Full Circle

J.K. Rowling owns—I just play.

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She ran through her child hood home, activating previously set runes and wards with a simple brush of her hand even as she ducked and evaded the spells they were firing at her.

Her throat was dry and her mouth gasping, not enough air in her even to shout at her betrayers or scream at the futility of it all. She had been expecting this, she reasoned with herself, she shouldn't have to scream because she saw it coming. She prepared and researched and schemed for the worst possible outcome.

But, somehow, Hermione still hurt.

Choking on plaster dust and evading shattering glass she managed to slip into the basement door as shouts and anger and magic erupted around her.

She would have laughed if she could have, but there was dust in her throat and no air in her lungs for even a chuckle. They'd thought that by destroying her wand they could destroy her, and she'd showed them.

For all she was muggle, she was magic.

An absent piece of wood could never change that.

And they would have to accept it like it was—she was always better at magic anyway.

A scream finally did manage to make its way out her throat—more a choking squeak due to the environmental conditions—as the door splintered and then exploded around her.

She fell down the stairs into the basement, rolling in the debris from the bombarda that was cast.

Bruised and cut, her wide eyes spotted the last spell only in time for her to duck her head again and cover her neck with her arms as her home crumpled down on top of her.

Hermione looked up when the dust settled; a very dour and almost feral expression on her face as every muscle in her body tensed. She would have to do it. Her fall back plan hadn't been discussed with anyone, but Hermione was one to be prepared for every opportunity—she had thought this would happen, somewhat.

—But had never expected to be betrayed so badly. And her body was going into shock as her heart and brain couldn't process this. She had to talk herself up out of a mounting depressed feeling of futility—because she had planned. And no matter how it had happened she knew it had and she'd been prepared.

She firmed and carefully twisted on her belly, trying to rearrange her body even as it was trapped in the wreckage and debris—nothing would stop her, her years of research would be put to good use.

The sounds of disapparition echoed strangely through dust and an echoing silence; that was fine. They could leave. She wouldn't panic, even if she was alone. She was planning.

Hermione coughed on some plaster dust, her tired eyes taking in broken beams and shattered walls.

She would make things better.

After carefully clearing a circular area as far as she could reach, she settled down on her collarbone to allow her hands free reign. She needed to make runes in the dust as she let a steady chant crescendo from her lips—this magic would bond with the remaining wards and runes she'd carefully crafted through her years at Hogwarts and carved into the very foundation of her house.

As she lost herself in the chant her eyes lit with her magic, her hair swayed with the movement of her breath and her frantic fingers.

Hours later, when her voice was hoarse and she was forcing it to shout out her chant, she finally felt her magic bond with the earth. A relieved cry came from her throat as her runes glowed, the ashes hissing as they were blown away by the power of her magical array.

Her last sighing breath of liberation was lost to magic and time as the earth did what it did best—heal.

….

Harry, paranoid and twitchy since the war (a condition that had successfully ended his relationship with one Ginevra Molly Weasley) was growing more paranoid and worried by the day.

While Hermione had gone to recover her parents (a process that might as well take months, like it seemed to have, due to all the safeguards she'd set up, some even against herself should she fall to the imperious) Harry had not heard from her in over three months. While he had recognized her need for independent closure with her parents, they'd both agreed to keep in contact.

Harry knew that, for Hermione, contact meant at least one letter every two weeks.

So he started digging around—no one really so involved in his life to pay attention and catch how hyper-focused he was becoming.

He sleuthed and investigated and forgot to eat and forgot to live.

Hermione was missing.

Harry wasn't used to her lacking presence. There was something lost viscerally—she had been there, even if sidelined, since their first year. Especially since The Hunt, Harry needed to know she was safe.

Somehow, he ended up at her old address.

Except he wasn't prepared for what he saw.

He'd never actually been to Hermione's home, but just seeing the skeletal remains of what had once sheltered her was like a blow to the gut. There was no roof or supporting walls—simply charred remnants of obvious spell damage and the sickly feeling left over from violent magic.

He fell to his knees, his eyes wide and his throat choked as he tried to take it all in. Anger grew in him—they'd destroyed her home—and its mounting presence gave him the energy to storm through the house. Everywhere traces of magic assaulted him, evidence and emotion of a futile fight—maybe even more than three against one.

Harry hoped it was simple destruction, but he couldn't ignore the evidence of defensive spells.

With a hard swallow he apparated directly to Kingsley.

In a flurry of activity—two weeks that felt like years—they'd finally limited down the dominant magical signatures to two families. One was new blood—Hermione Granger. The other, hauntingly, held traces of a much familiar pureblood family: the Weasleys.

From there Kingsley and Harry had quietly sleuthed out alibis for all the Weasleys except one. In those two weeks of hell Harry learned more than he'd ever need to about wand lore and family magic, and he was horrified to recognize the utter truth he was faced with. Ronald Billius Weasley had attacked their friend, their other third.

It made him physically sick.

The next two weeks after that they were searching for any possible sign of Hermione or Ron or the Grangers—but all proved elusive, and questions kept on building.

After that Harry dove into research. He had half thoughts sometimes, of how excited Hermione would be reading these strange texts, but then he shook himself into reality. Hermione wasn't here, might never be here again.

She'd never have a comforting hug or ready answer again.

He had to discover this one on his own.

Finally, another few weeks ended in exasperation. Kingsley even admitting that he hadn't the foggiest what to do. In a desperate bid, he solemnly handed Harry a golden chain—a familiar hourglass encircled with runes.

“Catch them Harry, find our answers. We need to know why this happened after the war was over.” They worked out safety signals in case something occurred, a password for the truth, and a password for lies in case of a deeper conspiracy. The clapped each other's back for luck, as two war weary men would, and then nodded at each other in a silent pact.

They would fix this.

Harry, setting his shoulders back, released a great sigh and nodded again before apparating back to the Granger's skeletal home. There he took one last glance at the property before counting out the necessary twists to take him back to the night that Hermione's childhood home became something of his living nightmares.

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I don't know where this is going. I was inspired by so many other time stories, but wanted them to go in different directions. So this is my attempt at a time travel story. As I have no concrete plans, please bear with me and the long pauses between updates (if you're interested). I vaguely have a plan for three chapters, but I need to work out the details before I get my game on.

Thank you for your patience.

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So we get to find out what Hermione managed to do with those runes.

………

Hermione carefully tightened her scarf as she looked around the muggle neighbourhood; cautious about drawing too much attention to herself but also worried about not drawing enough. The residents of Privet Drive had to recognize her and be comfortable with her hanging around the children—she needed her name out there as a babysitter.

She delicately cleared her throat and then walked along the street with a bright smile. The few neighbours she'd already met when she moved in gave her their courteous nods, the others following their lead because they didn't want to look bad.

Hermione had never seen such a large group of posers in her life—and she'd met Blaise Zabini so that was saying something.

She took in a deep breath and let herself be introduced as the young college graduate who'd moved into the old house at the end of the street. Her cheeks felt sore as she carefully kept from grinning too slyly, too widely or too little. She had to be perfect.

She blushed and stammered when they asked her what she was doing with her life—carefully creating the persona of a shy woman who'd just started her own consulting business and was worried.

Several of the ladies who'd invited her for bridge (she'd demurred with the excuse that she had a lot of things to settle) gave soft sounds before assuring her that their husbands would be able to help. She'd helped those same ladies with their gardens yesterday while the movers were carrying in her heavy furniture, she hadn't wanted to be underfoot.

Hermione sighed as she reflected on the forced hospitality of the neighbourhood. She was almost glad Harry hadn't been raised properly here—he never would have done something just because it was the right thing to do. He would have been raised to believe everything was done to get something in return.

Hermione hoped she didn't become so catty and opportunistic.

She smiled shyly and shook some gentleman's hand, keeping her eye on the hunched figure of Mrs. Figg.

She had to think of a way to deal with the woman that babysat Harry. If Hermione was going to take her place there had to be good reason for it.

…

The next day Hermione was out examining the shape of her house—making a show of plotting her garden and walkway—as long as she stayed she might as well make a yard worthy of a good game of hide-and-go-seek, and a little secret nook where she could hide from all the neighbours.

How could so many old people be so nosey?

She stayed out there for around two hours before one of the neighbours dragged over a skinny woman with a pinched face.

Hermione blinked and dusted off her hands.

“Miss Granger!” she was hailed, the ladies shuffling quickly—never a run; a true lady never runs. “You haven't met Petunia Dursley.”

“I'm afraid I haven't,” she said politely, smiling carefully and reaching out her hand.

Petunia sniffed, eyeing her dirty nails before gingerly grasping her fingers. Hermione firmed her lips and gripped strongly, eyes flashing at the woman as she startled. Petunia would know she wasn't one to be messed with—immediately after that thought she plastered on her suburban smile.

With any luck Petunia would spend the rest of the conversation wondering why she had gotten that shiver down her spine. Certainly Hermione Granger was a charming young woman who presented no type of threat—in fact she was very open to doing favours for her neighbours.

`And Petunia Dursley had a little brat of a nephew she was beginning to suspect liked cats. She hated fur on her couches.'

Hermione closed her eyes to hide the triumph in her gaze, laughing at a pithy comment one of the women had said.

…

Hermione took careful note of the way the neighbours were slowly getting used to her morning jogs, waving with a bright smile as she ran from the neighbourhood to the park. They had started to wave back now—believing she was simply a health nut and actually kind of proud to have her for a neighbour. It reflected well on all of them for her to be so conscientious of everything.

She didn't mind helping them with their gardens or looking after their pet (seemingly mandatory, suburban, one pet per family). Her yard was well manicured and very fanciful, unique and yet seeming to blend into the neighbourhood's carefully constructed suburban quality.

She let out a careful breath as she neared the little park, surrounded by the fields. She carefully stretched and cooled down as she watched the children; very conscious of the adults and babysitters watching her. And it wasn't hard for her to smile and show how much she loved the kids. After the war it had seemed like the only thing that made her happy were children laughing and playing.

There was something so innocent about them that Hermione couldn't help but want to play with them.

She smiled and laughed when two little girls waved at her from the swings, returning their greeting as she set off to jog back to her house. She cheerily waved to Mrs. Figg when she passed her in her raincoat; the little woman was stocking her cupboards by the look of her bags—quite a few tins of cat food included.

Hermione smiled slyly to herself as she ducked her head into the wind and jogged up her sidewalk. Mrs. Figg had grown on her—Hermione only hoped the older woman would take up her offer to help around the house. It was the perfect way to get closer to little Harry.

Petunia was still reluctant to let Hermione baby-sit—perhaps she had come on too strong.

Hermione shrugged and watched as the Dursleys made a show about preparing for a trip—little Harry (Hermione's heart broke as she saw his weedy frame and lost expression) quietly stood off to one side with garden shears in his hands.

Petunia looked up and smiled, hailing her.

Hermione quirked a brow and loped her way over.

Maybe she hadn't come on too strong after all.

…

It took a bit of careful deciding, but Hermione figured that she would maintain her magical secrecy only until Harry demonstrated signs of his own magic.

She wouldn't let him think he was a freak.

With this in mind she went through her new house, carefully hiding obviously magical items while playing an interesting game of subterfuge with necessary but still magical items—the sneakoscope and other such paraphernalia that warned her of other magicals or threats. She could do nothing for the new runes and wards she'd carved into her doors and walls, but they could be written off as decorations. Some of the more mundane books on magic would remain on her shelf like a fairytale, and hopefully ease Harry into an understanding of the wizarding world.

She carefully prepared her spare room, right next to hers, so that a small child would be welcome. The bed was single, and closer to the ground, but covered in hand stitched down quilts and soft cotton covers—two pillows were rather small compared to the large body pillow but would only add to Harry's comfort.

The brunette well knew just how wonderful the feeling of being ensconced in so many coverings felt.

She added a few games and puzzles to a miniature shelf by the wardrobe, and made certain to plug the nightlight in firmly before checking that the window was open to air out the room but not open enough to interfere with the curtains or create a chill.

Everything had to be perfect.

Finally satisfied after a few more tweaks to the bed sheets, Hermione left the room and made her way to the kitchen. While Molly had proclaimed Ginny hopeless in the kitchen, Hermione had fallen under her wing by some proxy to fill the daughter's role (Ginny had, despite being the first daughter of the line, taken after the sons in the family with more interest in sports than how the food ended up on the table).

Because of this, Hermione knew how well a lovingly made treat welcomed a child into a strange house. Harry would be arriving tonight, so the Dursleys could catch the red eye, and Hermione would welcome him in with the smell of her best chocolate chip cookies.

She went and retrieved the boy (and his single tiny bag) at the designated time, her heart clenching when his hands clenched around hers as if afraid she'd let go and drift away.

He kept his head down until they got to her garden, but he still refused to look at her even though he gazed around at all the strange greenery.

It wasn't until they were in the house and approaching the kitchen table that he offered her a tentative, hopeful smile and loosened his grip slightly.

She was right, the cookies worked their magic.

The next morning Harry quietly trailed after her in everything she did, until they emerged outside.

She cleared her throat as Harry wandered with her through the garden, the struggling sprouts mixed in with the transplanted shrubbery made for an interesting mix. And Hermione felt transplanted…felt that her garden was somehow symbolic of the new course for her life. This Harry would be sheltered in her boughs, nurtured amongst her alien roots. This Harry would be strong.

Hermione crouched down to right a seedling—it had been trampled by the neighbour's hellion of a cat. She glowered and muttered under her breath.

Harry let out a little sighing laugh, kneeling down next to her and threading his fingers into the soil.

Hermione laughed with him. “Here, you have to make sure the plants are straight and then pile the dirt around them to help them stand.” She cupped his small hands in hers, helping him pat down the earth firmly.

She looked up through her lashes to smile at him—finding his expression of intense concentration adorable (tongue out and everything). His bright green eyes squinted as he carefully touched one of the small leaves.

She laughed and pulled him up, “Now, let's clean up. How does a glass of tea sound?”

“It sounds good,” Harry murmured and grinned at her, grabbing her offered hand as she made her way into the patio doors.

He stayed for the whole ten days the Dursleys enjoyed themselves in Bermuda—he opened up to her, smiled more easily and didn't clutch desperately at her any more(though he was still very affectionate).

….

Hermione carefully drew the boy closer to her—little Harry came to her easily, grinning and laughing. So starved for attention he blindly accepted it from her though this was only the third time he'd been foisted off by his aunt.

The stinging in her eyes took a lot to hold back, but she did it. And the little guy was in her lap as she opened a book and started to read to him. She wondered if he was waiting for her to turn on him too—as she'd seen all the neighbours do, as she'd seen the children do.

As their friend would…wouldn't do.

A part of her hoped that Harry wasn't reaching for all he could get before it was all over.

Hermione firmed her lips as she breathed in deep through her nose, vowing to herself that she would show as much affection and love to Harry as she could, every day for as long as she was able.

She just wished that meant the rest of her life.

…

Hermione looked up from her book and laughed as a sheepish young Harry shuffled around in her boot room. The seven hear old was muddy and unkempt—but still so adorable with his large green eyes and hunched shoulders.

As if she could ever scold him!

Putting her book aside she calmly grabbed a towel and walked up to him. “It's raining pretty hard isn't it?”

He hummed happily as she ruffled his hair with the warm towel. “It's slippery,” he whispered.

Hermione laughed and kissed his nose as she carefully helped him pull off his sodden sweatshirt. She tsked at his raggedy shirt (hung over his boney frame with those scattered bruises that made her heart clench) and set it on the floor-vent while she wrapped the towel around him and pulled him into a hug.

Little Harry laughed as his shoes squelched.

Hermione grinned and helped him toe them off—his hands were trapped within the towel that was almost bigger than he was. Carefully she set him on her hip and took him and his muddy clothes (shoes as well) to the laundry room. Setting him on the dryer she supplied him with one of her large t-shirts to wear and waited for him to change so she could wash his clothes. She threw his shoes in the washing tub by the sink so they could soak and loosen the caked on mess.

Harry came to her when he was messy; when he had an accident she was his refuge now. She'd help him and then he could go back to the Dursleys without them getting mad at him for making a mess or some other such nonsense. And Harry, sweet Harry, liked her home.

Harry, happy despite being slightly sniffly, came to her easily as she hoisted him into her arms and went to the kitchen to make him some warm hot cocoa. He watched her as she melted the chocolate cubes and added the milk and chilli powder and freshly ground cinnamon.

They both hummed happily as the smell wafted into the kitchen.

Finally, it was ready and they settled into her cushy sofa, cuddling with their mugs of cocoa to watch the rain settle down on her blooming garden.

It was a good night.

…

“Why do you read so much?”

Hermione's breath caught but she recovered with a little laugh. She knew she read a lot—and she'd been asked that question so many times…it was just…coming from little Harry's mouth this time. “I like to read,” she replied simply.

Harry blinked his large emerald eyes up at her (from behind a new set of glasses she'd carefully manipulated the Dursleys into buying for him: she knew it was all worth it no matter how immoral she felt, the disgusting Dursleys deserved everything she could hand out, even though…). Hermione shook her head as Harry scrunched up his nose.

“Why do you like to read?”

Hermione sighed lightly and smiled, putting aside her book to pull Harry into her lap.

Squealing, he flailed and laughed before settling and grinning up at her.

Hermione huffed out a laugh that made some of her stubborn curls fly up around her face. (Harry was always amused by this—either Harry…both Harrys.)

“Well, books are my friends.” As she said this Harry's face screwed up and he looked as if he was trying his Merlin best to keep in a teary scowl. “Harry?”

The little boy huffed but remained quiet.

Hermione bit her lip and twisted a little so she could look into his face. Harry was a boy taught to hold in his emotions, shown that his anger just gave him punishment and his tears made him weak—so he held everything in until it exploded from him. Hermione had thought they'd worked that out.

He'd not be so caged around her.

Never.

“Harry?” she whispered again.

He shuffled in her lap a bit before scowling up at her. “I'm your friend.”

Hermione blinked and felt her eyebrows lift on her face, a gently awed expression taking over her. She let out a large happy sigh, “Oh Harry James…”, as she pulled him close to her and snuggled him. Sniffling, and a little choked, she resolved to explain her best. Because Harry, her sweet little Harry, didn't understand what she meant and felt that she didn't need him. She couldn't have that. She was his lifeline.

“I am,” he said petulantly.

She kissed his vulnerable temple. “You are,” she asserted.

Harry snuggled deeper into her, his little fingers almost painful in their grip on her arms.

She sniffed. “When I was little I didn't have many friends, and I tried so hard.” His big green eyes looked up to her, his mouth hanging open as if he couldn't believe it. Hermione smiled and tweaked his nose. “And after a while of trying so hard to make them like me, helping them with tests and homework, I just felt more comfortable with the books than being hurt again.”

Harry blinked his sad eyes and then buried his nose against her collarbone.

“And my parents had no idea what to do with me, so I was allowed to read and read and read.” She smiled and pulled away slightly; trying to look into his face though he refused to release her and instead tilted his neck awkwardly to stare up into her eyes. “See Harry? Books have been my friends for a very long time, and they've never stopped. That's not to say you aren't my friend.”

Harry half smiled.

Hermione grinned and leaned close to whisper, “And don't tell them, but I think you're my very best friend. You give much better hugs.”

Harry grinned and hugged her tightly, his little arms not reaching all the way around her but still conveying that absolute sense of happy Harry that she teared up slightly and buried her face in his unkempt hair.

Her watery laugh echoed around his joyful shouts as they started a tickle war.

…

Knowing little Harry, having known his older self, it was a study of opposites. While both were quiet, there was this beaten down quality to little Harry that understated his silence. Older Harry had never been afraid to break out his more aggressive emotions, to rage or shout or laugh.

Hermione hoped little Harry James Potter would get there someday.

She didn't think she could stand it if she had to watch him suck in his tears after he came over bruised again. Hermione's eyes snapped open with a thought, her steps quiet as she gently pushed open the bedroom door to watch Harry sleep in her covers.

Leaning against the jamb, her eyes soft, the brunette came to a decision.

It was time for war with the Dursleys.

Even sleeping Harry refused to roll onto his back, and ensconced as he was in one of her big old T-shirts she could see the marks from a belt.

If Hermione played her cards right she'd get him away from that hellhole—and no one would raise a question about it.

….

Slowly, so very slowly, Hermione had increased their trips to the park—letting Harry be more visible under her care. It only happened once where she was warned away by a well meaning neighbour (after that no one dared to trash talk Harry in their subtle suburban way). And showing her Harry off to the neighbourhood, laughing with him and playing with him, made them soften to his presence.

They weren't nice by any means, but he didn't get those looks (those spiteful nasty little looks that Malfoy had been so good at—the ones that constantly broadcasted their supposed superiority) and that was enough for Hermione.

For now.

…

Harry had an inscrutable look as he looked at his report card—his nose scrunched up and his eyebrows furrowed. Hermione grinned and abruptly lifted him into her arms, startling him into a squeal as he rushed to cling to her and his report card got crumpled between them.

He let out a laugh and kissed her cheek, grinning at her when he pulled back. Hermione smiled at him, proud and touched. Old Harry had always been so unsure with physical contact; her little Harry was welcoming it, initiating it. Hermione adored him even more for his intermittent and exuberant tries.

“Now what do we have here?” she inquired, lifting her eyebrows up and then darting her eyes to the wrinkled paper almost ready to fall out of little Harry's hand.

He hesitated before offering, “It's my report card.”

“Well, that doesn't sound so fun.”

An unsure smile was the response.

Concerned, Hermione set Harry on the ground and then kneeled in front of him. “Harry? Is everything okay?”

He sniffled.

Hermione's heart broke. Little Harry was so much more obviously sensitive than her Older Harry, she wondered how long it had taken him to learn to hold in hurts and dish them back out—she wondered if she was part of the reason Little Harry wasn't becoming like Old Harry…

She pulled him into a hug, gently leaning back until she could seat herself in the chesterfield's worn cushions. “Shall we have a look then?” she asked softly.

Without looking at her, Little Harry thrust the crumpled report to her and she carefully removed the paper from his tense fingers. She spread it out over the cushion beside her with one hand, the other occupied threading through Little Harry's hair.

Glancing over rather unconcernedly—more occupied with the flesh and blood snuggling as close to her as he could get—she absently noticed a rather steady streak of high B's. Only one low C there to worry over—and in maths, which wasn't very necessary in the wizarding world beyond the basic level.

“I think you did very well Harry,” she said quietly.

“No,” went Harry's simple reply.

“Math is troubling you then?”

“It's hard.”

“Maybe we can fix that.”

His head popped up to look at her with wide green eyes while his chin pressed against her chest. “What?”

“You're my Little Harry, and I want to help you in any way I can. Do you want to study at my house for your tests?”

“No,” he said lowly, resolutely.

Hermione gaped, startled for a moment before she hastily recovered herself. “No?” She blinked and leaned forward slightly to look into his eyes, “You don't want my help?”

Harry repeated himself, “No.”

Hermione swallowed. “Oh.”

Harry looked at her oddly as her weight shifted lower, her whole form depressed at this rejection. Maybe that's what old Harry had always been trying to say at Hogwarts? That he didn't want her help at all and didn't care? Maybe she really had been such a nuisance that Old Harry had only succumbed to her nagging to get her off his back.

“I'm your friend,” he broke out loudly, looking at her with wide earnest eyes, “And you don't have to help me to be my friend!”

“Oh sweetheart,” Hermione sighed out, smiling and pulling him back into her for a hug. “This is different. I am your friend, and I hate seeing you sad. You're not going to forget about me after the test is done right?”

“Never!”

She smiled wider, kissing his scar and then nuzzling her nose into his. “That's settled then, we'll be friends forever. And that means I can help you without getting hurt right?”

He grinned back and nodded his head, returning to their previous snuggling without making any more fuss. There was a comfortable silence around them, accepting each other and glad not to be offending the other.

Then he said, quite petulantly, “Why am I Little Harry?”

Hermione threw her head back and laughed. Harry pouted up at her (he was far too cute to scowl) and attempted to cross his arms. Hers were in the way from their previous hug, so she snuggled him closer and gave him an Eskimo kiss. He blushed in embarrassment and looked to one side.

“You are absolutely adorable, Little Harry.”

He sighed and looked up at her dolefully, “Not adorable either.”

Hermione sighed and kissed his nose, he crossed his eyes but then went right back to giving her puppy eyes. “Well, I think you are.” She smiled down at him as he sighed and rolled his eyes—a habit that amused her to no end. “I used to know another Harry.” His eyes snapped up to her. “He was also quite like you—brave and caring and smart.”

Harry pursed his lips, “but not me.”

“No, but I started thinking of him as Old Harry, and you as Little Harry, just to make things easier sometimes.”

“But I'm Harry, he can't be me!”

Hermione snickered, “Okay, well I can't call Older Harry anything else, what should I call you?”

“I'm Harry James Potter,” he puffed up and pouted.

“Yes, you are, but I can't go calling you Harry James Potter all the time can I?”

Harry laughed at the absurd thought.

Then he started muttering to himself, and Hermione held in her snickers, hearing words like “Brave” and “Strong” as Harry tried to decide on his name.

“Oh, Harry James Potter, you are priceless!” She gave him a loud kiss on the cheek.

Harry squealed and rubbed at his cheek, laughing up at her.

“Well, what's your whole name?”

“Mine?” She grinned. “It's Hermione Jean Granger.”

“You have a J name too!”

“I do.”

“But you don't have a P—the teacher said last names were important, and mine's from my Dad.”

“Mine is as well,” she said lowly, missing her parents. Then she had a thought, “JP.”

“Huh?”

Hermione chuckled and looked down at her little friend. “JP, I can call you JP—it can be our special name for you. To remember that we are friends—the same J—and that I'm very thankful to your father for having you.”

Harry screwed up his face—“Aunt Petunia says my parents were drunks who didn't care about me—she says I'm lucky I live with them instead.”

“I'm sure that's not true—but if it is I can still be thankful that he had a delightful son.”

Harry's green eyes looked up at her soberly, large and dark. “Ok.”

“Good. Besides, calling you Little Harry all the time would have gotten tiring.”

Harry laughed at her playfully frustrated expression and she joined in.

…

Harry laughed as he ran out of the school, flinging himself into her arms as she spun him around and gave a great big kiss to his cheek. Waiting on the school grounds today had been sobering, but little Harry was such a delight that she forgot all about the headmaster and the other parents who still tried their best to ignore Harry's worth as a person.

A little squeal sounded over her shoulder as she bent to sweep Harry upside down, his eyes bright as he laughed and his face reddened.

“And how was your day at school?” she asked while smiling, keeping him there as he gave up struggling.

“It was okay, we painted in art class and that math stuff you helped me with is easy!”

Hermione laughed and set Harry back on the ground. Picking up his fallen bag she took his hand and let him lead her home—away from the stares of so many adults—as he yammered about what had happened at playtime.

…

Hermione carefully let the curtain fall back into place, her gaze pondering but satisfied. The police were canvassing the neighbourhood. This was much too soon, but she might be able to work with it. There had been rumours that Mrs. Figg's property was being vandalized, but the old woman hadn't said anything directly to her.

And no one could blame this on Harry so there had to be an investigation.

She licked and then bit her bottom lip, leaning against the living room wall as she glanced about her house. There was no evidence of the supernatural on this floor, but there was evidence of Harry's frequent visits—that was okay, it's not like Harry carried around crowbars or spray paint so there was no way anything in her house would draw their attention.

She cleared her throat and tossed back her hair while she smoothed down her shirt, turning to the door at the crisp knocking.

The two policemen standing on her stoop startled at her appearance, one giving her a once over before he straightened.

Hermione blinked and raised a confused eyebrow before she turned to the other in inquiry.

“Miss Granger?” she nodded her head. “I'm Constable Browning and this is Constable Wright. We have some questions for you.”

She smiled genially, “Certainly, would you like to come in?”

He glanced behind at her house, his eyes pausing on several areas (she refused to turn and look as well) before he quickly turned back to her. “No miss, there's no need for that.”

“Well then, what seems to be the problem?”

Constable Wright cleared his throat softly and stammered slightly before managing, “Are you acquainted with a Mrs. Figg?”

“Oh yes, sweet old lady just three houses down. Has a lot of cats,” she grinned impishly at her last sentence.

They both smiled and tipped their heads to her.

Browning continued, “Recently she's been going to the city for extended hospital visits and comes back to a vandalized yard…”

Hermione gasped—“Mrs. Figg is ill?”

The two policemen glanced between each other before Browning cleared his throat—“I'm sorry if this comes as a shock.”

Hermione clasped her hands together and looked down the street with worry, wondering if this illness was the reason why she got to babysit so much and why the Mrs. Figg of her original time hadn't taken such great care of her Harry.

“Miss Granger?”

She came back to herself with a shake, blinking at the constables before managing a smile. “I'm sorry. We're not very close but she is very sweet to me.”

Browning nodded, “Do you have any idea who would vandalize her property?”

She shook her head, “No, as I said she's sweet. It's her cats that annoy the neighbours by ignoring their litter box—but that would be far too petty a reason. And I haven't even noticed any damage to her house.”

“Does she come into a lot of contact with the children on the street?”

Hermione jerked her head to one side, wide eyed at the two of them as she tried to figure out why they asked this question. “I…she used to look after Harry when his relatives were away but…I don't think anyone else visits her often.”

“So she doesn't play Aunty Figgy to the neighbourhood children?”

“What? No!” She huffed and set her hips while glaring at them—“What exactly is going on? If she did indeed `play Aunty Figgy' there wouldn't be a vandalizing problem.”

Wright cleared his throat and shifted his weight. Browning gave him a sidelong look before he sighed. “There have been some cases of child mistreatment around the block; we're just doing a general inquiry until more concrete accusations come up.”

Hermione felt her hair frizz with ire. “Mrs. Figg is a lonely old woman who couldn't hurt a fly—she babies her cats for company and takes daily walks to the grocers so she can get her exercise and mingle with people. There is no way a woman that lonely would ever do something as vile as bruise a child.”

The brown eyes of Wright were wide beneath the brim of his cap, his eyebrows high on his forehead. Hermione huffed and crossed her arms, forcing her hands to unclench and settle on her biceps. Browning's moustache twitched in amusement before he smiled fully.

“I'm sorry Miss.”

“What for?” she growled out lowly.

He tipped his cap, “For making you so angry with us. We've heard you moved here recently and we'd hate to leave a bad impression.”

Hermione huffed but visibly softened, her arms held looser and her spine relaxed. “You're just doing your job, and that's based off information you get from other people. I can't fault you for that.”

“Well, thank you, miss.”

She snorted and offered them a lazy smile. “Do you have any other questions that don't relate to the preposterous idea that old Mrs. Figg is a child abuser?”

Wright snorted and turned away briefly, when he turned back there was a twinkle in his eye. “Only that you might be the one hurting the kids.”

“What?” Hermione drew back with real hurt as one hand grasped at the door jamb.

Browning cleared his throat loudly and gave his partner a dirty look—“Miss it was just a suggestion by one of the couples down the street and we can tell very easily that you would never harm a child. You defended Mrs. Figg and quite clearly put out your views on child abuse, and your house has definite signs of a happy child.” He nodded his head behind her and a confused Hermione gave in and turned to look.

Her breath caught as she saw her house through a stranger's eyes. Harry's jacket, muddy but dry, was thrown haphazardly over her coat rack; his shoes, the ones she'd cleaned of mud, were sitting on her welcome mat; the pictures he had taken to drawing for her during art class were very bright and visible on her fridge; a yo-yo was tangled in one of her bigger house plants (Hermione laughed a little, as she and JP had one bugger of a time looking for that the day before); and her couch had mussed up blankets and a teddy bear.

She sniffed back some tears and turned back to the constables.

Wright shuffled guiltily and offered, “It was only a suggestion since you are fairly new to the neighbourhood and they needed someone to blame. I didn't mean to cause you any distress—I actually found it quite absurd.”

Hermione sucked in a breath and nodded. “I babysit Harry Potter, he's over a lot,” she offered for her explanation to her strong reaction.

Browning nodded and saluted, “Thank you for your time, we'll let you get back to your business Miss Granger.”

“No, thank you for your time. And keep up your good work. It's nice to know the neighbourhood is so protected.” That was as far as she could hint at a need for a more in depth canvassing—her mind was so muddled right now she didn't think she could manage anything more telling without losing some subtlety.

Both policemen regarded her before smiling politely and taking their leave from her stoop.

Hermione watched them close her front gate before she closed her door and went to the window to push aside a curtain just so. The two constables took out their clipboards and pens and crossed out some words while writing new ones. As they packed up their materials they examined the street, discussing something before Wright glanced back and made some comment. She pulled the curtain tighter, just in case.

Browning smirked at his young partner and then socked him in the shoulder while shaking his head, gesturing down the street (towards number three) and waiting for his friend to precede him.

Hermione let out a breath and turned back to her house interior. Her worries drifted away when she spotted the same things Browning had pointed out—very real signs that Harry had been making her house his home. A brilliant smile lit her face as she slid to the rug, happy tears making her eyes sting as she bit her bottom lip.

Somehow, seeing Harry's presence in her home, it made it more real for her. She was changing Harry's life. The old Harry was now her young Harry James Potter, her JP.

A great sigh left her as she closed her eyes and she let her head tilt back to rest on the wall, staring up at the soft light that came through her gauzy curtains.

…

Hermione, wide eyed, sat as primly as she'd ever sat. The balding principle looked at her and the Dursleys over interlaced fingers—“I am glad you three could make the meeting.”

“What seems to be the problem?” Vernon simpered.

Hermione held in a sneer as her lip twitched, she hated that man who took belts to her Harry and locked him in a cupboard. And now he was worried about his little whale—and she hoped it was Dudley that had a problem. But then she wouldn't be here if that was the situation.

Her heart clenched at the possibilities. “Is Harry okay?” she asked softly.

The stoic man cleared his throat—“He is fine, actually better than he's ever been. I have been appointed to talk to you of a possible arrangement.”

“Oh?” Petunia intoned almost shrilly.

Hermione's eyes flashed to her.

“The other parents have told me about how much better Miss Granger keeps Harry in control. In fact there have been fewer incidents reported than when he was assigned the Education Assistant to monitor his behaviour.”

Hermione hid her glower behind her arm as she pushed her hair behind her ear, clearing her face of the anger as she revealed it. The neighbours, upon hearing so many times that Harry was a problem child, had taken to blaming him for the slightest incident while he was out of sight.

Taking him out more into public had taken away that avenue of shifting blame from their little children.

“Well that's wonderful.” Vernon had a red face and his voice gurgled, Hermione smiled.

The headmaster smiled with his lips closed, his eyes narrowing. “Yes, it is; which is why the school board investigated and decided to suggest some changes.”

The Dursleys shifted.

“We are aware that your nephew is not with you legally, as the will stated he would go to a Mr. Longbottom should his godfather be unavailable. But in the absence of both these men you were forced to take him in.” (Hermione bit her cheek and tried not to cry out—Harry could have been brothers with Neville? With that ballsy old woman instead of this ugly family?) “You've told us as much when you had to enrol him. In light of that it is our suggestion that Miss Granger adopt Harry legally.”

The room was silent.

Slowly Petunia's choked noises escalated into a shrill “What?!”

“It appears Miss Granger has a very robust portfolio of assets that would allow Child Services to overlook her lack of marital status. She could easily support the child and he would still be close enough for you to visit.”

Hermione's shock was overcome by a deep and feral flash of emotion—the Dursleys would get near her child no longer.

…

Hermione, strangely experiencing her thoughts as echoes as she watched the Dursleys shift, found her cynical mind roaring with laughter.

After the meeting with the headmaster Hermione had time to ruminate on the course of things and found her dominant moral conscience screaming. But that was okay, they'd all used each other in that meeting.

Hermione wasn't stupid enough to not notice the worried way the balding man behind the large oak desk had avoided ranting about legalities—Hermione had watched enough to know there was greater interest in Harry now that everyone wasn't convinced of what a little hellion he was. He wasn't under the radar anymore; he couldn't be ignored in this prissy neighbourhood. The headmaster had been using his `new' good behaviour as a crutch to make Harry's life and presence in the school legal. (And to keep the police from finding out where the money in his pockets was coming from. They were sniffing around after all.)

Hermione grimly smiled as she folded her hands primly in her lap, hating the poncy print of the Dursley's sofa and delighting in the stifling silence of the elders.

The neighbours were starting to wonder, at least, if they didn't know how to control children. They were starting to turn a jaundiced eye on `Duddy-kins'. So the Dursleys were using her to get rid of their blight on the family name.

Hermione felt a feral satisfaction in the fact that she was using this and all of them to get her way as well. She felt somehow vindicated.

JP was hers now.

All she had to do was wait for the children to come home from the field trip they'd taken as part of the school curriculum (and as testament to Harry's new life he'd actually been made to go because it wouldn't do for people to notice exactly how he was treated—if only it meant she didn't have to wait to hold him in her arms and offer him her home).

The uneasiness of both Dursleys was a very delightful bonus.

So Hermione sat there as prim and proper as her mother had raised her, with the manners bitter Ms. Banks had instilled in her. Petunia fluttered her hands about and shrilled her versions of polite conversation, her eyes darting about as if the ghost of her dead and very much forgotten sister would pop out and scream at her for so readily disposing of her only child.

Briefly, Hermione had the thought to conjure up the spectre of Lily, but thought it would be a slight to her sacrifice and Harry's suffering. She didn't want to throw that in their face.

Finally the sound of little stomping feet entered, the front door slamming shut.

Her smile was a tad feral behind her tea cup as the Dursleys jumped and Dudley came charging in. He jabbered excitedly about his day until he caught sight of her.

Truth was Hermione knew she freaked the beejabers out of him. It hadn't been because of a conscious effort on her part, but she'd pulled him off some little kids before and seemed to be the only adult willing to threaten discipline.

(The other kids thought she was some kind of goddess for that.)

Harry, mute as he usually was in the presence of the Dursleys despite the excitement she could see brimming in his eyes, was the exact opposite. As soon as he saw her he was jabbering away and rushing to her for a hug. Everything faded from her mind as she grinned at her boy and listened to the tale of the field trip to the museum.

Harry was so excited, gesturing with his hands wildly while her arms rested loosely around his shoulders. Seated on the couch as she was he was just tall enough to look her in the face and share his day with her.

“—and then there was this big cat! It had huge teeth and its paws were as big as my head!”

Hermione laughed, “That was a sabre-toothed tiger. Pretty wicked aren't they?”

Harry looked at her with wide eyes and an open mouth, entranced by her because she was so willing to tell him things.

Vernon sputtered and Petunia cleared her throat.

Hermione's eyes flashed to them and she abruptly came back to herself—she was still in the Dursley's living room.

She nodded to them and then proceeded to turn back to Harry, set on ignoring them. Harry was more important. “JP?” she said seriously.

Her little green eyed boy abruptly gave her his attention, turning from his relatives to stare intently at her. He was so adorable…always fixed on her and willing to love her with that childish adoration that made her want to cuddle him and kiss his forehead until everything that hurt him was nothing more than a memory.

She smiled a little. “I was wondering if you wanted …” she narrowed her eyes and tilted her head. She shook her hair back with a wider smile. “Here's the truth: you were supposed to be given to another family when your parents died, but they couldn't be found. Technically you aren't legally staying here with your aunt and uncle. Now there have been some things that came up and I offered to adopt you. Would you like to come live with me? Let me be your family?”

The Dursleys drew in a loud collective breath and stared at her with wide eyes. She pursed her lips and waited through Harry's silence. It would stand to reason they'd never thought of telling their nephew the truth and she wanted to be the first adult he trusted to always be honest with him. If he wanted to know more she'd tell him, and if she didn't know she'd do her best to help him find out.

Finally Harry made a choking sound.

Hermione leaned forward and smoothed back his hair, kissing his scar before trying to pull away. His little arms, strong from doing so many chores, refused to let her go as he started crying into her shoulder, wetting her hair where it was trapped against her neck.

“JP?” she exclaimed worriedly, managing to pry him far enough that she could look into his eyes. The desperate hope that brightened them made her heart squeeze, “Oh Harry.”

Her arms wrapped around him and pulled him into her lap, a watery smile taking over her face as she let out a gurgling laugh. This child was hers now—she'd do Lily proud and raise him as well as she could.

She stood, letting her boy cling to her as she wrapped an arm under his rump and hefted him up. She tossed her hair back and gave the Dursleys a suitably proud and haughty look.

“I'll have the papers finalized tomorrow,” she stated self-righteously. Then she took her precious bundle and walked out the doors.

Harry didn't need anything from this well disguised hell-hole. He'd have a new life with her—a good life where he didn't have to worry and she'd do her Merlin best to make sure no one else ever even thought of making her Harry feel like he didn't have anything in the world.

She kissed his forehead as she stepped into her yard, smiling as the welcoming garden shielded her from the neighbours prying eyes. Under her care, and with the aid of the learning Harry, her transplanted shrubs and their sheltered seedlings had grown into an ensconcing wall of privacy, created a little world where she and Harry were just that—she and Harry.

And now it was all permanent.

….

-->

Well, here is what happened with Harry.

………………………………………………

Somehow this wasn't right.

Harry knew it.

The time turner still hung innocently from his fingers, but his eyes were staring at a much…younger…looking house on a less developed street than he'd expected. In a panic, he raced down the street and desperately searched through discarded papers for the date.

When he finally did find one, he had attracted enough glances and looks to send his paranoid mind into a tailspin. Jittery, huddled into the corner of an alley, he stared blankly at the date even as he jumped and twitched at everyone who passed the mouth of his hidey hole.

It was February of 1990, just a year before he had started Hogwarts.

A choking, disbelieving and slightly hysterical laugh bubbled up in his throat. It became sobs as he crumpled in that alley—cursing magic and fate and time and Ronald Weasley.

He didn't know what to do.

He twitched violently when he heard someone stop at the alley, and he looked up through bleary eyes and messy bangs to watch a couple hesitate and then approach him.

He hastily scrubbed at his eyes and struggled to stand under the sudden weight of the world. His shocked eyes met people he vaguely recognized, and then pieces of them struck his memory: that was Hermione's mouth, and her chin, and her nose and those freckles and that hair…

He gaped at the concerned couple.

“Are you alright boy?” the man asked gently, so gently that the name he'd been called so often at the Dursleys didn't raise his hackles and make his paranoia soar. Instead he felt strangely…safe.

Which made him even more paranoid.

And then the woman tentatively offered an open palm, “Do you need some help?” she inquired.

And Harry crumbled again. Somehow, for some reason, he trusted this couple unerringly. All his post war instincts rattled but he looked up at these two collages of a familiar face with absolute trust and despair.

Mrs. Granger tutted and carefully settled her hand on his arm. Mr. Granger placed a comforting and large hand on his shoulder, and Harry sobbed like he'd never done before.

Maybe this wasn't right, but somehow he could make it right.

He could find Hermione through them, he could fix this somehow, he could accept the Granger's help.

And he had never felt this safe before.

…

He had never expected this. Hearing none of his arguments they had taken him to their home with the offer of room and board, okay he had kind of expected that from the people who had raised Hermione, but it was Hermione that he hadn't expected.

She was so young.

And she was not his Hermione, not even the bossy little eleven year old he'd saved.

Harry shuffled nervously as this strange little Hermione glowered up at him and hugged her book to her chest. He hadn't really thought beyond actually getting to her…now he had no clue what to do with a young and very child like girl who was a painful reminder of the friend he had lost. He swallowed and looked down at her with sad eyes.

Hermione pouted and hugged her book tighter, her eyes dark and glaring as her entire spine stiffened and her school bag fell from her slight shoulders.

She was practically hiding behind a tome that was certainly too difficult for her to read…

Her mother smiled indulgently. “Are you actually reading this one Hermy?”

Hermione glowered darker. “My name is Hermione.” There was a pause as her mother raised her hands in mock surrender and the little girl shuffled nervously. “I'm on the third chapter.”

“Oh? Did you need some help? I was sure you were still struggling with the vowels.”

Hermione glared at the wall, subtly shifting her body in a way Harry recognized from his childhood: she wanted the conversation over with. “Dad bought me the dictionary.”

“That's right, so just call if you need something okay? I have to help Harry settle in.”

Hermione pouted and nodded.

Harry followed Mrs. Granger down the hall, looking back briefly to catch a very sad little Hermione staring down at her book. When she started to turn those sad eyes up to watch her mother he quickly caught up to the woman and made sure he looked like he hadn't been paying the child attention.

Harry cleared his throat as the Granger matriarch gestured to a clean white door with a smile. “This is our spare room; it's pretty sparse right now. I'll have to get Wendell to bring in the mirror and wardrobe.”

Harry swallowed as he stepped into the large room; large window, large bed, large desk, large bookshelf, clean floor, new plaster and paint… “This is just fine.” It was more than fine. When he'd run into the Granger couple in the street he hadn't expected anything more than awkward introductions—for Harry had looked so obviously like a street rat.

But the couple had demonstrated that they'd been the ones to raise their daughter into a socially conscious person.

“Well,” Mrs. Granger breathed, “dinner shall be at six. I'll leave you to busy yourself unpacking.” (Here she politely ignored Harry's obvious lack of anything to unpack.) She turned to go but paused with her hand on the doorjamb, looking over her shoulder. “I have to warn you about Hermione,” she smiled depreciatively, “she doesn't take nice to people.”

Harry blinked. “Ah, that's okay. I'm sure we can get used to each other. And I'm not going to impose long.”

She waved off his assertion with a matronly foreknowledge. “You're going to stay as long as it takes. Now, get settled in. I'll call you for dinner.”

She closed the door slightly as she left, giving him the illusion of privacy he'd never had in the Dursley home.

Harry sighed heavily and sat on the bed. Running his hands through his hair in frustration he fought back angry tears—he had no idea what was going on! How could little Hermione be so broody and inhospitable? It was nothing like who she'd been at Hogwarts.

A suspicious tingling rose up the back of his neck and he shivered.

He bit his lip and opened his eyes, catching the young girl carefully eyeing him from the hallway, as if he'd stand up and yell at her if she got too close. She jumped and hurried away, her thick hair making a whipping sound as she spun.

Harry closed his eyes. He couldn't stand seeing her like that.

….

Harry yawned and made his way down the stairs to the kitchen, wanting to help with breakfast. He entered the bright area while scratching his ribs, his eyes widening as he spotted little Hermione concentrating on that thick tome she always carried around. He stilled as he watched her mouth words, her brow furrowed. Her fingers stopped moving to trail along the lines of text, her eyes squinting as she whispered: “Dis-gunt, Dis-grunt-led, Dis-grunt-”

“Disgruntled,” Mrs. Granger pronounced softly and correctly from where she stood at the stove making French toast. She didn't look back to catch the utterly wounded expression on Hermione's face before she ducked her curly head back to the book.

She didn't whisper again after that.

Harry yawned loudly as he made his way into the room, watching Hermione's eyes move though she carefully didn't look up at him.

It had been like that the past week he'd been staying at the Granger household.

“Would you like some help Mrs. Granger?”

“I've told you to call me Monica, please just put some dishes on the table. Hermione got the lighter stuff earlier.”

Wendell Granger waltzed into the room with a whistle, his eyes sparkling and his hair still untidy from sleep. He was curiously absent of his business suit as he leaned and enthusiastically gave little Hermione a kiss on her curls. She smiled brightly and looked up to him with dimpled cheeks.

Harry looked away. “You're not going into work today?”

“I,” Wendell drew out, “have given myself the day off. I need to get some yard work done.”

Hermione looked up at them all quietly as the adults smiled.

“I'll help,” offered Harry; flushing because he was proud of his skills in botany. Life with the Dursleys and then friendship with Neville made for a potent green thumb combination.

“Great, we'll make a day of it!”

Harry grinned at the jovial man, so unused to him since his first impression of the Grangers had been rather stoic.

But he liked Wendell Granger when he was at home.

Hermione smiled softly at her father before she started packing up her school books and her reading tome.

The breakfast was filling but quick as they talked about what needed to be done. Then the breakfast was cleaned up and Hermione was prepared for the walk to school.

“Now remember what I told you about those kids.”

“But mom,” Hermione whined. Harry's mouth twitched at the evidence that Hermione was just as much of a child as anyone else had been.

“Hermione, listen. They're only using you because of the test on Friday. Be a good girl and don't let them walk all over you. I want you to make friends but not that way.”

Hermione glowered. “They think I'm smart.”

Mrs Granger softened and kneeled in front of her daughter. “And you are.” She added seriously, “but you don't need them to tell you that.”

Hermione sighed and looked at her Mary-Janes. “Yes mom.”

“Good,” she said briskly before kissing her daughter on the cheek.

Hermione was shooed out the door as Mrs. Granger waved and the little girl disappeared down the street.

Wendell Granger quietly put on his shoes and went into the yard.

They worked companionably for a few hours, but then lunch time rolled around and Monica brought out a tray for them. The two males settled into the freshly cut grass to snack and drink lemonade.

Wendell carefully rolled his glass in his hand, “Hermione likes Lemonade. But I was never sure if she preferred it sweet or tart.”

Harry blinked at the seemingly haphazard comment. “Oh?”

He cleared his throat—“I don't want you to think she's a problem child, Harry.”

Harry straightened and eyed the man. There was a curious sombreness, even as he was talking to a teenager who shouldn't really matter.

“Hermione had trouble communicating when she was little, and got teased plenty for it. But she's a smart little thing; and now she doesn't like people because she expects them to think she's stupid and treat her poorly.” Wendell looked at him with his dark eyes (where Hermione got her soulful gaze from most likely).

“That's why she doesn't like me in the house?”

Wendell laughed mirthlessly, but then he cleared his throat and smiled sincerely. “We really don't know, but she says you feel funny.” Harry scrunched up his face and felt that zing of paranoia but Wendell chuckled. “She's very sensitive like that.”

Harry stiffened and tried to blink his eyes because they were drying out. He swallowed and smiled sloppily to cover up his almost bout of tears.

Wendell was still chuckling as he brushed crumbs off his fingers. “Don't worry about it though; I just wanted to tell you that my Hermione is a wonderful little child. I don't want you so uncomfortable around her.” Wendell smiled and closed his eyes as he fell back into the grass.

Harry watched him and wondered why Hermione wasn't so carefree…wondered if she was when she was alone or at home and she didn't have to work so hard to be smart.

“I do like Hermione, she's adorable.”

Wendell grinned toothily. “There's the start. She'll work her way into your heart sooner or later.”

Harry laughed and fell back into the grass with the older man, happy to stare at clouds and wait a while to start trimming the hedges.

….

Hermione moped about the house until she ended up in the back yard sitting on an old swing. Harry had watched her drift from room to room ever since she'd come home. She had passed him without notice, a large sigh lifting her shoulders before her steps had crossed the patio and disappeared into the soft grass.

Harry, quietly, made his way out into the back yard.

Hermione rolled her eyes dolefully up to him, staring for a second before she looked away.

“Hermione?”

She pouted and kicked her feet at the ground. Harry stared at her a minute before smiling and pushing the swing. She squeaked and hurriedly grabbed onto the thick ropes. Harry pushed her a few more times, until he heard her giggle. A sigh escaped him as he walked around to watch her as the swing lost its momentum.

She ducked her head away from his gaze.

“Hermione,” he said calmly.

She pursed up her mouth and stuck her chin out as she stared straight at him—just as proud as he'd always known her.

Harry smiled lazily and he crouched in front of her, holding the swing still as she watched him quietly.

“How was school today? You had a test right?”

She swallowed and blinked her eyes quickly. “School was fine; I suspect I aced the test.”

“Of course you did,” he said softly.

“Of course,” she spoke firmly despite the trembling in her frame. “I mean it's not like I'm stupid, I'm almost two levels ahead now! And I did have that study group with the kids from…” she trailed off and then sniffled.

Harry tilted his head, sad and a little anxious as he watched her. “Weren't you supposed to go…?”

Hermione nodded her head and wiped furiously at her eyes.

“Oh Hermione,” Harry whispered before he pulled her off the swing and into his lap where he hugged her.

She trembled for second before she burst into tears—“I'm so stupid!”

Harry shushed and rocked her, his chin in her hair as he glared down the street. She curled deeper into him, and Harry felt his eyes burn as he held her. He was grateful that she'd finally opened up to him, but the reason for it made his heart feel heavy in his chest and his throat seize.

Poor Hermione.

This was too much like The Hunt: Hermione hysterical and sobbing and unsure. He felt that same desperate need to help, which spiralled out of control in his being and made him feel like he was on the run again. But he had to remain calm—he was going to do what he should have done then.

He stood up and seated himself on the swing, feeling Hermione tense in his arms as he lifted and settled. He shushed her and smoothed back her hair, kissing her temple as she shook and tried to catch her breath.

“It's okay,” he whispered.

And she broke out into more tears. He swallowed and pulled away a little to clean her face, staring into her large brown eyes as she snuffled and tried to blink away more salty drops.

“Really Hermione, they don't matter. I know that sounds crazy right now, but when you're older you'll have someone who knows you're special, and those kids will still be here—petty and stupid because they ignored what a wonderful little girl you are.”

She sniffled and looked up at him shyly, an open hesitation in her face that made him soften even more. Who knew Hermione had been such an adorable child? It was so easy to remember her stern bossy air; this child was a bundle of pleasant surprises that gave him an insight into the woman he used to know. He only regretted that he had learned all this too late, too long after Ron.

“Honest, Hermione, you're going to have the best friends in the whole world when you grow up. They'll do anything for you, just like you'll do for them.”

She took in a soft breath, leaning her head against his neck.

He curled his arms around her more, kissing the top of her tresses as her wet eyelashes brushed against him. She was so tiny in his arms, and Harry felt a part of him pinch and writhe with the idea that she hadn't had anyone to protect her like this before.

He glared out into the yard—he'd just have to make sure she was protected now, and he'd do a damn good job of it.

…

Harry yawned as he walked into the kitchen, set on getting a drink, when he paused right in his tracks. Hermione Jean Granger was far too miniature in this timeline to accomplish her goals. It was strangely cute, and Harry chuckled.

Hermione gave him a wide-eyed look from where she was stretched out, desperately extending her reach to the cookie jar just that-close to the edge of the counter. She blushed and quickly snapped her hand back down and hid it behind her back.

Harry didn't know what to do. As far as he knew, Hermione was allowed to snack whenever she felt like it. And he certainly hadn't seen her indulge as he knew Dudley would have with such freedom. He didn't like that look on her face, like she had been caught doing something wrong and was waiting for him to yell at her.

He quietly approached while smiling at her and watching her swallow and nervously chew her lip. With a conspiratorial grin he snuck his own hand into the cookie jar (much more easily than she ever could have) and grabbed two.

With a quick glance around he crouched down to her level and winked as he handed her one. She blushed but smiled—the shy raise of her shoulders shrouding her in curls before she giggled and ran from the room

A bemused Harry watched her from his crouched position, standing up to retrieve a glass of milk to go with his pilfered cookie and munching on it as he walked to his own room. Unable to resist, he glanced at Hermione's door as he passed.

It was a much pleasant change from his first impressions of the child. He resolved to do other little things for her so he could see that smile some more.

And he did. Books from the library ended up hidden in her room in a playful game, the swing somehow managed to offer her little flowers and trinkets when she was feeling down, a sample of the cookies that Harry baked always ended up on a small plate outside her door, and she never went without Harry giving her that conspiratorial wink when she looked particularly playful.

It was strange that, through these little things, Harry got so used to the mini-Hermione that he relaxed; even when she snuck up on him—which was her strange talent—he found he couldn't startle. She didn't make him paranoid or incite any of his post-war reflexive reaches for his wand.

That level of comfort with her eased the tension from his shoulders, and his mind gradually stopped the tailspin it had been in.

…

Harry woke up in fuzzy layers, his eyes heavy with sleep as he yawned. He froze at a small weight bundled against his side, but when he looked down to see Hermione snuffling into him and curling tighter he couldn't help but smile.

She must have snuck in during the night.

He sighed out in fond exasperation as he turned to look out the window—sure enough there was a heavy wetness clinging to the pane of glass. Absently, with his hand in her sleep-mussed curls, Harry arranged himself to draw Hermione into his arms and let her head rest over his heart.

He wondered if she ever got over her fear of storms.

…

Harry carefully looked down to spot little Hermione looking up at him with her big doe eyes. He softened and crouched down, pulling up his trouser legs and sitting with his hands held loosely—he didn't want to scare her. It had taken him a while to get used to her very gentle almost not there touches; he had gotten so used to the older Hermione's hugs. When Hermione Jean Granger gave you a hug, she gave you a hug.

She'd been the first to introduce Harry to the absolute emotion and comfort physical touch could be…he wondered who'd taught it to her.

Mini Hermione was nothing like her predecessor…or her future self. Her touches were so timid and light you could barely tell she was there sometimes. Harry had quite a few incidents where she would simply wait beside him patiently until he'd startle.

He never knew quite how long she'd been there.

When he did notice her, a light pressure against his sleeve or little hand slipping into his big one, he was always reminded of a timid kitten pawing for attention.

She smiled shyly and slowly offered him a book, her eyes sparkling hopefully as she stepped a little closer to him.

Harry smiled softly and took the book from her, handling the hardcover until he spotted the title: “Matilda?”

Hermione nodded.

“Okay, do you want to go to the couches?”

Hermione laughed and pushed him onto his rump, climbing into his lap carefully. Harry made certain not to frown or complain, because she was watching him for these things. She was always scared of an adult's disapproval. Kitten Hermione had slowly gotten used to him accepting her—he didn't want to damage all he had worked for.

So he settled his arms around her and opened the book. It was a strange thing to read a book to Hermione, but her enthusiasm pulled him in and he found himself enjoying it as much as the child did.

He cleared his throat and started the next chapter.

They were well into the book before Mrs. Granger came home, keys jingling in her hand as she absently glanced at them while passing. “Oh, hello you two.” She set down her briefcase as she walked around them, “What are we reading today?”

Hermione stiffened slightly in his lap and folded her hands primly. “It's about accepting oneself for your differences and sticking up for what you believe in.”

Harry's eyes flickered to Hermione and then back to the book. He caught on quickly and tried to subtly shift so the spine of the book wasn't visible to the matriarch.

Monica cleared her throat and tapped her foot.

Hermione ducked her head with a sheepish blush.

Harry grinned sloppily and twisted the book so she could see.

“Matilda?” she said, slightly incredulous.

Hermione nodded her head.

“I had thought you were going to focus on your studies,” Monica said this carefully as she crouched down to take the book and run her hands over the cover.

But it was Harry who was able to feel little shoulders tense defensively, close enough to Hermione with her frame in his arms. “I'll go do my homework,” she said this quietly as she slipped from his lap, and Harry looked up in time to catch the absolutely stricken look Monica wore.

He swallowed and turned to watch the small child scurry into the house, her book forgotten in her mother's hands.

“I had thought I was losing my little girl,” Monica choked out around tears.

Harry looked at her with rounded eyes, his face slack of any other expression as he took in a sharp breath and froze—unable to deal with the matriarch's tears though he handled her daughter so well.

Monica laughed wetly and sat on the grass, wiping at her eyes and biting her lip. “Harry, you mustn't think bad things. We just had no time or idea how to react when we found out Hermione had an impediment. She started stuttering in class when called upon and she always came home in tears.” She forced out another watery chuckle. “I couldn't handle it, nothing was stopping it. So we sent her to a specialist—she's levels ahead of her class now.”

Harry shifted slightly.

Monica sniffed. “I just lost her then, she was always working and studying and absolutely nothing at all like my precious happy little girl.”

Harry blew out a heavy breath.

“I tried my best to encourage her, but everything…” she sighed and looked down at her shoes. Her smile was bitter when she turned back to face him. “I'm sorry Harry.”

“What for?”

“I almost made you miss out on what a darling Hermione is—she's always worried about other people you know. And she tried so hard to impress me and be the best…and she forgot that I wanted her to be happy. Now she thinks I don't want her to be the little girl she was.”

Harry swallowed. “I found her anyway, she's still there.”

Mrs. Granger laughed bitterly. “And hiding from me; thank you Harry, for bringing her out.”

“Mrs. Granger, Hermione …I think she wants to be your little girl. Just…talk to her yeah? Like you talk to me.”

Monica laughed, standing up carefully before ruffling his hair. “I shall.” She looked down at him warmly, a mothering look that made Harry's heart clench. “You're part of the family too Harry. You may not be little, but you're my boy.” She sighed and straightened, seemingly unaware of the way Harry choked and stilled. “I best go start dinner, be sure to clean up.”

“I will,” he called after her softly, unable to do much else as his heart raced and a warm bubbly feeling overtook his blood. His grin split his cheeks as he fell backwards into the grass.

He was part of the family.

…

A happy breath escaped him as he flopped back onto his bed, he'd done enough chores for the day that the Grangers would be pleasantly surprised when they got home from picking up Hermione. And the Granger household, initially so much better than the Dursleys, had now leapt to unimaginable proportions and carried more joy for him than the Burrow.

As he smiled from hearing the front door open and people entering the house the expression froze on his face. There was a peculiar silence carried in with their entrance.

Quietly, he strode from his room to the entry way.

His shoulders rose defensively and his eyes darted about as he glanced around for what could be causing this strange silence, and he felt a long forgotten yearning to have his wand in his hand—to prepare for the next possible attack.

Instead of such a situation, Wendell gave him a smile and a pat on the shoulder, his approving eyes glancing around the clean hall that opened into the living room. Monica gave him a tight smile, gesturing with her head to the little Hermione.

It had become, by unspoken agreement, his job to talk to mini-Hermione because he was the best at getting her to open up. He looked down to see the stiff Hermione carefully taking off her shoes, setting her school bag aside as she toed off her Mary-Janes and arranged them neatly on the shoe shelf.

Harry started to relax.

Minnie turned her tired expression up to the adults, and then a very stricken look overcame her when she spotted Harry. He straightened in shock as her face crumbled and she burst into tears, abruptly running away from them and up the stairs.

He swallowed the sudden thick feeling in his throat. “What happened?”

Monica sighed and leaned into her husband for support. Wendell put an arm around her shoulders and kissed her temple. “Something went on at school, the teachers aren't even sure what happened but all the parents were called in to pick up their kids. And I mean every parent!” Her voice rose shrilly before choking on a sob.

Wendell cleared his throat and shifted his wife into his chest, giving grave eyes to Harry before he spoke softly, “All the kids are silent, and no one knows what happened.”

Harry, quietly, nodded his head and started a subdued trek up the stairs. Kitten Hermione proved elusive the ten minutes he searched for her, and he sat heavily upon her bed as his heart clenched. This was so like the old little Hermione, quiet and scared, that he worried he'd lost the Kitten that had emerged over the weeks he'd stayed in the Granger home.

His heart broke a little at the thought.

A small sniffle interrupted his pained thoughts, and his breath caught as he stilled. Again the sniffle came, and Harry's shocked face sobered before he carefully kneeled down and lifted up the bed skirt.

Bright amber eyes stared out at him from in the shadows under the bed, dust drifting in fuzzy illuminated particles from the light he let in. Her hair was a frizzy mess, clinging to the static of her mattress and the pillow she cradled.

Harry softened and reached out when he realized it was the pillow she used in his room, on the nights when storms raged. Carefully, he cradled the top of her curly head in his hands so she didn't scrape herself on the wires supporting the bed as he pulled the young girl out of her hiding place.

“Hey,” he whispered softly as he drew her into his lap.

She sniffed a long inhale and looked away, longingly, to back under the bed. Harry's jaw tightened almost painfully and he used a hand to turn her face to him. Her eyes were red, and her face blotchy, and underneath that static mess of hair she looked absolutely miserable.

Harry swallowed and smoothed his hand down her head, flattening her hair before it sprung back up into curls. He hoped she'd spring back just as easily, he'd found a home with the Grangers, and it was becoming even more obvious to him that this was his family.

Every fibre of his being was set on protecting that peace he'd found, the little Hermione he'd discovered.

“I heard something happened at school,” he whispered into her curls, snuggling into her until she let the pillow go and clung to him instead. Her arms tightened, small and band-like, but she refused to answer to his almost inquiry.

There was a silence between them, expectant but somehow not oppressing.

Then Hermione sniffled and buried her face in his shoulder.

A sigh escaped him as he gathered her up, standing only to plop onto her small bed. She continued sobbing, unbothered by the move, and Harry shushed her and wrapped as much of him around her as he could.

“I'm not good at being a friend!” she abruptly wailed into his chest, her voice heavy and choked and her face red and crumpled when she pulled it away to look at him imploringly. “I can't do one thing right!”

Harry made a sound deep in his throat—half incredulous and half amused—because it was so easy to remember how good older Hermione had been at being his friend. Even when he'd thought she wasn't on his side she was still watching his back—miniature Mione couldn't possibly be bad at being a friend.

But she thought she was, and she was sobbing into him so hard that her whole body shook.

Harry shushed and cooed at her, running his fingers through her curls and trying to get her sobs and then hiccups to settle. “Minnie?” he asked when it seemed that she'd calmed down enough to listen.

Her eyes rolled up and she looked at him dolefully through thick wet lashes.

“I know you'll be the best friend ever.”

“But I didn't do anything!” she wailed, “How can I ever be a good friend if I can't do anything?”

Harry choked on his breath and pulled her into a tight hug. “You will be the best friend ever—never doubt that. You can do anything you set your mind to.”

“But I couldn't,” she warbled out. Then she broke and confessed.

Harry listened as mini-Hermione told him about her day. Apparently the new girl was being bullied and Hermione, eager for the friends Harry had told her she'd have, had stepped in to stop it. Instead the girl had turned on her and tried to redirect the teasing

While she had correctly sussed out Hermione's outcast status, she hadn't counted on the kids simply expanding their aggression instead of transferring it. In the end, the little girl had needed to go to the nurse's office and Hermione's supplies had been destroyed and tossed at her.

The new girl was transferring back to her old school.

“I tried to help her! I really did!” Hermione sniffled, rubbing at her eyes before fisting his shirt in her small hands and looking up at him pleadingly.

Harry, a part of him softening and warming to the little girl in his lap, felt yet another part warming for the old Hermione—the one he hadn't understood quite as much until now.

This was the little girl who read voraciously in defiance of all the people that told her she couldn't, the one who proved them wrong, the one who didn't ever want to be limited by them judging her. Harry, a little scared, realized that all she'd ever done was in the name of someone else, proving something to them or helping them.

He wondered why he didn't see it before.

Hermione, beautiful, kind, generous Hermione, thought she'd only have friends if she was useful.

An anger rose up in him—a magic and rage that he'd experienced many times when he thought someone was treating him unfairly. This time it rose in defence of the Hermione-that-was—and to protect that Hermione-that-could-be.

“Never,” he said softly but firmly, “think that you aren't special or worth friendship, Minnie. You don't have to do anything to deserve it—you're kind and smart and just perfect the way you are.”

She looked up at him doubtfully, but she didn't say anything.

….

Harry couldn't help but laugh when Hermione came in from playing in the back yard—she pouted up at him for it and crossed her arms, but looked too adorable for him to quit.

Stifling his chuckles as best he could, he approached and crouched down in front of her. “What exactly have you been up to, Minnie?” His eyes darted up to her hair and he reached to dislodge one of the many twigs that had tangled there. It was a suspicious match to the tree in the corner of the yard, the one with the swing, that he was sure Hermione would never climb due to her fear of heights.

She huffed at him but dropped her arms, adding the puppy dog eyes to her pout. When she blinked he immediately stopped chuckling. How could one little girl be that impossibly cute? He might have to prepare himself for beating the boys away from her when they smartened up.

“I needed to get something,” she insisted to him.

Harry smiled, “You told me you never wanted to be a bird, and here you are trying to nest in the trees.”

Minnie blushed and shuffled her feet—looking up at him from under her lashes and wayward curls. “Here,” she whispered shyly, offering up her hand and opening it until he could see what she clutched.

His breath caught and he stared down at her occupied palm. Reaching out he tenderly caressed the feather she'd retrieved and then stared at the delicate looking shell.

It was a robin's egg blue, and it instantly recalled what had started their conversation about flying. Reading on the swing in the backyard he'd spotted the two robins teaching their chicks how to spread their wings.

He swallowed. “Thank you,” he managed quietly.

Minnie bit her lip and shyly tucked her shoulders in, “I'm sorry you can't fly.”

Harry broke and pulled her into a careful hug, avoiding the treasures she clutched. “I'm not sorry—I don't think I could leave you on the ground.”

Minnie beamed up at him.

…

As the summer months approached, Harry—somehow so comfortable he wasn't worrying about war or fighting or what was hiding behind the next corner—started to see something he never expected.

Mini-Hermione, who had come out of her shell and was starting to laugh around her parents, started to close up again.

And it wasn't until he overheard the Grangers talking that he had an idea why.

Sitting on the steps over the living room he closed his eyes and tilted his head to rest on the railing.

“Wendell, Ms. Banks was insistent that we give her the timeline soon. We can't keep her waiting if we still want her services.”

There was a silence before the head of the house replied, “Honey, I'm not so sure I want Hermione with her again.”

There was an even longer silence.

“But what else can we do? We've done this every summer and you've never had a problem before,” she stated the last part exasperatedly.

Harry swallowed.

“How about,” Wendell began slowly, carefully, “we have Ms. Banks over to meet with Harry and Hermione, and we can discuss it then?”

Monica blew out a heavy breath and agreed with a strained voice, recognizing the need to recoup.

And then Harry met Ms. Banks.

He didn't hate her immediately, but he sensed something off with the stiff woman that had, at first, reminded him a bit of Professor McGonagall. Then Minnie walked into the room and froze upon spotting the woman.

“Well,” the matron said briskly, “Where did your manners disappear to?”

Minnie blinked rapidly, eyes darting between her parents and Harry and the guest before she stuck her chin up and approached the lady. “Good Evening, Ms. Banks,” she said—and Harry noticed her quivering clenched hands staying hidden in her skirt even as he recognized the prim bossy tone from his first year at Hogwarts.

“That's much better; we can't have a heathen running about. Now,” the woman easily dismissed Minnie, shifting in her seat to regard the parents, “can we start our discussion? I am a tad strapped for time.”

Wendell wasn't even looking at her, but staring at the mini-Hermione that was stiff and silent amidst them.

Monica was looking at Mrs. Banks with a confused expression, her features sharp and brows skewed.

Harry turned from them all and gestured for Hermione to come to him. She looked up at him with a pale sickly face, and then looked straight back at Ms. Banks. Harry gestured for her again, his face gentle, and the little girl bit her lip before inching her way to him carefully. She finally, tentatively, offered him a smile when he moved to pick her up into his lap.

“What are you doing?” the shrill inquiry wiped the smile right off those freckled cheeks.

Harry straightened a little stiffly, Hermione secured in his lap though she had made a move to get off. “I was holding Minnie.”

Ms. Banks sniffed. “That's not proper for a little lady, put her down. She can sit on her own. And that nickname?” she scoffed

Harry felt quite like he had with Umbridge, angry and hurt and confused, and he couldn't reconcile that feeling existing under the Granger roof.

In his confusion, he released his hold on Hermione.

Except the wounded look she gave him as she got off his lap galvanized him into action. Quickly standing, he scooped Minnie into his arms and made to walk right out of the room.

“Young man! Stop right this instant! How rude of you, I have it in good mind to smack you. Have your parents not told you to mind your manners?”

Harry stiffened and turned back to face the room; Minnie tucked her head into his neck as she clung tightly to him. “My parents never had the time to teach me anything, Ma'am, and even if they had I wouldn't abide by you.”

Ms. Banks stuck up her chin in a satisfied air. “We can certainly tell! What rudeness! They must be just as horrible as you.”

Harry tucked his chin down over Hermione; though it was once an action to protect himself it was now also to protect his Minnie. “My parents died when I was young, but I have it on good authority that they were the best of the lot.”

Ms. Banks looked pole-axed only briefly before her nose crinkled and she let out a heavy breath, “Forgive me then, for bringing it up. But it still stands that you were not excused. In fact, Miss Hermione, even you should know better.”

“Ms. Banks,” Monica said in a strangled voice, and Harry's eyes darted over to see an angry Wendell and a wide eyed wife staring at the elder woman in their home. The stranger turned to them placidly, and then Monica continued in a strained even tone, “I don't think we require your services this summer, though we thank you for your time.”

Ms. Banks looked at them inscrutably before she nodded her head and shouldered her purse, giving a tight `good day' before she waltzed right out of the house without waiting to be escorted to the door.

“Harry,” Monica continued after a bit, turning to him. “I know we really shouldn't rely on you like this, but would you mind terribly if we paid you to look after Hermione this summer? I know it's not what boys your age would prefer to be doing, but would you consider it?”

Wendell opened his closed eyes, looking calmer than he had been lately, and smiled. “It would only be for the mornings mostly, and sometimes when we have late appointments or business meetings.”

“No,” all three Grangers stiffened at his response. “I'm not getting paid to look after Minnie—I enjoy spending time with her and she shouldn't have to think I need to be compensated for it.”

Minnie gasped in a quiet sob, and Harry completely turned his attention to her. Her eyes were wet, and she was shaking, but there was a smile on her lips and her skin had regained its rosy tone.

“Hey Minnie, how about it? Do you want to spend your summer with me?”

She nodded her head emphatically and grinned full out: displaying the large front teeth and dimples he'd missed so much in the past few weeks.

“That's settled then,” Mr. Granger said in satisfaction, standing up and straightening his slacks. As he made to leave the room he hesitated, doubling back and running his hand over Minnie's wayward curls.

She turned to him, confused, and Wendell smiled softly. “I'm sorry, poppet; we were just trying to do our best.”

He kissed her forehead and gave Harry a respectful nod before he left the room for his den.

Monica watched them with sad eyes and a bitter smile. She too rubbed her hand through Minnie's hair, letting her fingers come back up briefly to rub her knuckles on her daughter's cheek before she gave them a quiet good night and left the room.

Harry and Minnie stared at each other, straight and silent, before he smiled and she broke out into another grin.

The next morning, over breakfast, Wendell tentatively offered the idea of spending one night a week with just the family.

Minnie absolutely lit up.

….

On one of their card nights, when Minnie was running to get the tray of cookies she and Harry had made that morning (getting flour all over each other somehow), Wendell cleared his throat and Monica carefully checked the kitchen door.

When she had resettled, they both turned to him and, very solemnly, thanked him.

Harry blinked and rubbed the back of his neck.

Monica grinned and maternally straightened his hair while Wendell smiled at his wife and the strange boy they'd taken in.

Harry blushed.

Wendell laughed and leaned forward, listening carefully to the clinking of Hermione trying to get a plate. “You brought out the best in Hermione; we're thanking you for that. We're glad you're staying with us and teaching us how to show our love for our daughter, because we've missed out on doing that before.”

“Thank you for being part of the family,” Monica added softly.

And Harry was too choked up to reply before Hermione was waltzing back in, proudly displaying the messily animal shaped cookies they'd created.

Both the parents exclaimed and delighted over the artsy pieces, making a game out of guessing which animals were what before they resettled into their game.

The strange green-eyed boy who'd become quite firmly adopted into the home watched as Hermione glowed under the loving attention she was receiving, just playing with her parents and talking to them.

Harry smiled.

…

The summer flew by with many wonderful nights like these, and it was in no time at all that Hermione was back in school and at tutoring and the Grangers were back at their practice full time.

On this particular day Harry was the one to pick up Hermione from school, arriving earlier because the Grangers wanted him to talk to her tutor about rearranging her schedule. They were thinking about making Friday family night—to keep that connection with their daughter that they had developed over the summer.

He was proud of them for that decision—having witnessed firsthand how unsure Hermione was in her relationship with them.

Stopping his whistling, he checked in at the office before making his way to the library. He tipped his head to the librarian (a much nicer looking woman than Madame Pince) and headed unerringly to the back study rooms. Because the library was so empty the doors were open, and he could hear Minnie talking with someone.

Still hidden by the stacks he stopped right in his tracks with shock, his wide eyes taking in the scene as Minnie started crying.

“O shut up—we're in the library. You have to get it this session otherwise I'm talking to your parents. I can't believe we've gone over this three times already.” The teenager huffed and yanked some papers from under Minnie's hands.

Minnie was hyperventilating, trying to keep her sobs in, and her eyes were fixed on the papers as the girl rearranged them. “I'm sorry,” she finally managed out, reaching out tentatively to take back the papers, “I'll try again.”

The girl snorted, “I doubt it'll do much good. Are you even doing your practice work? It's like we haven't studied together at all.”

“I, I have,” Minnie whispered.

The girl eyed her suspiciously. “Well, then I guess there's no point. You just can't learn this. I should talk to your parents about cancelling the sessions—there are much more worthwhile things to do with my time.”

Minnie burst into tears again as the girl started to clean up her things.

Harry, angry and protective, got over his shock and rounded the stacks to approach the little study room. The girl looked up in surprise before a pleased expression came over her and she gave him the once over. He gave her a disgusted look before turning to the hiccupping Minnie.

Her big amber eyes were looking up at him, her lashes thick with salty tears and her cheeks flushed around her freckles. He gave her a small smile before pulling her right up into his arms, hugging her as her legs wrapped around his waist and she choked on a small sob.

The girl sat heavily back in the chair, stunned herself, and gaped as he turned to her with angry eyes. “I think these sessions are cancelled, I'll inform the Grangers and the department Head, don't you worry about wasting your time,” he practically snarled out as he snatched up Minnie's bag and stormed to the office with Minnie clinging to him.

He shocked the office staff when he waltzed right in and announced that the tutoring sessions were from here on out cancelled, but a crying Minnie kept them from asking too many questions. He used the office phone, amidst curious stares, to ring the Grangers and inform them that he was taking a slight detour to a park before they headed home.

They remained oblivious, but he'd tell them after supper without an audience.

Minnie's head remained tucked under his chin, ignoring the world, as he walked down the street to the swings.

After a bit of the walk she sniffled and rubbed her eyes against his shoulder. He twisted enough to kiss her crown of curls before shrugging and bouncing her. She gave him a watery giggle.

“What was that about?” he asked softly. She looked up at him guiltily, and he shook his head before kissing her nose. “Nah, little girl, I don't care about the tutoring. Why was she so mean to you?”

Minnie swallowed, “I don't understand long division.”

“We can go over the division later if you like—I'm not the best at it, but we'll muddle through.”

“O I can divide just fine! It's the whole process! I don't understand how everyone else ends up with such a long column!” she exclaimed, leaning back in his arms and looking up at him with wide eyes.

Harry stopped, stunned again, and then smiled. It figured Hermione could calculate the best numbers in her head and then write them down, making everyone assume she was cheating with a calculator. He shook his head and kissed her brow; Minnie looked up at him strangely, but smiled back.

He kissed her forehead again and laughed. “You are the most brilliant little girl ever!”

Minnie gaped at him, her face brightening until they were both grinning and racing to the park to enjoy the swings.

Just when the park was in sight, Minnie stumbled into a lost looking little boy, and Harry grasped her protectively so she wouldn't fall.

When he raised his eyes to check on the other kid, the world fell out from under him for the second time since this whole Time fiasco had started.

-->

Harry noticed it right away—how could he miss it? It was himself. He blinked and stood still, little Hermione hanging onto his hand as she looked up at him. Harry had never known how small she was until he'd come back.

And it was even more obvious now—staring at younger Harry. Even he was bigger than the little Granger girl. Mini-Hermione shyly clasped his hand with both of hers, hiding her face slightly in her raised arms.

Little Harry blinked from behind glasses that actually fit his face, his magnified green eyes slowly drifting from the little girl to travel up older Harry's tall length.

The little boy gulped visibly.

“JP!” sounded a frantically relieved shout, and Harry felt his blood rush along his veins at the familiar and often missed voice.

But how?

A young woman quickly grasped little Harry by the hand, worriedly looking over him to see if he had any injuries. Older Harry shook himself and slowly let his eyes travel from brown leather boots up dark jeans to the light green blouse. The woman huffed out a relieved breath before turning to look at him, her jaw dropping and her lips rounding.

“Harry?”

“Hermione?”

The two adults stared at each other for a silent moment, their respective children hiding behind their legs. Then a slow smile spread across Hermione's face and an incredulous laugh echoed up from her throat.

Mini Harry slowly emerged from behind her pant legs, his face twitching to a grin as he looked up to the curly haired brunette. Older Harry twitched his lips into a smile—little Harry was just as enamoured with Hermione's laugh as he had been.

It was such a rare thing—where she threw back her head and let out the rich sound.

She gasped as she tried to calm herself, her eyes tearing with laughter as her smile fought her lips. Harry was too shocked to do more than smile crookedly, gently pushing miniature Hermione in front of him and putting his hands on her shoulders.

When his older best friend had settled she smiled nicely at him—Harry swallowed at the tears she was visibly fighting.

“You changed your hair,” was all he could manage.

Hermione blushed, absently reaching a hand up to brush the fringe of bangs that somehow made her eyes larger. “Yeah, it's more professional for my job.”

“Ah,” Harry responded, staring at this living ghost. “I couldn't find you for so long.”

Hermione winced and chuckled wetly. “It couldn't be helped. I never expected to see you again either.” She swallowed and looked up at him shyly, “But I really missed you.”

Harry smiled.

Minnie was quiet as she usually was when around other people. Harry still hadn't managed to help her with that habit.

But mini Harry glowered up at him and then hugged older Hermione's leg. Harry blinked down at the little boy clutching onto her, recognizing that possessive and yet shy stance as one mini-Hermione often took…the one she was in right now. As if Harry, he Harry not the little one, would be torn away from her with the slightest aggression.

He swallowed heavily as he looked into older Hermione's eyes, entranced with the set and amused way she eyed him as little Harry clutched onto her like Mini-Mione held onto him.

They exchanged contact information with the promise to get in touch. Hermione and Harry desperately needed that contact, after everything they had gone through, and they thought the kids could use a friend their own age.

Days later, Hermione got her first letter through the owl post. Harry was surprised to note that she had a year before she had to attend, a year to explore the world through books and Diagon Alley. She struggled with her pronunciation of such foreign words until Harry quietly helped her. It was oddly reminiscent of that charms class when she'd paid such close attention to Flitwick in order to do the levitation charm. Understanding why, now, made his throat close up. He couldn't stand it if Minnie went to Hogwarts only to experience the same first few months Hermione did.

But Minnie was ecstatic—she was magic.

…

It was rather strange, Hermione supposed. She had come back into the past with the intention of expanding little Harry's life so that he would never be isolated and alone and ignorant.

And instead she had created a little safe haven for JP and her.

Having Harry and the mini-Hermione suddenly thrust into that world called attention to her gross actions. This was not what she had planned.

In her original plans, counting first on the earth magic to recognize her plea, she would have gone back and made the world see what a little wonder Harry was. She would have put him in clubs to build his confidence and reputation and helped him in school so that he'd have an easier time of it in Hogwarts.

She would have made him aware of how the world works, and how to get around the rules that merely existed for history's sake.

He would have been aware of…of how to live his life and ask questions, the right questions, so he wouldn't have the same Hogwarts the original trio did.

(Hermione sometimes wondered if a Harry like that would have even needed a friend like her.)

But suddenly Hermione was desperate to talk to Harry, to be around Harry like they were old friends (well, because they were, as strange and unreal as time travel made that).

She sighed and turned from the sink, wiping her hands off and eyeing the drying dishes. JP came charging through the room, his recovered yoyo swinging about haphazardly and a towel tied around him like a cape.

Hermione laughed and shook her head.

Because it didn't matter.

She had JP, and, previous good intentions aside, she'd learned enough about time travel to know that things always happened for a reason, there were certain pivotal events that only skewed but never diverged from their original happenings.

Though they had created a small little haven for the two of them, it was expanding for Harry and Minnie—Time and Earth were making sure things were going the way they were supposed to.

Hermione didn't have to worry.

…

Monica Granger called him down just minutes after the phone rang, and Harry awkwardly took the phone from her under her knowing, catlike gaze. He blinked as he greeted whoever was on the line as the woman hummed and made her way back into the den.

“Harry!” came a familiar voice, garbled only slightly by electronics.

“Hermione!” Harry lit up, his eyes briefly catching Monica's bewildered peek back into the room and Minnie's inquiring glance up. Harry laughed before pulling the receiver away from his mouth, “Minnie, it's the lady from the park, with the little boy remember?”

Minnie looked slightly unsure, but nodded her head and pretended to return to her book. Harry smiled, keen to her interest and not having any plans to make her doubt what could be the most wonderful relationship in both of their lives.

Laughter greeted him from the receiver, “It's a good thing you already have a nickname for me!”

“And you and JP?” he inquired jokingly, some part recognizing that they'd both been unable to see each other in their childish counterparts and had to rename them, another part recognizing that the kids were entirely separate from them and needed to be known as independent persons.

No matter how wonderful their predecessors were.

She laughed again, “Speaking of the children, I was wondering if they could get together on a play date? Maybe we could even have time to catch up?”

Harry licked his lips and smiled. “That sounds like fun, but I'll have to ask the Grangers and Minnie.”

Hermione's breath caught, and Harry felt himself in some strange position. Older Hermione had lost her parents, how would she be able to deal with this without breaking down or touching them as had once been her right?

“That sounds fine; do you think you could call back later?”

Harry, desperate from the tone of her voice, rushed to stop her from hanging up—“No need. I'll just be a minute—we're all home tonight.”

“Okay,” came softly over the line.

Harry swallowed and slowly pulled the receiver away. First, he turned to Minnie: “Did you want to go play with that young boy?” he covered the receiver, just in case.

Minnie's eyes darted up to him, fast and searching. She quickly looked back down at her book, “I'm reading,” she said softly.

Harry cleared his throat and crouched down in front of her, careful of the phone cord. “I promise he'll be nothing like those kids at school, and if he is, I assure you that the other Hermione will very readily take him to task for it. I knew her in school see? And she always hated bullying. It's also why I know the other Harry won't be mean, because if she's had a hand in raising him then he has to be a kind little boy.”

Minnie glanced up at him, her eyes doubtful, but Harry had caught the snitch and she sighed before shyly nodding her head, a hopeful light entering her eyes and a timid grin concealing her front teeth.

Harry smiled at her and brushed her curls back with his free hand before standing and turning to face Monica. The woman was gazing at him in curiosity, but there was also trust. Harry felt winded by this very real reminder that he was part of the family.

“Why don't you all go to the park down the way?” The mother smiled at her daughter.

Harry grinned as Minnie closed her book.

Turning back to the phone he could scarcely conceal his excitement—“The park just out of Chelsea okay with you two?”

Hermione hesitated, an audible silence, before she assented. They made plans to meet at the end of the hour, and Harry grinned at an equally excited Minnie before they both rushed around the house to get ready for their excursion.

They made it just within the hour—what with: “I forgot my wallet!” Harry, and “I need a book! Just in case!” Minnie. Still, they made it.

Harry could spot Hermione walking with little Harry from the car park. It was strange to see an expression so like Minnie's on his young face: at once hopeful yet also dreadful.

Hermione grinned, glancing uneasily around the park, before she crouched in front of Minnie. “Hello, my name's Hermione.”

Harry marvelled at his old friend, once again struck by her brilliance even though this was, well, herself, and she should know exactly how to do it. Minnie's shyness lifted slightly and she reached out a hand, “My name's Hermione too,” she said firmly.

Hermione grinned. “It's a beautiful name.”

Minnie blushed and smiled as she ducked her head into Harry's knee.

Harry snorted out a laugh and then knelt down to the two girls and the little boy who was gazing at them both in curiosity while clinging to Hermione's sleeve. “And this is another Harry?” he half-inquired.

Little Harry made a funny face, one that made Minnie twitch (though she didn't laugh), and pouted, “I'm JP!”

Hermione grinned at the child and gave him a loud kiss on the cheek. JP, unlike other little boys, didn't blush and wipe off his cheek immediately. Instead he grinned and tucked himself more into the woman who was so affectionate with him.

Harry swallowed and offered Hermione a wobbly smile.

“Well,” Hermione said briskly, “I see a few empty swings, how about it?”

JP cheered and dragged her off, Minnie and Harry following at a more sedate, cautious pace.

Harry and Hermione played with the kids, both still too shy to actually leave their respective adults to conversation. So they pushed them on the swings and helped them across the monkey bars. It wasn't an instant friendship for the kids, but it also wasn't an instant hate.

Harry quietly noted both children's relieved expressions when neither were teased, even when Minnie settled and pulled out her book and little Harry sat in Hermione's lap to get help braiding some grass.

…

While JP was doing exceptionally better in school, now that he didn't have to worry about bullying children and biased adults, there were still days when he came home rather subdued. Such a day was today.

Hermione sighed, setting aside some cookies to cool before carefully filling up two glasses of milk.

A few moments later, she was taking the snack tray up the stairs and to the library that she and JP were finishing homework in. Though getting the homework done straight off was part of their usual routine, JP's sullen mood added a different tension to their study time.

That was the reason for (surprise!) peanut butter cookies.

Hermione smiled as she opened the door with her hip, JP's head darting up to her when he smelled the cookies.

A grin split his face, and was reflected on hers, and then they were settling onto another couch (homework forgotten on the table!) as Hermione opened up a book about fantasy and magic.

The duo was engrossed in the tale for a while, until there was only one cookie left on the tray and maybe a sip of milk between their two glasses.

JP stared at the cookie before reaching for it, breaking it in half and looking up at her when he offered her one side.

Hermione smiled and kissed his head as she took it, pulling him into her body so that he curled into her and she could give him a sideways hug.

“So, how was your class?”

JP scrunched up his face and then buried it in her neck.

Hermione twitched, still slightly ticklish from her childhood, but curled herself more around the child that was now hers. She'd braved the police and social services and several nosy teachers to keep him—and she'd keep him happy.

She sighed and started humming; remembering her mother's heat and scent from the rare times they'd shared a hug in her childhood. She almost wished JP could also experience the presence of a father like she had—the sweet cherry pipe smoke and reassuring presence of a man that, though distant, was solid and steady.

“Do you think Minnie would want to play again?” JP asked tentatively.

Hermione inhaled slowly, “I think she would very much like that. She's rather shy isn't she? Maybe she doesn't have many friends.”

JP took in a big breath that fully expanded his rib cage against her. “Yeah,” he paused and looked up at her, big green eyes between sooty lashes and wire frames (Hermione, even after all this time, still melted when he looked at her like that). “But do you think she wants to be my friend?”

“Oh, of course she does!” Hermione exclaimed with her eyes wide as she hurriedly snuggled her boy. “You are a wonderful little man, JP, and I doubt she didn't notice.”

“But they haven't called…”

Hermione sighed and kissed his head. “It's only been a few days. We have to give things time. Minnie might be just as unsure as you, imagine that.”

JP pursed his lips and nodded his head, tenderly laying it back down against her collarbone as she resumed her humming, the nostalgic lyrics slipping from between her lips as she gave in to the comfort for both of them.

No matter the day JP had at school, they had each other.

And Hermione was sure Minnie or Harry would call soon.

They were fated to be friends.

…

After that mostly successful first play date, Harry contemplated setting up another one. It had been enjoyable, but it didn't exactly create an opportunity for the two older versions of themselves to sit and have that much needed chat. Harry thought they needed that. They had always been friends who were honest with each other, who had no secrets or questions between them. He wanted that now.

Still, Hermione lived in Little Whinging, such a strange thought of the neighbourhood he'd previously found nothing worthwhile in, so they had to take care about transport—though Hermione confessed an adept knowledge of the underground.

Harry didn't want to always make her go too far out of her way in order to keep in touch. He desperately wanted to keep in touch and re-establish that camaraderie that had once been theirs—but he also couldn't find the bravery to go to Privet Drive again.

Then Minnie quietly approached, and, as was her way, stood beside him until he realized she was there (he was getting quicker at it). She swallowed and looked up at him shyly, big hopeful brown eyes wide over her freckles. “Harry, can we…see JP and Hermione again?” she asked softly.

And Harry found he would do anything for that little girl that had finally outright asked something of him. “Sure, let me just call her up and we can set up another time.”

Minnie flushed, “There's a long weekend coming up, we won't have to get in early.”

Harry sat back slightly, but then swallowed and smoothed her hair back before going to make the call.

Hermione was delighted, and, despite Harry's misgivings, this coming Friday break they'd be going to the park just outside Privet Drive.

That Friday a near pale Harry found himself once again in the little satellite town south of London proper and swallowed heavily as he went to that dreadfully familiar park. He could all too easily remember Dudley chasing him up that tree, or pushing him off that piece of equipment, and smacking him down so hard—just right there—so that the blood in his mouth also tasted like the sand from the impact.

He took in a deep breath and closed his eyes, Minnie tightly clutching to his fingers in this strange new park with all the kids.

And then Hermione was walking up the street, laughing and swinging JP up into her arms before waving at the two stolid figures standing in the park. Harry's breath caught—his eyes sparkling when Hermione grinned and JP laughed.

He watched the very happy pair make their way to them, and he noted the way the parents didn't draw their children away, and the way the children didn't give any sign of negative tendencies towards little Harry.

Their play date was quite the same as the last one, even ending up with a book and grass-plaiting, but the children were more at ease with each other, and Hermione was much happier.

Harry, despite being in Little Whinging and without any answers, was strangely content.

…

After a few more park play dates, trading between ones close to either of their homes, Mrs. Granger got curious enough to inquire about Hermione and JP, and then tentatively offer a lunch date at their home.

Despite being wary, both Harry and Hermione had agreed to set up a luncheon for the kids' sake. Minnie was very excited to share her swing, and JP wanted to go to someone's house.

(And, because they were themselves and not themselves, both understood the need for the children to have this. Even if it hurt Hermione to see her parents and yet not be with them and even if it scared Harry to be so much a part of this family though his friend wasn't.)

So on a Saturday, when the kids promised to complete their homework the Friday night before, their date was set. Minnie practically vibrated with excitement, watching the front walk.

When she squealed and a bell rang through the hall Harry could only shake his head and get up from the couch. Wendell folded down one corner of the paper, eyes twinkling at his daughter before he curiously looked towards the foyer. Monica peaked out of the kitchen with a grin, wiping off her hands on her apron.

At the opening of the door, and the entrance of the two new strangers, Harry watched Monica's face go slack with surprise and Wendell firmly place the paper down as he stood and gaped at the newcomers.

“Hello Harry,” Hermione said softly, self-consciously glancing at the two adults before Minnie greeted JP and turned to the woman. Hermione grinned down at the mini-her, crouching and tucking some curls behind her ear. “And hello to you too princess. How are things going?”

Minnie beamed. (Nothing seemed to have stopped her jolly mood since she'd been told she was magic, and, somehow, she seemed to think Hermione was magic too—she'd voiced these suspicions to Harry with a little bit of awe in her voice for the older woman.) “Hello Miss Hermione. I think things are simply wonderful!”

Hermione laughed lowly, gently caressing Minnie's curls before standing, smiling at the two kids.

Wendell coughed.

Hermione blinked, and Harry turned his attention to the two adults that were now so much closer than they had been.

“Ah, excuse my manners,” Hermione blushed, ducking her head slightly and bringing up her shoulders.

Harry's breath caught. That was the curious ritual Minnie had when she blushed, in an attempt to hide behind her hair she'd use her shoulders to push the wayward curls in front of her face.

Wendell swallowed visibly and smiled wobbly. “No harm done, poppet. I'm Wendell Granger, and this is my wife Monica.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Hermione said softly, reaching out her small right hand. Just as Wendell was reaching out his hand to politely shake hers she added, “My name is Hermione Granger.”

The man froze just inches from her outstretched palm.

Hermione grinned uneasily. “I know this is rather unusual, but I find it rather amusing that your daughter has my name.” She blinked as Wendell weakly shook her hand, and Monica followed suit with a curious tilt to her head. “And this is JP,” Hermione added softly.

Harry shook his head with a smile.

JP stepped forward with a big grin, though his eyes glanced up at Hermione worriedly. “Hi!” he waved tightly, and then tucked himself into Hermione's legs, seemingly overcome by shyness.

Monica emitted a soft delighted sound, and Wendell visibly softened.

“Well then,” the matron said, with that same matronly knowledge that had so felled Harry in his first week at their home, “I just have to get the lemonade and everything is set, and do come into the kitchen dears.”

Minnie immediately followed her mom, dragging JP along behind her. Wendell blinked at the duo with a strange smile overtaking his face.

“They're very good friends,” he said softly.

“Yes,” Hermione replied as Harry grinned. “They will probably be the best of friends for a very long time.”

Wendell nodded his head and made his way to the kitchen.

Hermione and Harry stayed behind just slightly, exchanging questioning looks. Her eyes softened and she nodded her head, Harry grinned and nodded his back. They would finally be able to talk later.

Though lunch started out quiet, the two elder Grangers eyeing Hermione oddly and she in turn unobtrusively eyeing them, with the kids chatting excitedly it couldn't be helped that they were all drawn into the conversation. At the end of their meal the Grangers were relaxed…and Hermione was as well.

Harry, his shoulders tingling from being tense so long, watched a smiling Hermione as she watched her parents interact with the kids.

If he saw a few tears in her eyes he wouldn't mention it, ever.

…

Hermione smiled as she watched JP run around the yard. Minnie was coming over to visit, and even the older girl couldn't contain her own excitement. There were cookies in the oven, of course, and Hermione had cleaned the house top to bottom with her own nervous energy.

JP had done his part collecting all his toys and books, even scouting the back yard for potential hazards with the most adorably serious face she'd ever seen on him.

Hermione rather felt touched that he was so protective of Minnie, because it was a side she'd so often doubted in her Harry. He had his saving people thing of course, but she'd always wondered if she was really worth the saving—beyond a few tidbits of information they could all find out for themselves if they'd put in the effort.

JP broke her thoughts when he came in from the backyard, some leaves in his hair and his face flushed with exhilaration—the expectant smile when he looked at her made her laugh.

“They're still not here, and the cookies aren't done yet.”

JP sighed and rolled his eyes, making Hermione laugh, but he grinned at her (not truly upset at all) and turned a little chair so that he could sit and watch the cookies bake.

Hermione ran her fingers through his hair when she passed him while cleaning up from cooking, and he always leaned back into her touch. She smiled fondly at him just before the doorbell rang and he was darting away.

Of course, that would be the moment the timer went off for the cookies—and it wouldn't do to have them burn on this prodigious day.

Hermione laughed as she set them out to cool, hearing the excited jabbering of JP through the house.

.

Harry swallowed as he looked down at the address on her card, double checking even while feeling those familiar eyes against his back. Minnie switched her weight from foot to foot before leaning completely into him and turning pleading eyes up to him. Harry smiled lightly as he leaned down to lift her into his arms, letting her settle against him and turn her face into his neck.

Even while they were meeting JP and Hermione, Minnie was still shy with strangers. Their other meetings had gone so splendidly and she was very excited to visit JP at his house. Still, being on the street unnerved her.

Harry wondered how Hermione and JP dealt with all the neighbours visibly peering through their curtains.

When he finally got to the right house, dangerously close to Number 4 Privet Drive, he was startled at his own stupidity. How could he have not guessed this one house was Hermione's out of all the others on the block? Even though he'd never really learned his neighbours in his original timeline, her yard didn't quite fit.

It was…living.

Harry laughed and pointed out the garden to Minnie. “Look, isn't that perfect for Hide and Seek?”

She peeked out and grinned, nodding against his neck and laughing quietly.

Amidst the trimmed hedges and precise edges of all the other gardens, Hermione's yard was full of blooming plants and expansive shrubs and small trees, a little Eden that had no defined edges or cuts.

As different as it was, it was still obviously well tended—enough that it fit into the precise neighbourhood just enough.

He grinned as he rang the doorbell.

JP's exuberant face was quick to answer the door, peeking around the jamb and quickly grabbing Minnie before they could even greet him. “The cookies are done!” he exclaimed quickly, trying to explain his rush.

Harry blinked as the two kids were suddenly down the hall, turning into the kitchen so that the only thing he could see was a part of the table and the colourful fridge. He blinked again and chuckled, entering the house, tapping and removing his shoes as living with Monica Granger had taught him.

Belatedly following the kids down the hall his breath caught when he entered the kitchen. Hermione was grinning, a kid in each arm as she closed the oven door with her hip and laughed.

There was flour on her face, and her apron was well worn around her hips, but the two kids were still excitedly jabbering about chocolate chips and macaroons. JP was gesticulating rather wildly, but the grinning Hermione dodged him with an absent practiced ease.

Minnie's eyes were shining, and she was looking up at Hermione with that pleased smile that she had worn the first time Harry had quietly confirmed his connection to the magic that Minnie had. (The young genius had figured it out on her own, of course, but had wanted the confirmation and his guidance in her new world.)

Hermione caught his eye and smiled wider (if that was at all possible, Harry had never, ever, seen her so jubilant). “They just need to cool, but I do have some lemonade for all of us. Just sit at the table.”

Harry carefully took his seat, eyeing the capable Hermione that he had never seen around children. Sure, she and Teddy had gotten along splendidly, but never had they interacted so intimately—nothing like what he was seeing now.

Hermione adeptly placed each child down in their own chairs, swinging around in the same movement to open the fridge and take out a pitcher, circles of lemons floating in it while the ice clinked against the glass.

Moments later the children cheered before they took their first bites of cookies, smiling at each other around crumby faces with hands that were somehow already chocolate smeared.

Hermione sighed quietly as she took her seat, and Harry turned slightly to see the absolutely content smile she wore as she watched the two kids. He relaxed his tense shoulders as he eyed the loose way she leaned her chin in one hand and held her glass in the other.

This wasn't entirely familiar territory for him, but Hermione, who he had always trusted, was his guiding force. And she appeared to be entirely happy with the way of things right now.

Like usual he took his cue from her; even the skittering of leaves against the window in this new house on the old hated street didn't make him reach for his wand. He enjoyed their time with the kids, and then later enjoyed their enlightening conversation as the children ran about the backyard.

…

It was a Friday, family night, but all games and snacks were set aside when their little girl came home.

Minnie did so in tears, absolutely inconsolable in her misery.

The only thing Harry could do was hold her and rock her, and her parents watched worriedly from the couch across from them.

When her sobs finally calmed down enough to make her words semi-intelligible, the only thing they could make out was that she wanted “JP” and that “her homework was ruined!”

Harry looked pleadingly up at the Grangers, and Monica nodded before moving to the phone. She carefully put in the numbers Harry told her, wrapping the cord in her hand as she waited for the ring, and her conversation was quiet and quick as she stared sorrowfully at her very small and very distraught daughter.

Not half an hour later the doorbell rang.

Wendell answered, and JP immediately ran right into the living room, climbed onto the couch with Harry, and started petting Minnie's curls.

The little girl's sobs caught, and she turned a curious blotchy face to JP.

He grinned crookedly at her, worriedly at her, and she bawled before launching herself into him. He caught her with a little jostle, and Harry (despite once being that boy) knew he would never have had the skill to handle this situation at that age. But JP did.

His little face set into determination and he hugged his friend, slowly starting to rock back and forth with her.

Hermione entered the room, quietly taking off her scarf and coat. Her eyes remained on the two children as she adeptly set her gear on the hooks at the door, the action telling enough to startle Harry. It was always strange to remember the older Hermione was just as familiar with this house as the younger Minnie—he was glad the two older Grangers hadn't witnessed the telling movement.

Harry swallowed and smiled wobbly at his old friend.

Her eyes darted to him quickly, her body moving much slower as she lowered herself to the couch on the other side of JP.

A few minutes, ones that were quiet but not awkward, were shared before the two children drew slightly away from each other. Minnie was snuffling, scrubbing her face with her hands in embarrassment. JP still had his arms about her, and he was looking at her with a worried face rather than a weary one.

(At that age Harry was sure he wouldn't have been able to stand someone's tears for so long—he rather admired this little him that wasn't him at all now.)

“Sorry,” Minnie whispered quietly.

JP's face scrunched up, “Nope.” He hesitated again before tilting his head and looking up into Minnie's downturned face, “Bad day at school?”

Minnie hesitated before she nodded.

JP just stared at her.

A slow flush spread onto her cheeks, “A couple of kids tore up my homework,” she offered.

JP's eyebrows furrowed, moving his hair comically (and it was such a surprise that this different little boy still had that scar). “And?”

Hermione leaned around JP and looked at Minnie with soft eyes.

“And they told me that they didn't want to be my friend anymore if I wasn't going to share the answers,” she whispered quietly. “They said that I'd always be friendless because I was so selfish and wanted the teacher's attention all to myself.”

“But you have me!” JP said firmly, a hellish light behind his green eyes.

“Did you tell them that?” Hermione asked carefully.

“I did! I told them that JP was my very best friend and he wouldn't care what they said! But they laughed,” her breath caught as she soldiered on, “and told me to stop doing freaky things. And imaginary friends named JP counted as freaky things!”

JP's little face scrunched up into a scowl.

“You're not a freak, and you don't do freaky things!” he exclaimed irately, his face turning slightly red and his ears burning.

.

Hermione sighed as she watched the two kids trek down the sidewalk, absently wondering when the park had become the answer for everything. When she had been a child, it had always been the place of a reoccurring problem. But now the children were determined to go there to help Minnie recover from her horrid day, and the adults had allowed it only if both Hermione and Harry (the older ones) would chaperone.

Hermione had agreed of course. The two kids now always went to the swings for comfort, and she couldn't fault them for a habit she was partially responsible for.

So they made their way to the swings, but didn't want to be pushed by Harry or Hermione. Instead Harry drifted off to scout the area and Hermione wandered to that old isolated park bench under the willow—where she used to sit and read books while hidden away from the other children.

Gently, she caressed the younger wood and looked out between shorter branches—this was strangely surreal right here. But she and Harry had talked about that. They started to get together for coffee on her days off while JP and Minnie were off at school, as Harry didn't work a full time job but got paid for odd jobs around the neighborhood. It had been awkward at first and they had felt vulnerable, sitting together without the kids there to buffer them, to hide behind, but they managed.

Hermione had confessed her confusion, the sense of unreality that had followed her since the night of her attack and betrayal. She hadn't really wanted to talk and risk testing the fabric of this universe.

Harry had confessed that his paranoia had almost made him a social leper, except she'd gone missing. He'd half thought everything was a trick of his mind…sometimes still thought he was insane and dreaming this all up.

Hermione had held his hand and quietly started talking about how she and JP became a little family. Harry had explained Minnie, his tale interrupted by random questions for her (And goodness! Harry knew she was scared of storms! How embarrassing was that?).

It was good for them to talk without the kids or the Grangers being able to walk in on them—it was nice to be Harry and Hermione again.

Now they were Harry and Hermione and Minnie and JP. That was still surreal, but now she was grounded enough that she go about living instead of hyper-focusing on one thing. JP was what had kept her going since her bout of time travel, and she was so glad to have him. But now they had Minnie and Harry, and Hermione wasn't so stressed about everything else that could happen.

Harry was always there for her when it counted.

She kept a close eye on the kids as her mind wandered, watching her younger self and wondering.

After all, Hermione had always pondered what it would be like to go back in time, with all her acquired knowledge, and relive her life. But that was entirely impossible, even with magic. Certainly there were theories in runes and arithmancy, but nothing so concrete as to be viable. Time travel always added age to the user; at least time travel that wasn't divinely commanded by the gods.

So Hermione had spent most of her life dreaming about how she could have made more friends, been a better person, more amicable or at least reacted better and shown the better side of her. Or, in her more angry moods, she found memories where she could have gained the upper hand, come-backs that would have left her tormenters dumbfounded and humiliated, pithy remarks that would have shamed her parents into loving her...

Hermione shook her head.

On another glance towards her charges she narrowed her eyes. She knew those boys, and at one time in her life she had absolutely hated them. She stood abruptly as they walked closer to her miniature-duo. When the verbal exchange started, Hermione was already well on her way across the sand. She was just close enough when JP glared at Taylor O'Shea.

JP shoved the bigger kid away from Minnie, scowling darkly. “My name's JP! And stay away from my friend!”

The trio laughed

While Hermione manoeuvred her way around the park equipment and got the attention of other parents JP and Minnie were jostled to the ground, laughter ringing as more kids surrounded them.

Hermione abruptly froze as the familiar tingle of magic rushed along her limbs, and the ringleader was harshly shoved out of the circle so that he landed on his arse in the sand.

He abruptly teared up, his face blotching as a satisfied Hermione got to her own two kids and pulled them out of the mess. With a particularly scathing glare in the brute's direction, she walked to the lonely park bench by the willow.

Minnie was teary eyed, but staring in amazement at the petulant JP.

“I didn't do nothing,” he exclaimed defensively as soon as she looked at him.

Minnie's doe eyes immediately snapped to her, “He just shoved the boy! But Taylor was being mean in the first place, he started it!”

Hermione shushed the two, fondly eyeing them. “I know you did magic.”

Minnie drew in a sharp breath, eyes wide and excited.

JP blinked.

“I think it's wonderful that you defended Minnie like that, and, Minnie, thank you for trying to cover for JP even if he wasn't going to get into trouble anyway. You make a very good friend.”

Minnie blushed and then her unsure smile turned into a veritable beam of light.

A confused Harry made his way to them, a worried look on his face as he checked Minnie over and carefully pulled her into a hug. Minnie murmured into his ear and he carefully let her go, drawing back to look into her face and then glance at JP.

Hermione sucked on her lower lip and stood, “Well, I think this trip is cut short.”

And yet, despite ending on that sour note, Minnie was skipping on the way home and JP was watching her with a grin.

Hermione didn't quite get it until they walked into the foyer at the doctors' house.

“We're all magic!” Minnie exclaimed before laughing and twirling around the hall.

Both Monica and Wendell looked at them in surprise.

“I think this might require an explanation,” Wendell quipped with a quirky uncertain smile.

-->

I really struggled with this chapter; there were so many directions and details that could have been included (I also sprained my fingers and spent some time on vacation). But I hope I picked what turns out to be the most interesting and slightly probable direction.

………………

Harry shuffled slightly in front of the parents, not able to exude the same jubilation as the children or the calm like Hermione that made them so steadfast under the parents' bewildered stares.

He crinkled his nose up briefly and looked off to one side.

Hermione cut sharp intelligent eyes to him, searching. Harry looked steadily back at her, and she was able to communicate with him, as they had always been able to: a silent type of conversation that had always left Ron bewildered and angry.

“I have never told them a lie,” Harry spoke quietly. Hermione tilted her chin just so; an angle he knew meant she was considering his words.

And Harry had never lied to the Grangers. Truthfully, they had been good enough not to pry into his past, and he had never faced the complexities of dealing with time travel. Omitting those details now, when he'd been under their roof and care for so long, twisted up a little part of him inside.

And Hermione understood.

She sighed, pulling her shoulders back and turning to her old-young-not parents. “My name is Hermione Jean Granger, and I was born to Wendell and Monica Granger (Nee Wilkins) on September 19, 1979.”

Wendell half stood from his seat at the news, his eyes wide while Monica gaped and covered her mouth with a hand.

Hermione swallowed and lowered her eyelashes, continuing: “On my eleventh birthday I received a letter from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, in my third year of attendance I had access to some unusual magic, and witnessed some… disturbing behavior. At that point I did everything I could to protect my family and my friends.” She swallowed again, ducking her head slightly. “Because of that strange magic, I travelled through time and exist here at twenty three years old.”

Monica's wide glossy eyes slowly turned to her daughter, Minnie, and she swallowed exactly like Hermione had just. Wendell silently placed a hand on her knee, opening his fingers for her to lace hers into.

Harry cleared his throat. “Well, I was born July 31, 1980. Ahh,” he blinked. “This is harder than you made it seem.”

Hermione let out a small breathy chuckle and smiled at him, her head tilted and her eyes soft.

He chuckled and finished simply, “I just turned twenty.”

The elder Grangers stared at them in consternation, and Minnie excitedly exchanged glances with JP. Both the kids were quiet, though their expressions communicated their eager excitement quite clearly as they squirmed in their seats.

Finally Monica choked out, “But Why?”

Hermione's expression became wounded; her eyes dark like Wendell's and open like Monica's. (Both parents stiffened, and Harry stared at her with wide eyes.) “I…there was a betrayal. And since I had been preparing and studying and, and planning since my third year I ended up here. I didn't mean to interrupt your lives, “ she said earnestly, her eyes wide and honest and honey colored. “Believe me, I only wanted you to have an easier time of it. And I just seem to be making a mess of this. No one's really supposed to know about time traveling and here I am blurting it out and—horrible things happen to those who meddle with time—oooh this is going all wrong!”

Harry reached out to her and pulled her into him, calming her down. Her breath hitched in a panicky sob, and he shushed her. JP shuffled a bit, his eyes not as eager but more concerned. Minnie was biting her lip.

“Hey it's okay. Just calm down and we can all talk about this. There's nothing to do, we're already here.”

She snorted and pulled away from him, carefully patting her face though no tears had fallen.

Harry felt briefly injured that she had pulled away when she so honestly needed that comfort. Minnie always stayed cuddled until she'd fully recovered (sometimes even staying on his lap longer, just because).

Hermione took in a deep breath and sat up straighter, crossing her ankles and folding her palms in her lap. He saw the marks of Ms. Banks in that posture and that stoic face. And then he heard it in the prim voice, “Yes, I do believe you're right. Anyway, I resolved to rescue Harry, my best friend, from his earlier life with his relatives and so I have been here for almost three years doing just that.” She briefly smiled at JP.

The little boy grinned and then scrambled over Harry into her lap, upsetting her posture. Hermione didn't seem to mind, curling around him instead of pushing him away or scolding him.

Harry took in a deep breath but found he couldn't find any words.

Wendell's eyes were intense upon the older girl; “You took in JP, the younger Harry, when you were only twenty?”

Hermione stiffened. “I run my own business, and the social workers decided that my portfolio of assets would make them overlook both my age and marital status.” Her face briefly shadowed feral, “It helped that both the Dursleys and some of the School Board wrote letters of reference.”

Harry gaped.

“Wait what?” Monica stumbled out, looking betwixt the two old friends turned time travelers.

Hermione blushed and ducked her head.

“All JP ever says of Dursleys was that he doesn't want to talk about it! They were worthless human beings, and they liked you enough to help you!?”

Hermione's jaw set, and her expression seemed to shut down.

“Monica,” Wendell started but trailed off.

Hermione's voice was once again prim, and JP leaned into her to make up for her weaker hold. “Harry James Potter was supposed to be sent to his godfather, or the surrogate mentioned in the will. Due to no fault of their own they weren't contacted. Harry was illegally with the Dursleys, and everyone who knew about it was very eager to make everything legal when the Bobbies started poking around the neighborhood.”

Monica gaped slightly, her lips moving with contrition and confusion still on her face.

Wendell spoke solidly in the tension, “And Harry?”

Harry swallowed. “Hermione,” he gestured to the older one, “went missing after the war.” Both Granger parents startled. “It took me around three months to realize something was wrong, two weeks to finally go to our Minister, four more weeks to hobble together what might have happened, and then two more weeks after that to research and find no answers.” He closed his eyes against a remembered ache, his hand coming up to press against his chest.

“It was an accident I found myself here, this far back in time, but I am doing my best to make sure Hermione isn't lost again.”

Hermione let a lopsided smile fight onto her lips and Minnie ducked her head.

“So…time travel?“ Monica finally managed, her voice shaky and her eyes darting between them.

“Well, yes,” Hermione mumbled out—just as nonplussed as her parents, at having to explain. Harry wondered, obliquely, how many times she had to explain…or simply hadn't bothered with it for its complexities.

“And is this normal…in the wizarding world?”

“No. As I said—terrible things happen to those who meddle with time. It's very rare that they even bother for fear of the repercussions. The only certain form of time travel is controlled by our ministry, and even then time turners come with a strict set of rules.”

“So, you both used these `time turners'?”

Harry started nodding his head, yet Hermione shook hers immediately. Stunned, Harry turned to her with large eyes—they had never exactly discussed the methods…and Harry had simply assumed.

Hermione's eyes cut to him briefly before turning to the stunned couple seated across from them. “I used a combination of runes and earth magic…old magic chants and blood bonds.”

Monica and Wendell simply stared at her with wide eyes and confused faces.

Harry watched Hermione's wounded expression as she swallowed.

But the Grangers had absolutely no basis to understand her.

So Harry cut in, “I was absolutely lost when I discovered Hermione was missing, some sleuthing revealed that there had been an attack.” He swallowed. “The Minister of Magic gave me a time turner. Though it did take me to the wrong time,” he smiled lopsidedly as he admitted the last.

Monica managed a slight nod, and Wendell looked at him in curiosity.

Hermione stared at him with wide eyes, that previous wounded expression still hiding in the darkness of her eyes.

Harry, not looking at her for fear of reacting to that deep emotion, smiled weakly at Wendell and pulled at the chain around his neck.

Hermione abruptly gasped. Hermione looked up at him and had to work her throat a while before she could speak. Her hands reaching out until she caught the device, fingering the delicate chain and caressing the hoop holding the hourglass. “This was mine.”

“What?”

“This time turner was the one I used in third year!”

He startled and jerked slightly, round eyes turning from her to the trinket and back again. Hermione was entranced by the granules of sand… her sand.

“Harry this is why you came back so far, the magic had bonded to me and I was already back here. But that would mean…o goodness.”

Out of breath she sat back and remained mute.

“Hermione?” he ventured.

She turned round amber eyes to him, “Harry, the earth magic in a time turner is what makes them work. The sand in here bonded to me, and my magic was part of the earth. And then you used it to find me…”

Harry blinked rapidly. “So you're saying, if I had used another time turner, I would have ended up where I wanted to go.”

“Most likely,” she whispered.

“I…

Wendell cleared his throat.

Both turned to the parents with wide eyes, meeting again the confused and uncertain stares of the Granger adults.

Wendell blew out a careful breath, leaning forward. “I…may we leave this conversation for another time?” And his dark eyes looked at them, entreating. “You two are confusing all of us, and it's getting rather late.”

“Oh!” Hermione exclaimed, instantly contrite. “Yes, of course. Come on JP, you still have classes tomorrow.” And Hermione and JP were bundled up to leave so quickly that Harry could forgive the older Grangers for their befuddled expressions. Even if he couldn't quite forgive them for making Hermione uncomfortable enough to act like that.

With hasty farewells the two were back on their way to Little Whinging and Harry and Minnie were staring at the two adults.

Minnie quietly pushed herself off the couch, “I'll go get ready for bed.”

Harry nodded and joined her upstairs, leaving the couple to their quiet discussion.

...

It was a few weeks after the twisting explanation, during which the children had their now customary play dates, when Monica sidled up beside him while he was helping with the clean up after supper. Harry, used to her presence (and presuming that she simply wanted to dry the dishes), didn't startle or expect her to clear her throat and hesitantly venture out, “Would I be able to call and talk to...Hermione?”

Harry dropped the plate back into the soapy water, blinking behind his thick lenses and stunned speechless.

Monica flushed lightly, turning to face out the window while grabbing a dish to dry.

Harry heard Wendell shift in his seat with the day's paper, and darted eyes over there to see the curious stare of the Granger patriarch.

Harry cleared his throat and nodded his head, rattling off the number he had memorized and watching the satisfied matriarch quit the room for the hall.

As she picked up the phone and dialled, Wendell cleared his throat and fully put down the paper. “Thank you,” was said in the soft scholar's voice, his eyes sombre.

A confused Harry finished the last dishes quietly and then sat opposite the head of the household. Staring at the grain he licked his lips and carefully looked up, “What am I missing?”

Wendell focused on smoothing out the paper for a few seconds, fingers firmly pressing the folded print. Harry watched those hands, wondering what was going on that had the man so careful with his thoughts.

“Monica is confused, and wants to get to know this other version of our daughter.”

A confused Harry nodded his head.

Wendell smiled slightly, a crooked little one that was more self-depreciating than anything. “She feels she didn't make the best first impression.”

“Ah, Hermione knows you…I don't think that was a first impression.”

Wendell shook his head with a chuckle. “We don't know her, and maybe she doesn't know these versions of us. Either way, Monica wants to apologize to her and invite her back for lunch some time. It's getting awkward with how she is avoiding this house, especially since Minnie and JP constantly want to be together.”

A sigh escaped Harry, but a content smile curled his lips. “Those kids are pretty insistent.”

Wendell grinned, “Whatever happened to you?”

His breath caught at the question, wondering exactly where and when he had lost the stubborn forcefulness that had so marked his character in youth—what had happened to the single-minded teen who had insisted on knowing why, had trashed Dumbledore's office and yelled at the headmaster, had resisted Umbridge and the ministry's machinations, had obviously slighted Scrimgeour, had never backed down when he impatiently felt something needed to be done…his way.

“I guess…I grew up,” Harry said softly.

Wendell blinked at him, his head nodding slightly. “Yeah, we tend to do that.”

Two days later, the day of the new lunch date, Harry was watching the matriarch prepare for the arrival of JP and Hermione.

Monica was fluttering about the kitchen, preparing a light meal. She moved quite like a butterfly, never staying anywhere too long. Harry watched her tweak the table settings and re-taste the food, her eyes dart to the clock, wash her hands almost obsessively, tug the tablecloth to `correct' the draping, straighten out the chairs and clean the kitchen.

While Hermione had never moved so flightily, Harry definitely recognized that attention to detail.

Wendell came up behind him, half smiling as he clapped him on the shoulder and pulled him away into the den. The man gestured to a chair as he took his favourite recliner, carefully tapping out his pipe and lighting so the smell of the cherry tobacco soon engulfed the room.

Harry sat quietly, contemplating.

But he didn't even have to ask a question before Wendell was starting: “After so long, having you and learning to understand Minnie—the idea that we could hurt Hermione, the older one, hurts us. It made us wonder how the previous Hermione would have been, with us distant and Ms. Banks and the tutors…that's what you did son. You made us recognize what was right under our noses.” Wendell looked up at him from over his pipe, his brown fringe shadowing his eyes.

“I…” yet Harry couldn't find the words to deny it. He knew he hadn't done much, of course, but faced with those eyes so like Hermione's and the honest soberness in Wendell's voice—well, the words got stuck in his throat.

And he didn't have much time to work the words from his tongue either, because Minnie squealed from her room (where she was most likely at her window watching the walkway) and raced down the stairs.

Harry shook his head as she almost tripped.

Hermione and JP were at the door, if there was any doubt, and came in with smiles and greetings. Minnie even gave the older her an exuberant hug before racing off with JP.

Hermione greeted them before making her way into the kitchen, “Do you need any help?” she asked softly.

Monica twittered but accepted the help, moving to give directions but halting with her mouth open as Hermione moved with a practiced ease and finished setting the table and placing the food.

Wendell and Harry, from where they'd leaned over to see the two women, swallowed and leaned back in their chairs.

“It must be really hard for her,” Wendell managed in a slightly strangled voice.

Harry didn't comment on his dark eyes. “I guess it is,” he replied softly.

And then everyone was called in for lunch.

The meal went smoothly for the first bit, but remained in innocent conversation rather than taking up their previous topic. The awkwardness faded under the polite conversation, but there was a heavy expectancy in the air.

Which JP unintentionally broke with a loud crack!

JP stared horrified at the cup, chipped slightly and being surrounded by the juice. Hermione quickly smiled and pulled him into her lap, comforting assurances

Harry grinned at the boy, and, after so much time of paranoid reaches for his wand, quite calmly withdrew his wand and flourished it about. The mess cleaned up instantly at the silent spell, and Hermione smiled at him.

JP gaped at the clean table and repaired glass.

Minnie squirmed in her seat before letting out an excited squeal.

Monica peered over as Wendell carefully picked up the cup and examined it. “Well,” she said, “that's quite practical magic.”

Hermione let out a little snort before light laughter escaped her—rubbing JP on the back as he grinned sheepishly.

“I'm sorry,” he said softly but with good humour. Harry marvelled at the boy that was him, knowing he would have been cowering and bracing for a hit.

“That's okay, Son,” Wendell smiled as he spoke. “That's not exactly what they mean when they say “break the ice”, but it's a start.”

And they laughed together.Hermione snorted quietly and then broke out into light laughter, rubbing JP'

…

Hermione, a blatantly confused expression on her face, greeted them as she entered the hall from the front yard. Darting her eyes around, only giving a slight smile when JP and Minnie exclaimed and rushed off to do something, he watched her parents and Harry.

Nothing seemed remiss.

Then why had they called her to stay tonight? Were they going to a business meeting? But then couldn't Harry watch Minnie? Or were they all going and did they need her to house sit?

Mo-Monica smiled at her as Wendell helped her into her coat, handing her a silky scarf after he had done so. She smiled and kissed his cheek as he busied himself with his own accouterments.

Hermione boggled.

“Thank you for helping Harry tonight dear, Minnie's a bit under the weather so we thought he'd need a hand babysitting.”

Hermione swallowed and nodded, managing a wobbly smile. “A business meeting tonight?” she inquired politely.

Monica laughed; without trying to hide it.

Wendell grinned. “I,” he said proudly, “have the privilege of taking this woman on a date tonight—the theatre and dinner to celebrate a great year.”

Hermione nodded her head slowly, blinking.

“Well, have a good night. Call if anything happens, Harry, the same numbers as last time.” They gave a last jaunty wave before they were out the door.

Her amber eyes followed them down the drive to the car, watching the way they touched and kissed and embraced. Her dad had always opened doors for her mother, pulled out her chair and helped her with her coat and shoes…

But he'd never slid his hand down her arms, or traced his fingers over the back of her neck, or embraced her like that in public—with that little kiss to the forehead. Her dad had never done that, not like Wendell did.

And her mother had never…would have never welcomed things like that. No public displays, it wasn't proper. Yet there she was laughing and blushing and smiling like the neighbours weren't watching. This Monica was nothing like her mother.

Hermione swallowed again, except this time it hurt to get the lump down her throat.

And then she grinned; it was trembling and uncertain but so very very happy. She turned watery eyes to Harry, watching him startle and stare bewildered at her.

“Thank you.”

“Ah…what?”

Hermione laughed, “Thank you for my parents. They weren't like this before…it's…nice.”

“Hermione, I didn't do anything,” he insisted as he performed the time honored Harry tradition of shuffling his feet and rubbing the back of his neck.

“No Harry, this is definitely something you did. My mother was upper class British—prim and proper and very much the lady. I grew up without hugs and touching and kisses goodnight—and yet here I see them flirting and blushing and happy.”

Harry shook his head—“Hermione, you were always cuddling and touching, you were always emotional and not scared of it.”

She blushed and ducked her head a little. “Harry, I was like that because of you, you flinched at the slightest touch so I made it my mission to hug you whenever I could.” She laughed at her memories. “I decided that Ms. Banks wasn't there to scold me for being unladylike—and you needed it.”

He stared at her with intense green eyes, eyes she'd missed for so long.

“Thank you, for showing my parents how to let go of those barriers.”

Harry's throat worked as he continued staring, and it took him a minute before he managed, “You're welcome.”

Hermione smiled blissfully, her eyes twinkling and her face flushed with happiness. Harry had shown her parents how to love without restraints. It was something Hermione had never managed, no matter how good she was in school or how ladylike she tried to be.

Maybe Harry didn't understand fully, but he had instinctively taught her parents that. And the compassionate Harry that was back here in time showing her family how to be a family was entirely unaware of the fact that he could do this because he cared, because he loved them just as much as if they were his own.

Hermione stared in admiration at Harry, looking at the mature young man that had become of her best friend.

He'd done so much for her, and didn't see it. Thought it was normal. Loved her enough to change her world around at such a young age. Turned an incident with a time turner into a series of events that would change their lives.

Because he had noticed she was gone. Because he had cared for her.

Hermione blushed and smiled. This Harry, loving and mature, was a version of her Harry that she could fall in love with.

….

Minnie wanted to play. Harry knew it—it was in the way she fidgeted and tried not to make it obvious that she was staring from under her eyelashes. Harry sighed with a smile, scratching the back of his head as he looked up to see JP tackle Hermione to the ground.

Their laughter rang out loudly and Harry, attuned after so many months, caught the little sigh Minnie gave.

He grinned and made a show of standing up—dusting off his trousers and straightening out his shirt. He winked down at Minnie (who was staring at him incredulously) and then lifted her over his shoulder before jogging after the duo.

She squealed loudly and Hermione and JP turned to stare at them. Hermione grinned happily, but JP looked with some awe up to where Minnie rested. Harry laughed at the little boy with his scruffy hair, messing it up until the boy grabbed onto him to still it.

“Well,” Hermione laughed out, “I guess Harry is it now.”

JP squealed and took off, his hands wind milling as he yelled.

Minnie squirmed until she was on the ground, jetting off before Harry could steady her (she stumbled but still laughed and righted herself—fast despite all the time she spent with her books).

Harry blinked at his quick abandonment, Hermione laughing at him before she was gone after the kids. Harry shouted after them before getting his legs to work, he playfully stayed just that-close to the kids; but Hermione remained honestly elusive. She was out of reach until those quick moments when she'd pick up one kid and take off to get them out of danger.

JP and Minnie both loved it.

Harry thought this was slightly unfair (despite the grin on his face). He set to rectify this by chasing both kids—they'd started to run together, close enough to reach out and tug each other away from the monster. (Hermione had stopped and stood mostly still, laughing and dancing out of reach when he got too close.) At this new tactic Minnie let out a little scream, her legs blurring as she tried to laugh and run at the same time (she wasn't quite that athletic). JP laughed and pulled her aside, the two kids falling and rolling before they scrambled and managed to escape him.

Harry tried to growl as he chased them, but was laughing too hard to pretend to be more monstrous. Still, he managed to laugh and roar just as he got close again.

“Hey!” he shouted as Hermione situated herself back in the game.

Both kids squealed from where they'd been thrown over opposite shoulders, their arms flailing for balance and purchase as Hermione jogged away. The woman spun around to stick her tongue out—but the kids laughed and she simply kept on spinning until all three of them were tellingly dizzy.

The drunken weave of Hermione's steps made Harry laugh, and he grinned as Hermione gave one last energetic twirl while kissing both kids sloppily on their cheeks.

Harry snorted as she flopped onto her back, gripping the kids so they couldn't escape now that Harry could easily catch up.

“He'll catch us!” JP shouted.

“Run!” Minnie squealed.

Hermione took in a deep breath—“I'll need you two as a sacrifice, I just can't move!”

JP laughed and Minnie gasped in offense.

Harry didn't attack though; he just stood back and watched the trio. Minnie was finally playing, and she and JP settled down against Hermione, sticking their feet into the air and pretending to walk on the clouds.

Hermione grinned in between the two kids, her arms wrapped around them, and then she lifted her feet to walk with them.

Their laughter rang out clearly in the backyard

Harry's breath caught—finally seeing Hermione play. This wasn't just her childhood as Minnie; this was what she should have had as a child, as Hermione. He wondered if she'd ever played in that original timeline.

He quietly approached, no longer the `it' monster, and then lay down beside Minnie. The young girl grinned at him, lifting her head so he could settle his arm under her neck, but then she was back to chatting with JP and walking in the clouds.

Harry swallowed, turning his head. Hermione was grinning over at him, more standing on the clouds than walking on them, and Harry could only grin in return. He gave her a wink and snickered as he raised his feet to join them.

It was a strange feeling to have your feet higher than your head, your vision distorted so your ground was blue and white and so bright it was like a dream. His pants tried to slip down his legs, and he could feel the wind above his socks and under the gathered material.

He swallowed and grinned.

If Hermione could play, and Minnie was learning so easily, it was time for the older Harry to join in too.

...

Harry grinned as JP and Minnie listened raptly to Hermione as she explained some magical theory. Both kids were laying out on the floor with Hermione telling them the tale of a wizard who had accidently discovered the five laws of transfiguration.

It was surprisingly funny.

They were babysitting the kids again, the Granger parents having left with secretive grins and a wink.

Harry didn't quite get it, but he'd forgotten it quickly enough when Hermione engaged the children with magical stories.

It figured she'd take the opportunity to teach and entertain—but he couldn't fault her for it when all three were enjoying themselves. Minnie glanced up excitedly when he joined them on the floor, but quickly turned her attention back to Hermione.

JP though was a different story. He listened with half an ear and manoeuvred himself until he was practically in Harry's lap. He leaned in with a conspirator's whisper: “She tells me magic stories all the time, but now they're so real!”

Harry laughed quietly and hugged the small boy, marvelling at the situation he was in. He the boy who had hated to be touched, was hugging the younger version of him.

And Hermione was the reason.

She'd taught him how to hug while they were in Hogwarts, and she'd taken JP and seemed to cuddle him every chance she got.

“Very real,” he whispered softly. And he wondered in some part if Hermione herself was magic; what with all she was able to do. She'd always been more connected to the magic, learning it easier and essentially living it when she was angry or otherwise emotional—he could easily recall the way her eyes and hair sparked when she got in an argument, and the way that shadows seemed to part for her or swallow her depending on her mood. She'd even mastered flames and elemental spells that were years beyond her level.

And that was more than book smarts.

So Harry watched and listened, just as enthralled as the kids, as Hermione explained magic.

Later, when the kids were settled in, Harry asked her about it—about being magic.

She laughed before she responded. “Harry, I'm not any more magic than other witches and wizards. I just…access it more. People seem to forget that magic is living, and is in everything that is living. If you understand it's nature there's no limit to what you can accomplish.”

“Like traveling back in time without a time turner?” Harry questioned cheekily.

Hermione laughed. “Exactly so!”

…

Hermione stiffened as Minnie literally ran into Ms. Banks. It was horrible to be in front of that woman again, and she hated how she stiffened and couldn't find it in herself to protect Minnie.

It was like she was that little girl again, the one who never was enough for anyone.

The old woman screeched about manners and huffed about insolence, and Hermione felt her heart shrivel up inside of her. She couldn't do this! She couldn't stand in front of this woman and try again to please her when she'd failed so many times as a child. She couldn't get herself out of this one, couldn't speak or move or defend her younger self.

But Harry could, and did. He stepped between them, spoke calmly in her honour. He picked up Minnie despite Ms. Banks sputters about propriety, stood beside Hermione and took her hand despite the courtship etiquette the bitter woman snarled about.

And when Hermione felt both JP and Harry squeeze her hands, she straightened her back. Harry looked at her with concern, his bright green eyes protective and his lopsided smile questioning. JP looked up at her with similar eyes, his face set with determination as he hugged her leg like he could protect her with just his will.

And Hermione smiled and turned to the woman. “Ms. Banks,” she murmured calmly, “I do believe we haven't met.”

The old woman blinked and drew herself up, sniffing as she extended her hand limply. “Ms. Roland Banks, if you please.”

“Miss Hermione Granger, and it is a pleasure.”

Hermione smiled cattily as the visibly confused woman floundered but shook her hand.

The elder couldn't get out of there fast enough, despite all the manners Hermione displayed.

They all laughed when they were safely the four of them again, JP and Minnie giddy with triumph and the older pair of them giddy with relief.

And Hermione found it was okay she wasn't perfect, it was okay because she was already loved. She didn't have to be perfect.

Her eyes ran over her little family, and softened upon Harry, trying to mentally will her gratitude to him. He caught her expression and smiled, green eyes proud, and grabbed her hand as they set off walking again.

He didn't let it go.

…

Minnie came out of the bathroom in tears, making her way to the two of them as they sat with their tea. Her shoulders were hunched in and her face blotchy around her pouting lips.

Harry, startled, turned to face her fully, but Hermione immediately emerged from her seat to crouch in front of the girl child.

“Hey, what are the tears for?” she inquired as she tenderly wiped them away.

“I…got stuck,” Minnie whimpered, turning her head so they could see the comb tangled in her hair. Then she let out a sob.

“O honey,” Hermione said lowly, drawing the girl into her arms and kissing her cheek. Harry watched the two Hermiones settle on the floor, the smaller pulled into that comforting lap and wrapped in those strong arms.

Hermione gave Minnie another kiss on her cheek, and then twisted the both of them until she could access the knot and comb. With gentle fingers she worked it out—Minnie didn't even wince once.

Harry was amazed—he'd seen Mrs. Granger do this once before and the older woman had never managed it with such skill. But then again, it was Hermione's own hair wasn't it.

Minnie sniffled, but didn't make any move to tell she'd been hurt.

Hermione smiled reminiscently, “I remember when my hair was just like this: nothing could tame it.”

Minnie nodded her head miserably.

“But it's not so bad, pretty in a different way than what everyone else expects. It suits us.”

Minnie turned to look over her shoulder with wide eyes, spotting the comb in Hermione's hand as the older one smiled. Minnie blinked and sniffed again, readjusting her seat until she was curled into the older woman.

“I like your hair,” Minnie confessed quietly. Harry smiled.

Hermione grinned, “And I love yours.”

They were quiet for a minute, both versions of the same girl staring into each other's very same eyes.

“Just like mine?” Minnie finally attempted.

Hermione chuckled, “It might have been worse—I was constantly running my fingers through it and getting it tangled in my pens. It was so bad my mum attempted to straighten it when they took me to their club parties. Somehow by the end of the hour I'd have a bushy head of curls again, and she got so frustrated with me. Finally I had to stay home with a nanny those nights.”

Harry's eyes narrowed, and Minnie gasped excitedly—“You got to stay home? I hate those things!” She then gasped in horror and quickly covered her mouth with both hands.

Hermione didn't laugh; she took both small wrists into her hands and pulled them away, craning her neck so she could look straight into the girl's honey eyes. “I got to stay home and read about magic and adventure—I explored ancient Greece, I became a pirate, I was a wizard-elf in Tolkien's world and I was a dragon rider for the ages.”

Minnie looked up in awe.

“And nowhere,” Hermione said firmly, “nowhere,” she repeated softly, “did it matter that my hair wasn't in its proper place or that those disgusting crab cakes stayed on my plate.”

Minnie beamed up at the woman.

“Besides,” Hermione continued with a smile, “we grow into our hair, and it has character.”

Minnie's shoulders slumped. “But I still have to go to the party tonight.”

Hermione blinked, “That's what's going on tonight?”

A little head nodded, curls defying gravity with the movement.

Hermione furrowed her brow and looked up to Harry, clearly displeased.

Harry shook his head and shrugged his shoulders—as much as he was part of the family he wasn't part of these elite club things.

“Well,” Hermione said briskly, picking up Minnie and resettling her until she was facing outwards on her lap. “How about a nice braid then?”

Minnie giggled but remained still.

Hermione smiled, sliding her fingers into the soft kitten hair that Minnie had.

Harry watched, entranced, as Hermione dealt with the tangle of curls until a pretty plait was all that remained—though a few curling tendrils still fell into Minnie's forehead.

She looked impossibly cuter now that you could see her big eyes and freckles clearly.

Hermione hugged the girl from behind, giving her one of those loud smacking kisses on the cheek before letting her go. Minnie rushed from the room, calling for JP and giving a little jump right before she ran up the stairs two at a time.

Harry laughed incredulously.

Hermione didn't join him. In fact her eyes were quite sad and regretful as she watched her mini-self—her not quite self anymore because Harry was starting to see the little changes that made them so different—disappear in the shadows of the hall to JP who was probably hunkered over his drawings in the spare room.

When the adult Grangers had emerged from their room where they had been preparing (and expressed delight over Minnie's new hairstyle) Harry watched the well dressed family leave, ready to send Hermione and JP home right after before the night got too dark.

As JP bent to tie his shoes Harry looked at Hermione, a question burning on his tongue. “Did you have to deal with that type of stuff when you were attending Hogwarts?”

Hermione sighed and straightened up, her eyes dark and thoughtful. “It was both better and worse when I went to Hogwarts. My parents could make up lies about it to the other members of the club, but then when I had to go to the parties in the summer…I had to be those lies. I had to be popular and friendly and witty and beautiful.”

Harry stared at his friend in consternation. For one, he couldn't reconcile those parents with the Grangers he had met, but he didn't say anything because this was Hermione. She had never outright told him a lie.

“We ended up on vacations more often so we didn't have to deal with the subterfuge.” She glanced up at him unsurely, a look blossoming onto her face until she didn't seem quite so timid.

But she didn't say anymore, and Harry sighed as they retrieved JP and set off. He smiled and waved at them as they made their way to the station, Hermione's bright smile easing him along with JP's exuberant wave.

Settling in to wait for the Granger's to return he read the paper and watched the news, instinctively looking for anything that could be attributed to magic and the war even though that was over…hadn't happened yet.

Maybe it was because of that paranoia that was settling in while he was alone and watching the depressing news for so many hours, but the hairs on the back of his neck stood up right before he heard the front door open and the family returning. Biting his tongue and struggling to control his twitching fingers he stood and went to greet the Grangers.

Minnie gave him a quiet greeting and goodnight, hugging his legs briefly before trudging up the stairs to her room and closing the door.

Wendell quietly helped his wife out of her coat and held out his arm for her to brace herself as she removed her heels. Monica didn't say anything.

With a sober voice Wendell Granger gave him a goodnight, thanked him for watching the house, and escorted his wife to their room and similarly closing the door.

Harry felt a shiver run down his spine as he made his way to his own room, purposefully leaving the door open as he settled in to bed.

Sure enough, when he woke the next morning Minnie was cuddling his other pillow. Her still braided hair exposed her sleeping face. Harry watched her, remembering the happy little girl excited about a braid and comparing her to the quiet child who had come home last night.

And he wondered how his original Hermione had dealt with these soirees all the time.

At breakfast, Harry carrying Minnie down, Wendell and Monica cleared their throats. Monica glanced at her husband before smiling at her small daughter, “We were thinking, honey, of letting you stay home from the club now.”

Minnie immediately perked up, staring intently at her mother.

Wendell smiled, “Now Harry is at home too, and we won't have to leave you alone. Besides, I'm sure JP and Hermione could stay the night as well.”

Monica glanced at her husband from the corner of her eyes but smiled wider.

Minnie started crying, repeating `thank you' over and over as she squirmed out of Harry's hold and rushed to hug her parents.

Harry smiled.

Monica winked, mouthing another thank you to him, and Harry shook his head. Monica nodded her head just as seriously. “We saw her playing with you all in the backyard Harry, and comparing that to the little girl hanging onto our hands last night made this an easy decision. So yes, thank you, again.”

Green eyes closed and he whispered, “You're welcome.”

…….

“Ah, Hermione!” came a young woman's voice. Harry watched in some amusement as both girls spun around. He blinked when Minnie's face scrunched up and Hermione's face soured.

Harry turned to watch the once tutor approach, her breath heavy as she tried to straighten and press against a stitch in her side.

“I came to ask if your parents were starting tutoring again this fall.”

Minnie shuffled her feet, her unsure eyes glancing up at Harry before returning to the teenager.

“No, she's not,” Harry said abruptly, gently pulling Minnie closer to him before bending down to pick her up.

“Yes, she has been studying independently and doing wonderfully,” Hermione said in a snooty tone.

The tutor straightened slightly and eyed the older girl. “And she manages just fine? She has a particularly wandering attention span.”

“Yes, most of us bored by the insistent repetition of basic matters do find our attention wandering.”

The tutor's eyes bulged and she drew herself up taller, towering over Hermione who hadn't worn her usual heeled shoes this day. “Yes, I did find it particularly trying.”

Hermione's eyes flashed.

Harry cleared his throat. “Excuse me, but the fact remains there will be no tutoring this fall. Have a good day,” and he tipped his head and gently steered the other three towards the ice cream parlour.

The kids settled into the booth with their cones, happily oblivious as Hermione sulked—“I'm not stupid,” she muttered darkly.

Harry jabbed his spoon into his sundae absently, watching his best friend. “No, you're definitely not,” he said softly.

Hermione looked at him with a wounded and brave expression, “I really hated tutoring,” she said as she tried to smile.

Harry shuffled a bit closer, checking to make sure the kids were still occupied with each other. “Was it always like that?”

Hermione's face twitched with thought, and she turned to him with honest eyes. “I wasn't quick to learn how to actually speak Harry, my parents thought I might be slow. I had to see specialists and tutors and people who, to keep their paycheque, played into these views.” She laughed bitterly, “My mother was particularly mortified when one of the neighbours `outed' me.”

“I finally started to get the hang of speech in third form, and though I was finally able to communicate clearly I was stuck in a pattern of tutors and nurses and special classes.”

“I would have never guessed,” Harry said softly.

Hermione smiled at him. “No, I made sure no one would ever call me stupid again.”

“You're not stupid Hermione.”

“Thank you.”

--

Harry, walking with Minnie down Privet Drive to visit Hermione and JP, smiled.

And it was really really strange to smile on this cursed street. There was one of Ms. Figg's cats, and the particularly nosy neighbour who had always commented on how the garden was falling behind, and that man had pushed him aside when a young Harry had tried to help his son.

It was still the same street, except for one single house. And for the life of him Harry couldn't remember from his own childhood who exactly had lived in it.

Just then JP ran out of the house, squealing happily, and Hermione chased after him with a laugh—only pausing to make sure the door locked. The pair ran up the walk and through the gate, crashing into them with hugs and greetings.

Their happy little meeting and walk was interrupted by the arrival of the Dursley's. It was almost like some old action movie standoff on the side walk.

Dudley quickly hid behind his mother when he spotted Hermione, and JP shuffled tightly in between Hermione and Harry's legs.

Harry stiffened and rested one of his hands on JP's messy head—very protective with Vernon and Petunia staring at them strangely.

Minnie stared confused at everyone.

“Miss Granger,” Petunia managed in strangled politeness even while her beady eyes stared horrified at JP and the older Harry.

“Mr and Mrs. Dursley…Dudley,” Hermione said carefully.

Dudley squeaked and tried even harder to hide.

“I see you're doing well,” Vernon gurlgled out, boggling at Harry.

And Harry finally understood. He'd heard it all his life: `You look just like your father, but you have your mother's eyes.'

He must be like some ghost sent to haunt the Dursley's. They were obviously scared and unsure, frightened of him. Little JP hadn't yet grown into the man that would be so obviously of his parents—Harry was too similar to overlook.

And he wasn't happy.

But it wasn't because the Dursleys were in front of him, he wasn't angry because he had a chance to avenge himself, he wasn't …he just wasn't.

He remembered tea cups outside his bedroom door, and a concerned Dudley who had finally understood him—he remembered a family that was struggling with finances and had another child thrust upon them.

And they were in front of him, terrified of him for a reminder of a life they'd tried so hard to run from.

Harry swallowed.

“I hope you all have a good day,” he said softly and then quietly steered his little family around the other little family. While they were walking away Harry stooped and picked up JP, hugging the small boy to him while Minnie and Hermione walked hand in hand.

As much as he wasn't angry with the Dursleys, he didn't want JP near them any longer or ever again.

Hermione bumped his shoulder softly, and he looked over to spot her with Minnie in her arms as she smiled at him. And Harry smiled back even though he was still on that same street from his childhood.

…

Hermione was pleased to be with Harry and Minnie and JP when the nondescript school owl swooped into the house through the chimney. (She'd left the flue purposefully open on this day.)

Minnie squealed as JP fumbled and deciphered the letter, his face dumbfounded. Hermione leaned over as Harry smiled, reading the green ink and reminiscing about her own letter.

And she started planning.

Now they could get JP his books, and his wand. Muggleborns needed the letter as proof at most establishments (JP and Harry were pretty much considered muggleborn because of their isolation), and Hermione was relieved it had finally come so she could get a head start preparing her boy for the most interesting years of his life. Though this JP wouldn't need the refuge of the magical world like Harry had, Hogwarts would still be a wonder to him.

“We can go to King's Cross together!” Minnie exclaimed excitedly, breaking his train of thoughts.

“I can,” JP said with wonder, his face slack with awe as he stared at the metallic calligraphy on the parchment.

Minnie's brows furrowed. “Well of course you can, we always knew you were coming with me. Now it's all proper and it's okay.”

JP swallowed, his expression trembling precariously for a moment before he was beaming at them all. “I'm going to Hogwarts!”

Hermione's heart broke a little, realizing that he'd been scared he wouldn't be going to Hogwarts at all, but then it healed just as quickly. JP was magic, no doubts about it. And he had Minnie and Harry and her to help him through the next seven years.

“You should get the wand first! It's the most fun!”

“Wand?”

Minnie blinked and pouted. “To do magic.”

JP blinked in response. “Hermione doesn't use anything like that.”

Everyone, even Harry, turned to her with astonished expressions, curious. Hermione blushed and tilted her chin up slightly. “No JP, I don't. I had to adapt when my wand was destroyed.”

Harry's fists clenched and he removed them from the table to his lap, hiding them from the children. His face closed off with anger, and Hermione watched him sadly.

It had been fun, being in the past like this—they could almost pretend everything was perfect and normal, but they had something to do.

Now that JP and Minnie were bound for Hogwarts, the older two had to figure out one Ronald Bilius Weasley.

And hope that major events would change for the better.

…. …. ….. ….. ….. …..

P.S. My previous chapters have all been slightly revamped in response to a problem my reviewers were kind enough to point out. It took me some more maneuvering but I think I got my bases covered now.

There is only one more planned chapter for this story (we'll see if it becomes two for some strange reason)… and I have a final “chapter” simply of deleted/original scenes that did not make it into the story for some reason or another—I still like them enough to share them.

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