A/N - Written for Round 6 of the Quidditch League Fanfic Comp. My prompt was Fairy Tale Retelling. This story is based on The Ugly Duckling. And for judge's purposes it is 3091 words before author's notes. :) Hope you enjoy!
Belonging
The knock at the door startled Eliza from her mending. She wasn't expecting anyone and she frowned. Rising from her chair, she looked out the window at the howling wind and showering rain. Who on earth would be out in weather like this? Setting her sewing aside, she hurried toward the door.
When she opened it, no one was there and she looked quizzically into the darkness. Muttering under her breath about irritating neighborhood children, she had nearly closed the door when a sound caught her attention. Opening the door again, she cocked her head to listen. She heard the sound again and looked down, gasping at the blanket-wrapped bundle which lay on her doorstep.
Eliza knelt down and pushed a corner of the blanket aside, revealing a whimpering baby. Eliza rocked back on her heels as the baby's cries increased in volume. She quickly picked the child up, glancing up and down the street. Seeing no one, Eliza took the baby inside and closed the door against the wind.
In the warmth of the house, the baby quieted and Eliza smiled as she looked down at the small face. She walked back towards the fire where and settled back into her chair.
"Let's have a look at you," she said and carefully unwound the soft, yellow blanket. The baby suddenly flailed its arms and a piece of paper fell from the folds. Brow furrowed, Eliza picked it up.
Dear Mrs. Littlefield,
You do not know me, but I am familiar with you and your family. I am so sorry for doing things this way, but I fear that if I came to you face to face, I would not be able to do what I need to. I can no longer care for my darling girl and I do not have any family that can help me, nor do I want to see her left in an orphanage. I can only hope and pray that you will take her in.
Please be as good to my little darling as you are to the rest of your children. I hope someday she can forgive me.
Thank you.
The note was unsigned and at the bottom was the baby's birthday and name, Hermione Jean. Eliza read it through three times before she could finally wrap her mind around what it said. She had four children of her own, the youngest just a month older than Hermione. Eliza had no idea how this woman knew of her, but one look into the big brown eyes of the baby that lay on her lap and she knew that she couldn't turn her away. Her husband, who worked the night shift at the local factory, would probably not be as enthusiastic about another mouth to feed, but Eliza didn't care.
"Hello Hermione," she said softly. The baby smiled and waved her little fists. "Welcome to the family."
More than nine years had passed since Hermione had been left on the doorstep of Eliza Littlefield. At first, all had been well and the children had accepted her as their sister, but lately things had changed. Things had begun happening around Hermione that no one could explain. Jeffrey, after continually pulling Hermione's pigtails one day, had flown across the room and landed with a thump on his bum. Michael, who had stolen Hermione's doll and hidden it under his bed, received similar treatment after he refused to give it back. And Henry had gotten the worst of the lot when he had taunted Hermione about her name yet again. He had flown into the wall and been stuck there as if glued until Eliza had startled Hermione and she dropped her eyes from Henry's. Then he had slid down the wall and fallen in a heap on the floor.
Only Katie seemed to escape these kinds of episodes. When confronted, Hermione's lip would tremble and she would eventually burst into tears, unable to explain what had happened. Eliza began to worry about these strange goings-on, but she was too scared to speak to anyone about it. She grew wary of her adopted daughter and began to show her less affection. Her husband, on the other hand, was downright fed up and one night when Hermione rose to get a drink of water, she heard the two of them arguing.
"It's not natural Eliza, there's something wrong with her," Daniel had insisted.
"Hush Daniel, she's just a little girl," Eliza replied.
"A little girl who can throw the boys into walls just by looking at them," Daniel said. "Maybe we should talk to Father Carmichael."
"She doesn't need a priest Daniel," Eliza hissed.
"How do you know?" he demanded. "She acts possessed to me!" Eliza had scoffed at that, but not very convincingly as far as Hermione was concerned. Biting her lip, Hermione turned and crept back to the bedroom she shared with Katie, crying herself to sleep.
The next few weeks were much the same. Hermione tried to stop letting her brothers get to her, but it was very difficult when they were so adept at making her angry. They always teased her, making fun of her unusual name or her bushy hair or the strange things that happened around her. The final straw was when her father rose from the dinner table one night, throwing down his napkin and giving Hermione a look of disgust after being told of the most recent incident. Even her mother looked troubled.
That night, Hermione packed a small bag. Once everyone was asleep, she stole quietly from the house, a lone tear running down her cheek as she closed the door soundlessly behind her.
She walked for what seemed like forever and finally found herself in the middle of bustling London as the sun rose one morning. Not able to take another step, she curled up under a tree in a small park and fell asleep.
The next thing she knew, Hermione was being shaken awake. She looked up into the faces of a group of boys. They wore tattered clothes and most of them were filthy. She startled and moved back from them as quickly as she could.
"We're not gonna hurt you," one boy said. "Where'd you come from?" Hermione said nothing, just stared in fear at the boys that now surrounded her. "You can stay with us if you like."
"But, she's a girl!" one of the boys protested.
"And she's not from around here, look at her clothes," another said.
"That doesn't matter," the first boy said. "She's all alone now, aren't you?" Hermione could only nod. "Then you can stay with us." Knowing she had few other options, Hermione nodded again. At least the boys looked like they could take care of themselves. Finally smiling, Hermione stood and picked up her bag, sharing the bread she had taken from home with her new friends.
She ran with the group of boys all summer and they taught her about living on the streets, the restaurants they could go to for food without running the risk of being turned in to the police, the parks and underground stops where no one bothered them and the easiest way to pinch a few coins from unsuspecting tourists to supplement their meager food intake.
When fall came though, things became more difficult. Police officers were often patrolling the local parks looking for children skiving off school and it became harder and harder to hide. One day, they were all running through a park when Adam hissed.
"Hide!" They scattered and Hermione dove behind a group of bushes, pulling herself into the very center of the cluster. She watched through the leaves, horrified, as one by one the boys were found and hauled from their hiding places by the police. Her eyes locked with Adam's as he was pulled from behind a copse of trees. He quickly shook his head and she remained where she was, watching sadly as the boys were hustled into the back of a police car and driven away. Tears coursed down her cheeks as she curled into a ball on the ground, knowing that she was alone once more.
Hermione wandered aimlessly through the city as the weeks turned into months, hiding at any hint of the police and finding food and shelter where she could. She hoped that the boys would somehow return and find her, but she never saw them again. The air turned colder and she realized that when she'd left her house, she hadn't anticipated winter weather and had no warm clothes.
Shivering and barely able to keep her eyes open, Hermione noticed that she had somehow made it to the outskirts of the city. She looked up and saw a small house with a shed. The door to the shed was slightly open and Hermione snuck inside. Seeing a pile of old rags in one corner, she sighed and settled down into them, creating a nest of sorts. She was soon fast asleep.
The next morning, an old woman made her way to the shed to get more firewood. She was shocked into silence as she came across the small girl lying on the floor in a pile of rags. The girl was so thin, Charlotte could see her ribs through the dirty, ripped fabric of her blouse. Her hair was a rat's nest of snarls and her face was filthy. Charlotte clucked her tongue and smoothed a strand of lank hair from the girl's face.
Hermione jumped up and scrabbled backwards from the woman's hand. Her eyes were wide and fearful, her breathing coming in quick pants. She reminded the woman of a cornered rat or a beaten dog.
"Hush, child, I will not harm you," the woman said kindly. Hermione continued to look at her warily, inching her way toward the door of the shed. "You're welcome to leave if you like, but I have some nice hot oatmeal cooking in the house if you're hungry." Hermione visibly swallowed and Charlotte held back a grin.
"Why don't you come in and have something to eat and then you can go if you wish," Charlotte said. Hermione slowly stood and lowered her head, but managed to continue to gaze at the woman from under her lashes.
"Come," the woman said and left the shed. She was not surprised to hear the girl following her. When they reached the house, Charlotte opened the door and Hermione slid in behind her. She watched the woman closely as Charlotte dished up a bowl of oatmeal and set it on the table. She turned then and Hermione slid into the chair and began to shovel the oatmeal into her mouth as quickly as she could. Charlotte smiled to herself while she dished up another bowl, setting this one in front of the girl as soon as she finished the first.
Her belly finally full after the third bowl of oatmeal, Hermione sat back in her seat with a satisfied expression on her face.
"I'm Charlotte," said the woman. "Would you like to tell me your name?"
"Her-Hermione," Hermione whispered.
"Well, Hermione," Charlotte said. "You look like you could use a bit of cleaning up." Hermione looked down at her lap, her face turning red. Charlotte chuckled. "Not to worry, child. I am no stranger to dirt." At that statement, there was a clatter on the stairs and two older boys bounded into the room. They stopped short at the sight of Hermione sitting at the table.
"Hermione, these are my nephews, Carl and Gregory," Charlotte said. "Boys, this is Hermione. She'll be staying with us for a while." The boys just gaped at the girl sitting at their kitchen table. Hermione looked away, her face heating once again. "Boys!" Charlotte snapped. "Mind your manners." The boys finally broke from their stupor and sat down across the table from the strange girl that had invaded their home.
After Charlotte had shooed the boys off to school, she showed Hermione to the loo and gave her a change of clothes. Hermione took a bath for the first time in months, only having washed up in the sinks of various toilets throughout the city since leaving home. She had to drain and rerun the water three times before it finally stayed somewhat clear when she sat in it.
Once bathed, she silently helped Charlotte as she baked bread and pies, barely speaking as Charlotte chattered away at her. As the days went by, however, Hermione began telling Charlotte bits and pieces about her life. Charlotte never insisted that she go to school and Hermione was glad of this. She wasn't sure she was ready to deal with the questions that would inevitably follow her enrollment in school.
The boys were not near as enamored with Hermione as their aunt was. They were envious of the apparent closeness between the two and wasted no time at teasing Hermione mercilessly when they got the chance. As a result, the strange things that happened to Hermione around her brothers returned. One day when their aunt went to market, the boys cornered Hermione in the kitchen.
"What's wrong with you freak?" Carl asked, backing Hermione up toward the fireplace.
"Yeah, all those crazy things that happen when you're around?" Gregory demanded. "There's something off in your head."
"Even Aunt Charlotte thinks so," Carl put in. "She's just too nice to say." Tears began to run down Hermione's cheeks.
"One of these days she's going to throw you out on the street where you belong," Gregory snarled. Hermione's breath hitched and she pushed against the boys. They flew into the wall behind and slumped to the ground, eyes closed. Terrified that she had killed them, Hermione ran from the house, ignoring the frozen ground and the wind that whipped her hair around her face.
She didn't know how long she had run, but she was soon frozen through. Teeth chattering, she leaned against a tree and sunk to the ground. The chill of the ground soon soaked through her thin skirt and Hermione didn't think she had ever been so cold. Shivering in the darkness, she wrapped her arms around herself, buried her face in her knees and wept.
When she awoke, Hermione found herself in a bed under layers of quilts and blankets. Her eyes fluttered open and she looked around the room, hoping to find herself back in Charlotte's house. But this room was not familiar to her and Hermione jumped up from the bed, knocking a small table to the floor in her haste. A pitcher of water and a glass had been sitting on the table and they crashed to the floor, shattering into a thousand pieces. Hermione's heart began to pound as the door to the room flew open and a woman stood staring at her.
"What happened?" she demanded.
"I-I," Hermione stuttered, looking in terror at the woman in front of her. The woman wore a frown on her face and her hands were on her hips.
"Well, speak up!" she demanded and Hermione could only shake her head in fear.
"Mummy," a small voice said and Hermione looked down to see a little girl no older than four pulled on the woman's skirts. "Why you yellin'?" Hermione glanced from the little girl to the woman who seemed to visibly relax at the child's questions. Hermione stepped backwards and ran into another small table, this one holding a vase. It too, fell and shattered and the woman's head whipped back to Hermione.
"That's it!" she exclaimed. "Out!"
"But, Mummy, I wanted to play wif her," the little girl whined, but the woman ignored her, pointing a finger at Hermione.
"My husband saved you from freezing to death, but we don't owe you anything, now get out," she yelled again and Hermione flew past her and out the door. She ran as far as she could, a stitch forming in her side. Stopping and resting against the trunk of a tree, Hermione saw a barn in the distance. It looked old and untended to and Hermione thought that maybe no one would find her there. When she reached it, she climbed up into the hayloft and was relieved to see there was still plenty of hay. Burrowing in, Hermione fell into an exhausted sleep.
She spent the rest of the winter sleeping in the barn, scrounging for food in the woods and surrounding fields. When spring finally came and she still had not been discovered, now 11 year-old Hermione stood outside the barn one morning, her face turned up to the sun.
She heard a small crack in the distance and immediately tensed, slipping back into the barn. She watched from the door as a strangely dressed woman made her way from the small copse of trees toward the barn. As frightened as she normally was of strangers, for some reason this woman instilled a feeling of…rightness in Hermione instead. She stepped from the shadows and back into the sun, looking up at the woman as she appeared in front of her.
"Hermione?" the woman inquired and Hermione nodded her head. "I have been searching for you for quite some time my dear." Hermione's breath caught in her throat. Was this perhaps her mother? No, the woman looked too old to be her mother. Her grandmother then? Hermione could not explain why or how, but she felt like she belonged with this woman.
"My name is Minerva McGonagall," the woman continued. "And I am here to invite you to attend my school." Hermione looked confused and Minerva handed her an envelope. Hermione opened it and read it, her eyes going wide as she finished the letter. Minerva chuckled. "Yes child, you are a witch, just as I am. Come and let's have a talk, shall we?"
The two sat on a fallen log outside the barn and Professor McGonagall explained everything about Hogwarts and Hermione's place there. When she had finished, Hermione looked up at her in wonder.
"Am I really, a-a witch?" she whispered.
"Yes, my dear," Professor McGonagall said with a smile.
"And I'm really supposed to go to your school?" Hermione asked.
"Yes, and if I'm not mistaken, you will do spectacularly," Minerva replied. Hermione gave her a grin, brushing her hair back behind her ears. Minerva stood and held out a hand. Hermione took it and the two walked back toward the copse of trees, Hermione feeling as if she finally, finally belonged.