CHAPTER ONE

Vitiligo. Seven different doctors, the same basic answer. It did not make sense to Hermione how she had only one small, perfectly round patch of white on her left forearm, about the size of two pounds. It didn't hurt, or itch, or irritate her at all, it was just there. Her parents said she was not born with it, that it showed up randomly one summer before she turned one. The doctors, again, said it was common for that to happen, and logically her parents probably missed that one part of her forearm with sunscreen on a sunny day out. Hermione, has always been a logical girl though, and it wasn't logical for her parents to miss a perfect circle on her arm, and it just so happened to give her vitiligo. It didn't bother her to have the round patch, it bother her that she didn't know what it truly was, aggravating her curiosity. Eventually her parents stopped bringing her to the multitude of doctors, they agreed on the general consensus, just glad that their only daughter was fine.

"Hermione, all the doctors tested for skin cancer, and other extraneous conditions, vitiligo is the only one that makes sense." Her mother told her softly.

"I don't care what the doctor said, it's not that!"

"We can't keep taking you to different consultations to get the same answer, you're not dying-" William Granger started.

"I never said I was dying! I just want to know what it is!"

Her mother wrapped her in a hug.

"It doesn't matter what it is, because it's you, and we love you, no matter what it is, okay?" Jane Granger replied in a warm soothing voice.

Hermione simply nodded in response.

"Can we just not call it vitiligo? I despise the word now." Hermione confessed.

"Of course, dear, what shall we call it then?" Her father chuckled.

Hermione thought for a minute, her copper eyes transfixed on the floor while debating what to rename her 'spot'.

"Atticus." She decided with a smile.

"Like Atticus Finch in To Kill a Mockingbird?"

Hermione gave him a small nod, while her father smiled with approval.

Unfortunately for her, Atticus, while having a new name, was still very visible, giving her classmates yet another reason to pick on her. Hermione did not really understand why they continued to tease and taunt her, it was not as if this was something she could have controlled; in fact, if she had any choice in the matter she would not have Atticus to begin with. Although, the fact remained that Atticus was still there, and as long as he remained, she would be teased for it; as a result of this she began immersing herself in books instead of listening to the constant mocking.


The day that Hermione received her Hogwarts letter, the dots connected in her mind: She was a witch; it explained the weird occurrences that would happen when she was dejected, exasperated, or ecstatic.

"It might also explain Atticus," She thought, curiously looking down at her left forearm.

Atticus had not grown even a millimeter in diameter, the pasty white color remained exactly the same as it had always been, completely marring her normal walnut complexion.

Maybe Atticus was an indicator that she was a witch this entire time, perhaps all witches had a similar mark. Hermione continued to pull on her wiry black curls while she reread the Hogwarts letter. According to the letter, a professor from Hogwarts would escort her to get her school supplies. Hermione decided that then would be the perfect time to ask about Atticus. Another witch would surely have an explanation for the spot, surely a knowledgeable witch would know, at least Hermione hoped she would know.

"So, witches don't all have a mark like mine?" Hermione questioned the older witch.

"No, although yours is quite unique, perhaps it's a birthmark?" The professor suggested kindly.

"Perhaps." Hermione mumbled, covering Atticus with her right hand in embarrassment.

Her mark was neither muggle or magic, it was just there, which frustrated Hermione to no end. Everything has a purpose, surely Atticus did too.

"Come now," Professor McGonagall kindly told the young witch. "We must get you fitted for your robes."

"Robes?"

"Yes, they are a part of Hogwarts' uniform, they must be worn to and from classes."

The little witch began to smile at that, a robe would be the perfect way to hide Atticus, she could be a normal witch.


It was made very clear to Hermione by many of her new classmates that she would never be a normal witch, and it had nothing to do with her spot, seeing as she hid Atticus under her robe. Hermione knew she was a clever girl, but did not comprehend that her cleverness could come off as swottiness, which led to many of her housemates ignoring her. Not only that, but being a muggle-born was also very frowned upon among certain groups of students. She found this out the hard way her first week in the library.

"Is it alright if I sit with you?" A small voice asked.

Hermione looked up from the giant tome she was reading to see a blonde boy about her age, with steel grey eyes standing there holding two very large books of his own.

"Of course!" She nodded with a smile.

"Thank you. None of my friends want to start studying yet, but I want to be top of my class, so it's best that I start now."

"I just find it all quite fascinating. I've never been this excited to do homework in my life," Hermione replied with a small giggle.

The boy grinned back.

"You're not so bad for a Gryffindor, what's your name?"

"I'm Hermione Granger, and you?"

The blonde looked very confused at this.

"I'm Draco Malfoy. Where are you from exactly?" He questioned, drumming his fingers anxiously over his book.

"I'm from London." She replied easily, confused why her new friend seemed so suddenly anxious.

"Muggle London?" Draco prodded.

"Well... yes," Hermione hesitated.

"I've got to go, it was er- a pleasure talking to you," He concluded, standing up and hurrying out.

Hermione sat in silence bewildered over the strange conversation she just had.

An older girl, at a neighboring table took pity on the poor perplexed girl.

"He's a pureblood, and has a very strict pureblood family. He believes he should not be associating with muggleborns like yourself. It's how he, and a few other students were raised." The girl explained.

That just puzzled Hermione even more.

"That doesn't make any sense."

"I know," the older witch sighed, "Old pureblood families are strange like that."

Hermione just nodded in response, yearning to understand more about this strange magical world.


AN

Just wanted to give a BIGG shoutout to my bestie Rachel for helping me edit this! PLEASE follow her art account on instagram , her art is amazing and so is she! I couldn't have made this story without her so please show her and her art some love !