Summary: Hermione offered to show them what their future might have been if she wasn't reborn as Hermione Pettigrew.
Rating: T
Warnings: Angst, Some cussing
Characters: Hermione Pettigrew-Potter, James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, Regulus Black, Lily Evans-Snape, Severus Snape, Albus Dumbledore, Harry Potter, Iris Snape
_____
4.
darkness exists to make light truly count
(Uneven Odds by Sleeping at Last)
_____
July 10, 1979
"Miss Pettigrew, our scheduled attack of the basilisk is two days from now," Headmaster Dumbledore greeted when Hermione strode inside his office. "Is something the matter? For you to request to meet with me today?"
Hermione awkwardly shifted on her feet, an uncertain look now crossing her freckled face. "I promised I'd let you show my memories... Hermione Granger's memories," she explained. Dumbledore's blue eyes shone with understanding. "I came here wondering if today's the right time to start doing that."
The old wizard grew silent, weaving his fingers together to stare at Hermione with his uncomfortable, calculating gaze. "I do trust you, Hermione," he deliberately started. "I think our conversation back at Potter Manor already proved that your tale, albeit terribly bewildering, was true. Perhaps, surrendering your memories will not be necessary anymore."
The brunette sighed and plopped down on one of the couches, uninvited. "Her memories are starting to... fade," she confessed, her eyebrows meeting at the middle. "If we want to bring down Voldemort, we cannot afford to miss any important details."
Dumbledore's lips drew into a grim line. "You are intelligent, Hermione," he stated matter-of-factly. "I think you know what the consequences are when extracting memories to be viewed on the Pensive."
Hermione paled. Of course, she knew that. If she had to extract memories from her mind, she had to remember. Every detail. Which meant she had to relieve all the horrors she had undergone in the past before she found herself reborn as a different person.
"I've... I've read somewhere," she quietly said, "that to help those who are suffering from terrible nightmares, extracting memories that trigger such may be helpful."
Dumbledore sighed and wearily leaned behind his chair. "I do not wish to subject you to any more distress, Hermione," he said. "Triggering your trauma, and processing through them, maybe helpful, yes, but I'm afraid it will bring more harm than benefit to you right now. You have yet to collect the last horcrux; we haven't killed the basilisk. This may be selfish, but I am the leader of the Resistance, Hermione, and we need you."
Tears pooled in her eyes as she shakily took a deep breath. "As I said, I am starting to forget," she murmured.
The Headmaster's eyes softened. "And like I said, I trust you," he said. "I don't need your memories anymore."
She miserably slumped and tightly closed her eyes. "I just want some of the nightmares to go away." Her voice was barely a whisper, not even bothering to wipe away the tears now sliding down on her cheeks. Most of the days, she was managing, especially now that she had to focus on her horcrux hunt with the Order and subsequent destruction of the evil artefacts. But there were some days, terrible, terrible days, when hauling herself out of her bed was already difficult.
She was reminded of how she'd frozen during the attack of the Death Eaters in Hogsmeade. If it weren't for Dirk Cresswell, she might have been badly injured right now or worse, dead. And she didn't want that to happen, especially if she were to face Voldemort once and for all and bring him down for good.
"I have a friend at St. Mungo's," Dumbledore said, breaking through her thoughts. Hermione blearily opened her eyes and glanced at the Headmaster in question. "Her expertise is of Mind Healing. Perhaps, if I reached out to her and told her about you, she'd be able to help with the nightmares."
"But, she'll know everything," Hermione said, meaning in her blue eyes.
Dumbledore serenely smiled. "Mind Healers are bound by an oath," he simply said. "I don't think she'll betray your trust and, by extension, the Order."
"Okay," she finally said, slightly nodding her head. "Thank you, Headmaster."
She rose from the couch and was about to excuse herself, but Dumbledore called her name once more.
"What you are doing... it is commendable, Hermione," he said, a gentle smile on his face. "I know I've placed too much of a burden on your shoulders, even though you'd been through a lot before. You must dislike me very, very much."
Hermione's cheeks bloomed red, unable to neither confirm nor deny his claim. She'd remembered all those moments she'd aired out her frustration about Dumbledore to Regulus, and suddenly felt ashamed. Although her opinions of the Order Leader had never changed, Hermione still felt a little shamefaced for thinking negatively about a person of authority.
"It doesn't matter," he dryly chuckled, blue eyes dimming with emotions Hermione had never seen him wear before. "To lead a huge cause that will shift the tides of this long and arduous war, one must be required to commit thousands of sacrifices."
"People die," she blurted out before she could stop herself. "These sacrifices can equate to the deaths of innocent people."
Dumbledore aged before her eyes. The normally composed Headmaster looked weary, dark shadows dancing on his wrinkled face. With a jolt, Hermione realised that in this room, she wasn't the only one being tormented by terrible nightmares at night.
"Which is why I need your help, Hermione," he firmly said. "Help me to not commit the same mistakes the different version of myself made, which ultimately caused my demise and doomed the war you've come from to be unending."
Hermione's eyes widened. "How did you—"
"I just know," he said. "I always had a feeling I would never survive the war."
The brunette thickly swallowed, her hands curling into tight fists. "I partially blamed you for the Chosen One's death," she said, her tone of voice steady despite how shaky she felt. "If you had not withheld important pieces of information from us, since the beginning, the war wouldn't have stretched on for so long. My best friend... he wouldn't be—"
She took a deep breath to calm her miserable heart. "He trusted you, anyway," she said, cracking a small, sad smile.
Dumbledore looked stricken, and for the very first time, Hermione managed to make the great and almighty Albus Dumbledore speechless. He looked as equally shaken as she was, and it disoriented Hermione to see the usually collected headmaster looking as such.
"I'm sorry," she then quietly said. Turning her gaze away from the pale wizard, she murmured a soft goodbye and left his office.
_____
October 30, 1982
An hour had passed, and yet, Healer Bradford was yet to make any comment. Hermione was already used to her Mind Healer's strange behaviour and had opted to gaze around her simple office, waiting for the healer to break the silence.
She spied the book she'd gifted the healer before and smiled. Although Healer Bradford maintained her professionalism all throughout their sessions, Hermione actually considered the older witch a friend. After all, she was the only one who knew everything about Hermione Granger, having been there with Hermione every time she had to relive a memory.
"What are you still doing here, Hermione?" Healer Bradford asked.
The brunette looked back at her healer once more but instead of answering her immediately, she weighed in her question. 'I have a session with you today, of course,' was the most logical answer to say, but she'd spent a lot of exhausting days with the witch; Hermione knew her question demanded an entirely different answer.
And thus, Hermione turned contemplating, her eyebrows knitting together as she thoughtfully nibbled her bottom lip. A year and a few months had already passed since she'd started attending these sessions. The first few days had been the most horrible; Hermione remembered breaking down in this very same room as soon as she'd revealed her best friend's identity and her deep fear of his possible nonexistence. Hermione then opted to focus all of her energy on aiding the Resistance, before putting herself first, hence her sessions had ceased.
Hermione had started attending once again when everything had settled in the Wizarding World after Voldemort's demise. Her nightmares were terrible once more, but as the months flew by, reliving a painful memory started to become bearable. When she thought of everything she'd remembered about the Battle of Hogwarts, Hermione had merely shed a few tears and managed to go home with only a heavy heart. Everything soon after was easy for Hermione, recounting everything she remembered whilst Healer Bradford extracted her memories and bottled them up in a vial.
There were moments when conjuring a memory was particularly difficult, the details fuzzy and distorted. 'Perhaps, your memory loss was a side effect of the dark potion you took,' Healer Bradford offered as an explanation one time. 'After all, you aren't supposed to have a memory of another person.'
They even started talking about her life as Hermione Pettigrew. She processed her thoughts and feelings when the prophecy was revealed, and it was about her child. They talked about hiding with her family until after the events that led to Voldemort's death.
With a jolt, Hermione realised that the nightmares were almost completely gone and she was... she was okay.
"You're right," she breathed out, great clarity spreading all over her face. Her blue eyes shone and her heart felt light, her lips tearing into a huge smile. "What the bloody hell am I still doing here?"
Healer Bradford uncharacteristically snorted and offered Hermione a rare, kind smile. "You don't need these sessions anymore, Hermione," she kindly said. "You are better off living your life to the fullest now."
Her healer then pulled out her wand and gave it a small flick. A huge, wooden box emerged out from her desk and flew towards her. Hermione could hear some glasses clinking inside and eyed it curiously as the box finally landed on Healer Bradford's lap.
"These houses all of the memories I've extracted from you," she explained, extending the box to her. "Now that your sessions are complete, consider this as my parting gift."
"Oh," Hermione said, accepting the box from the healer's hand. Her eyes widened as her arms almost gave away. "Merlin, it's heavy!"
"Well, Hermione Granger's life had been a busy one," Healer Bradford pointed out, prompting Hermione to laugh.
"Thank you for everything, Healer Bradford," Hermione said, placing the heavy box on the floor to grasp her healer's hands. "I mean it."
The healer fondly squeezed her hands, her smile never leaving her face. "I only helped, Hermione," she replied. "It was mostly you."
Hermione beamed and bid her goodbye, even daring to pull her into a grateful hug. Hugging the heavy box against her chest, she stepped out of the room and smiled upon seeing James waiting on one of the chairs, browsing through a Quidditch magazine.
"Hi," she called.
His eyes immediately landed on her face. "Hi," he guardedly replied, eyes roaming around her to see any telltale signs of a breakdown. But Hermione merely smiled, watching as his worry slowly melted into relief. "What's that?" He tilted his chin at the heavy box in her arms.
"Hermione Granger's memories," was her reply.
James' eyebrows flew to his forehead, abandoning the magazine as he stood up and strode towards his wife. "Yeah?" he asked, already stealing the box from Hermione's hands. "It's heavy!" he cried. "Why did Healer Bradford let you carry this when you're pregnant?"
She rolled her eyes, choosing to ignore his last question. "Hermione Granger's life had been a busy one," she claimed instead, echoing Healer Bradford's words with a chuckle.
He shifted the box in his arms just so he could clasp their hands together. "So same time next Saturday?"
She shook her head, her curls whipping against her cheeks. "No, there will be no next time," she said. "Today's my last session actually."
His hazel eyes widened in surprise. "Really?" he gasped. "But—"
"I'm okay, James," she beamed. "Really, really okay."
James' face softened, hooking an arm around Hermione's waist just so he could bury his face on her voluminous curls. "I'm glad," he whispered, his lips brushing against the crown of her head.
_____
October 31, 1982
Celebrating the first anniversary of Voldemort's death had been tiring for Hermione. The Ministry insisted that she and her family attended, having been pivotal in the downfall of the Dark Lord. Hermione very much wanted to stay home and watch inane cartoons on the television with her son, but Peter, who was asked to deliver a speech in front of the whole crowd, begged her to come for support.
The morning had been a blur for her, mechanically smiling and greeting those who'd come to celebrate at the Ministry's Atrium. Peter delivered his big speech as the Great Saviour, fumbling with his words because it was Peter, but he'd managed to finish up to the end and earned a huge round of applause from the survivors.
"You look like you will pass out soon," James had murmured on top of her head, his lips curled into a knowing smile.
"I'm feeling a little under the weather," she confessed with a sheepish smile. "I think my pregnancy hormones are acting up." Her smile grew fonder, her hand resting on her small bump. She was almost done with her first trimester, but Hermione still felt mightily tired with this second pregnancy. She'd rather be home today, than anything else.
James understood her silent plea, holding onto to her and his son, as they hastily bid their friends and family goodbye and Flooed back to Potter Cottage.
Her husband insisted to be the one to put Harry to sleep. "Go rest," he urged, fondly brushing her curls away from her face. "You look like you need it."
She sighed and gave him a grateful kiss.
That was a few hours ago and James was already asleep beside her. Her eyes already felt heavy but sleep still eluded her. Everything in her felt tired and she just wanted to sleep. But Hermione knew why she was restless, her mind constantly filled with bothersome thoughts about her memories stored in the vials.
Her gaze sought the huge box once more, and a sudden ridiculous idea popped into her mind. Before she could stop herself, she was already sitting up from the bed and slipping out.
Hermione threw a glance at her sleeping husband, making sure she didn't disturb his rest. She then carried the heavy box out of their bedroom and determinedly walked towards the warded room. She paused midway right in front of Harry's room, peeking her head in to see if her son was fast asleep. Two-year-old Harry was lying on his stomach, a chubby cheek pressed against his pillow as he dreamt away. She smiled and continued her trek, this time her plan now becoming more resolute.
She removed the wards with a few waves of her wand and pushed Harry's nursery open.
For a moment, Hermione stood stock-still before the threshold. An onslaught of memories of that fateful night filled her mind until it was all she could see. She remembered Voldemort's face, the barrage of spells, the destroyed horcruxes on the floor, and finally... finally his lifeless eyes, and Hermione felt the tears forming in her eyes once more.
The room was filled with unused trinkets and furniture, a far cry from the beautiful nursery Harry used to sleep in. Even the place where Voldemort fell was occupied by various things.
They rarely frequented this room now, even placing a few wards just to keep people out. James still reckoned it would be best if they just moved out of the house, but Hermione thought they shouldn't bother doing that.
Sighing, she placed the heavy box on the floor. She then waved her wand, murmured a soft 'Evanesco' and everything inside disappeared. She made a series of wand movements to dispel the dust that had settled on the floor until everything was bare and clean.
Hermione sat down on the wooden floorboards and opened the heavy box. Her eyes widened, realising just now how abundant the memories she'd extracted from her mind were, before one by one removing them inside and placing them on the floor beside her.
Once the box was empty, she waved her wand once more and transfigured the box into a simple wooden cabinet. She levitated the glittering vials, carefully lining them along the shelf.
"Accio Pensieve," she murmured, waiting for a few moments before the small stone basin flew into her arms. Hermione placed the pensieve on the floor, just in front of the shelf.
"Hermione?"
She swivelled around, eyes landing on a very sleepy James Potter looking at her from the threshold with a frown on his face.
"What are you doing?" he rasped out, voice scratchy from sleep. "Come back to bed. Mary said sleeping late now that you're pregnant again is bad for you and our baby's health."
Hermione kept silent, watching as his heavy-lidded eyes scanned the room. His gaze stopped on the glowing basin sitting at the foot of Hermione.
"Is that—"
He looked very much awake now, his eyes quickly snapping towards the glowing vials filled with Hermione's memories.
"I told you before. I'll tell you everything about my emerald-eyed best friend," she quietly said.
James' hazel eyes landed on his wife this time. His lips were pressed into a grim line, his eyebrows pinched together in deep worry. "Does it really matter now?" he asked. "The war is over, Hermione. Voldemort is dead. We have our own Harry now."
"Aren't you curious about Hermione Granger?" she shot back. "About her Harry Potter?"
The way he clammed up was already telling. "I thought so," she whispered with a knowing smile.
"Hermione—"
"It's fine," she reassured. "If you want to view my memories, I won't stop you." She walked closer and reached for his hand. "I can't show my memories about you, though. All I know about you are pictures from Harry's photo album and golden stories from the other Sirius and Remus."
James grew quiet, hazel eyes dark as he mulled over her words. "I think... I think I need some time to ready myself," he said. "I'm already predicting it won't be a pleasant trip down memory lane."
"All right."
"Now, why don't we go back to sleep?" he suggested, tugging her closer to himself. "It's three in the morning and it had been a tiring day."
Hermione mutely nodded, allowing him to bring her out of the room.
_____
November 5, 1982
He decided to randomly look at her memories tonight. Hermione wasn't sure what triggered his sudden resoluteness, but she didn't offer any words as she pressed a kiss on his lips, whispering to him how much she loved him, even after all these years.
"Are you sure you don't want me to come with you?" she asked.
James merely smiled and shook his head.
"I'll be here when you're done," she said.
Her husband took a deep breath before venturing towards the room.
James took a long time. Hermione reckoned he'd viewed all of her memories of Harry from the very first moment she saw him to the last time she'd seen his bright eyes. Although some details were murky, remembering green-eyed Harry Potter was the easiest as he'd been a huge part of Hermione Granger's life.
The sunlight was already peeking through their kitchen window when James finally stumbled inside. Hermione was instantly on her feet, noting the dishevelled appearance of her husband. James looked like he'd been through war – which wasn't too farfetched as he had to relieve Hermione Granger's experiences of war. There were tearstains on his cheeks but his tears had long since dried.
In three, huge strides, he was in front of Hermione and pulling her close. Her eyes filled with tears, noting how shaken he'd become.
No words left his mouth, but James told her how he felt through his actions. She understood his grief when he pressed his face against the crook of his neck. She understood his relief when he squeezed her tight, unwilling to let go. And she understood his gratitude when he pressed a kiss against her skin.
-ooo-
She Owled the others too, offering to show them Hermione Granger's memories. Hermione explicitly told them she didn't expect them to see them at all. She didn't even expect them to view all of her memories. She could only show them memories of their other counterparts, just to satisfy their curiosity of how their future would have ended if Hermione Pettigrew had not come into their lives.
_____
November 16, 1982
Hermione wasn't surprised when it was Sirius who came forward first. He was the most curious of them all, constantly wondering aloud what would have happened to him if Hermione Pettigrew hadn't come into their lives. Hermione had seen his questioning gaze, too, every time she divulged some snippets about her past life.
Besides Peter, Sirius was the one she dreaded to show her memories to the most. He was the man who was wrongfully imprisoned for twelve years, framed by a man he'd trusted until the end. Hermione Granger's memory of Sirius Black was a far cry of this bright-eyed Auror who'd Flooed into their home that day, announcing his desire to view the witch's memories.
"Why do both of you look like you've seen a ghost?" Sirius asked with a laugh. This only drained more colour from James' face, so he excused himself quickly to hide inside their bedroom.
The shaggy-haired Auror, clad in his favourite leather jacket gifted by the brunette, glanced at Hermione with a frown. "What's wrong with Prongsie, kitten?" he asked.
Hermione sighed and ushered Sirius to follow her. "James has seen everything already," she simply said. "Including you."
"Oh," Sirius said, now faltering in his steps. "That bad, eh?"
"Do you want me to come with you?" she offered instead.
Sirius had now become more worried and took some time to think about her suggestion. In the end, he shook his head and gave her a small smile. "I'll be fine, Whiskers," he assured, patting her head. "Besides, you should be getting more rest. Think of Prongslet No. 2."
Hermione snorted. "I don't think this one's going to be a boy," she said.
"I bet James is praying to everybody who can hear him right now the babe inside you will be a girl," he pointed out with a laugh. The humour on his face disappeared when Hermione wrapped her arms around him, giving as much comfort as she could. The wizard sputtered out another laugh, but tightly squeezed Hermione in his arms before letting her go.
Once Sirius had gone inside, Hermione sought for James and found him sitting unseeingly on their bed.
"This will be difficult for him, Hermione," he warned.
She expelled a heavy sigh. "I know."
-ooo-
Sirius stayed much longer than James, and it had worried the couple.
"Do you think we should check up on him?" Hermione asked, worriedly shooting a glance at the tea she'd prepared for Sirius which had now turned tepid with time.
James worriedly stood up from the chair and strode out of their kitchen. Hermione hastily followed, brandishing out her wand just in case because, well, this was Sirius. She'd grown up beside this ridiculous boy and Hermione knew his emotions always turned tumultuous depending on the situation.
She paused when James stood frozen at the threshold. One look at James' face made her deduce that it was bad, really, really bad, and this had propelled Hermione to hasten her steps once more. She pushed her husband away and stumbled inside, her wand already raised to protect Sirius.
But then, to her bewilderment, the shaggy-haired Auror was bent over the Pensieve, guttural sobs pushing out from his mouth. His tears were mingling with the swirling memories over the magical basin. A quick survey around the dishevelled room gave Hermione an idea he'd seen almost all of her memories with only a few vials untouched on the shelves.
"Sirius?" she tentatively called, uncertain on how to approach him. The only times she'd seen him so unlike himself was always because of Regulus. Hermione was sure tears were shed between the brothers when she'd finally revealed her past and her mission with Regulus back at Potter Manor. But, he was never like this, and Hermione was at a loss.
His swimming eyes slowly met hers and Hermione grew more worried when his cries were now mingled with shaky laughter. She wondered if he had gone a tad barmy after seeing his counterpart's life.
"Sirius?" she said once more, daring to take a step forward.
"Thank you, Hermione," he gushed out, bending over the Pensieve once more. He chanted those words, again and again and again, his strangled cries still mixed with the weird laugh Hermione now realised was of relief.
Hermione was surprised when James suddenly bolted right past her and fell on the floorboards right beside his best friend. His hold on Sirius' arm was secure, his hazel eyes bright and determined at the same time. 'I'm here,' she read in his eyes. 'I'm here, mate. I'm not going anywhere.'
The brunette decided to quietly leave the two blokes alone and went back to the kitchen to reheat the tea.
_____
December 1, 1982
"Already finished?"
Hermione whipped around to glance at a very tired Remus leaning against the threshold of their kitchen. James was instantly on his feet, approaching his best mate, but the werewolf merely smiled and waved him off.
"I... can't finish it," he sighed, striding towards the chair beside Hermione and sitting down. He cradled the warm mug of hot chocolate between his hands, a thoughtful look settling on his face.
Hermione met James' gaze, quietly asking him what they should do, but he only shrugged, seemingly lost himself. Sirius had been quite shaken last time, so they knew James would be the best person to comfort him. Looking at Remus right now, however, Hermione wasn't sure how much he'd seen. Judging from his red-rimmed eyes, the grim line on his scarred face, and the slight shaking of his fingers, meant he'd seen enough.
"So Peter was the..." He trailed off, golden eyes shining with unshed tears as he met Hermione's eyes.
"Yeah," she breathed, already having an inkling of what he was about to say.
Remus thickly swallowed, his hands tightening around his cup. "And Sirius— in Azkaban... I mean—" He grew frustrated, frowning deeply as he hunched over his seat. "Holy fuck, that was a shitty universe, Hermione."
She blinked in surprise, sputtering out a small laugh at his chosen words. The corner of Remus' mouth twitched upward, concealing a smile. "How far did you see?"
"I stopped when Dumbledore died," he said, lifting the mug against his lips to take a few sips. When he placed it back on the table, all the tension from Remus' system seemed to leave him completely. "I didn't want to see how I died. It was already difficult to know I outlived them all so..."
"How'd you know you'll die then?" she asked.
The werewolf shrugged and took a few more sips from his comfort drink. "Lucky guess, I suppose," he said. "You used to have really sad eyes when you looked at me, Hermione."
Remus' gaze then shifted to a very alive James, a grim look on his face. "I couldn't imagine a life without you blokes, though," he said, voice growing softer and shakier. "Merlin, all the lives that were lost..."
"Yeah," James croaked, sauntering back onto his seat.
"Thank you for letting me see your memories, Hermione," Remus then said. He reached forward and grasped both of Hermione's hands. "And for everything else."
She squeezed his hands with equal strength, a watery smile on her face.
_____
December 15, 1982
Their fireplace chimed, signalling an arrival, and two-year-old Harry immediately ran towards their living room to greet the visitors. James chuckled and quickly followed, Hermione not too far behind.
Sev was the first one to stumble out, brushing soot off his deep black robes. Hermione paused as an incredulous smile stretched on her face; her best friend was looking more and more like the cranky Potions Master Hermione Granger had once known.
Lily was the next to arrive, a small purple bundle hugged tightly against her chest. "Iris! Iris!" Harry immediately exclaimed, lifting his hands in the air to try to grasp the sleeping five-month-old.
"Well, hello to you too, Harry," Lily cooed, bending down to let the excited toddler see Iris.
He giggled when she pinched his cheek, shying away from her grasp just to touch the sleeping infant instead. "Daddy said Mummy's baby will be a girl."
Behind Hermione, James loudly cleared his throat, but Harry was oblivious to his father's embarrassment. The brunette glanced over her shoulder to give her husband a bemused smile, prompting James to grow sheepish. "I really think this one's going to be a 'Stella'," he confessed, cheeks growing a tad red.
"I'll visit Mary in St. Mungo's soon," she reassured with a wide smile. Her smile faltered, however, once her eyes landed on the silent Sev. Upon closer look, he looked paler than usual, and Hermione was reminded why Lily and Sev decided to visit today.
She looked at her husband once more. "James," she said, meaning in her blue eyes.
James nodded and approached Lily. "Why don't you play with Iris in your room, mate?" he asked as Lily transferred the sleeping infant into his arms.
Harry grew excited and started yammering on and on about his toys he would like to show to Iris. James gave the other three a small smile in goodbye, quickly ushering Harry and Iris out of their living room.
Once they were gone, the pregnant witch glanced at her best friends. "So," she softly started, "who wants to go first?"
"Actually, I think we'll view them together," Lily said, her hand already reaching for her husband's. "I – well – the other me died during the First Wizarding War, so I'm sure you won't have any memories about me. And besides..." She trailed off, emerald eyes boring down at her very pale, very quiet husband. "I'm curious how his life would have been without me."
If it were possible, his face grew starker. Hermione sadly smiled at their clasped hands, looking as if they were both holding onto each other for dear life.
"Do you want me to come with you?" she offered, but Lily was already shaking her head midway.
"No, no, we'll be fine," the redhead reassured. She reached for Hermione's hand with her free one. "Go spend some time with your boys and Iris while we view your memories."
Hermione squeezed Lily's hand. "All right," she said. The younger witch also reached out for Sev's other hand, who caught her extended hand and clasped it just as tight. For a moment, the three best friends relayed whatever meagre comfort they had for each other, before Lily and Sev pulled away from Hermione.
-ooo-
Hermione was surprised to see that both Lily and Sev were already seated in the kitchen. She had just excused herself from Harry's playroom after tucking in both her son and infant Iris for their nap, claiming to James she'd prepare some tea for her best friends once they were finished.
She immediately plopped down on the chair with the two, noting the dried tearstains on their cheeks. Sev looked several years older, hunched over the tabletop. A few of his hair strands obscured his eyes, so Hermione wasn't able to see whatever expression he was making.
Lily, however, lifted her head upon Hermione's arrival. Her green eyes filled with tears and she quickly held onto Hermione's hand once she was seated.
None of them spoke for a while. Lily had started to silently cry, steady tears streaming down from her eyes as she continued to tightly hold onto Hermione.
"I—"
Lily's voice cracked, mightily sniffing as she retrieved her hand back just to wipe her tears away. "I've always known you'd lived a very tiring life as... as Hermione Granger but to see it, with my own eyes, I—" She threw her arms around Hermione and cried on her shoulder.
Hermione threw a watery smile at the inconsolable redhead. She then glanced over her head, noticing finally that Sev was looking at her. His eyes were red-rimmed, a pooling of tears also giving off a brighter sheen to his black eyes.
She reached for him, realising that the Potions Master had started to quiver. Hermione knew among the three of them, he was the most shaken. To continue trudging on without Lily by his side was a bleak, bleak world. And Hermione knew that, especially after spending time with Lily, practically growing beside her through the years.
_____
December 22, 1982
"Well, fancy seeing you here."
Hermione craned her neck in surprise, a smile growing on her face upon seeing Regulus standing just a few paces away from her. "Regulus!" she greeted, pleasantly surprised.
Upon noticing the wizard, the toddler in her arms squirmed in excitement. Hermione had no choice but to put two-year-old Harry back on the ground, who didn't waste any time in barreling towards the Pureblood. Regulus expelled a humoured snort, crouching down to meet Harry and picked him up in his arms.
"What are you doing here?" she asked, noting that he was wearing very formal wizard robes that looked too ostentatious in a dingy bookstore in Diagon Alley.
"I just came from a meeting," he explained, oblivious to Harry who'd started to play with Regulus' collar. "What are you and Harry doing here?"
Hermione lifted the small basket in her hand. "Christmas shopping," she explained. "The next few days will be a whirlwind of preparation so, I might as well finish it already." The brunette strode closer and tried to reach for her son. "Come on, Harry. I'm sure Uncle Reggie is busy."
"Actually, my schedule's free for the rest of the day," he corrected. "Why don't I treat you and Harry for lunch?"
She flashed an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry," she said. "I promised the Longbottoms we'd have lunch with them today. Probably next time, Regulus. It's really good to see you, though."
"Oh, all right," the wizard said, visibly disappointed. He crouched down and placed Harry back on the ground, who immediately ran back to his mother. "Well then."
He bid his goodbye, but Hermione suddenly remembered the Owl she'd sent him a few weeks ago, which was still left unanswered. "Wait," she called, stepping forward to stop him.
Regulus glanced at her questioningly. "What is it, Pettigrew?" he asked.
"Potter," she absentmindedly corrected, unable to notice the small, amused smirk he was trying to stifle.
"Well?"
"I sent you a letter about... well... about my memories," she said, lowering her voice as a small family strode past them. "You haven't replied yet, so I was wondering if it even reached you."
Regulus looked confused for a while, before realisation dawned. "Ah," he said, "I remember." He grew sheepish, an apologetic smile on his face. "Apologies, Pettigrew. I was meaning to pen you a reply, but I got swamped with this Black family business for a while."
"It's fine," she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "I was just wondering if you'd like to see my memories. Sirius, Remus, and the Snapes had already seen it and I thought you might be interested too."
He grew contemplative for a while. "Actually," he started, "I don't see any point in sifting through your memories."
Hermione's eyes widened in disbelief. "You don't?" she asked, confused. A frown grew on her face when Regulus merely shrugged. "You're the first one to refuse, if you must know."
"Well, it is pointless, isn't it?" he insisted. "It's your past – it didn't happen. Besides..." He trailed off and cleared his throat, unable to meet Hermione's eyes this time. "I'd rather not see this version of me who sacrificed himself just for everything to still blow out of proportion."
He hesitantly shifted his silver eyes back at the brunette, this time with two pink patches on his cheeks. "There isn't a day I let pass without thanking the lucky stars above for bringing you to us, Pettigrew. I'm – well – I'm already quite happy with how things are right now. Moreover, was I even in your memories?"
Hermione bit her bottom lip, trying to stifle a smile, and shook her head. "My only memory of you was the fake locket Harry found in the Cave with your letter to Voldemort," she confessed.
"What letter?" he asked, his interest piqued.
"You wrote Voldemort a letter, in case he realised you'd stolen the real horcrux," she explained. "Terribly melodramatic, to be honest. It definitely was written by you."
"Hmm," Regulus said. "I'm rather curious as to what I wrote to the bastard." He absentmindedly tugged a loose curl on Harry's forehead, earning merry chuckles from the quiet toddler. "Maybe I'd like to see your memories after all."
-ooo-
He came late for their supposed meeting, and Regulus, ever the perfect Pureblood, brought a bottle of wine for his apology.
"You shouldn't have bothered," Hermione pointed out, but the raven-haired wizard dismissively waved his hand. "And besides—" She wordlessly gestured at her baby bump, meaning in her eyes.
Regulus glanced around instead, a small frown on his face. "Potter isn't here?" he asked, trailing behind Hermione who'd started to lead him towards the room where her memories were.
"He's away for a few days on some Auror business," she sighed.
"Harry?"
"At the Burrow," she replied. "Molly thought it would be lovely to let him sleep over for today."
His eyes widened in bewilderment. "In that house filled with rowdy Weasleys?" he asked incredulously.
Hermione laughed, the corners of her eyes crinkling in amusement. "Molly's amazing," she gushed out. "Harry's already a handful and now with another baby along the way..." She sighed and placed a hand on her swollen belly. "I'm already tired imagining the sleepless nights I'm sure we'll have once Baby No. 2 arrives."
They finally arrived at the room with her memories. Hermione pushed the door open and gestured inside. "I'll make some tea in the kitchen while you view them," she said.
Regulus looked at her in confusion. "You're not coming with me?"
"You want me to come with you?" she asked, eyebrows meeting in the middle.
"I mean, why not?"
"You're the first one to actually invite me to view my memories with," she pointed out with a laugh. "The others refused for me to come, even just for support."
Regulus' eyes widened, sheepish realisation colouring his pale face. "Oh," he said. "Would you rather not see them, then?" He awkwardly fiddled with his collar and glanced at the glowing light inside the room. "Considering what you've been through in your past life, maybe it's best if you don't come."
Hermione was already shaking her head midway through his sentence. "It's been years, Regulus," she said. "I think I'll manage."
He still looked a little hesitant, but Regulus then pushed the door wider, gesturing for Hermione to come inside first.
"We can just view your memory with the letter I allegedly wrote to the Dark Bastard," he offered. "That's honestly the only thing I'm curious about."
"All right," she said, brandishing out her wand. She gave it a little wave and a vial amongst the neatly lined ones flew in her direction. She then poured the swirling memory into the Pensieve and allowed Regulus to submerge his face first.
Hermione took a deep breath, readying herself to peek into a hazy memory from her past, before following suit.
Everything was a blur when she landed beside Regulus. Wisps of white smoke swirled around the two before a familiar room materialised, with three teenagers hunched over something somewhere beside the dilapidated bed. Regulus expelled a startled gasp, recognising his room in Grimmauld Place.
"Well this is... weird," Regulus commented, for lack of a better word. He eyed the filth practically covering every inch of his room and scrunched his face. "How the mighty had really fallen during your time, huh?"
"Sirius was the last Black after he was released from Azkaban before his unfortunate end back when Hermione Granger was in fifth year," she murmured, unable to notice how all the colour on Regulus' face disappeared. "Kreacher wasn't exactly a, well, a sane house-elf during that time, so I'm sure cleaning hadn't been his top priority then."
When Regulus continued to stay silent, Hermione glanced over at him, confused. "What?" she asked.
His Adam's apple bobbed when he thickly swallowed. "You said my brother—" He let his words dangling, prompting Hermione to remember Regulus didn't have any idea what happened in the other universe.
"Right," she slowly said, "but our own Sirius is still very much alive and still very much annoying so..." She nervously glanced at the pale Pureblood and offered, "Maybe it'd be best if I showed you everything from the beginning?"
"After what you'd just told me, I'd really rather not, Pettigrew," he grumbled, obviously trying to compose himself. "Let's just get this over and done with. I don't even know why I agreed to do this stupid thing."
"We can get out now if you like," she said, but Regulus was already approaching the Golden Trio. Hermione had no choice but to trail behind, peeking over Hermione Granger's shoulders to read R.A.B.'s infamous letter to the Dark Lord.
It was mighty bizarre to see this version of herself, together with past Harry and Ron. Surprisingly, Hermione felt fine. Of course, there was still a certain sadness in her heart, but her memories of them were quite hazy already.
"That's one, melodramatic letter, Sweet Salazar," he pointed out with a scoff, although the corner of his mouth was twitching in amusement. "You should have told me about this when we stole the locket back in the Cave, Pettigrew. We should have done this too."
"Oh I'm sorry," she snorted, "I was busy trying to come up with a plan to leave the Cave unscathed with the bloody horcrux. Forgive me if penning that ridiculous letter hadn't been my top priority at that time."
He chuckled at her sarcasm, glancing once more at the Golden Trio. Hermione followed suit, her blue eyes sweeping from one miserable teenager after another. "Merlin, we really had it rough," she reckoned, her eyes lingering a bit at the lightning bolt scar on the green-eyed Harry Potter.
She shifted her eyes to look at the silent Pureblood beside her once more, noting the strange expression on his face. Hermione followed his line of vision and saw him staring at her alternate self. "What is it?" she asked. "Why are you looking past me like that?"
Regulus glanced down at her and frowned. "It feels odd seeing you like... that," he lightly gestured at the now pacing past Hermione while she laid down some facts to figure out who this elusive R.A.B was. "It's all – well – it's all wrong."
Hermione snorted at his odd choice of words, prompting his cheeks to lightly colour. "I just can't imagine you without the blue eyes, Pettigrew," he insisted with a small scowl on his face.
The older witch glanced down at her younger, alternate counterpart. For a brief moment, she felt like Hermione Granger was actually looking at her and holding her gaze. "Yeah," she breathed out, an incredulous smile growing on her face. "Yeah, me too."
_____
September 19, 1991
"Have you seen Peter?" Hermione asked, touching James' elbow to catch his attention. Her husband distractedly glanced at her and lightly shook his head, before looking back at Regulus and listing down all the ridiculous reasons why the Tutshill Tornadoes were going to win this season. The Head of the Black House didn't even spare Hermione any glance as he too was busy spouting facts about why Puddlemere United, without any ounce of doubt, would win the championship this season.
"I don't think you should be talking with these stupid blokes," Remus then quipped, sidling beside Hermione with an amused smile on his face. "Once they start talking about Quidditch—"
"—they never stop," Hermione finished with a snort. "Why am I not even surprised they bonded over Quidditch, of all bloody things?"
The werewolf chuckled and passed a bottle of firewhiskey to the brunette. "I saw Peter go up the second floor a while ago," he offered. "I think he needed an escape from your rowdy birthday party."
"Thanks," she said, accepting the proffered bottle. "I'll be back in a jiffy. And Remus..." She sweetly smiled at the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, who rolled his eyes in return.
"Yes, yes, I'll look after the kids and make sure that none of them will get into trouble," he reassured. When her smile widened, Remus sighed and continued, "I'll also make sure they won't stir up any trouble." He was jutting his thumb in James and Regulus' direction, who both looked equally impassioned defending their favourite Quidditch teams.
"We really can't live without you, Remus, you know that, right?" She gave him a one-armed hug while he rolled his eyes.
Hermione then proceeded to climb up their stairs, her eyes keenly scanning the corridors in search of her brother. She knocked at the bathrooms and peeked her head inside their bedrooms and still, Peter was nowhere to be found.
Her eyes widened, however, upon noticing that the door of the room where she kept her memories was ajar, dim light flooding outside. For a heart-stopping moment, she wondered if any of her children were able to break through the wards she'd placed. But then, she remembered that Harry was currently in Hogwarts for his first year; Stella and Leon were surely too young to remove any wards.
Which only meant...
Her mouth ran dry, not sure if the fact that Peter might be inside was a better alternative.
Hermione quickly strode towards the room and walked inside, consequently halting in her steps upon seeing Peter standing stock-still just a few paces away from her. Peter looked like he'd seen a ghost, blue eyes frozen at her swirling memories trapped inside the glass vials.
"What are you doing here?" she faintly asked.
Peter rapidly blinked in surprise and glanced over his shoulder. "Hermione," he softly said. She was instantly beside her brother and tightly held his hand. His grip was just as tight and dread bloomed in Hermione's heart.
"Did you... did you look?"
The wizard expelled a weird sound and briefly glanced down at Hermione. "I tried," he replied. "I really did, Hermione. But try as I might I—" He took a deep, shaky breath and nervously glanced at the vials once more. "I can't. I can't move. I can't take a step at all it's—"
"It's okay," Hermione said, gripping onto his hand more tightly. "It's okay. You don't have to see them at all, Peter."
Peter didn't protest when Hermione pulled him out of the room. She closed the door and then slashed her wand with vehemence to put back the wards.
By the time she was done, she glanced back at her brother who surprisingly was now sitting on the floor beside the door, his back pressed against the wall.
Hermione cautiously approached him and slowly slid down on the floor beside him. She wordlessly offered the firewhiskey she was holding, which he gladly accepted and took a generous gulp.
For a moment, she allowed the silence to stretch between them. Hermione already had an idea what may be going on inside Peter, but no matter how much she tried, she didn't know what words of comfort to offer.
"I... I'm sorry."
She glanced at him, surprised. "What for?"
Thankfully, he gained some colour but Peter still looked shaken. "I didn't know what came over me," he confessed. "And on your birthday too!" He ran a hand through his sandy-coloured hair and expelled a too-shaky laugh. "I didn't even mean to go there today. You see, I was meaning to go to the loo but I got distracted and..." He weakly gestured at the now heavily-warded room and sighed. "I know I'm the only one who hasn't seen anything, Hermione."
"You don't have to, Peter," she firmly said. "I honestly thought you wouldn't even attempt to. It's been years since I last sent you a letter, offering to show Hermione Granger's memories. To be really honest with you, I wasn't even surprised when you didn't reply to my last letter."
"I thought it'd be a while before I become ready to view your memories," he murmured. "You're right – it's been years. And I thought today might be the day. Apparently, I thought wrong."
Hermione wordlessly grabbed his hand and gave it a tight squeeze.
"I don't think I'll ever be ready," he sighed. At the corner of her eyes, she could see the forming tears in her brother's eyes. "I don't think I'll ever bear seeing this cowardly version of myself, who betrayed the very people who did nothing but care for him."
"That's fine," she reassured. "It's fine; that universe is nonexistent now, Peter, because I'm here. Everybody we love and care about is still alive and that is all that matters."
He weakly squeezed her hand in return, conveying his appreciation. "Was there ever a time when... you know." He sighed and threw her a watery smile. "A time when you hated me, Hermione? Was there ever a time?"
She sputtered out a laugh, tears also in her eyes. "Oh, there was," she confirmed. "There was a time when I questioned if I'd ever done something so atrocious in my past life to be reborn into a person who's related to that slimy traitor. It may have crossed my mind it was perhaps my punishment for brewing a very illegal, very dark potion."
"You know you're not supposed to brew very illegal, very dark potions, Hermione," he reminded her with a small smile, drawing out a soft chuckle from his sister.
"Yeah, probably not a good idea now that I look back," she joked, prompting Peter's smile to widen. "But, seriously, Peter, after I got to spend all my life growing beside you, after I got to know how brave and kind my big brother was, how could I hate you, Peter? You and Mum – Merlin, I love you both so, so much. I still thank the blessed stars above I was born in your family."
Peter's smile grew wobbly as he drew Hermione into a hug. "For the record," he murmured, "you're still my most favourite sister."
Hermione laughed. "Berk, of course you have no choice," she pointed out.
_____
January 6, 1997
"James."
The Auror yelped in surprise and pulled out his wand, falling into his usual battle stance as his eyes swept around their dark kitchen. Hermione sighed and waved her own wand, igniting all the candles in the room.
When James' eyes found hers, her husband slowly relaxed. "Merlin Almighty, Hermione, don't surprise me like that," he lightly admonished, sauntering towards Hermione to drop a kiss on her forehead. He pulled away and glanced down at her, prompting a small frown to appear on her face. "What is it? What's wrong?" He slowly knitted his eyebrows and looked like he was deep in thought. "Did I... do something wrong?"
She softly snorted and fondly rolled her eyes. "You didn't," she reassured, smiling slightly when James ridiculously sighed in relief.
"Then, what's wrong, love?" he insisted. "You look like you've seen a dementor."
Her smile faltered and remembered the events that had happened the morning before she accompanied her children to King's Cross to return to Hogwarts after the Christmas holidays. "It's about Harry," she slowly said.
"Harry?" James asked, now looking worried at the expression on his wife's face.
"Yes, Harry." Hermione paused and took a deep breath, before saying, "He was able to see the room with my memories."
His hazel eyes grew wide in shock. "You mean to say—"
"No, no, he didn't see," she reassured just to appease the panicking wizard. "But, he was able to break through my wards and enter the room. I was able to catch him before he even attempted to look at a memory."
James groaned and plopped on the chair beside Hermione. "I knew there would come a day his curiosity of that forbidden room would spur him to investigate," he sighed. "He has your genes, after all."
"He's a bloody prankster like you, Potter," she snapped. "You're equally at fault here."
"What are we going to do now?" he asked, choosing to ignore her previous comment.
Hermione grew quiet and curled her hands into fists. "What I should have done years ago."
-ooo-
"Inviting them over wasn't necessary," Hermione pointed out as she carried the heavy box housing her vials of memories outside the Potter Manor.
James unburdened her and led her to the blazing bonfire near the cabin. "I'm sure they'd want to be here for support, love," he explained. "This is something huge, Hermione. I don't think you should be alone right now."
"Well, you are here," she said. "I'm not technically alone, James."
"They'd want to be here too," he insisted.
The brunette sighed and wordlessly trailed behind the Auror in the end.
As they neared the bonfire, she couldn't help but snort at the small picnic placed beside the roaring fire. There was her brother, Sirius, and Remus, engaged in a soft conversation with Regulus. Lily and Severus were lost in their little world, silently glazing at the blazing fire right in front of them.
All conversations ceased when Hermione and James finally arrived. "The picnic isn't necessary either," Hermione pointed out with a sigh.
"This calls for a celebration, Whiskers," Sirius said, tipping a bottle of firewhiskey at the wooden box James was holding.
In spite of her exasperation, Hermione smiled at the people she had come to love so much in her second life. Her eyes then shifted at the memory-filled box James had placed on the ground. A part of her felt melancholic at the thought that in a while, those memories would completely disappear. Hermione Granger's memory was already hazy in her mind, and her only connection with her past self was the numerous vials filled with her memories.
But Hermione knew holding onto them seemed pointless now. She was able to build a new life, build new relationships and memories. She may have long accepted that the past was just that – the past – but Hermione thought that perhaps it was time to completely put everything behind her. And the only way to do that was to get rid of all the memories she'd extracted.
The others had grown quiet as Hermione wordlessly approached the box. She crouched down and grabbed a vial, wondering what memory it held.
She fondly cradled the memory against her heart and strode back in front of the roaring fire. For a moment, she stared at the licking flames, her hold on the vial tightening as each minute ticked by.
"Love," James then called, touching her elbow for support.
Hermione felt silly upon feeling tears in her eyes. But more than sad, she was glad she was finally doing this.
She glanced back behind her and smiled at her friends and family. James was right; she was glad she wasn't alone today.
Hermione then pulled out her wand from her pocket and levitated the vial until it was hovering above the fire. Then, with a mighty breath, she vanished the vial and watched as the liquid spilt into the fire. Her memory then turned into smoke, swirling towards the inky black sky until it vanished with the wind forevermore.
James was suddenly beside her and copied what she had done, levitating another vial over the fire and letting the liquid spill into it. The others followed suit and Hermione smiled at them with watery eyes.
By the time her last memory had vanished, Hermione was finally, truly at peace.