The Seer
Hermione Evans had always known her years were short. Her death was a fixed point, a place marked by an ‘X’ on an old map, one that spanned far further than that mere little blemish of a spot. She did not know her sisters’s futures, but she knew they did not belong with her.
Her life was a clock that ticked down seconds, a little quicker with each pulse. It was a bitter flame that was easy to snuff, a simple spell so easy to wave away.
Though she’d died once in fire and burning, she knew that was not the path for her in this new life. No, she would die with a flash of green and a final gasp. She would stand before a crib and she would not be afraid. Wand clutched in her hand, blood already smeared on the crib behind her, Hermione would lift her chin and straighten her shoulders. She would hear James screaming up the stairs, begging a wizard to let him go up - pleas buried under shouts of a deal that had been made. One life to be spared, just not her own.
‘Tom,’ she would say, ‘I Saw you coming.’
‘Clever witch,’ he’d sneer, face hidden beneath his dark cloak, ‘but not clever enough.’
And with a flash, she would live no longer.
Hermione had always known how she’d die. She’d never minded, not really. Already, she’d been given more time than she’d thought. A whole new life to live, two decades more than Hermione Granger had ever gotten.
Still, it was hard some days to appreciate it. Especially when she was sleep-deprived and fed up with having visions of the future every time she entered deep slumber.
On one such morning, after a dizzying dream of a rat scampering across a dungeon floor, Hermione was wishing she’d not woken at all. At least they were serving scones and marmalade for breakfast that morning, however odd the selection was to some.
“Morning, Auggie.” She greeted, flopping beside her friend at the Hufflepuff table - head rested on his shoulder.
“Morning, ‘Mione.” The brunet boy greeted with amusement, his plump lips twisting to a smile. “Rough sleep?”
“Oh no, I slept wonderfully.” She snorted. “But the Amelia’s kept me up til the early hours so we could chat Hogsmeade plans.”
“Aren’t you going with Prewett?”
“Last I checked.” She hummed, eyes fluttering shut as she let out a little sigh. “Bones is off with Edgecombe, and Abbot’s still hoping that Shafik will look her way.”
Augustus Rookwood snorted a laugh.
“That’ll be hard for him to do while he’s watching Kingsley’s sister from across the Great Hall.”
Her head snapped up from his shoulder, eyes wide as she gawped at him.
“I knew it!” She grinned. “Amy said I was being absurd, but I knew he had a thing for her! Kings is gonna be so annoyed that I saw it coming. He’s always pissy whenever anyone’s panting after his sister.”
“That’s certainly one way to put it.” A smooth voice sounded above them, causing Hermione to wince as she slowly spun to spy her best friend.
Kingsley Shacklebolt had always been perhaps one of the most handsome boys at Hogwarts. With his lovely dark features and carefully styled hair - laid in waves from the crown of his head - he spent an awful lot of time having to reject new suitors.
Hermione counted herself as rather lucky that he’d decided to stick by her side in their first year. Before her predictions even became well-known, before anyone had trusted her Sight, he’d respected her opinions. He’d welcomed her first as their Sorting Feast, marvelled at her Muggle insights, and quickly the pair had become close friends. With Auggie by their side, the trio were unstoppable.
“Oh, hey.” She half-sung the words - voice laced with awkwardness. “I thought you were at that prefect meeting.”
“The one you should’ve been at?” He raised a brow.
“That’s the one.”
“It finished early.” He laughed, slotting onto the bench beside her. She had to wiggle a little, given his larger stature and muscles from playing as Hufflepuff Beater. “And Head Boy’s quite vexed you weren’t there.”
“Benjy Fenwick would’ve be annoyed even if I’d showed up.” She rolled her eyes rather pointedly. “He’s still upset that I predicted his girlfriend would break things off him. Honestly, he ought to have seen it coming.”
“Bertha has always been a free spirit.” Augustus nodded.
Kingsley let out a snort.
“Free spirit is a kind way to put it.” He laughed. “I heard she’s already trying to hook Edgar Bones.”
“She’s going to have a rough time learning that Bones is more interested in male anatomy.” Augustus snickered, eyes darting down the table to where the seventh year sat - her lashes fluttering as she nodded along to whatever the oblivious boy was nattering about.
As she rolled her eyes at the ordeal, Hermione’s gaze flickered to rest upon Kingsley’s watch. With panic, she snatched his arm towards her, gawking as she read the time.
“Oh, bugger,” Hermione suddenly exclaimed. “I’m late!”
“For what?” Kings asked, glancing her way in amusement as the witch hastily threw her bag over her shoulder and forced the last of her breakfast into her mouth.
“Tutoring!” She exclaimed after an uncomfortable swallow.
“Say hi from me to Reg!” Kings called out as the witch rushed from the table, a brief wave of goodbye thrown over her shoulder.
She made her way through the halls of the school with great haste, almost knocking into Potter as she ran out the doors of the Great Hall. He was mildly damp, hair oddly slicked and moist.
“Hiya-”
“No time!” She interrupted, offering a wave over her shoulder as she ran. Only briefly did she turn her head to offer a polite smile. “Good luck with your Quidditch!”
“Thanks!” He called after her, laughing as she skidded round the bend on her way to the library. It was a practiced route, both in this life and her last. By now, she knew which pathways got her there quickest - down to the secret passage that would cut out half her walking time. By the time she made it to the right corridor, her breath was quick and short.
Hermione’s steps were hurried as she wove through the shelves and tables, searching for her perfect spot. It sat by a large window, just behind the tomes on object and animal Transfiguration. Once at her table, she almost fell into a seat - frowning as she spied the empty spot opposite.
It was incredibly unlike her friend to be late to their study sessions. Had she known he’d be absent when she arrived - twenty minutes late, herself - she wouldn’t have rushed so intensely. Still, at least the library was quiet. With deft hands, she plucked the necessary books and equipment from her bag, dumping it by her feet as she rolled her neck to hear the satisfying pop.
Fifth year was somehow more stressful now she wasn’t fighting a war. Without Umbridge or any of that mess, her attention was focused solely in hers and her study partners’ educations. And she had a lot of them. From the couple of Slytherins that she tutored, to the many Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs that would join her frazzled efforts, Hermione was worn out.
Still, at least in this life she had a boyfriend to help distract her when necessary. Even with NEWTs around the corner, Fabian was more than willing to drag her out from her piles of tomes and parchment. They’d go for walks around the castle - Fabian always greeting everyone they passed with friendly smiles and accidental brags. As the weather turned warmer, he’d take her out to the lake with scones wrapped in cloth and they’d sit to feed the Giant Squid. He’d nicknamed the great beast ‘Nessie’ after she told him of the myths in Scotland one day.
And Hermione knew that in some ways, she was the barmiest person around. In all her dreams of the future, she had known that their relationship would never last. Just as she knew that she and Fabian would never see past their early twenties.
There was a trickiness to dating as a Seer. In a way, she supposed herself lucky that Fabian had made a move on her those two years ago. In her third year, she’d still been hopeful. Her visions had been calmer, filled with the mundane as though her Sight were a mere party trick. But as she aged, as the clouds darkened and war loomed like crackles of thunder in the distance, it was hard to remember the present. They were alive, and they were happy. It would not be forever, but it would be for long enough.
And Fabian… well as much as he liked her, he liked the spotlight more. He was fickle, quick to change his mind, and terrible at remembering to miss people. Every summer, she’d hardly hear from him. Not when he spent his time with his friends that were born into magic, his days in a world that she could only see during term time. It was the worst trait he had, perhaps, that he only ever seemed to love her when she was in his sight.
“What are you doing?” A familiar voice grit out, filled with barely-controlled loathing. Her fingers clenched around a quill - that barely audible snapping of feather as she winced.
“Hello, Severus.” Hermione sighed, voice carefully neutral as she bid him a nod. “Might you clue me in as to what I’ve done to upset you now?”
In her wonderful life, Hermione had been given so many blessings and beautiful friendships. She supposed her good luck could only extend so far.
His hair was greasy an unkempt - straggly strands falling before his spotty face. They were a testament to his poor hygiene, the boy more keen on spending time in Slughorn’s classroom experimenting rather than showering. It was rather unfortunate for him, and did little to help his poor social standing. For, as much as he was rather gross, Severus Snape was also incredibly standoffish. He could be unkind in his opinions, sharp in his judgements, and frankly rude if he thought a person’s intelligence was below his. That seemed to be the case for most people, save for a couple of Professors and prefects, and Hermione’s sister.
If there was one peer he treated without contempt, it was Lily Evans. And so, it was somewhat confusing for Hermione that he hated her so deeply.
For her five years at Hogwarts, Snape had consistently found ways to belittle and ridicule her. Whether picking apart her essays over her shoulder or snickering at her newest attempts at fashion, anything she did was something he disliked.
And ever the stoic, she never did tell her sister about it. Nor did she mention it to any of her Housemates or friends. The Marauders knew, she was certain. Snape was the main target of their little pranks. Sometimes, when she was looking hard enough, she’d catch James Potter watching for her reactions. Whenever they’d target Snape in the Great Hall, Potter’s eyes would brush over hers, almost looking for something.
But as much as she felt vindicated by their japes, she’d never show it. Hermione may have been spiteful at heart, but she was also a rather good actress. And she’d spent five years playing the part of the peacemaker and diplomat, she would not dare let anyone know just how vicious she could truly be.
So when Snape showed up to ruin her day, or the Marauder’s turned his hair into snakes, she did not give any party the pleasure of a reaction.
“You can’t seriously be planning tutor Shafik.” Snape growled, face flushed as he held in his anger.
“Why not?” She arched a brow. “He said you’d refused to.”
“That is because he ought to figure it out on his own. Just as we’ve done.”
“Not everybody has our aptitude, Severus.” She huffed, rolling her eyes at his bravado. “He asked and I said yes. It’s that simple.”
“It’s absurd.” He gravelled. “You’re just a-”
“A what?” Hermione grit out, sharp eyes piercing into him. “I’d be careful throwing words like you’re thinking around. Verycareful.”
For a moment, the pair simply stared at each other. Hermione’s face was carefully blank as she watched Severus’s ears turn pink, then red. When finally he opened his mouth - another insult likely brewing on his tongue - they were interrupted by the quick shuffle of footsteps.
Then, set with all his usual charm, a voice called out in question as a boy rounded the corner of the bookshelves.
“Did you bring that tome on-” The query was halted as the boy froze in place at the sight of Severus.
Hermione forced herself to suppress her relief as she spied a familiar head of dark curls. There, with all his feigned properness - straight shoulders and ramrod spine - stood Regulus Black. His uniform was immaculate and his robes were pressed clean and neat. Even the satchel over his shoulder was a polished leather.
It was a delightful contrast to his rather rowdy brother. Where Sirius held those same regal features, he wore them with messed hair and messier clothing. Regulus fit the mould he was born into, forcing himself smaller in that very same way that Hermione did. Both of them were actors, performing their parts.
“Hello, Snape.” Regulus spoke in greeting, his nod sharp and awkward.
“Black.” The older boy grit out, eyes darting between the heir and the Muggleborn.
“Are you joining us in studying?” He tilted his head as he appraised Snape. “I did not think you needed tuition in Transfiguration.”
“Not you as well.” Snape groaned, darting a glare at Regulus. “I thought Blacks prided themselves on their purity.”
“And I thought you were panting after her sister.” He replied in an unimpressed voice. “Imagine how she’ll feel when I visit that little art club of hers and mention catching you trying to threaten her sister.”
Severus’s hands clenched and unclenched at his sides as his face grew unnaturally pink. His mouth opened and snapped shut just as quickly - jaw tight as he swallowed. He glanced between Hermione and Regulus with unhidden hatred, eyes dark and narrowed. Finally, accompanied by all the dramatics that the boy so often had, he spun from the table and stalked through the library. His robes billowed behind him with the sharp movement.
The very moment that Snape was no longer in view, both of their shoulders dropped. Regulus huffed a little sigh, reaching up to run a hand through his curls - messing their neatness as he shook his head.
“You alright?” Regulus asked, a raised brow as he motioned to where Snape had stormed away.
“Quite peachy.” Hermione promised. “A little fed up, truth be told, but that’s hardly anything new.”
“He does have such a way of making a nuisance of himself, doesn’t he?” Regulus huffed a laugh, slotting opposite her at the library table. His hand reached for his tie, tugging it looser.
“Indeed.” Hermione failed to suppress a giggle at his words.
“For all his panting after your sister, you’d think he might try being kinder to you.” Regulus chuckled, pulling his books from his schoolbag and dumping the stack rather unceremoniously between them.
“Ah, but Reggie,” she grinned, “that would require him to have more intellect than simple potions proficiency.”
“A pity for him, then, that the only talent he has is dicing ginger root correctly.”
Hermione let out a rather unladylike snort, shaking her head fondly at her friend.
“You’re late, by the way.” She chided him, reaching for the textbook on the top of the pile.
“I got caught by the latest of my brother’s pranks, if you must know.” Regulus huffed. “They put a bloody river in the dungeons.”
“Did they?” She arched a brow. “That’s quite impressive, actually.”
“It’s annoying, ‘Mione.” He rolled his eyes. “It was right at the entrance of the Slytherin common room.”
“Another of his jokes on you, then?” She huffed the question, though she already knew the answer.
Sirius Black’s treatment of his brother was part of the reason as to why she spent very little time with the Gryffindors. While the Black family was heinous and frankly evil, it was cruel to lump his hatred of them onto the younger brother he had left behind.
That was the truth of it. Sirius had found solace and refuge with the Potters, but he had never once thought to invite Regulus to join him. Instead, he’d lumped the poor boy in with his relatives the very moment his tie turned green - ignoring how the boy studied with a Muggleborn, consistently read Muggle books, and very often acted as the voice of reason amongst more… blood-purist housemates.
If the Gryffindor Black deigned to notice his brother, he might have noticed just how frequently Regulus was in the company of Hermione Evans. Whether studying in the library or waltzing Hogsmeade, the pair often found themselves drawn together.
“I figure we’ve a lifetime to find each other again.” Regulus shrugged. “What’s a few years of bullying when we’ll share a crypt?”
Hermione let out a half-hearted laugh.
Of all her friends, Regulus shared more traits with her than any other. Kingsley may have matched her logic and compassion, Auggie her wry humour, but it was her Reggie that shared her heart. They were twin flames. While she loved her Hufflepuff confidants, her few Ravenclaw and Gryffindor compatriots… it was always Regulus that knew her best.
And it was a shame, a pitiful and ruthless shame, that Hermione Evans had known their deaths before she knew their names. That she had known how Regulus would be scarred before she knew just how brilliant he was.
Looking to him now - her beautiful and young friend, born of darkness and sustained on light - she was not sure if she could survive his. She was not sure if she could handle not being the first to go.
And just like that, on an ordinary Thursday, Hermione accepted a truth that she would never share out loud. If she could only prevent a single death, it would be his. Damn it all, damn Death herself… Regulus Black would live.