Summary: "We grew side by side; our roots will always be tangled. I'm glad for that, Tom." Hermione whispered, brushing his onyx locks out of his face and pointing her wand at him.
A pureblood family, Riddles, decide to take in a child named Hermione, since the muggle world has fallen.
Chapter I – Shattered Pieces
By phantomhivess
Hermione.
The name rolled off his tongue like a sweet poison. It reminded Tom of dark, cold days when he used to sit in his Victorian-style room that was at the end of the long hall in the Riddle manor. During those days, he would read books while he was cuddled up in his blanket that was the only source of warmth in the cold, which was threatening to engulf his whole being. The cold felt welcoming, but suffocating.
Hermione reminded him of the aroma of the black roses that were in his yard, which no one visited if there wasn't a ball or an event being held. Nobody took care of the plants that were there, so ten-year-old Tom took it as his responsibility to keep the life flowing in the garden. It was his shelter when Merope and Thomas would start fighting and hexing each other. He couldn't even utter the word "parents" since they were far from it. He knew that they didn't love or care about him, they just tolerated him on some kind of level, because they had to uphold the reputation of a pureblood family. They created the image that everything was perfect when in reality, it wasn't.
Touching the muddy dust that coated the enormous window of his room, he leaned against it, as he waited for the arrival of his new step-sister. While going through Merope's room when she was out, he found some interesting documents concerning adoption. He analyzed and studied each paper, making sure not to miss a detail.
Hermione Granger was a ten-year-old half-blood, who lived in the northern part of Britain. He slightly frowned and felt the pinch of hate because of the words "half-blood." He wondered how his father, Thomas Senior, coped with that fact. While Thomas was the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, he still joined the Aurors to hunt the muggles in their world occasionally. The original Ministry was overthrown a few years ago, and tyranny was established. His father, along with a close family friend, Septimus Malfoy, agreed with the idea that the muggle world should have been destroyed a long time ago. The muggles ended up being enslaved and sold in the Black Market. Mostly, the magical children weren't sold – they were just taken away, and placed in a witch's or a wizard custody, just like Hermione.
His icy blue eyes scanned over the entrance of the manor, though no one had…visited them yet. Granger didn't sound like a common pureblood family name. Hermione's father had probably been a muggle, and her mother – a witch. Though it seemed weird to him – why didn't she keep the surname of her mother, since it would provide a little bit of protection against the Aurors? Why did she choose the mudblood surname of her father? He would probably find answers, once that half-blood girl started living here. He honestly hoped it would be for a short period of time, and she would move out soon. He liked loneliness and the mysterious side of the manor while he explored the corridors quietly.
His train of thoughts was interrupted, as he felt the powerful magic surge through the manor, alerting him of the presence of his father. Without wasting another second, he took long strides through the halls and down the stairs to greet his new…resident. He didn't really want to see her – he was just curious since he wanted answers to his questions.
When he arrived at the entrance of the manor, he saw that his mother was already there. Her lank and dull hair was pulled back in a perfect bun, and a sweet smile graced her heavy face. Though he knew that something vile and sinister was lurking behind that "smile." Her bright red lipstick was slightly stained, alerting Tom of what she might have been doing the moment before. Thomas Senior stared at her with a hint of contempt, though it was covered up well by his monotonous mask. His pale skin glistened under the lamp, as he clutched a small girl's arm roughly.
She had a small, elfish nose and bushy, untamed hair that reminded Tom of a wildcat. She was gazing imploringly at him since he seemed less vile than two of the wizards standing in the room. He noticed that her brown eyes were red and puffy as if she had been crying before. He took one step forward, leaning against the marble stairs unsympathetically and avoiding her gaze.
"Merope, show the girl to the guest bedroom, and I shall depart since I have matters to attend to." Thomas's gruff voice ordered the young witch, as he roughly pushed the petite girl forward.
Merope grinned knowingly, which later turned into an evil sneer, "I wouldn't like to smell Cecilia's perfume in my manor, honey."
Thomas's face contorted in rage, though before he could retort, Merope took the hand of the sobbing girl and led her down the corridor.
When he returned his sinister gaze on the steps of the stairs, where Tom had been standing, only to find that he had disappeared. His nostrils flared, and he lashed out at the nearby vase. The glass pieces pierced his hand, though he didn't care at the moment. The blood dripped down his arm, and then on his Auror clothes. Without spending another second in the manor that he despised, he apparated away.
Tom stared at the broken vase emotionlessly.
Hermione felt a mix of emotions – she was bewildered, frightened and confused in this new world. About three days ago, she was laying in her bed, staring at the black sky while her mother coaxed her to sleep. Though when she woke up, everything in her house was destroyed and her parents were nowhere to be seen. The books that she had been reading the day before had been burned, the windows were shattered, and all of her furniture had been overthrown.
Her bed had been left intact, though, which left her wondering – what happened? The ceiling seemed to collapse as well, though it never touched her. She managed to crawl out of her bed and into the rubble of her house to escape the nightmare. Hermione remembered overhearing her parents one night when they thought she was sleeping.
"They're going to come for us too…" Her mother, who she had never seen crying, broke down right in front of her. Her father placed his arm around her waist soothingly, pulling her into a hug while she let out all of her emotions. Hermione was sitting on the stairs perplexed – who was going to come? What would happen? She finally found the key to her questions today. Before her school had closed down, she had listened to the conversations of her classmates, and the word "wizards" stood out the most. Apparently, they existed and were going to overrun and occupy their world. She had never believed it until today.
She kept calling out for her parents, though nobody answered her. Her voice became hoarse and croaked, as she was overcome by her tears. She didn't know how much time she spent sitting there – maybe even hours, until a wizard by the surname of Nott found her. His hands that grazed her body were comforting, and he sat on her bed until she finally calmed down.
"My name's Nott, and my family is one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. And who are you, Darling?" He introduced himself in a calm tone and managed to soothe Hermione's nerves a little.
"M-My name's Hermione," She stammered over her words, trying to pick the right words, "Where are my parents?"
He raised his thin eyebrow, as he pushed the girl's bushy locks out of her face, "Are you a muggle-born, or a half-blood, my dear?"
Hermione contemplated his question and tried to search for the answer that would please him. When he mentioned the words "muggle-born", his eyes seemed to darken and his voice became low. She could decipher hate behind his disguise, making her say loudly, "I-I'm a half-blood."
Nott's face softened again, as he caressed her shoulder, "Before I report your existence, I'm afraid you'll have to prove to me that you are a half-blood by the use of your magic."
And with that, Hermione won the approval of Nott by showing him simple tricks of wandless magic that she practiced over the years. Her parents never approved her of doing this, even forbidding her from doing it again. At first, she set a snake on her cousin on his ninth birthday once. When the relatives questioned what happened, she faked an innocent expression and shrugged her shoulders. The second time, she took care of her bullies. She pushed one of the girls, Myla, out of the swing by the push of her magic. Whenever Hermione used magic, her fingertips would start feeling different, as if something was going to come out of it. She wasn't a freak, as many would label her, she had a special gift.
By the help of Nott, she got into the program for half-bloods, in which pureblood families would keep them for a while until they got sent off to one of the magical schools. As she learned throughout the weeks, being a half-blood was much better than being a muggle-born. She could never utter that she was a muggle, or else it would send her back to the Black Market. She heard it was a horrendous place.
Standing in front of her new room, which was decorated by Merope, brought back unfavorable memories. She was reminded of her own room, back in the northern part, which was laying in rubbles. Her favorite books, teddy bears, and notebooks were completely destroyed and covered by the dust and rocks. She took a deep breath, trying to compose herself and pushing back her tears.
"Well, sweetie, do you like it?" Merope questioned, as she stroked her hair in a motherly manner.
Hermione plastered a fake smile on her face that could have seemed genuine, "Thank you, Mrs. Riddle. It is…accommodating." The white walls were dull and worn out, though she never said anything. A king-sized bed, covered with red pillows and covers, stood in the middle. She also noticed that there were a lot of teddy bears and toys in her room.
"Please, do not address me as Riddle." She spat out the words, as she tugged a little too harshly on Hermione's hair, "I'm just Merope."
She nodded quickly, as she tried to fight the tears that were threatening to break out. She didn't want to be here – she wanted to be back in her house, where she was safe.
"I hope you like the Riddle Manor. If you need anything, you can ask my son, Tom. I'm pretty sure you guys will find something common since you are the same age." Merope patted on her head and left her alone in her room.
Her new room was built in the nineteenth century and looked over the backyard of the Manor. She stood in front of the huge windows, feeling empty and dazed.
She never noticed a pair of blue eyes following her every movement from the garden.
What do you think of this story? Should I continue it? Reviews are appreciated.