Harry Potter is not mine. I manipulate the world to my liking no matter the truth in it. If something doesn't match up with your version of it, then you can rewrite the story the way you like it. Everything in here is exactly as I will it. No mistakes.
Blood
Chapter One
The rage made her feel, the rage made her powerful.
Blood, it seemed to be everywhere. It drenched the cold cobble stones, the grey walls, the light blue stained glass windows of an old abandoned shop. It was woefully covered and consumed. The treacherously red liquid slowly seeped into the cracks and edges of the alleyway. She looked down to see the crimson paste dripping from her entire being and the sharp knife in her hand. It was a complete stranger's blood. The same color as her own, yet so utterly different it used to make her sad. She had to pretend that it was the people who raised her that laid in pieces at her feet.
She was young, nothing more than a small child. She was no more than four years old when he came into their home. She had clung to her teddy and bounded for her father, her brown curls flying around her face. The man was very scary and said he came to show them their place and that their place was beneath the soil, six feet under. Her father pushed her away and told her to hide in the closet. The man screamed about things she had not understood. He called them, her mother and father, 'muggles'. Her parents had been pitiful as he began the torture.
She found out so many things; too many things.
She had been there, watching and listening. She was quiet as a mouse. He quickly became bored and preached about the good it will do to kill them. He prepared them with malicious nature, but when the time came, it did not work. She watched him from the doorway, her eyes wide and confused. He came closer to the closet and as a child the girl felt tears roll down her face. Hermione pushed the offending salt-water back. Mother said that whenever she felt like crying, she should smile. He came closer, closer to her, but then he stopped. She did something that had made him stop. She did as her mother had taught her. She smiled. She smiled and in his eyes, his monstrous eyes, it was real.
She found out why she was so intelligent. Why magic came to her so easily, unlike so many others. Why, that even after all these years, she could not bring herself to find the Dark Lord. Why she could not convince herself to kill Lord Voldemort. Why; the question of the most obvious premise, which thousands will ask her. Why should not the goody-two-shoes, Golden Girl, Gryffindor be able to kill the man responsible for nearly two thousand innocent deaths? Why? The answer is the solution to her happiness. All because of the truth: she no longer sad. She knows and in her heart she has always known the truth about herself and the truth about them. She feels him, knows him, and belongs to him. Not in the romantic sense of course, but in Blood Oath. An Oath that can not be broken and it can not be undone.
A true, genuine, and brilliantly pure smile plastered on her face. Her parents were thrown into despairing shock as he picked her up with reasonably gentle hands. He sized her up, his red eyes gauging her like a meal. She continued to smile until the tears stopped. She continued to smile, until he smiled back. All of her nightmares, all of her fears, it all paled when she looks back on the fear and horror on her mothers face.
It was simple smirk, but one that struck fear expansively into her heart. The man set her on his waist and turned to towards her parents. He had made the choice of taking her. He made them swear, and in that moment, they sold their one and only magical child to the man who had tortured them.
She had decided not to kill them; instead killing lowlifes down near the river. It was a quick casting of 'obliviate' that solved most of her problems. Death would only rectify their choice. So Hermione decided something far better and least to say ... use your imagination, though it will still come up short.
He cut into her thigh, right above her left knee, and split his thumb open before pressing the two wounds together.
Hermione lifted her skirt and examined the long and white scar on her thigh. It was relatively new to her as this was only the second time on this day she saw it. Hermione let down her skirt with a relieved sigh.
It had not taken long for everything to happen quickly and before she knew it, everything was cleaned up. Hermione grabbed her 'mothers' sheers and began to layer her hair, just as her 'aunt' had taught her. Not that extended family mattered much now.
Staring at the connection intently, the young girls screamed as shocking pain radiated through-out her veins. The man handed her back to her 'parents' and departed from them with one swift comment.
'Know that she will remember when the time is right.' Back into the memory Hermione Granger remembers two other people there that night. Or rather, she remembers their voices.
She repacked her bag and took all of the money from the house with the exception of what was on her 'father'.
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Diagon Ally was much the same to her. There were no straying eyes making her nerves shake, as Poe had warned, or even the shaking fear of evil. She quickly found, after her blatant disregard of the law, that none of affect her. Hermione knew it was because of the blood bond, and found her-self glad of it. She finished her shopping and stood at the edge of Knockturn Ally. Several witches eyed her with distain while others eyed her with something akin to fear. The young woman turned away just as a grotesque voice called from the other side of the street.
"My Lady," she turned back to the dark ally. "I have what you seek." Hermione stayed quiet and kept a polite but stern look as she motioned him to come forward. The man stepped into the dim light and handed her a box and a rather large stack of parchment notes with it. "He instructs not to open these unless you are completely alone, My Lady."
She took the proffered objects and disappeared back into Diagon Ally.
Thank you!