The Ghost of Hermione Granger
Time travel/alternate reality story. Roughly canon compliant through Battle of Hogwarts/Book 7.
Disclaimer: I do not claim ownership of the characters, plot or other elements from the Harry Potter series of books by JK Rowling. I make no money from this work and believe that it constitutes fair use under United States laws.
To readers in the United States-have a safe and happy Labor Day Weekend.
To everyone: Heron was popular in the 16th century but today it's considered unpalatable. Always pick your chocolate carefully, you never know what might be in it. And, most importantly, remember that pumpkins contain anti-cancer carotenoids, Vitamin C, potassium and fiber. Pumpkin pie is good for you!
The Ghost of Hermione Granger
Part Two
Harry Potter was thankful for his Auror training because it kept him from a painful injury when he left his home in a towering rage. He had instinctively fled to his "safe destination" allowing him to Apparate safely despite his emotional upheaval. Aurors were often faced with the necessity of Apparating quickly out of tight spots without the moment of mental preparation that most witches and wizards needed. In initial training each trainee Auror picked a safe location, a place that they could picture in minute detail. Harry was taught that a place that carried a strong emotional resonance for the Auror was the best choice. For Harry, that place was the gates of Hogwarts. He had often wondered why he made that choice rather than his own home or his parents' place in Godric's Hollow or even the Burrow, when his trainer had abruptly barked the question at him all those years ago, but choose it he did. The emotions that this place conjured up for him then had been magnified by the number of times in the years since that he had escaped from death and found himself looking up at these gates.
Harry sighed and ran a hand through his still unruly hair as he considered what to do now. After a moment he conjured his Patronus and used it to send a message to the Headmistress. As he awaited his reply he drank in the fresh country air, letting the clean, fragrant air and golden light of dusk on this early Summer evening help to dissipate the black mood he had carried here from his home. He felt a current of magic in the air and looked down to see Professor McGonagall's cat Patronus sitting at his feet eying him curiously. His old teacher's voice echoed in his mind, "Of course, Mr Potter, you are always welcome here at Hogwarts. After you're done with your walk around the grounds I would be happy to have your company in my office." The spectral cat turned and walked towards the massive gates. It raised its paw and touched the gate causing it to slowly open to admit Harry Potter to his first home in the magical world.
At almost thirty the "Savior of the Wizarding World", as the Daily Prophet still referred to him-much to his disgust, was a rather ordinary man physically. Nature had intended him to be as tall a man as his father but the inadequate diet he received during childhood coupled with surviving on near-starvation rations on the Horcrux hunt during what should have been his final growth spurt had robbed him of several inches, leaving him of only slightly better than average height. He was no longer the scrawny boy that he had once been, his shoulders had broadened and his chest filled out with maturity but he was still a slender man. Harry's work demanded physical fitness and his own restless nature meant that he craved the activity as well. Unlike most wizards, he kept himself fit by exercising in the Muggle way-regular morning runs and calming evening lap swims in his pool. He thought the home that Ginny had insisted that they build for their family was entirely too grand for his taste both in size and decor but he had to admit that he would be loathe to give up his pool. Harry was not Muggle movie star handsome but he was a good looking man. Witches never failed to flirt with him (even when his wife was by his side) due to his celebrity status but even on his forays into Muggle London he found himself an object of female attention. His vivid green eyes (still partly hidden behind glasses-expensive ones, though still similar in style to the cheap NHS-issue glasses he wore as a boy) combined with his surprisingly fashionable messy black hair were quite striking. Equally attractive to women was the quick intelligence and kindness reflected in those eyes along with the air of quiet power, dignity and command with with Harry carried himself.
Harry soon found himself walking around the familiar shores of the lake. He understood why Ginny's carefully constructed facade had finally cracked. Arthur Weasley was dying. The whole Weasley family was under terrific strain watching its patriarch slowly fade away. Harry, himself, was having a hard time coping with the fact that the man who was the closest thing he had ever had to a father was not long for this world. Ginny seemed to be taking it the hardest. She was her father's pet. His precious little girl. Her father adored her and Ginny adored him equally. Harry knew that Ginny believed that her father cherished such a lovely and perfect image of her in his heart that Ginny was desperate to make sure that he never saw anything of her less than lovely traits. Harry shook his head in silent puzzlement at his wife's blindness. Her father was a far wiser man than Ginny gave him credit for. Arthur knew full well his daughter's faults and adored her anyway.
That afternoon the Potter clan had been visiting the Burrow along with the rest of the extended Weasley family for the usual Sunday get-together. While the adult Weasley siblings played an impromptu Quidditch match, their children played a variety of games and their wives gossiped and helped Molly to clean up after the family brunch. Harry had excused himself from the match and ceded the Seeker position to Ginny to sit with Arthur in the shade. While Harry would normally have relished a chance to play with his brothers-in-law, he decided that spending time with the frail older man was more important. It was unfortunate that when the Quidditch match broke up that Ginny had happened to overhear Harry and Arthur sharing memories of the war that had turned to fond remembrances of Hermione and the brilliance and kindness of the Muggleborn girl. One glance at her red ears and squared jaw (which tended to emphasize her resemblance to her brother George) told Harry that she was furious even though she spoke gently to her father. Ginny had managed to control herself until they had left the Burrow and sent the children off with their free house elf nanny. The minute the children were out of earshot she turned on her husband and began her furious rant.
Harry had reached a favorite resting spot from his school days beneath an old tree with a massive, gnarled trunk. He dropped down to sit among the roots. He had avoided this fight with Ginny for a long time. Six years, in fact. "Six years..." Harry murmured to himself. Six years ago was when the healers estimated that Arthur had developed the Azoth syndrome which was ending his life, six years ago was when Harry had first been promoted to lead an important investigation and six years ago was when that investigation led him to realize the lies that lay at the heart of his relationship with his wife. And six years ago was when Harry realized the truth of Hermione Granger's place in his life and in his heart.
Oddly enough it was a conversation with his old antagonist, Draco Malfoy, that led to a break in the case and the truth about his own marriage. The case involved the daughters of aristocratic pureblood families who had been promised in arranged marriages with the sons of other prominent families but were seduced by a Muggleborn wizard before the betrothal could be finalized. The Daily Prophet had dubbed the man the Muggle Lover. The Muggle Lover's exploits had resulted in broken hearts, duels and family feuds but when his depredations caused a murder/suicide when he broke up the arrangement between one of Britain's most ancient families and an equally noble French family the Ministry declared the case their top priority. Harry knew that assigning the case to him was mainly intended as a public relations gimmick but he intended to solve the case.
Harry had excelled as an Auror from the start. His natural courage, quick wits and equally quick reflexes made him a natural for the work. His superiors respected his abilities immensely and promoted him far quicker than his peers, though there were some-his wife and mother-in-law were chief among them, who thought that his status as the Savior of the Wizarding World meant that he should have been promoted even faster. Harry's first case as Lead Investigator didn't play to his strengths-but he succeeded in cracking the case due to hard work, determination and the clues given him by his old enemy.
Draco Malfoy approached the MLE for help because he believed that a young relative had fallen under the man's spell. In the years since the Dark Lord's fall Harry and Draco's paths had crossed from time to time but that day when Draco visited his office was the first time that Harry had taken a really good look at him. Though they were the same age Draco looked at least a decade older. He was expensively dressed in an exquisitely tailored charcoal-colored Muggle suit, a gold wedding ring on one manicured hand and a gold signet ring on the hand that he held out to Harry to shake. Harry ignored the hand and motioned him to a seat. Draco told Harry, by way of explaining the Muggle attire, that he had just come from the offices of his financial advisors in the City. Ironically Draco was still a wealthy man mainly due to his father's investments in the Muggle world which hadn't been touched by the Ministry of Magic. In one of the few relatively decent things that Lucius Malfoy had ever done he had protected Draco and Narcissa by committing suicide in Azkaban before the Ministry could put him on trial for his crimes. Since the Dark Mark on the man's arm proved beyond any doubt the Lucius had been a Death Eater the Ministry was able to confiscate his considerable wealth in Wizard gold and properties, but since they were unable to convict him of any other crimes they didn't pursue his wealth in the Muggle world, Narcissa's dowry or the ownership of Malfoy Manor which Lucius had signed over to Draco on the boy's seventeenth birthday. While Draco was still well off, the weight of living with own guilt and his family's disgrace after the fall of Voldemort had clearly both aged and humbled him.
"This is my cousin, Capella Malfoy, she's in her final year at Hogwarts. She's my favorite cousin, really-lovely girl..." Draco began with a fond smile after seating himself, handing Harry a magical photograph. Harry's eyebrow shot up when Draco showed him the girl's picture-she looked like a thirty years younger version of Narcissa Malfoy with a softer, more pleasant expression on her face. Harry nodded but said nothing, deciding that Draco's reasons for Capella Malfoy being his favorite cousin were between Draco and Oedipus. He was hardly in a position to throw stones. "She's from a lesser branch of the family and since I'm now the head of the Malfoy family they asked me to arrange a match for her with a boy from an appropriate family." It took all of Harry's training and maturity to suppress an eye roll at just what would constitute an "appropriate family" to the Malfoys.
"I think this Muggle Lover bastard has his sights set on her as his next victim. I arranged a match for her last Fall. Her mother gave her the potion when she was home for the winter holidays but she hasn't shown the slightest interest in the boy she's supposed to marry and he seems indifferent to her, as well. On the last Hogsmeade weekend her younger sister, Vela, followed her and saw her slip away from her friends and meet a young man, dressed as a Muggle, that looked too old to be a Hogwarts student. He side-alonged her away to who-knows-where and she didn't make it back to school until after curfew." Draco visibly sagged in his seat as he finished his story. Given their history it was difficult for Harry to have much sympathy for Malfoy but the man's obvious distress helped.
"You mentioned a potion. A love potion? Amortentia?" Harry asked. Draco shook his head,"No, not Amortentia. It's not ingested, it's a scent. I'm not sure what the real name is. We usually just refer to it as just "the potion" or the "betrothal potion", Draco added with a dismissive flip of his hand, "Everyone knows what it's for... The ancient families all use it. A little romantic illusion makes it makes it easier to do ones duty." Draco shrugged, " It's damnably expensive and hard to obtain. I've heard that it's beyond the abilities of all but the most skilled potions masters." "Maybe it just didn't work this time, she fell for a different boy," Harry ventured. Draco again shook his head and grimly replied, "It always works." Harry had heard the rumors about Malfoy's unhappy arranged marriage and his answer seemed to confirm them.
Draco rose from his seat, "I'm glad they assigned this to you, Potter. I won't let Capella's life be ruined. You were always good at rescuing damsels in distress," he continued with a hint of his old sneer. "My "saving people" thing," Harry muttered to himself. It was Malfoy's turn for the raised eyebrow, "Granger?" he questioned. Seeing Harry's steely look he continued in a conciliatory tone, "Sounds like something she'd say." Harry gave a curt nod, "I'll need to question Vela," he stated in a coolly businesslike tone. "I'll arrange it with her parents," Draco replied. This time when Draco held out his hand, Harry took it. Harry was never going to like Draco Malfoy but perhaps Dumbledore had been right that there was something worth saving there.
Harry's investigation opened his eyes to many hidden facets of Wizarding society. Being raised in the non-magical world and spending his later childhood and teenage years fighting to survive Voldemort he was ignorant of many facets of Wizarding society when he reached adulthood. To investigate the case he found himself having to spend many hours in the Ministry's, and later Hogwarts', library doing research on potions and Wizarding marriage customs and laws. He had had no way of knowing what an impact his research would have on his own life.
He remembered sitting at the long wooden table in Hogwarts' library that he had shared so many times in the past with Ron and Hermione and he was overwhelmed with a moment of nostalgia and a feeling of deja vu. For a moment he had felt as if he had stepped back in time and he could almost see Hermione bent over her books across from him; her unruly hair falling over her face, her brow creased as she concentrated on her reading, nibbling on her lower lip, her right hand racing over the parchment beside her that she was filling up with her neat precise handwriting. Even six years later Harry remembered that poignant moment as vividly as he remembered some of the major events of his life. The scent of the old books, the way the light slanted through the stained glass window and cast ruby and amber colored shadows onto the table were still clear to him. He remembered how overwhelmed he had felt tackling his first major case and how he had longed for Hermione's help and advice. He knew he was an intelligent man. He had proved that he could succeed academically on his own both in his Auror training and when he had decided to attend a Muggle University, much to Ginny and Ron's puzzlement, to earn a degree. But he also knew he didn't have Hermione's genius for making connections, remembering obscure facts, making brilliant logical leaps. Even more than he had longed for her wonderful mind though, he had just longed for her. Sitting in that place so filled with memories of her awakened something in Harry that had grown steadily stronger as the years had gone by.
In that dark time in the days after the Final Battle, after Hermione's death, he had been had been drowning in thoughts of her. Her presence was everywhere. He remembered vividly the dreams-the wonderful, joyous dreams where she would be there talking to him, laughing, doing ordinary things and she would turn to him and say, "Oh Harry, it's alright. I'm fine. It was all a mistake, a bad dream..." How many times had he lain there in that twilight land between sleep and wakefulness with a beatific smile on his face, how many times did he throw off his covers and leap from his bed to run to her-only to realize before he had taken the second step that he had been dreaming. It was like losing her all over again. It hurt almost more than he could bear. For the sake of his sanity he started pushing thoughts of her aside. He avoided speaking of her, thinking of her. It had been incredibly hard. So many things reminded him of her. His conscience still spoke with Hermione's voice, though as the days had passed he had started listening less and less to the voice of his conscience and more and more to Ginny's throaty, sexy voice flattering and cajoling him.
The night of the Final Battle Ginny had come to him, slipping into his bed wearing only a filmy nightgown. He supposed that what happened that night was inevitable. In his pain and grief, his need, he clung to her like a lifeline. Lovemaking had blotted out his pain for a short but merciful time. He had risen from his bed the next morning astonished by his powerfully erotic dream, only to discover that it hadn't been a dream. In those last weeks alone in the tent with Hermione he had come to realize that the feelings he had had for Ginny were mainly desire. He had fancied her, but that wasn't love. Love was something deeper, something stronger. The sight of the naked girl, and the bloodied sheets filled him with guilt and shame. He thought that surely she had come to him out a kind instinct to comfort him and he had used her. Ginny and the entire Weasley family had shown him nothing but kindness, and how had he repaid it? Even if he didn't love her, that hardly mattered, did it?
The days that followed passed in a haze for Harry. News of his impending fatherhood followed shortly after the days of funerals. His hastily arranged marriage came and went like something out of a dream. It hardly seemed real. He had sunk further and further into that haze in the months and years that followed. After the war he had wanted nothing more than to escape from his painful past. He just wanted to be normal, to have a life filled with nothing more than ordinary concerns. He had sunk into that floral scented haze willingly, grateful to put down the weary load of the fate of the Wizarding world. He didn't want to feel any more pain or regret. Thoughts of those he had lost receded from his consciousness. Harry grimaced at the thought of those times. For three years he had existed in that haze becoming a person he didn't like. Thinking back, he realized that if he had still been living in the Muggle world he might have escaped into alcohol or drugs.
Ginny flattered and spoiled him, treated him like a king and demanded that everyone else do the same. She gave him whatever his heart desired-unless it conflicted with something she wanted. He felt an immense sense of gratitude to her for the two sons and the daughter she had given him; bright, gregarious, mischievous James (the perfect blend of Potter and Weasley genes in both looks and personality) born six months after their marriage; quieter, more serious Al, born less than a year later, who looked like a miniature Harry; and almost two years later little Lily, who was the image of Ginny in every way. In return, he had allowed Ginny to lead him around by his libido. He did whatever she wanted, he liked making her happy and it was so much easier to let her have her way. There were very few arguments in the Potter household. If the price for that peace was living in a too-grand house, having a staff of kindly-treated but still enslaved House Elves or having his children raised as pampered royalty he had accepted the price.
He looked out at the golden ripples on the lake and tried to let go of his anger at himself. Those days were over and done. The puffed up ego and sense of entitlement that Ginny had fostered in him with her constant flattery, her constant assertions that he deserved whatever he wanted because of the service he had done the Wizarding world finally led him to say things that hurt and humiliated one of the best people that he had ever known. On the third anniversary of the defeat of Voldemort the Ministry had held an gala ball in the atrium of the Ministry of Magic. Harry had given a speech that had none of the modesty and generosity that he had once displayed. His private words to the Minister of Magic and the foreign dignitaries assembled were even more dismissive of others' contributions, cruelest to Neville Longbottom most of all. Harry knew that Neville was not only one of the best and truest souls he had ever known, he was one of the bravest. Neville didn't have as much physical courage as Harry, but he had always possessed a moral courage that Harry had to fight to equal. Neville hadn't taken Harry's cruel words lying down but instead, had confronted him after the ball and told him what he thought of Harry's behavior and the sort of person Harry was becoming. Even more painful than the hard truths Neville had spoken, was the voice that he then heard in his head. Her voice. The voice of the conscience that he had ignored for three years-saying that she was ashamed of him.
The thought of Hermione being ashamed of him hurt more that he would have thought possible. It was almost physically painful. Hermione had been the one person in his life who had always believed in him. She was the one person whose good opinion had always meant the most to him. Hermione had always believed in him but, unlike Ginny, she had also always told him the truth. If he was wrong or if he was being a prat she told him so. She had always been loyal, never deserted him as even Ron had done. And she never did leave him. He realized that somehow, even in the years after her death when he had pushed thoughts of her aside and ignored her voice of conscience, he had felt her with him. Loving him, watching over him. Instead of returning home to his wife and his warm bed he spent the rest of the night on his broom thinking about his life. By the time the dawn broke over the horizon and Harry turned his broom towards home he had resolved to change things.
Harry dropped his head into his hands. It did no good to berate himself for those three lost years. After the incident with Neville he did change his ways. He had squandered three years in which he might have worked to improve himself. Three years in which he might have influenced the Wizarding world for the better, championed the cause of equality for Muggleborns and other magical creatures, help free the House Elves (finding a way in which they would accept their freedom). After the Ball he was on fire to make a difference. He began to look around and see what he could do to make the Wizarding world a better place and hopefully prevent the rise of another Dark Lord. He accepted an invitation to become a junior member of the Wizengamot, join the Hogwarts Board of Directors, started to speak up in public, and even wrote editorials for the Daily Prophet.
A few days after the Ball he had approached Minerva McGonagall at Hogwarts about putting his inheritance from the Blacks to good use by setting up scholarships for Muggleborn students to attend Hogwarts and (in an idea he was particularly proud of) for Hogwarts alumni to attend Muggle universities to learn a bit more about the wider world. When he told the Headmistress of his plan and his intention to call the scholarships the Hermione Granger Scholarships he was rewarded by a bone-crushing hug from the Headmistress that would have done Hermione herself proud. He discussed with the Headmistress the possibility of changes to the Hogwarts curriculum for the younger students to help the Muggleborn students adjust to the magical world and to give more accurate, up to date information about the Muggle world to the rest of the students. For the older students, he suggested a class on the ethics of magic.
Harry had also diffidently put forward a request of the Headmistress for himself. He had been accepted for Auror training on the strength of his accomplishments and his passing of the practical tests but he still wished that he had passed his NEWTS. As a husband and father with a full-time job he obviously couldn't return to school full time but if he studied independently could he return and sit his NEWTS? The look of revelation on McGonagall's face followed by her beaming, if a bit watery, smile gave him his answer. Minerva had been a bit ashamed to admit that it had never occurred to her to offer Hogwarts services to adult witches and wizards.
The Headmistress was so enthusiastic about the plan that within days she had recruited several teachers to put together study materials and agree to help the adult students on evenings and weekends. She gave an interview to the Daily Prophet to publicize the plan giving credit to Harry and mentioning that he would be taking his NEWTS in the first group.
That first year thirty-five adults took the tests. That number included almost all of the Muggleborns who had been deprived of their seventh year when the Death Eaters took over the school, a number of middle aged witches who had left school early to marry, George Weasley (who joked that even though he was a successful businessman his Mum still didn't see him as a success without his NEWTS), Harry and much to his own amazement, Ron. Harry had conned Ron into it by asking Ron to help him study and then pointing out to Ron that since he already knew the material he might as well take the tests.
Relaxing at their favorite table at the Three Broomsticks with a couple of pints after they finished the exams, Ron had clapped Harry on the back and grinned at him, "She'd be right proud of you mate." There was no doubt in Harry's mind that the "she" Ron referred to was not his wife. Harry returned Ron's grin and replied, "She'd be proud of you too." Ron laughed and shook his head, " Nah, flabbergasted in my case." The two young men laughed and ceremonially raised their pints, smiling through the tears in their eyes, and toasted the missing member of their trio of friends, "Hermione."
Harry smiled to himself at that memory. It meant so much to him. He looked around and realized that dusk had fallen while he had been lost in his memories. It was time to pay his respects to the Headmistress.