Yes, I know, I should be working on other fics, but this bunny would not let me alone. I will note, however, that the Dorcas in this story is very different from the Dorcas in Kore Descending. They have a few things in common, but not much.
The young girl ignored the sounds of voices beyond her room, shoulders hunched over her desk, laden with books most would think too advanced for a soon-to-be eleven-year-old. Her brown eyes were unblinkingly fixed on the spinning of a bronze top. She heard them, of course, but she was an expert at blocking out annoyances, even as an eleven-year-old in a bedroom that was a strange combination of fairy-tale princess and esoteric mad scientist.
"What do you see?" An old, kindly voice asked from the doorway and startled her out of her focus. Instinctively her hand came down on the top, sending it clattering to the desk on its' side.
The girl turned toward the man, dressed in a worn suit, somber blue eyes behind half-moon spectacles, and a long beard. "A toy." She said lightly. "A childish diversion."
"Indeed." The man said, in a voice that made it obvious he was accepting her words but didn't believe them. "Often we set aside our childish diversions before their time."
"Is it time then?" She asked, leaning back and looking at him.
The man nodded, face serious. "Minerva will be here tomorrow to tell you that you are a witch and take you to Diagon Alley for the first time. This time next year, you will be settled in Hogwarts and celebrating your birthday in Gryffindor."
The girl wrinkled her nose and gave a great sigh, but nodded. "And you will follow through?" She demanded. "Three nights a month to be myself?"
"As agreed." He concurred, with a sigh. "I still think it a needless risk, but I understand your need for it." He reached into his pocket and removed a thin phial of opalescent liquid. "Take this before Minerva arrives tomorrow. I would suggest before bed tonight."
"Yes, sir." The girl said with a resigned sigh, eyeing the phial as if it was a hated enemy, but taking it from him anyway.
The man put a hand on her shoulder. "Cheer up, my dear Hermione! You're turning eleven tomorrow. It's not every day a young witch turns eleven."
Hermione gave a sigh much older than she seemed. "Dorcas turns thirty, Albus." She said softly, swallowing hard against some unnameable emotion.
"So she does." Albus commiserated, tenderly, like a beloved grandfather. "What would she want for her birthday?"
"Nothing she could have." Hermione answered, sighing. "The same thing any thirty-year-old witch does, I suppose. Love, a family, a career…"
"Her time will come, my dear." Albus said, smiling at her. "As it is, I hope you'll indulge an old man. I've already told Ollivander I'll be taking care of your wand as my gift to you."
"Thank you, Albus." Hermione said quietly, turning and giving him a brief hug.
"It's hardly a problem, Hermione." Albus replied, pulling out a sugar quill and handing it to her as he pulled away. "Now, I really must be getting back to Hogwarts. Happy birthday, Hermione."
Hermione wished him a pleasant trip, and alone again in her room, sucked on her sugar quill thoughtfully before reaching out and spinning the top again. "Happy birthday, Dorcas."
The next morning, Hermione Granger allowed herself to be woken by an enthusiastic and slightly off-key version of The Beatles' 'Happy Birthday' and her normally straight-laced father in a silly party hat. She put a smile on her face and giggled a she would any other year, before heading down to a birthday breakfast, dressed in her nicest (and most robe-like) green dress. She had even spent an hour attempting to do something with her hair. Sometimes potions had the worst side effects for one's vanity. The dull brown hair was almost impossibly dry no matter how many bottles of conditioner she used on it, causing what should have been curls to become a mass of frizz. Still, she tried, muttering wishes under her breath for soft yellow ringlets. In the end she had plaited her hair back into some semblance of obedience, but barely.
Which is how when she returned home from school that day, she had all but forgotten what this day held. This was the day that as a muggleborn her magic would be revealed to her. The reminder came with clarity as she heard her parents speaking to someone in the parlour. She put her bag away, took a deep breath, and summoned all her resolve in order to face Minerva McGonagall. She stepped up to the door of the parlour and slipped inside silently, sliding along one wall to a chair in a corner, listening to her parents talk. Helen and Menelaus Granger had never taught that children were better seen than heard, but they had never minded the virtue in their daughter. She looked up expecting to see a dour Scotswoman, only for her heart to stop as black eyes fixed on her.
That was not Minerva McGonagall. She flushed pink despite herself, noting that her parents still seemed oblivious to her presence, and gave a little nod of recognition. Damn Albus to the pits of Tartarus!
"Miss Granger," He said, his voice sliding sinuously over her ears. "My name is Professor Severus Snape. I teach at a boarding school in Scotland for people of your innate talents."
"Talents, sir?" She asked, as politely as she could.
"Have you ever noticed, Miss Granger, that when you are feeling particularly...emotional, that unexplainable things seem to...happen?"
Hermione went quiet for a moment, considering. "Like say...if I were being bullied and all the windows in a room shattered?" She was hesitant to reveal so much, but something in her couldn't resist. "Or when someone was going to accuse me of cheating, his tongue somehow attached to the roof of his mouth and had to be surgically separated?"
"Exactly. Miss Granger." Professor Snape said, with an odd look on his face. "Those incidences were magic, and you are a witch."
Hopefully she wasn't looking at him like he had hung the moon, but Hermione wasn't quite sure."And this school will teach me to control it?"
"Yes." Severus said, holding out an envelope to her. "This is your acceptance letter and a list of required supplies."
Hermione took it, fighting to ensure that she did not start when she touched his hand, and ignoring the warmth of his fingers, opened the envelope. She quickly read the first letter, but wedged between it and the school supplies list was a handwritten note.
My fondest regards and felicitations on the occasion of your thirtieth birthday, Dorcas. While I cannot offer you what you most desire, I hope that as bittersweet as the day may be, it will be more sweet than bitter.
Sincerely,
Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore
Damn dotty old man. She slid the note with the acceptance letter into the envelope and held out the list of school supplies. "Where can I get all of this, Professor?"
"I will be escorting you to the wizarding high street known as Diagon Alley, Miss Granger." Professor Snape assured her, and she smiled. "I'm sorry to have taken you away from your duties, Professor. I'm sure you have much better things to do than to take me shopping, but I am grateful, nonetheless."
A hug from her mother and an envelope of bank notes from her father, and she was off to Diagon Alley with Severus Snape. Hermione Granger couldn't decide if she was thrilled or dreading it. The knot in her stomach was the same.
"Professor?" Hermione asked, as she kept pace with Severus's large stride. "May I ask what subject you teach?"
Severus glanced at the small muggleborn at his side, and resisted the urge to sneer. "Potions," he said calmly. "Many fools doubt that it is magic because it doesn't involve the wand waving that other subjects do."
"Do potions rely on the inherent magical qualities of their ingredients, then, or does the person preparing them imbue the potion with their own magic and intent as they brew?" Hermione queried, knowing for a fact that there was no accepted answer, and hoping to draw the taciturn man into an actual discussion. "If wands aren't used?"
That did startle Severus, and he found himself wishing that this girl was in his house, with a mind like that one. "It's a matter of debate among Potions Masters, actually." he said, leading her toward Gringotts. I lean towards a combination of both, but that the magic of the brewer is indeed necessary or muggles would have the same ability with potions that we do."
She asked questions that were simplistic enough for a bright child to wonder, but which she knew had no known answer, or at least an agreed upon answer, listening to the cadence of his voice as well as what he was saying, until they reached the bank. He gave her a brief explanation on wizarding banking, and had her exchange her bank notes for coins, all of which she followed easily enough, noting with a grimace that the exchange rate had changed quite a bit since 1980.
Finding a wand was a bit of an ordeal, until she had wandered away from Ollivander and just plucked the proper box off of a pile on one of the long counters, and proved to him that she was right by producing bluebell flames, pretending it was accidental by casting nonverbally. He had been a bit put out, but really, she wasn't going to spend an hour waving wands about, and if each failure taught him something, as had always been rumoured, Hermione didn't want him reminded of a shy blonde pureblood who had carried a wand of hawthorn and dragon heartstring, thirteen inches, surprisingly flexible.
After all that, it was a relief to walk into Flourish and Blotts. Unfortunately Severus...Professor Snape... had only allowed her three extra books other than what was on the book list. She had nearly bitten through her tongue, resisting the urge to remind him about how much time he used to spend reading. Hermione Granger wouldn't know that. Hermione Granger wouldn't have known the way to select the best tools for her potion kit, but he had been distracted by the proprietor and she was able to hide the way she had selected everything from her gloves to her cauldron.
When everything was bought, and they headed back to her house, where she would have to resume the life of Hermione Granger muggle schoolgirl for almost a year, she looked up at the man. If she was honest, he looked older than he should, lines that had developed from worry and stress. Severus had never been a handsome boy, but he had always been striking and she knew she had to say goodbye. She wasn't Dorcas, as every stop on this trip had reminded her. She was Hermione Granger, eleven-year-old muggleborn and Severus Snape's future student. This was the bitterest of all the moments for her, because while Dorcas Meadowes never had a chance at anything real with Severus Snape because of Lily Evans Potter, she had a far bigger chance than Hermione Granger did. "Thank you for accompanying me, Professor Snape. I enjoyed our conversation and I am looking forward to your classes."
Severus looked startled by her words, and gave a brief nod as they reached her doorstep. "Indeed. Happy birthday, Miss Granger. I shall see you on September first."
"Goodbye, Professor Snape." Somehow she managed to give him one last smile and drag her new belongings into the house. She immediately turned to look out the window, watching him walk down the street. "Goodbye Severus." She said in a whisper.