The Truth

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the 'characters', I am not making any money from this at all, darn it.

You think you know it all don't you?

Yes, I am talking to you.

Yes, you there sat with your nose pushed up against the screen desperate for this website to entertain you with some sort of passively created drivel.

You think you know the true story of Harry Potter.

Oh, you're one of them are you?

Of course. You believe that the whole thing was fiction don't you?

Well, let me put you straight. I am no more a work of fiction than I am a toad. Yes, my name is Hermione Jean Granger and I know Harry James Potter and the Weasley family. I also studied at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and fought against Lord Voldemort. But, there is more to the story than Joanne Rowling told you. Much more.

You don't believe me do you? You're sitting there thinking why would I come to a fan fiction website to tell my story. Well, why wouldn't I? If I went to the Daily Mail it would be sensationalised; The Times would simply dismiss me as a pure coincidence. I write the truth here in the simple hope that maybe one of you, just one, would believe me.

You want some proof before reading on?

OK, let me explain how JK Rowling stumbled upon Harry Potter in the first place...

This whole disaster began while I was studying in Edinburgh in 1994. I had been working all night on a batch of a memory potion (ironic) and stumbled into a café in desperate need for a break. With me was a draft of my, still unpublished, history of the Voldemort War and I was intending on adding to it. It was stupid of me to take the notebooks with me to a Muggle café, but to my sleep deprived brain it made sense at the time.

Anyway, whilst I was there I watched a young mother with her daughter, they looked so happy together and my heart ached as I knew that this was the kind of love I would never experience (should you desire to keep reading I shall fill you in on that later). I drank my coffee and felt my numbed brain reawaken; it was then that a hand clamped down on my shoulder. I looked up into the bright green eyes of Harry and waited. Harry sat down opposite me and showed me a newspaper. A terrorist attack had taken place at Heathrow, London's biggest airport and the portkey hub for the country. The IRA had claimed responsibility and according to the Muggles the mortars had not detonated. I looked up at him baffled; if nothing had happened why was he here?

Wordlessly we stood and left. I was taken to Grimmauld Place, where I was met with a sobbing mass of red hair. The mortars had missed. Well, missed the Muggles anyway. One of the hidden portkey terminals was destroyed. Obliterated. They never found Ron. Sometimes, I think I see him, a dopey grin on his face as he lumbers towards me, only it never is.

It was only at the funeral that I realised I had left something vital behind in Edinburgh. I don't know why I forgot the notebooks. Maybe it was my curiosity, maybe confusion. Severus says it was predetermined, I can't ever tell if he really believes that or not. But the notebooks were left there. All my recollections of the war abandoned for anyone to read.

There are many things I wish I could change about that day. Many, many things...

You believe me don't you?

No?

I hope your curiosity has been tempted, just a little. Let me know. I have more stories to tell.

You're wondering if that part of the story is true? Well ask, I might just clarify it for you.