I Never Knew You

Summary:AU. Imagine a world where the brightest witch of her age isn't a witch, but a muggle. What if Hermione Granger never received a letter from Hogwarts, but her twin brother Henry did instead? What happens when her brother dies in the war against Voldemort, and Hermione tries to venture into the wizarding world to discover more about him through his best friends?

Author's Note: I know, two stories, bad idea. But I have always wanted to write a story like this, and I figured, hey, why not now? This story is alternate universe. Canon, therefore, obviously does not apply. Additionally, this story will focus more on the lost relationship between Hermione and her brother, and her budding romance with his best friend, Ron, and less on the happenings of the wizarding world after the war. So, yes, this is a Ron and Hermione romance, but it will be more slow going.

Disclaimer: I do not, and will not claim to, own Harry Potter, its characters, places, or themes.

PROLOGUE

HENRY was my best friend. My confidant, my other half, my twin brother. Throughout our childhood, you could not find me without Henry or Henry without me. We shared secrets, laughed at our own jokes, and could communicate with just a look. We were unstoppable when we were younger. I could not imagine a world without Henry. Until he was gone.

On our eleventh birthday, everything changed. We had been sitting at the breakfast table, waiting for our mother to finish making our signature birthday breakfast—chocolate chip pancakes. We rarely had a breakfast with so much sugar. Both of our parents were dentists, and we had the best teeth in our entire school. Why would they allow us to mess up that title with sweets? We were laughing about our newest joke—something about the neighbors' cat—and trying to stab each other with our forks when it happened. Mum had tried to scold us several times, but had finally given up, giggling herself, when something tapped at the kitchen window. She had jumped, prompting Henry and I to run to the window.

I gasped, shocked by the sight. This is impossible, I thought, as Henry spoke: "This is impossible."

Sitting on the window sill was a large, brown, barn owl. And as if this was not peculiar in itself, the owl had a large, thick letter attached to its leg. The three of us stood there, wide eyed, mouth agape.

"Mum…" I trailed.

"Henry, g-go get your father."

Henry stumbled up the stairs with excitement and disbelief. Mum and I did not move as we waited for my father to come downstairs to assess the situation. He ascended down the stairs a moment later, tightening his neck tie and trying not to trip over Henry, who was on his heels.

"What is this Henry tells me about an owl?" Mum and I pointed to the window. My father made a noise that told us he was not quite sure of how to react. After another moment passed, he opened the window and we all ducked as the owl flew in, dropping the letter into Henry's hands. We all turned to stare at my twin with questioning eyes.

Henry shrugged his shoulders. "What? I didn't know anything about this!" he insisted.

"Well," I said, my voice dripping with excitement, "open it!"

"Honey," Mum interjected, "I don't know if that is such a good idea." She looked at her husband, her eyes begging for support.

"No, no, I think it is okay," my father answered. It was apparent he was as curious as I was.

Henry opened the letter and took a moment to read. Finally, he said, "Hogwarts? What the bloody hell is a Hogwarts?" Annoyed that he had not offered any other emotion or information, I snatched the letter from him.

"Hermi—" my mother started, but I began to read out loud.

"Dear Mr. Granger, we are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. This has got to be a joke," I laughed, matter-of-factly.

It was my father's turn to snatch the letter from me. He looked over the pages, my mother reading over his shoulder. Henry and I stood in silence, watching and waiting.

Finally, my father said, "I don't think this is a joke." Not a moment after he said it, there was a knock at the door. As my father walked off, I hung my head, my excitement quickly turning to jealously. Where was my letter?


Hogwarts was not a joke. The knock at the door had been from Albus Dumbledore himself, headmaster of Hogwarts, coming to explain what was going on. I had sat on the bottom step in the hallway, listening as my mother, father, and twin were given the Hogwarts experience. I had been overcome with jealousy and I just could not bring myself to understand. I had wanted to barge in there and demand my own letter. I did not dare do so, determined to still believe it was not real.

A month later, my brother left on a train, headed for a place I would never know. Our last month together, Henry and I began to grow apart. He had something new and shiny that I could not share. It felt unnatural. I did not go to Kings Cross station to see him off. I told him goodbye through my bedroom door, angry with him for leaving me.

Henry hardly ever came home to visit. In the beginning, he was home every holiday and summer. After a couple of years, he only came home for Christmas, choosing instead to spend his summers with his friends. He sent us letters—by owl, for goodness sake!—twice or so a month for six years. His letters were always so lively; detailing all of the wonderful adventures he was having with his friends, a Harry Potter and a Ron someone or another. He had battled a troll, helped kill a giant snake, saved a prisoner's life, and had helped Harry escape numerous times from some evil Lord guy. All of which I did not believe for one second.

When Henry had left—I turned to the only comfort I had left—books. Every tale Henry spun was illogical. I had the proof in my hands that these things he was telling us were impossible. I could not understand how my parents could so readily believe him. And, even if these stories were real, how could they allow him to put himself in so many dangers? Then, when we were sixteen, he came home unexpectedly.

I remember the day like it was yesterday—after all, it was the last day I would ever see my brother. Apparently, that evil Lord he had mentioned in one of his very first letters—they called him You-Know-Who—had begun to overtake the wizarding world. And, he had made the decision to fight against him. This decision meant he would not be attending his final year of school. Instead, he would be going on a search with Harry and Ron to find items that would help destroy the evil Lord. Finally, my parents reacted in the way I had always expected them to. They told Henry no, he would not be going off with his friends. He would either return to school or come home.

"Don't you understand?" Henry had said, angrily, "I am not safe at school and I am not safe here either. Being friends with Harry means I am a target too."

He fought with my parents for several minutes. I had interjected at one point that if he was not safe at home, did that mean we were not safe either.

"No, you are perfectly safe. I—well, I haven't exactly been forthcoming about my family with the wizarding world." He hung his head in shame when he saw the disappointment on my father's face.

"You're ashamed of us?" I whispered. "You're ashamed because we aren't like you!" I was getting angry; I could feel the blood going to my face.

"No! No! That isn't it at all." He stopped, obviously thinking about what to say next. He sighed. "Look, I regret it now, but don't you see? It is better I didn't talk about you! You-Know-Who knows nothing about you! He can't find you because he will not be looking and I put untraceable charms on all of you for extra protection. But, it is pertinent that you never, ever mention me to anyone again. Before I leave, I am going to erase myself from this house and this world. I was advised to wipe any memories of me from everyone I know in the muggle world. While I can erase myself from everyone else, from the neighborhood, from school, I refuse to wipe your memories."

He spent another hour with us, attempting to explain everything. I still could not believe anything he was saying was true. Nothing made sense—how could there be a war in England that our military knew nothing about?

It had been a teary goodbye. Little did we know, it would be our last.


My life ended on May 5, 1998. I had been home alone, just getting home from school, my parents still at the office. I was curled up on the sofa, doing one of my final assignments for the year. I heard a knock at the door and had debated for a moment about answering it. I usually did not answer the door when I was alone, but something was pulling at me. I finally stood and slowly made my way to the door. When I opened it, I was met with two men standing in front of me.

I studied them as we stood there in silence. They were young, probably around my age. One, a tall dangly red head, was standing back, a solemn look on his face. He avoided my eyes, more preoccupied with his feet. He kept shuffling them back and forth, back and forth. When he did look up at me, I noticed his long nose and abundant freckles. His eyes were blue, and for a moment, I imagined they would be beautiful, but there was a sad look about them. I turned my attention to the second man, who was much shorter than the first. Unlike his friend, he appeared less nervous and seemed to be studying me as well. He had jet black hair, green eyes, and round glasses. And then I noticed the lightning bolt scar, the one I had heard so much about. Could it really be true?

"Are you—are you Hermione Granger?" The shorter one, who I now knew to be Mr. Harry Potter himself, asked.

"Yes. Who are you?" I asked, although I knew the answer. The other one, the redhead, had to be Ron.

"I am Harry, Harry Potter. And this," he said, motioning to his friend, "is Ronald Weasley." Ron waved, but still did not make eye contact. I noticed the bags under his eyes, and again, I wondered about how beautiful his eyes could be.

I did not say anything, not quite sure what they wanted. And then, I thought of Henry. Wait—these are Henry's friends. Why are they here and where is he? I thought. It hit me.

"No," I whispered. Harry did not move. "No," I said again, my voice trembling. "Where is my brother?"

"I am so sorry," Harry said, as my legs hit the floor. He and Ron reached down to comfort me.

"No," I yelled, pulling away. "It's your fault. Your fault! He was your friend. How could you let this happen?" I was sobbing now, tears rolling down my cheeks. Harry tried to speak again, but I would not let him.

"Go," I cried. "Just go."

They left me on the floor, in my open door way. I watched as they walked down the lawn and then cried into my hands. I do not know how long I had been there, but I was still there, crying, when my parents arrived. I only composed myself long enough to say, "Henry's gone."