Temporal Shenanigans

If Hermione had a Knut for every time she’d ended up in a life-threatening situation due to forces entirely beyond her control, she could probably fund her own department at the Ministry. Because, really, what was her life?

One moment, she was escaping Malfoy Manor. The next, she was standing on the doorstep of the very-much-intact Potter cottage, staring at a very-much-not-dead James Potter, who was currently looking at her like she’d just told him that Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans were exclusively made of earwax and despair.

Which, honestly, was about the level of nonsense her life had reached at this point.

"Right," he said slowly. "So, just so we’re clear, you’re standing in my house, looking like you’ve been dragged through the Forbidden Forest backwards, telling me that I’m supposed to be dead."

"Unfortunately, you are dead in my time."

Hermione could see the flicker of doubt in Lily’s eyes, but it wasn’t the hardened disbelief she had feared. Lily was listening. Hermione pressed forward, her voice steady despite the whirlwind in her chest.

"I know it sounds impossible, but you have to believe me. I don’t belong here. I come from the future, from a world where you... where you and James die. And Harry, your son, he grows up without you. I know things I shouldn't, things no one could know unless they’d lived through it. Please, Lily. I don’t have any reason to lie to you."

Lily’s expression wavered, her green eyes searching Hermione’s, and she could almost hear the calculations running through Lily’s mind. Hermione didn’t dare breathe. Then, finally, Lily exhaled, her shoulders dropping ever so slightly.

Hermione had often heard about Lily’s eyes, given her closeness to Lily’s son, but standing before her now, she realized that Lily wore her heart in them. Her every emotion, every thought, was displayed so openly in them. Lily carried an air of maternity in her gaze, much like Molly Weasley—only far more fierce. Her passion was intimidating.

Lily’s elbows were on her knees leaning forward into her staredown with Hermione. Slowly, she took her wand out of her robes and began fidgeting. Lily’s fingers curled around her wand, not in threat, but as if grounding herself. She turned to James for a fleeting moment, something unspoken passing between them before her gaze locked onto Hermione once more.

“Our son,” she repeated, as if testing the words on her tongue. Her voice wavered, but beneath it was something steady—something resolute. “Tell me about him.”

And despite the gnawing fear that she might be unraveling time itself, Hermione told the young Potters everything.

~

The fire had burned low in the hearth, casting a soft glow around the cozy sitting room. James had long since transfigured a few cushions and blankets onto the floor, where he and Lily sat cross-legged, leaning against the couch. Hermione curled up on the armchair, hugged a warm cup of tea to her chest, letting the warmth seep into her fingers.

They had spent the night talking. Not just about the war, not just about Voldemort and the inevitable future looming over them, but about Harry. The way he scrunched his nose when he laughed, the ridiculous bedhead he inherited from James, the way his eyes—Lily’s eyes—lit up when he learned something new. Hermione told them about his first time on a broom, how he’d nearly given her a heart attack at age eleven when he zoomed after a Snitch with reckless glee. She told them how fiercely he loved, how loyal he was, how he never hesitated to throw himself between his friends and danger, no matter the cost.

James had listened with rapt attention, grinning like a schoolboy every time Hermione mentioned Harry’s Quidditch skills. “Chaser?” he had asked, hopeful.

“Seeker,” Hermione had corrected, watching as James groaned in exaggerated disappointment before shaking his head fondly.

And Lily—Lily had soaked in every detail like she was memorizing them. Hermione could see it in the way she clenched and unclenched her hands, as if reaching for a son she had yet to hold. She had pressed for stories, asking about Harry’s childhood, his favorite sweets, his friends. And when Hermione had told them about Ron and herself—how they had been his family when he had no one else—Lily had blinked rapidly, her jaw tight.

“Thank you,” she had whispered when Hermione finished. “For being there when we couldn’t be.”

Hermione had shaken her head, throat thick. “He’s my family too.”

At some point, exhaustion had settled over them all. Lily had fetched blankets, pressing one into Hermione’s arms before she could protest. “You’re staying,” Lily had said firmly, brooking no argument. “You need rest.”

And Hermione, for once, hadn’t fought it.

~

She wasn’t sure when she had drifted off, but when she stirred, the scent of tea and something vaguely burnt filled the air. The cottage was quiet, save for the distant sound of clinking dishes from the kitchen. She cracked open her eyes, blinking against the morning light streaming through the window.

And then—

BANG

The front door burst open, slamming against the wall, and Hermione shot up, wand instinctively in her grip. A wild mess of black hair and a half-unbuttoned shirt stumbled into the house, looking as if he had barely escaped a pub fight, or perhaps started one.

“James, you absolute tosser, do you know how worried I—” Sirius Black stopped mid-rant, his bloodshot grey eyes landing on Hermione, who was sitting on the couch, still wrapped in Lily’s blanket, blinking sleepily at him.

There was a beat of silence.

Sirius, still swaying slightly, narrowed his eyes. “James,” he called over his shoulder, tone bordering on suspicion. “Why is there a woman on your couch?”

From the kitchen, James groaned. “Sirius, I swear to Merlin, if you scare off our guest—”

Hermione let out an exhausted sigh, rubbing her temples. “Good morning to you too, Sirius.”

Sirius squinted at her. “Wait a minute.” He stepped forward, taking in her curls, the oversized jumper Lily had forced on her, and the way she looked entirely too comfortable in the Potter household.

His eyes widened. “Did I—? James, did I drunkenly adopt someone again?”

Hermione groaned. “Oh, for—no! We’ve met before, you idiot.”

Sirius snapped his fingers, pointing at her dramatically. “Ah-ha! So I do know you!” He turned towards the kitchen, where James was clearly debating the merits of hexing him before breakfast. “Prongs, you cannot just let random strays sleep on your couch. That’s my thing.”

James appeared in the doorway, looking entirely unimpressed. “Pads, I will personally shove you back out that door if you don’t lower your voice.”

Sirius ignored him, instead flopping onto the couch next to Hermione and draping himself over the armrest like a particularly dramatic cat. He tilted his head at her, curiosity dancing in his expression. “Alright, mystery girl. How do I know you?”

Hermione exhaled, giving him a tired look. “You’re not going to believe me.”

Sirius grinned, devilish and bright. “Oh, sweetheart, you’d be shocked at what I’d believe.”

Before Hermione could reply, Lily emerged from the kitchen, mug in hand, looking as if she had been dealing with Sirius Black at an ungodly hour of the morning for far too many years. She thrust the tea into Hermione’s hands with the kind of effortless efficiency only a woman thoroughly done with everyone’s nonsense could manage.

“Drink,” she ordered, then turned on Sirius. “And you, do not give her a headache before breakfast.”

Sirius pressed a hand to his heart, looking deeply wounded. “Lils, you wound me.”

Lily stared, unamused.

Sirius sighed, slumping further into the couch. “Fine, fine. But someone is explaining why she’s here.”

James rubbed a hand over his face. “Long story short? She’s from the future.”

Sirius blinked. Then blinked again. “I see. And what exactly did you put in my drink last night?”

Lily groaned, muttering something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like I do not have time for this. Hermione, meanwhile, took a slow sip of her tea, watching as Sirius processed that particular bombshell.

He blinked at her again, squinting as if she’d suddenly grown another head. Then, with all the intelligence of a man who had clearly not slept, he said, “Right. Well, that’s a load of bollocks.”

James sighed. “Padfoot—”

“No, no, don’t ‘Padfoot’ me, Prongs. You don’t just casually introduce someone by saying, ‘Oh, by the way, she’s from the future,’ like it’s the bloody weather!” Sirius turned back to Hermione, expression skeptical. “Alright, let’s say for the sake of argument that you are from the future. Prove it.”

Hermione raised a brow. “Oh, you want proof?”

“Yes,” Sirius said, folding his arms. “Because as much as I enjoy a good bit of morning absurdity, I’d like to know whether I should be taking this seriously or if you’re just a very committed lunatic.”

Hermione hummed. “Well, for starters, you have a tattoo. A dog, naturally. It’s not terribly big, and it’s on your ribs.”

Sirius sat up so fast he nearly fell off the couch. “How do you know that?”

James choked on his tea. “Pads, you have a tattoo?”

Lily, unimpressed, merely sighed. “Of course he does.”

Sirius ignored them, staring at Hermione as if she’d just announced she could read minds. “Okay, lucky guess.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Fine. You once transfigured McGonagall’s chair into a cat bed as a ‘courtesy’ to her Animagus form.”

James cackled. “Oh, that was a good one.”

Sirius scowled. “Still not proof. Anyone could assume I’ve done something that brilliant.”

Hermione smirked. “Alright, then. You once got so drunk on a dare that you tried to ride a broomstick into the Great Hall, but you forgot to mount it properly, so you ended up dragging yourself across the floor like an uncoordinated flobberworm before crashing into the staff table.”

Sirius froze.

James burst out laughing, nearly spilling his tea all over himself. “Oh, Merlin’s beard—how do you know about that?”

Lily pinched the bridge of her nose. “I had successfully blocked that memory out until this very moment.”

Sirius, meanwhile, was gaping at Hermione like she had just confessed to being the reincarnation of Merlin himself. “Only three people know about that story,” he said slowly, eyes narrowed. “And none of them would have told a complete stranger. So either you have an inside source—”

“Or I’m telling the truth,” Hermione finished for him, giving him a pointed look.

Sirius ran a hand through his already-messy hair, exhaling sharply. “Bloody hell.”

“Told you,” James said smugly, leaning back in his chair.

Sirius ignored him, his sharp grey eyes studying Hermione with a kind of wary curiosity. “Alright, so you’re from the future,” he conceded. “That still doesn’t explain why you’re here. And don’t tell me it’s an accident—I refuse to believe someone just falls through time like they tripped on a loose stair.”

Hermione hesitated. That was the real question, wasn’t it? She had no idea why she had landed in this time, why she had been thrown into the past just as she and Harry and Ron had barely escaped with their lives. It wasn’t an accident. It couldn’t be. Magic didn’t work like that.

And yet…

“I don’t know,” she admitted finally. “One moment I was in my time, and the next, I was here.”

Sirius frowned but didn’t press further.

Instead, another voice spoke from the doorway. “Well, that’s certainly something.”

Hermione turned sharply, and her breath caught in her throat.

Remus Lupin stood leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, his amber eyes steady and assessing. He looked much the same as he did in her time—perhaps a little less weary, a little less weighed down by the years. His light brown hair was still tousled, his features sharp with quiet intelligence. He was dressed simply, a book tucked under one arm, as though he had only just arrived and stumbled straight into the chaos.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then, his eyes flickered to Sirius, then James, then back to her. “You’re from the future?” he asked, his tone even but curious.

Hermione swallowed, nodding. “Yes.”

Something unreadable passed across Remus’ face. He studied her carefully, as though piecing together a puzzle in real time. Then, after a long pause, he said, “Well. That’s a first.”

Sirius scoffed. “Moony, this is hardly the weirdest thing that’s happened to us.”

Remus sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Unfortunately, you have a point.” He turned his gaze back to Hermione, softer this time, filled with something she couldn’t quite name. “I imagine you must be exhausted.”

Hermione blinked. She wasn’t sure what she had expected, but it wasn’t that.

“I—well, yes, actually,” she admitted, caught off guard.

Remus nodded. “Then I’d say questioning her can wait until after breakfast.” He cast a pointed glance at Sirius and James. “I doubt she’s going anywhere.”

Lily hummed in agreement, already heading toward the kitchen. “For once, I agree with Remus. This is a conversation best had with a full stomach.” She sent Hermione a small, reassuring smile before disappearing into the kitchen.

Hermione exhaled, tension easing from her shoulders. She wasn’t sure what the day would bring, but at least—for now—she wasn’t alone in it.

~

Hermione sat back, taking a slow sip of her tea, letting the warmth settle her frayed nerves. The night’s revelations still weighed heavily on her, but for the first time since she had arrived in this time, she didn’t feel entirely untethered. The Potters—and now the Marauders—had taken her in without question, despite the sheer impossibility of her story.

She had expected resistance, disbelief, perhaps even outright hostility. Instead, she was met with curiosity, with open-minded skepticism, with something that felt almost like home.

“Well,” Sirius said, breaking the silence, “since we’re apparently deferring all existential crises until after breakfast, I have an important question.”

Hermione raised a brow. “Which is?”

Sirius leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, expression deadly serious. “Am I hot in the future?”

James groaned. Lily threw a piece of toast at him. Remus sighed deeply into his tea.

“Pads,” James muttered, rubbing his temples. “For Merlin’s sake.”

“What?” Sirius huffed, catching the toast with ease and taking a dramatic bite. “It’s a valid question!”

Hermione sighed, already regretting every life decision that had led her to this moment. She leveled Sirius with a deadpan look.

“You look like a drowned rat, Black.”

James nearly fell off his chair laughing. Remus smirked over the rim of his tea. Even Lily, who had clearly long since built up a tolerance for Sirius’ antics, failed to fully suppress her amusement.

Sirius placed a hand over his chest as though she had personally stabbed him. “A drowned rat?” he repeated, aghast. “Sweetheart, I am the pinnacle of rugged handsomeness.”

Hermione took a slow, deliberate sip of her tea. “Your hair says otherwise.”

Sirius’ jaw dropped in offense. “I’ll have you know that witches and wizards alike have risked life and limb for the chance to run their fingers through this hair.”

Hermione hummed noncommittally. “And how many of them were legally sober at the time?”

James actually did fall off his chair this time. Lily, cackling, didn’t even bother helping him up. Remus simply shook his head, murmuring, “Oh, I like her.”

Sirius, meanwhile, was staring at Hermione as though she had personally declared war on his ego. “I am wounded,” he declared dramatically. “Utterly wounded. You wound me.”

“Shall I fetch you a Healer?” Hermione asked sweetly. “Or will a hairbrush suffice?”

Lily choked on her tea. James was still wheezing from the floor.

Sirius, recovering with the sheer force of his own dramatic flair, narrowed his eyes. “Alright, Granger,” he said slowly. “You’ve got jokes. But tell me, if I’m such an affront to human decency, what about dear old Moony?”

Remus, who had wisely stayed out of the firing line, suddenly found himself dragged into the crossfire. He blinked, unimpressed. “Don’t bring me into this.”

“Oh, no, no,” Sirius said, waving a hand. “I think this is crucial information. Is Moony still the devastatingly handsome bastard he is today, or has time finally done what no Hogwarts exam could and broken him?”

Hermione considered this, tilting her head as though giving it serious thought. Remus sighed. James, still recovering from his bout of laughter, watched with gleeful anticipation.

Finally, Hermione nodded. “He ages like fine wine.”

Sirius groaned, throwing his head back in defeat. “Oh, come on! I age like fine wine too!”

“No, Pads,” Remus said, smirking into his tea. “You age like firewhisky left open overnight.”

James erupted into fresh peals of laughter. Hermione beamed, pleased. Lily patted Sirius’ shoulder consolingly. “There, there, Sirius. I’m sure someone, somewhere, appreciates your… rustic charm.”

Sirius glared at all of them, clearly betrayed. “I hate all of you.”

Hermione grinned. “And yet, somehow, we’ll find the strength to carry on.”

Remus raised his mug in salute. “To the trials and tribulations of Sirius Black.”

“To his tragic decline in popularity,” James added, finally hauling himself back into his chair.

“To the slow death of his ego,” Lily finished, smirking.

Sirius huffed, crossing his arms. “You’re all absolutely vile.”

Hermione patted his knee. “Don’t worry, Black. I’m sure your hair will recover in a decade or two.”

Sirius groaned, but Hermione didn’t miss the way his lips twitched upward.

Sirius groaned, flopping back onto the couch like a man utterly defeated. "This is the worst morning of my life."

"Oh, surely not the worst," Hermione mused, sipping her tea. "I imagine the morning after that ill-advised drinking contest with Rosmerta was far worse."

James let out an impressed whistle. "Oh, she really does know everything."

Sirius, however, had gone still. "Okay, that is deeply unsettling," he admitted, eyeing Hermione as though she were an unsolved mystery he was suddenly determined to crack. "Are you absolutely sure you’re not a secret lovechild of mine? Because this level of sass is unnatural."

Hermione nearly choked on her tea. "Merlin, no!"

Lily rolled her eyes. "That would require you to be remotely responsible for another human being, Sirius."

Sirius clutched his chest again, looking scandalized. "Lily, you wound me."

"So you keep saying," she replied dryly, taking another sip of tea.

Remus, who had been quietly observing with mild amusement, finally set his book aside and turned to Hermione. "All jokes aside, you said you don’t know why you’re here," he said, his tone measured. "But if there’s one thing I know about magic, it’s that nothing happens without a reason. Especially not magic as complex as time travel."

Hermione’s amusement faded slightly as she nodded. "I know. That’s what worries me."

James leaned forward, his usual easygoing demeanor tempered by curiosity. "Could it be some kind of warning? A chance to change something?"

Hermione exhaled, setting her tea down on the table. "If that’s the case, then I need to figure out what I’m meant to do—and fast. Because whatever magic sent me here, it’s powerful. More powerful than anything I’ve ever encountered."

Sirius hummed, considering this. "Alright, well, let's think about it logically—"

Lily snorted. "You? Logical?"

Sirius shot her a look. "As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, let’s think about the possibilities. You’re from the future, you show up here, right before—" He cut himself off, his expression darkening for the first time that morning.

Hermione swallowed, understanding immediately. "Right before Voldemort finds you."

A heavy silence settled over the room.

James reached out, taking Lily’s hand without a word. She squeezed his fingers tightly, her jaw set. The easy laughter from moments ago had vanished, replaced by a sobering reality none of them could ignore.

Remus was the first to break the silence. "If we assume you’re here to change something… then the obvious question is: what?"

Hermione clenched her hands in her lap. "I don’t know yet. But if there’s even a chance that I can stop what’s coming, that I can save you—" She looked up, meeting James’ gaze, then Lily’s. "—I have to try."

James studied her for a long moment, something unreadable in his hazel eyes. Then, slowly, he grinned. "Well, I’ve always wanted to punch destiny in the face. Might as well start now."

Lily let out a soft breath of laughter, shaking her head. "You’re impossible."

"And yet, you married me," James pointed out smugly.

Remus sighed. "If we’re really doing this, then we need a plan. A real plan. We need to figure out what exactly we’re fighting against—and how to keep Hermione from unraveling time itself while we do it."

Sirius cracked his knuckles. "Alright, then. Operation Future Girl is officially underway."

Hermione groaned. "That is a terrible name."

"Too late, it’s already canon," Sirius declared.

James smirked. "You better get used to it, Granger. You’re one of us now."

Hermione looked around at them—the Marauders, the people she had only ever known through stories and secondhand memories. And yet, here they were, standing by her side as if she had always belonged.

For the first time since she had fallen through time, she felt something like hope.

Maybe, just maybe, they could change the future after all.