Disclaimer: This disclaimer hereby applies to all of the following chapters of this fic. I own nothing in this story, with the exception of a few of a few characters and plot twists.
Crappery: Okay, I know I promised updates on my other stories, but I felt the need to write this. I will be updating my other stories, but for the moment enjoy this one. I'm not sure if the plotline is original, but I have yet to come across any story like this one. So, I am hoping that it is…Enjoy.
The Travesty of My Life
One
Throughout my life events have occurred that I am unable to comprehend. Yes, I do see the irony in that statement. I, Hermione Granger, the Insufferable Know-It-All, is supposed to be knowledgeable on all subjects known to mankind, wizard and muggle alike.
Except, whenever I have paused in my life to consider this, I have happened upon the times that are utterly beyond my comprehension. Truly, I do not understand them. Harry and Ron would laugh themselves sick if they ever heard me utter that, but now is not the time to reminisce about the past. I believe my story begins the very first time I ever saw Albus Dumbledore.
I had just turned eleven and was quite looking forward to the upcoming school term, when I received a particularly unexpected and yet amazingly remarkable letter. The curly, emerald script on the front of the yellowing parchment confused me, and even at such a young age, it angered me.
How could a person know exactly where I was? It had been addressed to me, in the kitchen, the very place I had been standing when a speckled owl swooped through the window. Not moments later, the doorbell rang and I vaguely heard the sound of my mother opening the door, her cheerful voice welcoming the stranger into our home.
I was called into the living room and standing amongst the quaint, paisley furniture, was a tall man wearing a dress. My first impression was to laugh, but it was rapidly mollified by my need to impress this person who, my immature mind knew would be a large part of my adult life.
At first, I did not think the expression on his face to be anything out of the ordinary. It was not until I grew older that I realized that the look of utter astonishment, laced with horror, was not of the norm.
And that, complied with many other peculiar events such as that one, led me to try and discover the cause of all these strange encounters. To you, the reader of my recorded memories, this may not be making very much sense. For that, I apologize to you all.
I hope that once my tale has been told it will all be clear to you. Now, upon my arrival at Hogwarts, I received the same, almost awed reaction from most of the faculty. Still, I did not believe this to be anything different than what the rest of the children were going through.
Perhaps it would have been easier if I had never figured anything out, but then I would not be writing this now and that, my readers, would be something that would mean that none could ever know of the travesty of my life.
My true story begins in my Seventh Year at Hogwarts. Just as everyone had believed, I had been made Headgirl and I was extremely proud of my accomplishments, although no one was in the slightest bit surprised. For, who after experiencing such a force such as myself, who would be?
Christmas was rapidly approaching, and yet I could not bring myself to be immersed in the gale of festivities. Something was missing in my life; a gaping hole within me that studying and good grades could not fill.
Such an emotion troubled me, all the things that had bothered me before that point could be solved by a good study session for a test I would not be taking for weeks. Despite this, I could not shake off the feeling that I was pining for something, someone. The weather outside was below freezing on a regular basis, snow falling in beautiful, perfect flurries.
This was my first winter in the Wizarding World not marred by the oozing, corruptive taint of Voldemort and I had finally learnt that to fear of the name only increased the fear of the man. For truly, that was all he was, a man.
I was bitter though, I had lost my parents in the last throes of that hated battle and then many of my friends. The world was still reeling, almost a year later. I sat by myself in my private rooms, staring out at the soft looking white countryside.
I wanted to be free. Free of the reputation I had been given, free of the walls I forced up around myself, most of all though, I desired to know what had forced me to seclude myself from all humanity and find solace in my books.
While I projected the image of a bookish prude, my true soul screamed to be released. That was not who I really was and I hated lying to everyone, especially myself. The one time I had tried to talk to Harry and Ron about the way I was feeling, they had looked at me as if I had just proposed group sex.
Although, I doubt Ron would have objected too heartily to such a tryst, the thing he had wanted since he went through puberty, me. I do hope he's gotten over it now. Anyway, a sigh escaped me as I turned away from the window and went to the massive bookshelf dominating an entire wall.
My love of reading was something I did not stifle; I do not think I would have made it through those years without the ability to live in my imagination when life started sour.
My brain felt like jelly and I knew I would not be able to concentrate on much, so I selected a year book from the late seventies. I had given Harry one for his birthday and at first he had disregarded it for one of the weird present I usually gave, something intelligent to stimulate his mind.
I had long before given up on Ron, but when the date was properly translated in his tangled, Quidditch obsessed thoughts, he thanked me profusely. I smiled absently and brushed my fingers against the smooth cover, momentarily freeing my spirit from its sharp confines.
Only when I was by myself could I release my hold on my façade and I could not help but wonder about the masks my friends wore, although I suspected it was more the Slytherins that wore a steely veneer than Gryffindors. I curled my legs beneath myself as I sat on my bed, opening the pages.
This would be the first time I had picked up this particular year book; I had been saving it for a rainy day. While the rain had frozen into flakes of frigid ice, that was merely a technicality. In this book it would show the graduating class of 1979, the year Harry's parents and the other Marauders left Hogwarts.
A faint smile was on my lips as my finger rested against the page, passing grinning and waving pictures. I passed over a particular face and then blinked, doing a double take. My eyes widened as cinnamon met matching tawny and the colour promptly melted from my cheeks.
There, laughing brightly and looking up at me was my own face. It was not possible though, how could I have been at Hogwarts in the 70s and then again in the 90s? I swallowed thickly past the lump in my throat and noticed the name, "Raven Grey". For some reason, this eased my nerves. Lady Raven Grey was reported to have died, at least that is what the blurb beneath her name said, in 1981.
I sighed quietly and began to shut the book when a faint glitter on the page caught my eye. A simple necklace was resting on Raven's neck, a locket made into the delicate shape of a crescent moon, opals studding the front of the silver pendant.
My vision narrowed so all I could see was the picture, bringing my hand up to clasp the identical necklace I was wearing. The book slipped from my nerveless fingers onto the floor, my breathing coming in labored gasps.
Something seriously wrong was going on and I had to go to the only person who would have the answers, the one who introduced me to the magical world when I was eleven, Albus Dumbledore.
Well, I hope you all like it. Please review and make this particular writer's heart soar!
Your Lord and Master;
Foamy the Squirrel
