And without further ado, my fanfiction.
They All Fall Down
Chapter 1: Everything I Knew Was Reduced To Rubble.
"Mum, Dad, I'm home! You were late so I took a cab. I paid for it with the money you sent me at Christmas. Mum? Where are you?" Hermione Granger called as she dragged her trunk across the threshold of her parents' small, plain, and neat house.
When she had first recieved the letter from Hogwarts, her parents had been... less than thrilled. The attitude of the community they lived in was much like that of a certain Privet Drive. However, unlike the Dursleys, Mr. and Mrs. Granger loved their magical child and were supportive. They left it up to her to decide, and as they say, the rest is history.
Now she wandered the seemingly empty house, wondering if they had gone to pick her up finally. By God she was tired. If they didn't answer she was going straight to bed. She tried once more. "Mum, Dad, are you here?"
"Darling, we're in here," called her mother. The voice was hoarse and waterlogged, as if the person it belonged to had been crying for quite some time.
Hermione burst into her parents' room where they were both perched on the edge of the bed with an old shoebox between them. Her mother had a box of tissues on her lap, and used ones littered the floor. To Hermione's surprise, her father's eyes were red rimmed as well. They held themselves stiff and as far away from each other as was possible.
Hermione felt an unpleasant stirring in the pit of her stomach as she took in the scene. "What's wrong? What's happened?" she demanded sharply. Her parents refused to meet her eyes, which only increased her panic. "Have you been fighting?"
"Of course not. Your mother and I simply had a disagreement. Sweetums, perhaps you should sit down." Her father pulled the shoebox into his lap, and patted the seat between he and his wife.
"I don't want to sit down! Tell me what's happened!" Worry made the inquiry sharper than she intended.
"Hermione Lynn Granger. You know better than to talk to your--to us in such a tone! Now sit down," her mother commanded. Her own tone brooked no argument. Hermione plopped down between them.
"Why were you and Mum arguing?" She faced her father, reading the signs, correctly, that her parents had some unspoken agreement that he would be the one to explain.
"Your mother didn't think that you were ready for what we have to tell you. I did. I do," he stressed. The feeling in her belly got stronger with these words.
He continued. "There's something we've been keeping from you, Sweetums, and I want you to promise me that you'll hear us out." He paused and waited for her nod of assent. "We've been putting it off, but... Well, you're sixteen now and going into your last year at that wizarding school. We weren't supposed to tell you, but we found out that you're the main contender for Head Girl. The headmaster sent an owl to us some weeks ago. You have proved that you are intelligent, responsible, honest, and from what we gather, loyal to your friends. Not to mention beautiful. We're so proud of you,"
"We really are," seconded her mother.
Hermione was pleased that they were proud of her, but... "That doesn't explain why you're both weeping. What are you on about?"
"We feel that you're now old enough to know the truth of your origins. That you're mature enough to handle what we must tell you. You have to understand-- it was quite sudden. And we'd wanted a baby for so long but I--"
"Your father is sterile. He had mumps when he was a boy and is unable to sire a child." Her mother was crying again as she interrupted. Hermione could hear the catch in her voice from behind.
"Did Mum have an affair?!" Hermione asked dumbly. Dimly she realized that was absurd but it was somehow the easiest explanation. The one that would hurt her the least. Her father quickly put an end to that hysterical line of reasoning.
"No! Not hardly, Sweetums."
"Then I'm adopted?" Shock rendered her numb. It was the only other explanation. Yet the realization came in a surreal way, as if it was happening to someone else, or on the soap operas her mum loved. She knew what she should be feeling, but was unable to actually feel it. She was adopted.
"That's a closer description, but still not entirely accurate. We found you on our doorstep one day. You couldn't have been more than a week old at most. In this box is everything we found with you, except the wicker cradle of course. It's in the attic."
He removed the lid from the box and pulled out an infant sized shell pink robe from inside, along with matching booties and a bonnet. Then there was a small glass box. Then a roll of parchment.
"This is the letter that was with you. More of a note actually."
Hermione snatched a letter from his hands and smoothed it out to read,
"Dear Mr. and Mrs. Granger,
I have observed you for a while and now know that you are the best people I could leave to the care of my precious daughter, Hermione. The danger she would face if I kept her is grave, and I am unwilling to risk it. I beg you to understand. I love her with all of my heart, but her safety comes above all else. If she takes after her father or I at all, you may present her with the item I left her when you feel she is old enough. She'll know what it is and how to activate it.
This part is for my baby girl when she finally sees this letter. I'm sorry, darling, that I couldn't raise you. There were extenuating circumstances at the time of your birth. I want you to know that your Mummy loves you very, very much and if I could be there with you I would be. I'm certain that if your father knew you existed he would love you just as well and agree with my decision. But due to the circumstances I could not tell him of you. Enjoy your present, it may be all that is left of me.
With all my love, Your Mummy, C.W.R."
When she was finished reading, Hermione looked up listlessly. She gently re-rolled the parchment and held it carefully in a loose fist.
"Dear," Mrs. Granger began hesitantly. Her voice was still clouded with tears, but Hermione refused to look at her or her... or her adopted father. "There were some things in that letter that we didn't quite understand. Can you explain it? From what we've learned of you we thought it might mean she was--"
"Yes, Mu- yes. It means that my biological mother was a witch. And my father was probably a wizard." She informed them flatly.
"Oh dear. I thought perhaps..."
"The baby robe, the parchment, and this. It's sort of like a magical music box," she explained, picking up the glass box. "C.W.R." she said clearly. A sweet, soothing melody began to emanate from the box and soft colors flashed in time with the rhythm. It was quite lovely, she observed distantly. "Only a witch would have these things."
Hermione realized she was thinking of everything from the outside. The numbness had not abated, and the emotions stayed frozen inside of her. She looked at the people she had thought to be her parents for sixteen years, and vaguely realized she should have suspected. She didn't look anything like either of them, nor anyone else in the family.
"May I be excused? I'm a bit tired," 'Understatement of the century' she thought bitterly.
"Of course." her father aquiesed anxiously. "If you need anything don't be afraid to come to us."
She stood up and began to walk stiffly out the door.
"'Mione, darling, we do love you. We love you as much as we would if you were ours biologically."
Without sparing a glance behind her, Hermione only nodded jerkily as she exited the room. Once in her own, she threw herself down on the bed. Her eyes were dry, but they burned with tears that refused to fall. Her mother must have perished in the first war against Voltemort. That was the only explanation she could think of as to why she hadn't come back for her.
Even this thought didn't provoke the tears to fall. It just didn't seem real, she reasoned. How could it? Her whole world had just come crashing in around her and she'd hardly had time to process the ruins that had formerly been her life. It was only natural...
Hermione let out a sharp bark of mirthless laughter. There she went again, reducing her emotions to cold, unfeeling logic. Typical Granger, as Malfoy would probably say if he were there. Somehow, that thought was slightly comforting. This convinced her that she was obviously batty from exhaustion.
She turned onto her back and looked at the ceiling. She really was quite tired and her eyelids began to lower. The last subconcious idea that occured to her before sleep overtook her was that if Malfoy ever called her a Mudblood again, she would wipe the smirk right off his smug little ferret face. Suddenly, the prospects for the next school year were marginally lighter. She sunk into sleep with the sweet image of Malfoy's smirking profile turning into that of a ferret.
I hope you liked it. I'm sorry it's not longer, but this is basically just a teaser to see everyone's reaction. If it gets enough support I'll continue.