This story has been in my mind for months now and only today I gathered the courage to post it.
I've worked on this chapter since January (I guess?) and bothered the hell out of my friend, so I think she deserves to be recognized for her patience and, thus, I'm gifting this story for her, my oh-so-beloved beta-reader and real life friend B
Okay, so let's get on the fanfic, shall we?
Hope you guys like it! (:

THE CALLING OF EMPTY

Chapter One: Before

Muggles feared her; Purebloods were disgusted by her. She didn't belong anywhere - she was a pariah, a nomad with no bondings to hold her behind. When Hermione Granger was born, daughter of a muggle shoemaker, however bearing some magical power, her father knew her fate had already been written - and that it was doomed.

In a world ruled by magical ones, people with no magic had no voice whatsoever. Still, nature was an odd matter and sometimes an enchanted baby could be born in a non-magical household. Immediately after that, an unusual guest would show at their doorstep. Parents of an otherworldly child like that would often say their unexpected visitor was a middle-aged woman, with thick eyeglasses and emerald robes, eyes somewhat feline. At Granger's household things were no other way different.

Some years later, John would say that his and Helen's beloved baby was born on what he liked to call the Hurricane Night. While the wind whistled wildly through the trees by the couple's window, Helen's labor began. Seven hours had already passed and while John waited for what looked like a storm to cease, the weather only got worse. Now, he was standing by her bedside, barely listening to Helen's screams, lost in deep worry and regret. Why, oh why, didn't he leave when it was only raining? By now, they'd already have their precious baby in their arms and Helen wouldn't be in pain anymore. There, he couldn't find the strenght to even take some steps further than two meters away from his wife. Not now. However, John was afraid he could not hide his fear - for that was exactly what he was feeling -, fear for his nineteen year old wife, screaming in agony, clutching her fists sorely around their sheets, sweat running down her whole body. Helen was crying, praying for God to send her an angel so it could get that over with.

They were alone and John had no knowledge on labor or anything related. For Heaven's sake, he was a penniless shoemaker! He still couldn't quite register how did he manage to get such a kind wife and now he was about to lose both her and their baby if the situation would not change anytime soon.

John just couldn't let that happen.

"Helen, listen to me carefully," He said loudly so she would hear him through her cries and all the noise coming from outside. When Helen opened her eyes, John continued. "I'll go get someone. I can't let you in pain anymore."

"But…" She moaned, squeezing her eyes shut once more. "The world's ending out there! You can't go! You'll die, John! You'll die before you reach next door's!"

"I can't stand you in pain, Helen! Please, let me go so both you and our child can have a chance of surviving!"

Helen shook her head, grasping her husband's hand before he could turn around and leave her.

"No, I won't let you go. You can't leave me alone, John. Please." She grunted through her teeth, tears falling on her graceful yet drained face. She wouldn't last much longer.

"Oh, Merlin… This is worse than I thought it would be."

John turned faster than he had ever believed he could in his twenty-six years. There, right in front of him, stood a woman wearing emerald robes, an eyeglass and a somewhat catlike look in her eyes. She seemed a little annoyed by the view of them, John's wife almost dying in pain, their baby still unborn, and John himself unsettled with all the commotion surrounding their bedroom. However, John had to admit that, perhaps, the strangest thing about that woman was the fact that she was dry even though the next Great Flood was just outside.

It was like an alarm switched in his brain.

"Witch!" He jumped back, hitting his leg on the bed. Helen screamed with terror.

"Who are you, what are you doing here?!"

"What do you want from us?!"

The woman sighed, getting closer to the couple. John gulped his dry mouth, clenching his hands into fists. The lady may be a woman, he thought, but she was a witch nonetheless and her kind was well-known for being short-tempered with people like them. Muggles, that was what they called them. Whatever it meant. John searched her with his eyes, looking for her magical stick, but found nothing. It was probably hidden somewhere inside her robe.

"What do you want?" He hissed again, sitting on the bad so he could hold his wife. "Can't you see we're a bit busy in here?"

"Yes, I can see that very well. That's exactly why I came. If you don't let me help you, that baby of yours will die and so will your beloved wife."

John scoffed.

"Why would you want to help? Your kind does nothing but demean us."

"Because," the witch rolled her eyes as if it wasn't already obvious. "Your child belongs to us. I can't let her possibly die."

"Her?" Helen breathed.

The strange woman smiled wisely, getting closer to them than John wished she could. What he'd do to have a magical wand like the woman's supposed to have right now!

"Now," she continued, pulling her wand off her robe with a quick hand move. "If you'd excuse us…"

And with a flick of her hand, John found himself outside the bedroom, the door slamming behind his back with a loud thud.

"Heck!" He howled, turning so he could punch the door. It was no use - the door was locked and it seemed to be held by a three hundred tons rock. Giving up, John let his body slide through the door until he found the floor and rounded his knees with his arms, resting his head there. "God, please help her."

He kept that position for what looked like decades, only hearing the clock ticking across the house and the wind blowing and the world coming to its end. John didn't know how, but the witch seemed to have put a spell on the bedroom so no noise would come out . That only helped to make him feel miserable than ever. and that only made him feel worse. What was happening inside there? Was Helen alive? Was the baby born?

And then, a faint cry. The door unlocked behind him and John jumped to his feet so he wouldn't fall behind. And when it was opened, the first thing he saw was the witch holding his baby with a tired smile on her face.

"Like I said, a girl."

Oh, God… John wanted to say, but his mouth couldn't seem to find the strenght to move. He wanted to walk towards them, but his legs wouldn't take a step. He wanted more than anything to hold his daughter on his arms, feel her warmth and the way she'd grab his fingers like he was everything in her world more than anything he had ever wanted in his whole life. Before he knew it, John was siping aways tears from his face, shutting his mouth hard so no one could hear his sobbing. God, he was so blessed.

"Helen," he said, finally able to move closer to his daughter. "Have you seen her, Helen? She's beautiful, my dear. She… She has your blue eyes, Helen!" He laughed and cried and laughed a little more.

"It'll become darker as she grows… She'll probably already have your hazel eyes when she's one." Said the witch, but the sad smile looked out of place on her lips. Something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong.

"Helen?" John called, getting closer to their bed.

Helen was there, eyes closed, a soft smile on her lips, her hair like waves around her head and still wet from all the sweating and crying. But she was pale, white in a way her skin had never been before. John's knees gave out and he fell once more to the ground.

"Helen, dear?" He called again, taking a hair lock out of his wife's humid face. She didn't move, she didn't even flinch. "Wake up, love. Have you seen how our Hermione is beautiful? She has your blue eyes, darling. The witch said she'll probably have my hazel's before she reaches one, but for now she has your blue eyes. Isn't that amazing? We're parents, Helen…! We're our Hermione's parents! God..."

"I'm truly sorry…" The witch whispered chippedly. "I did everything I could to help her, but it turned out to a situation where it'd be her or the baby and Helen begged me to save Hermione."

"Why couldn't you save her…?" John demanded, rubbing his face dry his face again. Heck, the tears… They wouldn't stop. "Why didn't you use one of your spells to save her!? Why can't you use one right now and bring her back to life!?"

The woman shook her head.

"You can't ask me the impossible, John. Even magic can't do some things."

"Bullshit!" He cried, standing up again. "You can do everything with that magical stick of yours! I've seen it! Bring her back! Now!"

"I'm sorry, John, but I really c-!"

"Stop calling me that! How do you know my name, witch?! What do you want from us?! Keep away from me!" He howled, pushing himself farther away from her. Everything went red. "You killed her! I knew you wouldn't do any good! Hag!"

"John, calm down, just listen t-" She tried, but he couldn't listen. Red vanished, blue sharpened. John felt something salty on his mouth, breathing got even harder, but somehow that seemed right. Wasn't that what life would look like from now on?

"You killed her and what am I supposed to do now? How am I able to do anything now...? I mean, what's the meaning…?"

A small cry startled them. The two adults looked at the witch's arms, where Hermione's face was now covered in tears. Blue faded, only color remained. With a deep and shaky breath, John passed his trembling fingers through his hair. "I'd really appreciate if you left now."

For a split second, the witch's answer lingered somewhere between her cracked lips, drawing lines and curves and sharp angles before resting in the blank space where they stood.

"Then, you will hold her?" That was what she said, her voice lulling in the air. It was like she wanted to figure out where to step in a land full of mines.

John's heart throbbed. He looked at the little baby the witch was holding as if afraid it would break at any moment now, regret and guilt filling his soul. He was the damn reason why his baby was motherless. If only did he leave earlier… If only he hadn't stayed longer.

He couldn't, so that was what he said.

"Are you sure?" Insisted her, lifting her arms only a little, like she was handing the baby over to him. "You'll never see her again if she comes with me."

His heart stopped, his mouth went dry. Later, John would swear for his life he had felt his soul leaving him that moment.

He couldn't, that was what he wanted to say.

But he would be lying.

So, unsteadily, hands and arms and body still not trained to this, he reached out to hold Hermione's tiny figure like he had wanted before. Now, he couldn't find the fulfillment he had wished for, but he couldn't care less. Someday, it would. Someday, it would.

The moment he felt her weight in his arms, it was like his whole world changed somehow. It was not perfect yet, like it used to be not minutes ago, but after the tragedy of losing his wife, it looked quite good. Yes, it was quite good.

John heard the wooden floor crack when the witch turned to leave and it just slipped from his mouth, "Have you ever lost someone?"

"Yes," the witch said without hesitating. "My husband, in fact."

"I see," John said bitterly, looking down to Hermione. "I wonder what's the use of magic if it can't bring the ones we love back."

"I ask myself that everyday, John," she whispered, and John could hear her voice cracking. "Do you want me to ask the Ministry to take care of Helen?"

"Are you allowed to do that?" She nodded. "Then, please, do so. I can't… I can't deal with that much today. There's a hurricane out there, and Hermione, and…"

"It's okay, they are going to help you. Worry only about Hermione now. She needs you to."

"I know… I just can't stop thinking. How will she eat, God?!" His voice cracked.

"I can arrange that as well, if you want."

"I would be forever grateful," John looked at her, somewhat apologetically. "I've never thought I'd be helped by a witch. I've always seen the way your kind treats us and it's… atrocious."

"Well, now you got yourself a witch daughter. Fate's pulled your leg there, huh?"

He couldn't help but laugh - a chipped one, a soft one, almost unheard by the witch. But a laugh, nonetheless. After a moment of silence, she said she needed to leave.

"Wait," John whispered, once more unaware of what he wanted to say before saying. "What's your name? I need to know, so I can put it on my prayers."

The witch beamed. "It's Minerva McGonagall. And thank you, John Granger. Be safe."

"You know!" Minerva turned again, a grin on her lips and John could feel she found that situation a little annoying but was too polite to say that. "Before you came, Helen prayed for God to bring her an angel."

Minerva nodded, looking at Hermione with a fond look in her eyes. "She really is."

"Yes, I agree," said John. "But I wasn't talking about her."

The woman raised her eyes to him and John could swear he saw a thrill run across her face for a split second. She smiled again and patted softly the girl's head. "You're welcome," she smiled once more, before disappearing right in front of his eyes.

John looked down to his baby daughter and almost instinctively one of his hands rested on her little, wrinkled face. She didn't have any idea what had happened on this room that night. She didn't know she was now motherless and that all she had in the world was him. She's all I have in the world as well, John thought as Hermione's tiny hand involved one of his fingers.

Everything went from bad to worse from then on.

As Minerva had promised, the Ministry came over, removed Helen's body and made her a proper funeral. Besides, they regularly sent John something - he thought it was a potion - with which he was able to feed Hermione and give her all the nutrients she needed to grow strong and healthy.

Things lasted like that for about a year, until it suddenly stopped. John could feel deep in his skin that something wasn't right about their world. Something wicked was on its way and he feared Hermione would hereafter suffer because of it.

Business weren't going very well either recently and there were days John had to starve so he would take food home to Hermione, his now toddler daughter. Her hair had grown to long brown wavy curls now, and her eyes, as Minerva had said, were now as hazel as his. While John was away for work, she'd stay by the neighbour's house, the Weasleys.

They were a fine family, the Weasleys. Husband, wife and seven children - five were older than Hermione, Ronald was some months younger and Ginny was born just a few months ago. Each and all of them were incredibly redheaded, in such a way Hermione excelled with her brown locks. When John found out they were, in fact, wizards, he almost did the mistake of not letting Hermione stay with them again.

But then he remembered Minerva McGonagall.

Besides, the Weasleys were a humble family. They had always been welcoming with John, Hermione and their necessities. Molly Weasley was the closest thing to a mother figure Hermione had ever had since she was born and John would be forever grateful for that.

And then the Blood Talk began.

He could see it at the Weasleys faces, before so warming, now so full of worries. He could see the children played no more outside. He could see Molly's reluctance when John would take Hermione there so he could work.

"Is something wrong?" He asked after a few days while handing Hermione over to her.

Molly bit her lip, like she didn't want to talk about it. She sighed.

"Dark times lie ahead, Johnny." Molly whispered and looked around the street, searching for ears that could hear her. "Magical people are getting stronger, things might go down the hill for people like us soon." And closed the door as soon as someone crossed the street.

John was already at his shop when he realized Molly had referred to both their families.

When he got to the Weasleys that night, Molly invited him over. Arthur was there already, sitting uncomfortably on an armchair, his hands clasped in his hair.

"What's happened?" Asked John when Molly offered him a drink and a sit.

"The Ministry's after us. They know about you and Hermione. They know we've been taking care of her."

"I can't understand what that has to do with them."

Arthur sighed, his shoulders heavier than ever and concern deep in his eyes. "Our people isn't as united as you may think it is. We diverge, most of the time. It's common, even usual. But lately the agitation is growing stronger and we're as divided as ever. There's this man… Riddle, is his name. Tom Riddle. He's a big fish at the Ministry and has some… rabid way of thinking. However, almost everyone listens to what he has to say, even though most of the times it's pure bullshit. Fact is: he has this speech, which he likes to call The Blood Talk, and he makes it clear that evolution shows how magic people are supposedly more evolved than muggles."

"But that's nonsense!" Exclaims John, his fingers gripping his pants cloth.

"He thinks muggles are dirt and wants to get the world rid of its menace," whispered Molly looking at John with worry on her every move.

"So, what you're telling me is that this crazy man wants to kill muggles?"

Arthur shudders, not sure what to say. "I don't think he'd go that far, but you never know what his followers are capable of."

"What do you mean by that now?"

He sighs and John looks at Molly, searching for her reassuring smile, but all he finds is tears. "Some of his extremists followers lost it and murdered two families. Two pureblood families. Only because they supported muggle and muggleborns rights or were married outside the pureblood families. That's why we asked you to come, John. You must leave."

"What are you saying, Arthur?! I can't do that!"

"We are going as well, Johnny," said Molly, smiling softly through her tears and getting closer to him. "They're after us. We come next on their list."

"Riddle wants to be Minister and, with things going as they are, he's going to succeed." Continues Arthur. "When he's in the command, the first thing he'll do is establish a Purity Policy."

"And what does that mean?" John inquired, a bad feeling growing inside his guts.

"It means that even the Purebloods won't be safe anymore. If anyone helps a muggle, they'll be denounced to the Ministry as Blood Traitors. And they'll come after you and your family."

"That's what has happened to you?" Asks John, staring at both his friends eyes. He doesn't want to believe he's at fault. "That's why you need to leave? Because of Hermione and me?"

"Don't blame yourself, Johnny. Please. It's not your fault… It's not anyone's fault."

"Riddle's the one to blame. He wants to subdue all Muggles, make them see their supposed inferiority and how we, wizards and witches, are above them. Blood Traitors like us don't belong in such a world… we're the scum." Arthur looks down to his hands, his fingers tangled just like a knot. "We have to flee before they get us."

"I hope you understand our reasons, Johnny… We can't stay here any longer. And you should leave as well."

"I… I can't!" Stutters John, fisting his hair in desperation. "Everything we have is here. Helen's here! There's no way we can start over new somewhere else!"

"So, you're choosing to die instead of your safety?" Says Arthur gravely. John had never heard his voice with that tone and that startled him. "You'll die here!"

"We'll be fine, Arthur. Just as we've always been."

"Are you sure, Johnny? They won't go smooth on her. On neither of you, as a matter of fact. She's a baby now, of course, but when she gets older…"

"We'll be fine, Molly. I trust Hermione's strenght."

Molly smiles. "I trust you both."

"So, where are you going to? When are you leaving?"

"Tomorrow. We know it's soon, but a friend is arranging everything for us. We'll hide for a while, can't tell you where because we don't know it as well."

"Guess this is a goodbye then, huh?"

"I'm so sorry, Johnny!" Molly suddenly barks, throwing her whole body weight right into John's arms. "Please, take good care of my little Hermione for me, will you? She's like a daughter to me."

"We're going to miss you too, Molly."

When the woman finally moves away from him, John reaches out to Arthur. The man's face is wrinkled in disapproval, but his eyes betray him - there lies his worry for his friend and the little girl that's almost as a family member as any of his own children.

"You stupid man…!" He sighs, never hesitating before holding John.

"I know," agrees John. "You can tell it."

"Don't die on me, John. I'll never forgive you if you do that."

"I won't. Promise."

Molly joins them, feeling like a part of her heart will soon be missing. "I'll pray for your safety."

"Thank you, Molly, but I'm sure we are going to be fine. We all will."

At least, that's what he truly hopes.

Ugh, I have to say: can't even ~consider~ reading this chapter one more time after all this time. The second part, though... *sighs* It was just soooo hard to write! I've written at least four versions for this chapter. Glad I had the help to get past through it! :D
Anyways~
Please, review, kudos, favorites, bookmarks and messages are always welcomed! I don't bite!
This chapter was only the building up! Next chapter I promise you're going to see more of Hermione (and Draco? Who knows?) in action!
See ya!