“Yes, sir. The fourth one is Voldemort’s schoolboy diary. You can find it in a warded chamber under the drawing room floor of Malfoy Manor. Don’t write in it, or it’ll try to possess you. To get that one, I believe you may be able to turn Narcissa Malfoy. She’s not Marked, and in my timeline, she betrayed Voldemort in order to save her son. That was sixteen years from now, but I suspect if you convince her she’s on the losing side, she’ll help you. You won’t wanna just raid it, or you’ll tip off Voldemort, and that’s not good because of the next one. The last horcrux will be the hardest. It’s the Cup of Helga Hufflepuff, and unfortunately, it’s in the Lestrange Family Vault in Gringotts.”

“Gringotts?” Dumbledore said, his face falling.

“Yes, sir. In my timeline, we stole it—”

“You robbed Gringotts?!” he said in shock.

“Yes, we got it by having me impersonate Bellatrix Lestrange with Polyjuice Potion, Imperiusing the head teller—it wasn’t Unforgivable at the time—and escaping by releasing that dragon they had chained up in front of the vault—which was barbaric, by the way—and riding it out.”

Dumbledore’s mouth was hanging open after that revelation. So were Mum’s and Dad’s, she noticed. Hermione reached up and pushed Dad’s closed with a giggle. “However, I was hoping you could come up with something…better, sir,” she said, “like capturing or killing all three Lestranges and having the Ministry confiscate their vaults.”

“Er…I’ll see what I can do,” Dumbledore said slowly. “I don’t think that sounds like an insurmountable obstacle, although doing things in the right order may be tricky.”

“I’ll leave that to you, Professor. Once you destroy all the horcruxes, you’ll be able to kill Voldemort, assuming he doesn’t get impatient and create a sixth one—he wants to use Harry or Neville for that. But if he doesn’t know he’s mortal, you’ll have the advantage…And I know you don’t like killing, but I think you’ll have to do it. I wouldn’t trust Azkaban to hold him with the Dementors guarding it, and I’m not even sure about Nurmengard.”

“Sadly, I suspect you’re right, Miss Granger. I will keep that in mind.”

She nodded. “In the meantime, I have one more piece of information I can give you that will hopefully cut down a lot on the death toll in the war right away.”

“And what is that?”

“The names of every Death Eater I know.”

Dumbledore grinned.

“In alphabetical order,” Hermione said primly, “There’s Avery—Senior and Junior—Junior got off by claiming the Imperius Curse after the war; Alecto and Amycus Carrow—nasty pair, them, like to torture kids, and also used the Imperius defence; Barty Crouch Jr I mentioned; Crabbe—also got off on the Imperius defence; Antonin Dolohov—” She rubbed her chest. “—he nearly killed me with that purple curse of his; Gibbon; Goyle—Imperius defence; Jugson; Igor Karkaroff—he’ll sing like a canary if you can catch him; Bellatrix Lestrange, that bitch—”

“Hermione!” Mum scolded.

“You’d agree with me if you knew her, Mummy. She carved a racial slur into my arm, and that was her being nice. Then, there’s Rabastan and Rodolphus Lestrange and Lestrange Senior; Walden Macnair—sociopath extraordinary—he pleaded Imperius and got a job euthanizing animals for the Ministry, and by euthanizing, I mean with a black hood and a giant axe; Lucius Malfoy—Imperius defence, naturally—slipperier than an eel, that one; Mulciber—Senior and Junior—Junior’s one of the top men with the Imperius Curse; Nott—Imperius defence; Pettigrew, of course; Augustus Rookwood from the Department of Mysteries—he’s one of Voldemort’s best spies; Evan Rosier, if Moody hasn’t killed him yet, and Rosier Senior; Thorfinn Rowle; Selwyn; Professor Snape, but you knew that; Travers; Wilkes, if he’s still alive; and finally, Corban Yaxley from the DMLE—watch out for him—he Imperiused the Minister in my timeline.

“Oh, and Fenrir Greyback’s working with them, but he’s not marked. You’ll also want to watch out for the Acromantula colony in the Forbidden Forest, the Dementors, and any giants that are still in the country. And finally, there are three more people in the Ministry I haven’t mentioned who aren’t Death Eaters, but should still never be allowed in positions of power: Cornelius Fudge, just because he’s incompetent and wishy-washy; Albert Runcorn—he’s a pureblood supremacist and a real SS type, if he’s given the chance; and last, but not least, Dolores Umbridge,” she growled. “She’s also a pureblood supremacist, a pathological liar, has atrocious fashion sense, and is a sadistic bitch.”

“Hermione! That’s quite enough!” Mum said.

“Mummy, she was more universally hated than Bellatrix Lestrange. The only reason she wasn’t a Death Eater was because she’s too much of a patriot—‘my country right or wrong,’ and she was usually wrong. She taught here for a year, and she made Harry carve lines into the back of his hand for hours as a ‘detention.’ Later, when Voldemort took over, she ran a kangaroo court where she threw muggle-borns into a concentration camp for the supposed crime of ‘stealing magic.’”

Mum went from angry to horrified: “Good Lord, baby, how did you get mixed up in all that?”

“A celebrity just happened to save me from a mountain troll when I was twelve,” she said flatly. “I couldn’t escape after that. Anyway, I think that’s everything, Professor—Oh, one more thing: tell Pandora Lovegood to be more careful with her spellcrafting experiments. Her accident’s probably been prevented by the Butterfly Effect, but it’s still good advice.”

“I…will,” Dumbledore said. “Thank you Miss Granger. I believe this information will save many lives. What, then, will you do now?”

Mum and Dad looked to Hermione questioningly. “Well…” she said, “before too much time goes by, I want to do something about the fact that I’m a twenty-year-old woman in a two-year-old’s body and in love with a boy who’s still in nappies and doesn’t even know I exist.” Several awkward glances were exchanged. “I have some ideas about that, which I’d like to discuss with you, but I’ve already dumped so much on you, I’d like to give you a few weeks to take care of at least most of the things on your list and set the Death Eaters running. It’ll be safer after that, and I want to see that Halloween goes right regardless. So if you could just keep us posted on what’s going on by owl, and we could meet again at the beginning of November?”

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled again. “I think I can manage that, Miss Granger,” he said. “And I will also give some thought to your problem if I have any time to spare. It’s the least I can do.”

“Thank you, sir. If there’s nothing else, I was hoping you would let us use your Floo to get back to the Leaky Cauldron…”

“I would very much like to hear the rest of your story before you go, but I suspect it would take far too long.”

“It would…But if you have another Dictaquill, I can write it down for you.”

The old man smiled warmly and drew another large quill from his desk, along with two silver necklaces. “I look forward to reading it,” he said, “and here are those Anti-Anti-Muggle Charms you requested. I wish you all well until we meet again.”

“The same to you, Professor. Mummy, Daddy, we should go. Put the necklaces on, please. They’ll let you see magic on your own.” They did so, feeling a slight tingle in their eyes and ears. “Daddy, I need a handful of that powder in the urn beside the fireplace.”

Mum and Dad gave her a confused look, but they obliged. She took as much of the green powder as she could in her little hand, and they stood in front of the fireplace. “Hold on to your butts,” she squeaked.

“Hermione!” Dad said.

“It’s from Jurassic Park, Daddy. It comes out in “93. Ahem. Diagon Alley!”

She threw the powder in the fire. There was a whoosh, and it turned emerald green.

Mum and Dad looked more sceptical than ever.

“Yes, we’re supposed to walk through it. Trust me, it’s just like Father Christmas.”

“It is perfectly safe, Mr. and Mrs. Granger,” Dumbledore assured then.

Dad sighed heavily and took Mum’s hand. “Why can’t they just make this easy?” he muttered. They took a deep breath and stepped through the flames.

Hermione was vaguely aware of screaming as the world spun around them, and fireplaces flew by at a blinding speed. Then, they all shot out of the Floo in the Leaky Cauldron feet first and fell on their backs. Thankfully, Hermione was on top.

“Oww…” Mum and Dad groaned.

“Rough trip, was it,” Tom said, helping them up.

“Er, you could say that,” Dad said. “We were, uh, just heading out.”

They picked themselves up, brushed themselves off, and walked out the door back to the muggle world.

“I think that went well,” Hermione said brightly when they were safely back in the car. Mum and Dad just exchanged one more uncomfortable look.

Chapter Text

“Ooh, Mummy, Daddy! I can’t believe I didn’t think of this before. You need to invest in tech stocks. I recommend Intel, but Microsoft, Apple, IBM, and a lot of others are good, too, at least through 1999.”

Hermione Granger ’s Journal of the Future

First Year: The Philosopher ’s Stone

I was, needless to say, thrilled when Professor McGonagall told me that magic was real and that I was a witch. We went shopping for school supplies right away, and I bought a bunch of extra books because I wanted to read all I could. In fact, I barely stopped reading from the time day my letter came until the day I got on the Hogwarts Express for the first time. Then, on the train, a boy came around looking for his toad—Neville Longbottom …

22 September 1981

Dear Miss Granger,

The rat has been trapped, the serpent has been trod upon, and the first item has been retrieved and destroyed.

A.P.W.B.D.

Second Year: The Chamber of Secrets

Harry ’s life was, unfortunately, back to normal that next summer. His alleged relatives were afraid of his magic (they didn’t know he wasn’t allowed to do it at home), but they otherwise didn’t treat him any differently. Then, one night, while Harry’s uncle was hosting a client, a house elf appeared out of the blue…

26 September 1981

Dear Miss Granger,

The Bones Family was attacked last night. There were no fatalities on our side.

A.P.W.B.D.

Third Year: The Prisoner of Azkaban

Harry maintained his record of not being able to stand his relatives for a whole summer. Mr. Dursley ’s highly disagreeable sister came to visit, and she insulted Harry’s parents a few too many times. Harry blew her up like a balloon with accidental magic. Fearing he would be expelled after the misunderstanding the previous year, he ran away from home. Unfortunately, Ron and I were both out of the country on holiday at the time, and worse yet, the “notorious murderer” Sirius Black had just broken out of Azkaban. Luckily, Harry was picked up by the Knight Bus…

1 October 1981

Dear Miss Granger,

The second and third items have been retrieved and destroyed. We have successfully passed a law for confiscation of assets. We will go on the offensive shortly.

A.P.W.B.D.

Fourth Year: The Goblet of Fire

Harry actually left his relatives ’ house legally that summer. He and I went to the Quidditch World Cup with the Weasleys. (Ireland beat Bulgaria 170-160, despite Bulgaria’s Seeker, Viktor Krum, catching the Snitch.) However, that night, a gang of Death Eaters attacked the camp. We suspect this was just Lucius Malfoy causing mischief on his own, but that was never proven. We later learnt that Barty Crouch Jr was also there…

12 October 1981

Dear Miss Granger,

Rabastan is dead. We are putting extra pressure on the other two. Many others are dead or captured. The flower has turned to our side. The fourth item has been retrieved and destroyed.

A.P.W.B.D.

Fifth Year: The Order of the Phoenix

Since the Minister refused to believe that Voldemort had returned, mostly to save his own career, he embarked on a smear campaign in the press against Harry and Dumbledore. Dumbledore was removed from his positions as Chief Warlock and Supreme Mugwump, and both were widely regarded as liars. However, even this was not enough for the Minister ’s Senior Undersecretary, Dolores Umbridge. She sent two dementors to attack Harry, either to Kiss him outright, or to force him to defend himself with magic so that he could be expelled…

17 October 1981

Dear Miss Granger,

Public support is now solidly on our side. Morale is dramatically up. The enemy ’s recruiting is down, and many are defecting. For the purposes of the daily lives of most wizards, the war is de facto won. However, many revenge and terror attacks continue in less secure areas. Rodolphus and Bellatrix are still at large.

A.P.W.B.D.

Sixth Year: The Half-Blood Prince

Yes, the title refers to Snape, but we ’ll get to that later. Dumbledore only made Harry stay at his relatives’ house for two weeks that summer, which was good because he was still hurting really badly after Sirius was killed. Dumbledore picked Harry up personally and took him to help recruit a new teacher, Horace Slughorn…

28 October 1981

Dear Miss Granger,

Rodolphus is dead. Bellatrix is still at large. The enemy is becoming desperate, but the remaining core is dug in very hard.

A.P.W.B.D.

Seventh Year: The Deathly Hallows

We didn ’t go back to Hogwarts that year. We went straight into fighting the war full time. Harry stayed with his relatives until near his birthday for safety while I was at home, getting ready. I could finally use magic that summer, so I was able to make a lot of preparations at home. I, er…convinced my parents to go on an extended holiday to Australia. On the twenty-seventh of July, we moved Harry to the Burrow. It didn’t go so well…

2 November 1981

Dear Miss Granger,

We have received a very lucky break. Riddle attacked the Longbottoms with a large force on Halloween night. Sadly, there were casualties on both sides. However, the Longbottoms are all alright. Most importantly, Bellatrix was killed by Augusta Longbottom. The fifth item was confiscated and has been destroyed. I am working with the Ministry on our next move. I ask for a little more time before our meeting.

A.P.W.B.D.

Seventh Year Again: After the War

I ’d like to say that Harry and I kissed for the first time in the aftermath of the final battle. It’s not true of course, but I still think it would have made a nicer story. A few stolen kisses on the run whilst we were trying to suppress our feelings and just stay alive might appeal to some witches, but they don’t really feel like they should count. With the war over, we could finally do it right. It wasn’t ideal, though. Harry didn’t feel like he could go back to Hogwarts—too many painful memories—and the Aurors offered to let him in without the usual qualifications. I, on the other hand, was looking at jobs in other fields that weren’t quite as flexible, and I needed to go back for my N.E.W.T.s, but my heart really wasn’t in it…

9 November 1981

Dear Miss Granger,

I hope this letter finds you doing well. I am pleased to report to you that the war is over. Voldemort is dead. You may have already realised this from the large number of owls out in daylight and Dedalus Diggle ’s fireworks. Using various methods of misdirection, the Order and the Ministry, working together, staged a large-scale assault on Malfoy Manor, where the remaining Death Eaters were headquartered. Voldemort was killed in the resulting battle, and most of the remaining Death Eaters were killed or captured. With a careful interrogation of the survivors, Voldemort’s movements since Halloween have been fully accounted for, and there is no evidence that he created a sixth “item.”

Magical Britain is eternally in your debt, and it is unfortunate that very few people will ever know. However, I hope that you have learnt by now that there are more important things than fame. Your efforts have no doubt saved hundreds of lives and many years of hardship. There should be no legal problems for you so long as you keep your actions a secret. It would not do to have a Death Eater or sympathiser learn that such a thing is possible.

I have, however, taken the liberty of telling the Potters, Longbottoms, and Boneses part of your story, after swearing them to secrecy, and they are eager to meet you if you are willing. I would also speak with you about the personal problem you mentioned, and I have also taken the liberty on contacting Psyche Nimue, a Mind Healer from St. Mungo ’s, who will join us for the meeting. All of us are at your disposal as soon as you can come back to Hogwarts. Please send a reply with the owl.

Warmest regards,

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore

A large contingent of witches and wizards waited at Hogwarts Castle on the evening of the tenth of November: three Potters, five Longbottoms, eight Boneses, Dumbledore, McGonagall, Snape, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Psyche Nimue, the mind healer—everyone who knew the whole or part of her story. All of them were eager to meet the little girl who had effectively won the war singlehanded.

There would be no “Girl-Who-Won” fame for Hermione, though, and she was just fine with that. She was perfectly happy to let the secret of the time travel ritual die with her. In fact, she wasn’t planning on telling anyone else she’d come back in time at all besides the Potters, and maybe Ron later on.

Little Hermione Granger had had a very unusual few weeks. She had now spent close to two months living as a toddler, with all its ups and downs. It was wonderful being so close to her parents. She didn’t complain and even encouraged them when they carried her, cuddled on the sofa, or tucked her in and kissed her good night. At the  same time, though, it was frustrating and unsettling being so helpless all the time. She could barely dress herself or eat on her own, much less bathe on her own, and forget about reaching bookshelves and light switches. Even though she was mentally mature enough, she just wasn’t physically capable of doing much without supervision, if not direct help. With her two-year-old limbic system, it was occasionally enough to send her into tantrums.

Tonight, when they arrived at the castle, Hermione was again carried in her Dad’s arms. She was walking more, now, and steadier on her feet now that she was used to her tiny body, but it was easier meeting people if she was on eye level. When Dumbledore led Hermione and her parents into the private dining room off the Great Hall, the whole group turned to face them and began applauding. Hermione rapidly turned red and, child-like, hid her face in Dad’s shoulder.

But everyone wanted to meet the family and thank Hermione, and she had to try to face them. The Longbottoms were first. It brought tears to her eyes to see them as a whole and happy family. She had only met Alice Longbottom in St. Mungo’s—white haired, barely able to walk, and might as well have been sleepwalking, but now, she was pretty and vivacious, and Frank was much the same. Hermione had never seen Augusta Longbottom as anything but a stern-faced matriarch, and it was unbelievable how easygoing she looked now. She frowned when she saw Neville’s grandfather, who looked to already be in poor health, and she remembered he wouldn’t live long enough to see his grandson attend Hogwarts, or maybe even perform accidental magic, but even he looked happy, with a bit of a smirk on his face about something. She remembered Neville had described him once as a prankster.

“Thank you, Hermione,” Alice said, approaching her first. It only seemed a little weird to the grown-ups talking to a toddler after what Dumbledore had told them. “If it weren’t for you, Voldemort would still be hunting us.” She held a little toddler in her arms, nearly a year younger than Hermione. “This is my son, Neville.”

“I know,” Hermione nodded. If it was strange seeing herself in a mirror at two, it was even more surreal seeing her close friend, whom she remembered being a lot bigger than she was, at fifteen months. Neville was a fat baby, even more round-faced than he was in first year, and unusually quiet, staring up at her with a bewildered tilt of his head.

“Of course you do,” Alice replied. “You’ve probably Seen all about him.” All of the guests had been told Dumbledore’s cover story that Hermione was a very unusual Seer.

“Most of what I Saw was about the war,” Hermione said apologetically, “but I might be able to See something about him, if I may.”

Alice smiled and stepped a little closer. Hermione laid her hand on Neville’s forehead and pretended to read his future. She didn’t have to worry about him getting stuck with his Dad’s wand, since he was still using it, but his other problems might still crop up. “Neville is full of surprises,” she said, imitating a trance. “He’ll be a late bloomer, but with the right encouragement, he’ll be a very powerful wizard. And though he seems timid, under pressure, he’ll stand up for what he believes in and become the toughest Gryffindor you’ll ever meet. Teach him to believe in himself. That’s the most important thing.”

“He sounds a lot like you, Alice,” Frank said, joining her with a smile. “And she’s right, Miss Granger, we can’t possibly repay you for this.”

“Believe me, Mr. Longbottom,” Hermione said, “Getting rid of Voldemort is more than reward enough.”

The Boneses were next: Edgar, his wife, and his two children—Susan’s cousins whom she had never known. Edgar shook her little hand so vigorously when he met her that her shoulder was sore. Susan was there, too, with her parents, and her Aunt Amelia, currently the Head Auror, stood beside them. Hermione didn’t know Susan that well, but definitely had something to say to Amelia.

“Madam Bones,” she squeaked, “the time to clean up the Auror Office is now, before corruption, incompetence, and sloppiness in the judicial process can spread. I know you can do it if you make the effort, and in time, you could do the same for the whole DMLE, and perhaps even the Ministry itself.”

Amelia’s eyes widened. “Do you mean to say that you See me as Minister, Miss Granger?” she asked.

“I See that you could be Minister. And that you would be a good one. You would serve the people better than most; of that I am sure.”

But after them were the Potters, accompanied by Sirius and Remus. Hermione had to hide her face in Dad’s shirt for a while to keep from breaking down crying when she saw them. Her heart skipped a beat at the sight of James. He and Harry looked so much alike except for the eyes, and nearly the same age in her memory. Remus and Sirius both looked younger and happier than she had ever seen them. And Lily…she was a beautiful woman, and those beautiful green eyes perfectly matched those of the baby in her arms. He looked so cute at this age, she thought. When they came closer, Hermione couldn’t help herself.

“Harry!” she exclaimed in her excited two-year-old voice, and she lunged forward and grabbed the boy she loved in a hug and kissed him on the cheek, much to all the grown-ups’ astonishment.

Harry only squirmed and yelped in confusion. Dad immediately stepped back and gave Hermione a scathing look. With the age difference between them, that hadn’t been the best move. She quickly lowered her gaze and said, “Sorry, Mrs. Potter.”

Then Sirius started laughing: “Better watch out, Lils, this one’s staking her claim early.”

James joined in, smirking, “You gotta admit, darling, Harry could do worse than the girl who ended the war.”

“Well, I suppose not,” Lily said. “We owe you the greatest debt of all, Hermione. We still can’t believe what that Rat did to us, and ending the war was nothing short of a miracle. I do hope you and Harry can be friends when you get older.

“I’d like to be Harry’s friend, too, Mrs. Potter,” Hermione said with a smile.

Lily looked up at Mum and Dad. “Mr. and Mrs. Granger,” she said, “Seer or no, I cannot believe how intelligent your daughter is at her age.”

“Yeah, neither can we,” Mum quipped. “She’s really been a miracle child the past two months.”

“It looks like it. Hermione, you Saw something about Harry that made you react to him like that, didn’t you?”

She nodded, fighting back tears as she kept staring at Harry.

“May I ask what you saw?”

Hermione wiped her eyes and began to speak in a trembling voice: “I see Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Will-Never-Have-To-Deal-With-A-Hyphenated-Nickname, a boy with his Daddy’s nerve and his Mummy’s heart.” James and Lily both smiled broadly at that. “He could be at the top of his year in Defence Class if he works hard at it, and that includes me. He would make a good Auror, but he would also make a good teacher.”

“A teacher?” Lily said in surprise.

“Oh, yes, he would. But he won’t have his Daddy’s Quidditch skills, though.”

James and Sirius both gasped in horror. But then, Hermione smiled and said, “He’ll be better.” The two men grinned manically. “He’ll be a Seeker, and good enough to play for England.”

At that, James and Sirius whooped with joy. “A national player!” James said. “That’s my boy!”

Hermione just laughed. She didn’t get to interact much more with Harry, which she had to admit was probably for the best. She and her parents mingled after that, with Hermione spending quite a bit of time walking on her own feet and chatting with one person or another. It was strange wandering around and making small talk almost like an adult when she was two foot ten, but no weirder than anything else she’d got up to lately.

Hermione grabbed some hors d’oeuvres that she could manage to eat with her hands and wandered around with Mum following close behind in case there were any problems. She said hello to Professor McGonagall and thanked Professor Dumbledore for ending the war so quickly. She was alarmed to see that Dumbledore has acquired a number of scars. Evidently, his victory over Voldemort had been hard-won. But he assured her that he was alright. Eventually, she made it around to Remus.

“Hello, Mr. Lupin,” she said.

Remus looked down and smiled, crouching down in front of her. He looked a lot better than she remembered, although he still had those scars on his face. “Well, hello, little ankle-biter,” he said. “You can call me Remus.”

Hermione giggled: “Pleased to meet you, Remus. How are you holding up tonight?”

Remus coughed: “W-what did you say?”

“Well, I know tomorrow’s the full moon.”

His eyes widened in horror.

“It’s alright. I know all about your furry little problem. The important thing is not to let it control your life.”

“I…I see your Seer talents are still going.”

“For now. Incidentally, have you ever considered teaching?”

“Teaching?” he said. “There’s no way I could do that.”

“Never say never, Remus,” she said. She stepped closer and whispered in his ear, “Damocles Belby will discover a partial cure in about three years. When that happens, you should talk to Professor Dumbledore about teaching Defence. You’d be good at it.” She stepped back, leaving Remus frozen, wide-eyed in shock. She giggled again and patted him on the head.

“Are you sure it’s safe to give them this much information?” Mum asked her.

Hermione shrugged her shoulders: “Eh, the universe hasn’t collapsed in a horrible time paradox yet. I think we’re good.”

She kept going about her work, soon coming back around to Lily, catching her alone at the punch bowl.

“Hello, Mrs. Potter,” she called.

“Hello, Hermione,” Lily smiled. “Would you like some punch?”

“Yes, please.”

Lily poured a cup and handed it down to her. Hermione took it very carefully with both hands so that she could drink it without spilling. Lily took a moment to look over contentedly to where James was playing was playing with Harry. Hermione thought she caught a flicker of worry when her eyes passed across Sirius and Remus. She tugged on her sleeve.

“You can trust them,” she said. Lily looked at her in surprise. “Sirius and Remus. They’re both good and loyal friends. Remus is a lot better with kids than he thinks, and Sirius may seem reckless, but he’s a lot wiser than he lets on.”

Lily smiled sadly. “It’s amazing how you sometimes don’t really know someone even after knowing them for years,” she said. “You’re too young to know what it’s like to lose a friend, but—”

Hermione gripped Lily’s wrist as hard as she could. “I know a lot better than you think, Mrs. Potter,” she sniffled. “It hurts worse than anything. But you try to fix it if you can, and if you can’t fix it…” She trailed off. She hadn’t much experience going down that road. She’d gone the “fix it” route. “Well, I guess you try to move on and make new friends.” She glanced at the Longbottoms and the Boneses, then lingered on Sirius and Remus again. “I’ll tell you one thing: Sirius and Remus would both benefit a lot from finding a good woman.”

“Oh?” Lily said, surprised. “Do you see them with anyone?”

“I see that Sirius is gonna need a lot of work…As for Remus…Actually, I See him with Sirius’s cousin, Nymphadora.”

“Nymphie? But she’s eight years old.”

“Which is why you might want to encourage him to find someone else sooner. Predictions don’t have to come true.”

“Hmm…setting up dates for Sirius and Remus,” Lily mused. “Sounds challenging.”

“Well, you are the smartest witch of your generation,” Hermione said. She giggled and added, “Almost as smart as I am. I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

Lily gave her a strange look at that comment, but she shook her head, giving up trying to understand.

Hermione took one more look around the room, her eyes coming to rest on a dour young man with long, black hair. “I think Severus has seen the error of his ways by now,” she said softly.

Lily glanced at her former friend and sighed. “I wish I could believe that,” she said. “I don’t think we’ll ever really get along again.”

Hermione stared at the young potions master and bit her lip. And she glanced around at the other guests briefly. Perhaps she could manage one more good deed tonight. Yes, it was a stretch, but it was worth a try. “Never say never, Mrs. Potter,” she said.

She toddled across the room, passing the Healer, Psyche Nimue, along the way and waving to her. Psyche was a slight woman with long, black hair, but bright blue eyes. She looked very young, probably in her early-to-mid-twenties, not far out of Healer’s training, but if Dumbledore had recommended her, she must be pretty good. She seemed a quiet and reserved sort of person, unlike a majority of the guests there, but the most interesting thing Hermione had noticed about the woman was how she had sent a few interested glances at none other than Severus Snape.

And so, Hermione walked up to the Potions Master respectfully and said, “Hello, Professor Snape.”

“Yes, Miss Granger?” Snape said, raising an eyebrow.

It took an effort for Hermione not to laugh. That seemed so much like the Snape she knew. And yet, he really wasn’t. When she had had him as a teacher, even though he was only in his thirties, Snape had always struck her as a bitter old man. But this Snape was young and still clung to a few shreds of idealism. There might still be hope for him.

“I have some advice for you, sir.”

“Haven’t you already given me enough advice?” Snape said venomously.

She maintained her respectful tone, but it was an effort, she replied: “Take it from someone who’s seen the road you could have gone down. Your past doesn’t have to define your life. You can’t change the choices you’ve made, but you can make a better future for yourself.”

“Do you insist on talking in riddles?”

“I’m only saying, Professor, that you’re still young. And alive. And now free. The war ended about the best way it could have for you. You’ve been given a second chance that few ever get. You should make the most of it. Stop looking backwards and instead see what’s right in front of you.” Hermione turned to look at the young Healer, prompting Snape to look in the same direction. Psyche glanced up when she noticed his gaze and smiled at him.

The reception was tiring to a little girl like Hermione, but the night was still young, and there was a whole other meeting to be held. Dumbledore dismissed most of the guests and sat Hermione, Mum, Dad, the Potters, and Psyche with him at a round table. Hermione was curled up in Mum’s lap, and Harry was already asleep.

“You are certain you want to tell them, Miss Granger?” Dumbledore asked.

“Yes, sir,” she said sleepily.

“Tell us what?” James said.

“We haven’t been entirely truthful about where I got my knowledge.” Hermione said. “You see, I’m not actually a Seer…I’m a time traveller.”

“A time traveller?!” Lily gasped. As a muggle-born, she saw the implications at once. “But that’s impossible!”

Hermione smirked: “Tell that to the Unspeakables.”

“Time travel?” James said. “Like in your muggle books?”

“Yes. It makes perfect sense,” Lily said. “That how she could know so many specific things and remember them. I thought the Seer explanation smelled fishy. If she has actual firsthand knowledge of the future, though, it would make things easy.”

“So…” James put the pieces together. “So you came from a future where…things went badly?” he said in confusion.

“Very badly, until the very end. I’m nearly your age, mentally. I came back from the year 1999, or rather I sent my memories back to my younger self.” Hermione looked and saw Psyche frantically taking notes. Dumbledore had already told her, but not the details. “From my perspective, I’ve lived the next eighteen years,” Hermione continued, “several of them at war.”

“What happened?” Lily breathed.

“Harry became the Chosen One—the child of the prophecy, destined to face Voldemort.” James and Lily gasped, and Lily held baby Harry closer. “He won, in the end, but only at the cost of a lot of good people, including almost everyone who was in that reception. I won’t worry you about the details because it never has to happen now, but it hurt him—hurt both of us—so badly that I had to do something about it. I worked with the Unspeakables for a year and found a solution. I sent my memories back as far as I could, and the rest you know. I…I’m sorry I couldn’t save more people, but I was lucky that even this worked.”

Lily was crying softly by now, and everyone gave her and James a minute to collect themselves. After a little while, James got a hopeful look on his face and asked, “And Harry’s flying skills?”

Hermione smiled: “I’ve seen them with my own eyes. I’ve only ever seen one person better: Viktor Krum of Bulgaria, and he caught the Snitch in the finals of World Cup. With a normal life to train up in, I think Harry could possibly beat him.”

James beamed with pride and ruffled his sleeping son’s hair: “That’s my boy,” he said, “future World Cup winner Harry Potter.”

Lily just rolled her eyes and asked the obvious question: “Why are you telling us this, Hermione? What do we need to know for? And what are you going to do now?”

Hermione sighed. It was time to get down to business, and she rather doubted anyone involved would particularly like it. “Well, you see, I have a problem…” she said, glancing around at the whole table. “I’m in love with Harry.” She fixed her eyes on the little boy’s sleeping form, not daring to meet the eyes of any of the grown-ups. “And in my time, he loved me, too. But with the nineteen year age difference…it’s just never going to work.”

“You loved…well…well, then…what do you want to do?” Lily said nervously, glancing down at Harry.

“What I want…” Hermione said. She glanced up nervously at Mum and Dad. She still hadn’t told them her real plan. “I want to live as a little girl again. I want to have a normal—magical—childhood, and a normal time at school where I don’t have to worry about almost dying every year. I want to be able to grow up with my friends again and not be a jaded adult trapped in a child’s body who can’t connect with them anymore…And that’s why I wanted to talk to a Mind Healer, Ms. Nimue.”

“Okay?” Psyche said. “But I don’t really understand what you’re planning to do, Miss Granger. You…you don’t mean to send your memories forward again, do you?”

Mum got a very worried look on her face. “Hermione,” she said, gripping her shoulder. “You can’t do that, can you?”

“No, Mummy, I can’t do that. Or maybe I could, but it would be a bad idea. I’ve changed too many things. Who knows what could happen in the meantime? And who knows what it would do to the woman I would become?”

“So what are you planning?” Psyche asked.

“Okay, this may sound crazy, but please hear me out. I’ve had a lot of time to think about this, and I think I have a solution that will work. Professor Dumbledore, you have a Pensieve. And Healer Nimue, I assume you’re very good at memory manipulation or know someone who is. I want to go back to being a little girl again, but I don’t want to lose the last eighteen years entirely. That would mean losing everything that makes me who I am. So what I want to do instead is to remove all of my memories back to when I was two and store them somewhere safe so that I can restore them year by year as I grow up.”

There was silence in the meeting room as all of the grown-ups tried to digest this proposal. Mum and Dad just looked worried. James and Lily looked shocked. Wizards threw out Memory Charms like candy, but messing with memories on that scale was an alien concept to them. Even Dumbledore look surprised; it was a novel idea to him, too.

Psyche Nimue, however, did have some clue what she was saying, even if it seemed crazy. “So let me get this straight,” she said, “you want to remove an entire lifetime’s worth of memories from your mind?”

“Uh huh,” Hermione said.

“And then put them back later?”

“Uh huh.”

“In chronological order?”

“Uh huh.”

“I see…I take it an ordinary Obliviation wouldn’t work, then?”

“No, it wouldn’t. I don’t want to just wipe them, and it’s too messy to undo. We would need to store them in a physical form like you do with a Pensieve, Professor. If I understand it right, that spell can either copy a memory or remove it from one’s mind.”

“That is true, Hermione,” Dumbledore said. “However, it’s usually done with individual events. I have never heard of an attempt to collect blanket memories of long periods of time that way.”

“Right,” Psyche said, “and I’m pretty sure memory modification that extensive has never been done at all in a medical setting, let alone restoring them afterwards. This is uncharted territory.”

“I don’t think I like this, Hermione,” Mum finally spoke up. “It doesn’t sound safe. I mean, completely wiping your memory? Even if you’re going to put it back, a lot of things could go wrong.”

“I know it’s drastic, Mummy, but it’s all proven principles. It’s just a matter of scaling them up.”

“Um…I’m not so sure about that, Hermione.” To her surprise, it was Lily who spoke up. She stared at the red-haired woman in surprise. “I’ve been trying to train as an apothecary for the Order, and Albus taught me how to work a Pensieve a while back,” she said. “I know a thing or two about mind healing. Wiping memories usually only removes events. Accidental total Obliviations have been known to happen, but the victim still knows how to talk and wave a wand.”

“That sounds like amnesia,” Dad said. “My wife and I have medical training, too, Mrs. Potter. And she’s right, Hermione, if this memory magic works a like that, it’ll only act on episodic memory, not semantic or procedural memory. You wouldn’t remember life events, but you could remember most of what you learnt in your education. You’d wind up like an amnesia patient instead of a little girl.”

Hermione grimaced as she remembered how Lockhart had wound up. And then she smacked her forehead. “Oh, that reminds me, Professor; Gilderoy Lockhart is a fraud who Obliviates dark creature hunters and steals their stories. You should inform the Aurors.”

“Um…I—yes, Miss Granger, I will,” Dumbledore said, as confused as anyone at the non-sequitur.

“Sorry about that,” Hermione said. “I just thought you should know. Anyway, that’s a valid issue about memory charms…Sir, can removing Pensieve memories pull out semantic knowledge, muscle memory, emotional memory, that sort of thing?”

“Mm…I’m afraid I have no idea, Miss Granger,” Dumbledore said. “I’ve never heard of a Pensieve being used for that sort of thing. It may be possible, but it is by no means a certainty.”

“I’m sorry, Hermione,” Lily said, “I don’t think this will work. This doesn’t sound like something you want to try. We really want to help you, with all you’ve done for us, but who knows what mucking around with your mind like that could do to you?”

Hermione looked down sullenly, trying to find a way out of her predicament. Being a twenty-year-old with amnesia in a two-year-old’s body would be little better than her current situation. Her youthful brain could relearn everything with ease, but she would always be many years more mature than her peers—the age gap would still be there. But slowly, an idea started to form: “What if we could test it, though?”

“Test it?” Mum said.

“Test it?” Psyche repeated.

“Test it how?” asked Lily.

“What if we tried it over a shorter period of time, like a week, to see if it worked?” Hermione said.

“A shorter period?” Lily said in confusion. “But how would you know if it worked?”

“Well, what I’m hoping is that if you remove the entire time period when you learnt to do something—”

“You’d also lose the memory of how to do it,” Lily caught on.

“Exactly!” Hermione said excitedly. “What if one of you teaches me a new skill that I don’t know yet—”

Lily figured it out at once, her face brightening: “And then once you’ve learnt it, we pull out your memory of the entire past week to see if you lose it—”

“And then restore it, of course, to make sure I get it back properly—”

“And then probably some other tests, like seeing if you remember new words or something.”

“Yes, it’ll be tricky to make sure we’re not missing anything, but—”

Suddenly, they were both interrupted as James burst out laughing.

“What?” Hermione and Lily said in unison.

“You two are so much alike,” he chortled. “I can see why Harry fell for you, Hermione. It’s good to know he’s inherited my good taste.”

Lily sighed and rolled her eyes: “James, we are not going to force Harry and Hermione together just because that’s what happened in one possible future.” She turned back to Hermione and said more gently, “I do hope you understand that, Hermione.”

“I do, Mrs. Potter. But I do want to be friends with him, at least. Then I can still have the chance.”

“Well, I think that can be arranged. Now that the war’s over, it’ll be easy to arrange play dates and such.”

“Er…” Hermione said uncomfortably, “thank you, ma’am, but I think I’d rather not have too much contact with Harry for the next four years—Westermarck Effect and all that.”

“The what effect?” Lily and James said together.

Mum blushed as she realised what Hermione was talking about. Dad hesitantly answered, “The Westermarck Effect: children who spend a lot of time together before about age five subconsciously regard each other as siblings and…er, romantically off-limits, even if they’re not related.” Lily started to blush, too. “It’s believed to be an evolutionary adaptation to prevent inbreeding…”

Even James sputtered for a moment at that, and the grown-ups silently agreed that it was time to change the subject. They would sort that out in due time.

“Uh, excuse me,” Psyche interrupted. “But there are still a couple of problems with this idea. For one, we don’t actually have a spell to extract large time blocks of memory, do we?”

“Professor, is there any chance you could come up with something?” Hermione pleaded.

Dumbledore stroked his beard in thought for a minute. “I believe it could be possible. It would seem to be a simple extension of the existing spells. Lily, if you and Severus would help me, I believe we could have something workable by the time these…tests are ready.”

“I…I guess that sounds reasonable, Albus,” Lily said. “I mean…it seems like it should work.”

“Okay, but even if that works,” Psyche said, “it sounds like what you’re hoping to do is to completely reset your mind back to an earlier age; is that it, Hermione?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“But if you want to go all the way back to age two, if we want to even have a chance of keeping your memories straight and in chronological order, we’d have to strip them away in reverse chronological order—layer by layer—a month or at most a few months at a time. And if your mind is reset, you’re going to think you’re your younger self—if I understand it right, you’ll basically be your younger self. You’ll be scared and won’t know what’s going on. Before age eleven, you won’t even know magic exists. That could be a serious emotional trauma to go through, and we’ll have to repeat it dozens of times.”

Hermione bit her lip. “I already thought about that part,” she said. Truthfully, though, she hadn’t really thought about having to repeat it that many times. “I know it’ll be hard, but I’ve been through a lot already. I know I don’t look it, but I can be pretty tough when I need to be, even when I was little. I think that if Mummy and Daddy are there with me, I can get through it.”

“Aww…” Mum said, hugging her tight. “Hermione, are you really sure you want to do this? Even with those tests, it doesn’t sound very safe, and it sounds like it’ll hurt a lot. I know it’s unusual, but we can still take care of you the way you are.”

“Mummy, I have to do this,” she said weakly, wiping her eyes on Mum’s shirt. “I have to try, anyway. You said you wanted to get your baby girl back. Well, I want to get her back, too, more than anything. These last two months with you and Daddy have been wonderful, and I’ll always cherish them—at least once I restore the memories—but I’ll never really fit in anywhere the way I am now. I just can’t live my whole life like this. And the testing part won’t be that dangerous—not with Professor Dumbledore running them. I’m gonna need your help, though,” she pleaded tearfully. “It’s gonna be hard, and I’m gonna need yours and Daddy’s help. Will you please help me do this, Mummy?”

Mum sighed and stared down at her. Hermione thought she had good arguments, but Mum could be just as stubborn as she was. She silently pleaded with her to support her in this. Finally, Mum smiled sadly at her and said, “Oh, how can I say no to a face like that?”

Chapter Text

It took until Christmas to work all the kinks out of their procedures. Secretly, Hermione wasn’t actually sure if, for example, removing the entire time period of learning a physical skill would also take away the muscle memory of that skill. Amnesia patients who didn’t remember any life events certainly retained their skill sets—if not always, then often. On the other hand, Alzheimer’s patients typically did lose those skills. The same went for her knowledge of words, facts, and spells, her ingrained emotional reactions to friends (or enemies), and a host of other little things like that. All those different types of memories were stored in different parts of the brain, but by using a different organising principle—blocks of time—they eventually demonstrated that it did work. They could remove all the different types of memories created during that time as a unit, completely resetting the mind to an earlier state.

It took some doing, though. Dumbledore, Lily, and Snape had to do a lot of arithmancy to piece together a spell to extract and safely return such large blocks of memory from one’s mind, and it was another job to figure out how to store memories in that quantity. From that alone, they decided that Hermione’s memories would have to be stored in a special warded room at Hogwarts. (She warned Dumbledore to be especially careful that Fred and George Weasley couldn’t get in in a few years.)

Once they had the spells, they had to test them, and none of the grown-ups was willing to try them on Hermione first. So instead, they followed a questionable, but time-honoured tradition and offered a couple of Death Eaters reduced sentences in exchange for testing the spells. They applied the spells over short enough periods that none of them got messed up too badly.

After they were assured that the spells worked and were reasonably safe, it was time to test them on Hermione directly. She wasn’t coordinated enough to do a whole lot involving muscle memory, but they eventually found a solution: Lily happened to have dabbled in dancing in her youth, and she knew a routine that was fairly long, but not very difficult to teach her. Hermione spent the better part of a week learning it until she could practically do it in their sleep, and then they tried Dumbledore’s spells. They worked. After removing the entire week’s worth of memories—which was incredibly disorienting—Hermione was as clueless at dancing as when she’d first started. When they put those memories back in her head—which was almost as disorienting—it all came back instantly.

Everything was set, and two days after Christmas, they were ready to go.

“Are you sure you want to do this, Hermione?” asked Psyche Nimue as they prepared her for the procedure in a specially closed-off portion of the Hogwarts Hospital Wing.

“Yes, ma’am, I’m ready,” Hermione said from her bed as she held her large stuffed otter for comfort. Things had begun to change for her at home by Christmas. She had grown significantly in the past three and a half months—that was a strange sensation to feel again—and she was gradually becoming more coordinated, but at the end of the day, she was still stuck in a body that was eighteen years too young. She had to do this.

“Okay,” Psyche said. “Mr. and Mrs. Granger, legally, you still have power of attorney over your daughter, and as we get going, she won’t remember enough to give informed consent anyway. Are you ready to go through with this?”

Mum and Dad gave each other a resolved look and took a deep breath. “Yes, we’re ready,” Mum said. “We love you sweetie.”

“I love you, too,” Hermione said. “Okay, let’s do this.”

“Alright,” Psyche told her. “This is going to take a while. I’m not comfortable doing this for more than four months at a time, and one to two would be better. That means you’re going to have to relive some very painful times, not knowing what’s going on, and you’re going to have less and less control over where the time blocks start and end.”

“Yes, yes, we’ve gone over all of this,” Hermione said impatiently. “You do have the reference list I made?” Ever prepared, Hermione had put together a list of reference points in her life that she was pretty sure would make it easier to remember blocks of time cleanly and keep all her memories straight. Unfortunately, moany of them were close to traumatic events during her school years, but beggars couldn’t be choosers, and she thought this would be the most reliable way to do it.

“I have it. We’re ready to start.”

Psyche, Dumbledore, Mum, and Dad crowded around the bed, with Dumbledore and Psyche preparing to cast the necessary spells. “Okay, Hermione, I want you to focus on the moment you came back to this time,” Psyche said. “The moment you arrived in your younger body and woke up at home. Focus clearly on that moment.”

Hermione concentrated on the memory; it wasn’t something she would ever forget on her own. Dumbledore began the memory extraction spelland nodded to Psyche that it was working.

“Good. Now, focus on everything that’s happened since then—try to go through it step by step, day by day, forward from one event to the next. Hold onto those thoughts. Keep them clearly in your mind.”

Hermione had practised this over shorter amounts of time when they tested the spells. She concentrated and remembered speaking to her parents and explaining about magic to them, then their big day going to Diagon Alley and then up to Hogwarts to tell Dumbledore how to end the war, those weeks of waiting when she detailed all her past adventures, the reception after the war was over—it was all so easy this time around. All those years of hardship, and a little foreknowledge made it unbelievably easy—And finally, those weeks of experimenting with the spells up through Christmas—up till today. As she concentrated on the memories in sequence, she was tying them together into a unit.

Dumbledore completed the spell, and a silver mist formed around Hermione’s head. He lifted it up and away from her and put the memories in a large flask, which he labelled and set on a nearby shelf.

Hermione opened her eyes, disoriented, and wondered where she was. She remembered the ritual she had just undergone, but something was wrong. Mum and Dad were standing over her along with a woman she didn’t know—and Dumbledore! Dumbledore was alive again! Tears welled in her eyes at seeing the old man’s kindly face.

“Professor! You’re alive!” she squeaked in a voice that sounded far higher than normal. Her body felt strange. It must be 1981! “My voice! It worked! Professor, I have to tell you—”

“You already did, Hermione,” Dumbledore said with a smile. “The war is over.”

“What? It is?”

“It is. Voldemort is dead.”

“Dead? But what about the—”

“Horcruxes? Also destroyed. All five of them. It is the twenty-seventh of December, 1981. All of the Potters are safe. You are in the Hogwarts Hospital Wing.”

“I am? But…Mummy, Daddy—?” she turned her attention to

“You already told us everything, baby,” Mum said tearfully. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

“But why am I in the Hospital Wing? What happened?”

“It was your idea, Miss Granger,” the unknown woman said. “My name is Psyche Nimue. I’m a Mind Healer. We’ve spent the last month and a half perfecting a process to remove your memories in time blocks, store them, and safely return them later. We just completed the first step in that process.”

“My memories?” she gasped. “So you figured it out then? I can go back and relive my life and get my memories back later? Oh, this is so wonderful! I can still grow up with Harry! I did meet Harry, didn’t I?”

Mum snorted: “Baby, it was all we could do to keep you from snogging him.”

Hermione turned red and bit her lip. “Er…sorry,” she said. “I must’ve got overexcited.”

“Well, we can worry about that later,” Psyche Nimue said. “We have a lot more memories to pull out, and we should keep going.”

“Oh, right, right,” she replied. “Um…Professor Dumbledore, if I’m going to keep waking up thinking I’m…mentally younger like this, it’s probably best if you stay out of sight until I get back to when your alive—if that’s possible.”

“It can be arranged, Hermione,” he said. “If you are ready?”

She nodded, and Psyche got back to work, instructing her in what to do from her reference list: “Alright, then, I want you to go back to Harry’s nineteenth birthday…”

The next few memory extractions went smoothly. The trouble started when they had to go back to just after the Battle of Hogwarts. It would have been easier on Hermione to go to just before it, but she had so many vivid memories of the raid on Gringotts and the battle itself, and the terror of the battle itself was so distinct in her mind to the relief and, yes, grief of the aftermath, that they had decided it would be safer to do them as separate units. However, they immediately found that the Hermione of the third of May, 1998 was not exactly in a good mental state to do that.

Hermione jerked awake after and immediately saw that something was wrong. She appeared to be in the Hospital Wing, even though she’d gone to sleep in Gryffindor Tower. A very large woman she didn’t recognise wearing Healers’ robes was standing over her.

“What happened?” she cried. “How did I get here? Was it a rogue Death Eater?”

“No, Miss Granger, you’re perfectly fine,” the Healer said.

“But why am I in the Hospital Wing then? Where’s Harry…? Where’s Harry?!”

“Hermione, it’s okay, calm down,” another voice said.

She turned her head to see the last two faces she expected to see—and unnaturally large and young faces, at that. “Mum? Dad? How’d you get here? You’re supposed to be in Australia. And why do look so strange? And how do you recognise me?”

“What?” Mum said. “Why wouldn’t we recognise you?”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Mum—I didn’t want to do it. I almost didn’t, but I had to wipe your memories. It was the safest thing for you.”

“What?!” Mum yelled.

“Wipe our memories?!” Dad echoed. This was the one thing Hermione had never mentioned to them in the past three months, and if she still had those memories, she’d probably be kicking herself right now.

“I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “I was just so worried. It hurt so much to go behind your back like that, but I was afraid you’d slip up if I had you learn a new identity, if I could even convince you to go. I knew I could never help Harry if I was spending all my time worrying if you were alright. I had to send you away.”

“But wiping our memories? Without even asking us?” Dad said. “How could you do that?”

“You don’t what it was like, Dad. There was a war going on. People were dying all over the place. I know I should’ve told you, but I knew you’d send me away, and Harry would’ve died without me. Everyone would’ve died. You could’ve doomed the whole country if you’d done that!”

They knew that much, as horrible as it sounded. Maybe a little hyperbolic, but she’d explained it in graphic detail when she recounted her experiences. They didn’t like it, but they understood—somewhat. “But why take our memories of you?” Mum said. “We could’ve gone into hiding. And don’t say you didn’t want us to worry about you. You didn’t have the right to make that decision.”

“I kn-know I didn’t…” Hermione shook in the bed and subconsciously clutched her stuffed otter tighter to her chest. “But I was Undesirable Number Two. They were specifically looking for me and anyone close to me. Our address was on file with the Ministry, Mum. Once they took over, they could’ve tracked you down. They could’ve tracked you down so easily, Mum. They would’ve used you to catch me, Ron, and Harry, and then they would’ve tortured and killed you anyway. I had to get you out of the country with no trail—no connection with anyone who so much as smelled like me.”

Mum and Dad turned pale as the implications hit them. Their mouths hung open slightly. They’d heard a lot about how horrible the war had been from their daughter, but they hadn’t fully appreciated how close their own family had come to ruin.

“I’m so sorry,” Hermione repeated. “I was going to reverse it. I swear I was going to come find you as soon as I could and reverse it. But how did you get here first? Did Harry send for you? Where is he?”

“Miss Granger,” the Healer said, “Harry is safe at home.”

“Home? He doesn’t have a home to go to.”

“Miss Granger, please take a look at yourself.” The Healer held up a mirror.

Hermione looked into the mirror and was so shocked she nearly fainted. She looked about two years old. “Eek! What? But—how—?”

“It’s alright,” she said. “A year after the war, you discovered a way to send your memories back in time to 1981 to end the war before You-Know-Who ever went after Harry. Today is the twenty-seventh of December, 1981, You-Know-Who is dead, and James and Lily are alive and well.”

“What? But…but…how do I know you’re telling the truth?” she said quickly. “And why don’t I remember it?”

“Perhaps I may be of assistance?” another, even more impossible voice said, and at that moment, the snowy head of Albus Dumbledore came into view…

If that batch of memories was awkward for Hermione’s parents, the next one was downright terrifying. Unfortunately for everyone involved, she had skimped out on the detail of this incident, too. The moment Hermione “woke up” after the memory extraction, she started screaming at the top of her lungs and clawing at her left arm so hard that she drew blood. Suddenly having a two-year-old’s boundless energy and underdeveloped limbic system coming from that mental state turned out to be a very bad combination.

“Hold her!” a female voice called.

“NO!” Hermione screamed as huge, strong hands reached out to hold her down, and a black haired woman leaned over her. “NO! NOT AGAIN! PLEASE NOT AGAIN! I SWEAR I DON’T KNOW ANYTHING! WE FOUND THAT SWORD! WE DON’T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT YOUR VAULT!”

“Hermione, please,” the black-haired woman said.

“NO, PLEASE! PLEASE! GET AWAY FROM ME! I DON’T KNOW ANYTHING!”

“Hermione, it’s okay,” another woman’s voice said.

She turned in horror. She recognised that voice.

“Mum…? Dad…? NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! THAT’S IMPOSSIBLE! YOU CAN’T BE HERE! YOU CAN’T BE HERE! THAT’S IMPOSSIBLE! WHAT DID YOU DO THEM YOU BITCH?!” she screamed at the black-haired woman. “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH THEM?! I’LL KILL YOU! I’LL KILL YOU AND YOUR WHOLE GODDAMN DEATH EATER FAMILY!”

“Hermione, calm down, it’s okay,” Mum pleaded.

“NO! NO! YOU CAN’T BE THEM! IT’S A TRICK! IT’S A DEATH EATER TRICK!”

“Hermione, please, you’re safe. We’re all safe.”

“GET THE HELL AWAY FROM ME, DEATH EATER! ALL OF YOU GET AWAY FROM ME! WHAT THE HELL HAVE YOU DONE WITH MY MUM AND DAD?!”

“HERMIONE, I’M NOT BELLATRIX!” the woman yelled finally understanding what was wrong, but by that point, Hermione had completely lost it. All the torches in the Hospital Wing blew out from accidental magic. She started punching, biting, and scratching at all three of them and, to her parents’ chagrin, swearing like a sailor. Yes, that underdeveloped limbic system was definitely a problem. It took them several minutes and a good, long look in the mirror to convince her that this ordeal wasn’t some new torture on the part of Bellatrix Lestrange and still longer to convince her of what was really going on to finally get back on track. They got her away from that mental ordeal as fast as possible.

“What? Where am I?” Hermione looked around fearfully. “What? Hogwarts? No! I thought we got away! That bastard! He sold us out! I bet he even knew that thing was an erumpent horn. Where’s Harry? Where’s Harry? PLEASE SOMEBODY, WHERE’S HARRY?!”

She fought against the hands that tried to hold her down again as her parents cried.

Hermione thankfully didn’t scream the next time, but what she did was almost as bad: she burst into tears.

“Why did he have to leave?” she sobbed. “Why did he have to be so stupid? He knew what he was getting into. He knew the locket was affecting him. Ron, we need you! I need you! Why did you leave?”

“Ron? What happened to Harry?” Mum said.

“No, Harry’s fine, he’s—” She stopped and looked up in horror to see her parents’ tear-stained faces. “Mum? Dad? What’s wrong? What are you doing here? Wait, Hogwarts? No! No! No! How did I get to Hogwarts?!”

This wasn’t going well.

“What? What happened? I was just at the wedding. How did I get to Hogwarts? Did the Death Eaters attack? Where are Harry and Ron? Are they okay? I need to get to them. Where’s my wand? Where’s my wand? WHERE’S MY WAND?!”

The little girl groaned as if she’d been woken too early from sleep and turned over in the bed. The reaction was so much better than the last few steps that Mum wiped her eyes and chuckled a little.

“Hermione,” she said softly, “it’s time to wake up.”

Hermione’s head snapped up at the unexpected voice. “Mum? Dad? How did you get to Hogwarts?”

“It’s a long story, sweetie.”

“We’ve been told there’s a war going on in your world,” Dad said.

“Oh, no,” Hermione said fearfully. Her seventeen-year-old mind made a snap decision. She’d have to try the direct approach now that they knew: “Listen, I should have told you before, but I was hoping I could keep you out of it. You two have to get out of the country as soon as you can. Assumed names, nothing that ties you back to me. The Death Eaters will come after you to get to me. I can help you get out, but you have to do it now.”

“Okay, okay,” Dad interrupted, “as satisfying as it would be to make you go through this whole conversation like this, you really need to know what’s really going on.”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

Mum told her, “Do you remember when you had that Time Turner in your third year…?”

“Oh, I must’ve fallen asleep. How’s Ron doing…? Wh-where is he? He couldn’t have got out already. What happened to him? Where’s Ron?”

“What? Why am I in the hospital wing? The last thing I remember is going to the Christmas party—oh my God, McLaggen! Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God! Why did I ever want to go with a jerk like him? If that bastard drugged me, I’ll hex his bits off!”

“Hermione, you’re okay. No one drugged you,” a familiar voice said hurriedly..

“Mum?”

“Long story. Who’s this McLaggen person? We didn’t think you’d have any trouble with this boy—er, with the party.”

“Oh, Mum, I only asked McLaggen to make Ron mad because he was being such a git. I should have listened to you better, Mum. You told me boys are only interested in one thing, and McLaggen’s the poster boy for that. And he’s so disgusting about it! He practically flaunts it.”

“Well, as far as we know, that boy didn’t do anything to you, so you’re fine there. Now, what’s really going on is a little more complicated…”

“Well, Mum, Dad, I’m off to sixth year today. Wish me luck. I certainly hope it goes better than last year.”

Mum giggled in spite of herself.

“Mum, what is it. Wait a minute, how did we get here…? Oh, no! Did the Death Eaters do something?”

“Argh…oh…oh…That’s strange. I suddenly feel a lot better. Wow, Madam Pomfrey said those potions wouldn’t fully take for a week.”

“Um, I’m afraid things are a little more complicated than that at the moment, Hermione,” Dad said.

“Dad?” Hermione said in confusion. “Oh—oh, no, they told you? Look, I know you’re probably really scared right now. I mean yes, I almost died, but please, you can’t pull me out of Hogwarts now. Harry’s gonna need me more than ever now that Sirius is dead. Merlin knows what’ll happen to him without his friends around to help him.”

“Hermione, calm down,” Dad said. “We’re not pulling you out of Hogwarts. In fact, I think you’re going to have a much better time here this time around.”

“‘This time around’? What do you mean?”

“Professor Dumbledore, you’re back! Thank Merlin! I thought that foul woman had got rid of you for good.”

“Mum? Dad? I thought you were going skiing.”

“Um…not this year,” Dad said. “We wanted to be here for you.”

“Look, I know I haven’t been home for Christmas for the past three years, but Harry really needs me. Everyone’s been giving him so much trouble; you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Why don’t you try us sometime?” Mum said.

Hermione gave them a very uncomfortable look. They let the silence stretch a bit before they broke down and told her the truth.

“What? Why am I in the Hospital Wing? It couldn’t be that bloody quill, could it?” Hermione looked at her right hand. “No, nothing on my hand. Wait, Mum? Dad? Oh my God! You can’t be here! Not with that Umbridge woman going on her witch hunt. If she finds out there’s muggles in the school, there’s no telling what she’ll do!”

“Ah! Oh, Mum, Dad, I had the most horrible dream. Harry was getting restless because Professor Dumbledore wouldn’t let us write to him, and then he got attacked by dementors, and he was expelled for defending himself.”

“Um…” Mum, Dad, and Dumbledore all said in unison.

“Ugh. Worst school year yet.”

“Do you want to talk about it, honey?” Mum said.

“No, not really…There…there was an accident…A student died.”

“Oh, dear. Cedric, was it?”

“Yes—wait. How did you know?”

“Oh, you’ve told us a lot of things lately.”

“Hate mail. That twisted woman made me get hate mail and landed me in the Hospital Wing. If I ever figure out how she found out that information—”

“No need, Miss Granger. Rita Skeeter is currently in Azkaban,” Dumbledore said.

“What? How, Professor?”

“You recently informed me that she is an unregistered animagus capable of transforming into a beetle.”

“A beetle? Of course! It all makes sense…! But why don’t I remember that?”

“Argh! Professor Dumbledore! I’d like to file a complaint. I was just held hostage at the bottom of a lake in February under threat of death. That the threat was fake should be immaterial. In the muggle world, that’s all kinds of illegal.”

“I’m afraid that hasn’t happened yet, Miss Granger,” Dumbledore said with a chuckle. In some ways, this was starting to become almost comical, especially with that two-year-old voice.

“What do you mean, Professor?” Hermione said. “Wait a minute, why am I so tiny all of a sudden?”

“Fire-breathing dragons! Professor, whose bright idea was it to use fire-breathing dragons for the First Task?”

“Hmm…I think I shall add Ludo Bagman to the list of people who should not be allowed to gain power.”

“Hey! Why am I back in the hospital wing? And why am I so tiny? Oh my God! Did I somehow time travel back to my younger body?”

“Wow, I didn’t think you’d get that after your reactions to all the other memories you were going over,” Mum said.

“Huh? What other memories? Wait a minute, Professor! Is the war still going on? I have information—!”

“The war is over, Miss Granger,” Dumbledore said. “Fortunately, you were already able to provide a great deal of help.”

“Okay, now where was I at nine o’clock…wait a minute, something’s wrong.” Hermione patted herself down, felt her face, and looked at her hands. “Oh my God, I’m like, two years old. Professor, I think the time travel went horribly wrong! What’s gonna happen to me? Horrible things happen when people mess with time! Please, Professor, how do I get back? How do I get back?”

“Oh, no, it went wrong! How do I get back? How do I get back?”

“How do I get back? Somebody, please, how do I get back?”

“Wait a minute. This doesn’t look like nine o’clock. This doesn’t even look like September. Oh my God! This doesn’t even look like 1993! What happened?! How do I get back?!”

“Professor! I know what’s in the Chamber of Secrets! It’s a—”

“Basilisk, yes. It has already been taken care of.”

“Mum? Dad? What are you doing here? You can’t be here! It’s too dangerous! There someone called the Heir of Slytherin who would love to get a piece of you. What? What’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

“No! Don’t look at me! I don’t want you to see me like this! Wait…wait a minute…the fur’s gone. Am I better already? But…but why am I smaller than I was before?”

“Mum? Dad? I don’t feel so good. I feel, like…out of proportion or something. I feel like I’m, I don’t know, a little little kid again. I need to go back to Hogwarts today. What’s wrong with me?”

Mum giggled a little through her tears. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Hermione,” she said. “Well, there is the issue that you’re two years old.”

“What?! Wha’d’you mean I’m two years old? How could that happen?”

“Well, what would you say if I told you that time travel was involved?”

“Time travel? But that’s impossible.”

Mum chuckled louder. “Oh? And magic is…?”

“Holy cricket!”

“Oh, I must’ve fallen asleep. How’s Harry doing…? Wh-where is he? Did he get out already? What happened to him? Where’s Harry?”

“What happened? I don’t remember getting sick. Why am I in the Hospital Wing? And am I…smaller? Did I accidentally drink a shrinking solution? I read in Magical Draughts and Potions that they can de-age you for short periods.”

“Mum? Dad? I thought you were meeting me at King’s Cross for Christmas. And I read in Hogwarts, A History that muggles can’t even see Hogwarts. How did you get here?”

“Oh, God. They called you. I didn’t think they’d actually call you. Listen, I know what Professor McGonagall must’ve told you, but I didn’t actually go looking for that troll. I was just covering for Ron and Harry because they saved me. I was in the bathroom during the feast. I didn’t even know there was a troll.”

It was too much for Dad to resist. “What troll?” he asked.

“Huh?” Hermione said, wide-eyed. “Uh…forget everything I just said.”

“Oh, why do I feel so strange? Everything feels different than yesterday. I think I’m smaller than I was yesterday…and my voice is higher too. Is this another kind of magic?”

Hermione saw that her mother seemed to be in tears. That was equally strange. “Yes, baby,” she said, “a very special kind of magic…”

“Mum…Dad…I…I think something’s wrong. Everything feels different. It’s like I’m smaller…and my head’s too big…and my hands are too thick…and my voice is higher. What’s going on? That doesn’t seem right for puberty. Am I sick?”

Mum blushed when her daughter came to that conclusion. “No, baby, it’s not puberty,” she said. “And you’re not sick, either.”

“Then what happened, Mum?”

Mum gave her a sad smile: “What if I told you that magic was real?”

“Magic? That’s silly, Mum. Magic’s not real.”

“Yes, it is, Hermione,” another woman said. Hermione looked over to see a woman with black hair waving a small stick. “My name is Psyche Nimue, and I’m a witch—and so are you, for that matter. Just watch.” She pointed the stick a teacup on the bedside table and whispered something in Latin. The teacup turned into a gerbil.

“Holy cricket!” Hermione said.

“You see, magic is real. Now, it’s a long story, but you’re here because your memories got magically scrambled, and Mr. Dumbledore, here, and I are helping you straighten them out?”

“Straighten out my memories? How can you do that?”

“Well, all you have to do is think about the memories I tell you. Here’s an example: I want you to think about…” She seemed to consult a paper. “…that field trip you took to the natural history museum back in February.”

Each cycle of memory extraction was a lot more uniform after that, but even primary school was no picnic for Hermione. She had been the victim of more than her share of bullying over the years. It was hard enough for her parents to see a mentally younger and younger Hermione get more and more confused and scared by what was happening and clutching a little tighter at that stuffed otter, but the worst was that time when she’d been beat up by a gang of older girls. When that memory came up, she lunged up and hugged her Mum tight.

“Mum, I’m sorry!” she sobbed. “I tried to get away.”

“Shh, shh, it’s okay, baby. It wasn’t your fault.”

“Am I in the hospital? Was it that bad?”

“No, baby. You’re in a hospital, but not because of that. You’re going to be fine. We just need to give you a few…er, special treatments.”

“Mum? I don’t feel so good. What happened? Where am I? Mum, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

“Mummy, where am I? I wanna go to school. I’m supposed to start school today. What’s wrong, Mummy? Are we going soon?”

“Mummy, Daddy, I feel sick. I can’ move right. I don’ wanna go to day care. I wanna stay with you.”

“Mama?”

The little girl awoke and wondered where on Earth she was.

“Mama?”

She’d never seen anything like this place before, and she felt very tired, dizzy, and a little ill, as if she’d been crying a lot more than usual. The last few months seemed like a blur to her, even more than usual for a two-year-old.

“Mama’s here, baby,” a familiar voice said. Mama picked the little girl up in her arms and held her tight. She looked poorly, and also looked as if she’d been crying for several days. In fact, the little girl would later learn that she and her parents had spent several gruelling, often traumatic days sorting out her memories to get her back to her “natural” state.

“What happen?” she squeaked.

“Oh, baby, you were sick. You were sick for a long time, but you’re all better now. Everything’s gonna be okay, now.”

“Wanna go home.”

“I know. We’ll be going home real soon. Mr. Dumbledore, are you sure Hermione’s okay?”

Dumbledore waved his wand in her direction and said, “I see nothing but a perfectly healthy and very brave and gifted two-year-old girl. I must say I’m very impressed by your bravery, Mr. and Mrs. Granger. I can see how hard this was for all of you to go through. You may bring Hermione back to the castle according to the schedule we’ve written up to restore her memories.”

“Thank you, Mr. Dumbledore,” Mama said tearfully. “Thank you for everything, and especially for giving our daughter back to us.”

“It was my pleasure, Mrs. Granger. She deserves no less after winning the war for us. I wish you well in your new lives.

A few minutes later, the Granger Family walked out the gates of Hogwarts and back into the muggle world, this time to stay there comfortably for a long time.

Chapter Text

The six-year-old Hermione Granger had one of the strangest lives of any child in Britain, magical or not. Apparently, she had once come back in time to save the world, but she didn’t remember it and wouldn’t for a long time. But it must be true, though, because every few months, her parents would take her up to a magic castle where all the young witches and wizards went to school, and an old man with a long, white beard restored some of her memories. She was told it had been her own idea to lock her memories away in little bottles so that she could still grow up like a normal child. That might have made sense to the adult Hermione, but the young Hermione, who like many children would have preferred to grow up faster, was still uncertain about it.

So far, the memories hadn’t been all that interesting, but the system was handy. She could read all different books and still remember the ones she read in her first life. It also gave her time to take up other pursuits—or so her parents insisted. She preferred reading, but her older self had told Mum and Dad that now that she didn’t have to fight a war, she should try to be more well-rounded the second time around. Adult Hermione recommended that at the very least, she should learn Latin early, which would help with magic, learn to sing or play some musical instrument, and be more physically active. Hermione was starting to do all of these things casually, without overburdening her schedule (that was another thing her grown-up self had warned about), but they were overridden by a new passion that neither she nor her parents had ever expected.

Even without her memories, the time travel had changed her. It was more than just living her life in parallel. Those three and a half months of imprinting an adult consciousness onto a two-year-old brain had done things to it, pushed it in ways never before seen, and forced it to make new connections to try to keep up with the adult thoughts. As a result, if Hermione had been a genius in her first life, the second time around, she was even smarter. Yet that wasn’t the important bit. It mattered little whether her IQ was a hundred and fifty or a hundred and sixty. She was also more mature, precocious, and outgoing as a results of her brain being forced to develop faster emotionally and socially, but even that wasn’t the most notable effect.

The really interesting change had been in her physical skills. Her body had been inhabited for several months by a mind that knew how to walk and move like an adult—really only knew how to walk and move that way. Several months of trying to force her body to obey her old habits, her little feet to walk a straight line, her little hands to grasp a pencil (even with a Dictaquill available), to dress herself, feed herself, and do all her other little daily tasks on her own, had been like an intense training course for her developing nervous system every hour of every day, building up muscle memory, improving coordination, and kicking her cerebellum into high gear. She came out of those months considerably more coordinated than her peers, and like all of her natural talents, she embraced it and developed it to the best of her ability. Nearly four years later, the result was that Hermione Granger was a brilliant dancer.

For now, it was just the traditional ballet, but she was starting to express interest in ballroom dance and other forms, and she was at the top of her class in her dancing lessons just like her academic work. She could go far in that area, although they didn’t know how much use there would be for it in the magical world, but mostly, she really enjoyed it. And if Hogwarts didn’t have any resources for that, well, she’d just have to do it herself.

Today, however, she wasn’t thinking about that. Today was her sixth birthday party, when she would finally meet all of the friends she had met in her first life. She was meeting them years earlier than the first time around—years that her older self had wanted her to cherish. Naturally, she was nervous, but she was also very excited as she re-read the letter she’d written to herself, carefully saved for four years for this very occasion. Her older self had used a lot of big words that she didn’t understand yet, but she understood enough, and she enjoyed reading it:

Dear Hermione,

If everything went according to plan, you should be close to six years old when you read this, and you ’ll soon be meeting your friends for what from your perspective is the first time. No, you don’t have to be friends with them if you don ’t want to, but I think you’ll like them. After all, I did all through school.

I wanted you to know a little about them first, though. If the Potters and the Longbottoms took my advice and got to know each other and the Weasleys, they ’ll probably be friends already, so you’ll have a bit of catching up to do.

I guess I ’ll start with Harry Potter. What can I say about Harry? It’s hard to know where to start. I remember him as an absolutely wonderful boy—so kind and caring. (And with his mum’s gorgeous green eyes.) I’m not sure he ever realised just how much he cares for people. He’s always there to help you out if you need it, even if he’s having bigger problems than you are. And he’s not shy about risking his neck for someone who’s in trouble—sometimes literally. In the war, I told him he had a saving people thing—even for people he didn’t like. It could get annoying, and it ended badly or nearly did several times, but it’s actually very sweet, looking back.

The most amazing thing, though, is that in my time line, Harry turned out to be such a good and selfless person despite being raised by really nasty relatives. It ’s a really deep part of who he is. He may look like his dad, but he definitely has him mum’s heart. Granted, I don’t know how being raised by his parents will affect him Maybe he’ll be more like his dad, now. James was cocky, self-centred, and kind of a jerk when he was in school, but I think Harry has too much of Lily in him for that to happen, although he might turn out a bit cheekier with her around, not to mention Sirius.

But above all, if Harry doesn ’t show all of those things at age five, don’t worry about it. Just be patient with him. James grew up eventually, and Harry will, too, and I’m sure you’ll come to love him as much as I did the first time around, especially after you see the memories of our time in school together.

Neville Longbottom is a much bigger wild card than Harry is. In my time, he was raised by his grandmother, living in his dad ’s shadow, and didn’t have very much self-confidence, but even then, with the right motivation, he grew into the toughest fighter in our year. I’m hoping that, being raised by his parents this time, he’ll get there a lot faster, but I really don’t know. Either way, you can trust him to stand up for what’s right and to help those who can’t help themselves.

Mum and Dad should have asked Harry and Neville to invite their friends, in which case, the Weasleys will probably be there. There are seven of them, though the first two are in school already, and they ’re a great family. They don’t have a lot of money, but they more than make up for it in heart.

Percy is the oldest one you ’ll meet. He’s nine, and he’s already so ambitious that he probably deserves to be in Slytherin. He wants to be Minister for Magic someday. That got him in trouble in my time because he wanted to follow the Ministry, right or wrong. He’s all about following rules, so much so that if you ever find yourself starting to talk like him, you should probably tell Ginny to smack you. Unfortunately, there’s probably not much short of utter calamity that will get him to change, but he does have a brave, noble Gryffindor spirit in him if you can encourage him to use it.

Fred and George are seven, and they ’re twins. (Don’t bother trying to tell them apart. They’ll only confuse you.) Those two are Percy’s opposites. They always push the rules as far as they can get away with, and they love to prank people. Don’t turn your back on them, and don’t trust anything they give you, but remember those things, and they can give you a good laugh.

Ron is a real character. (He ’s in your year.) He’s one of those people who’s somehow lovable and annoying at the same time. I admit I had a crush on him for a while, but he was just too immature for too long. He wouldn’t grow up, so I had to move on. He’s actually pretty smart, but he only cares enough to apply it to a few things. He has a short temper and likes to argue a lot (which can be fun because I could argue circles around him), but if there’s danger around, he’s a good person to have by your side. And while he’ll get angry and storm out of the room sometimes, he’ll always come back and apologise in the end.

Actually, when I put it that way, I think what he really needs is some counselling. Anyway, even if he grates on you sometimes, you shouldn ’t give up on him.

Ginny ’s another one whom I’m not sure how the new time line will affect. I know that she’s bold, adventurous, and outgoing; she can cause as much trouble as the Twins when she wants to and get away with it; and she’s really good at all sorts of hexes, so watch out later on. I can only imagine how wild she is at age four, but she’ll be a really good girlfriend to have to get you out of your shell. The thing is, in my time, she came into Hogwarts with a massive, paralysing crush on Harry because he was famous. Now that he’s not famous anymore (and yes, that’s a good thing), I hope she’ll be able to get closer to you sooner.

If all goes well, Luna Lovegood should be there, too. (She ’s in Ginny’s year.) She’ll have been told that she was invited because she’s the Weasleys’ neighbour, but you should really try to be friends with her. One of my biggest regrets at Hogwarts is that I never talked to her before fifth year. She’s really a brilliant, sweet, adorable girl. Don’t get me wrong, she’s also completely insane, but she’s the most loyal friend you’ll ever meet, tough as nails, and very insightful when she’s making sense.

Luna (along with her parents) believes in a lot of strange things that probably aren ’t true, but some of them are. She eventually decided the crumple-horned snorkack almost certainly doesn’t exist, for example, but gulping plimpies do. I’ve seen them. So be sure to keep an open mind with her.

Well, I think that ’s enough to get you started. I hope you become as good of friends with all of them as I was.

Love from,

Hermione

Well, one thing was sure: after a description like that (from herself, no less), Hermione was eager to meet all of her new-old friends. Soon enough, the guests began to arrive. The Grangers’ new house was plenty big enough to host that many people (thank you, tech stocks), and the party promised to be a good one.

The Lovegoods arrived first—something about wanting to be “fashionably early.” All three of them looked quite strange, dressed in so many colours that it looked like they’d had an accident in a paint shop. Little Luna, a tiny girl with big silver eyes and long, blond hair, really was adorable. She seemed so carefree—enjoying skipping, giggling a lot, and chasing after creatures nobody else could see. She seemed very sweet, but Hermione (along with her parents) wasn’t sure how much of her she could take.

A flock of ginger heads announced the arrival of the Weasleys. Predictably, Ginny was the first to run up and greet Hermione. The round of introductions with them took long enough that the Potters and Longbottoms had arrived by the time they were done. It was then that Hermione realised that there were two people her older self hadn’t been able to tell her about: three-year-old Daisy Potter and three-year-old Winston Longbottom. Well, she’d just have to get to know them the old-fashioned way.

What really drew her eye, though, was the five-year-old Harry Potter. He stood about her height; he seemed naturally skinny; and his face was half hidden behind a mop of scruffy black hair and round glasses, both of which were rather too big for him. But what she really noticed were his eyes. Even at six, she already agreed with her old self that she liked those eyes.

When Harry saw her staring at him, he seemed to sense her nervousness and approached her, hand extended. “Hi, I’m Harry,” he said.

“Hi, I’m Hermione,” she replied, shaking his hand.

“Happy birthday, Hermione.”

“Thanks, Harry.”

Yes, this looked like the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

The fourteen-year-old Hermione Granger jerked awake on the cot after reliving the memories of the end of her first pass through third year at Hogwarts. She could feel she was shaking. The aftermath of restoring her memories always felt like coming back after a three-month holiday, but it was much more pronounced this time, as it had been in several recent sessions. She remembered vividly, right at the end of the block of time, how she, Harry, and Harry’s godfather had been attacked by a swarm of about a hundred dementors and nearly Kissed. But then, she and Harry had gone back in time, and she saw Harry cast a Patronus worthy of Professor Dumbledore himself to drive the swarm away. He’d saved her life, and it wasn’t the first time in the old time line. It was amazing to think that the Harry she knew—even as good as he was—was capable of things like that.

“Hermione?”

She got her bearings and saw her own Harry looking down at her worriedly. In her first year, Professor Dumbledore had suggested that she might bring along those of her friends who figured heavily in her memories during her sessions to restore them. Since Harry, Daisy, and Luna were the only people her own age whom she had told about her time travel thus far (she didn’t quite trust the Weasleys’ discretion yet), that meant just Harry for now, and of course Dumbledore.

“Was it a bad one?” Harry asked.

Hermione just nodded, still in a daze. She tried to remind herself that she was safe at Hogwarts in a world where there was no Voldemort or Wormtail or dementors swarming around the castle. She was comforted upon seeing the concern in her friend’s eyes. She wasn’t sure if he’d ever be able to understand the things she’d seen, but it meant a lot to her that he was there for her every time.

Harry looked more worried that she still wasn’t speaking. “Hermione, are you okay?” he asked.

“Oh, Harry!” she cried. She lunged up, threw her arms around his neck, and, for the first time, kissed him full on the mouth.

Dumbledore gave them a few seconds. “Ah, young love,” he said with a grin, causing them to break apart, blushing furiously.

But Hermione was certain then that her old self had had the right idea about Harry. Harry, in the meantime, was thinking, Wow, I should save the day in an alternate time line more often.