I would like to say a huge thank you to SiriusBlackGodDaughter for being the first person to review my story. Thank you! I hope this is long enough to pass for decent! Please review!

Disclaimer: So completely not mine.

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Chapter One

When Hermione stepped into Albus Dumbledore's office, she did not expect him to start prattling on about an old painting. She had been expecting more bad news, more deaths and maybe a little dash of hopelessness thrown in. So, when she sat in the chair opposite the Head Master's desk, her eyes were already heavy with loss, clothes repaired, and her side stitched by Madame Pomfrey, she noticed that Dumbledore looked less drawn and more hopeful than she had seen him since Harry's death.

She narrowed her eyes at him, wondering what could possibly have him so chipper. He held out a bowl of Sugar Quills for her. She gently picked one off the top and gnawed on it softly.

"I have recently come across a something I have never encountered, here in the castle." he said. "I was helping Professor McGonagall with putting up extra wards, when we came across a painting neither of us had ever seen before. Now, naturally I was curious about who it was yelling at us about moving her around." He motioned to a rectangular frame covered in a white cloth. It was as tall as her and two times as large.

"I'm sorry Professor, but what does this have to do with me?" There was a time when she would have never talked out of turn to the Head Master, but the deaths of Ron and Harry along with the trauma of slowly loosing a war had hardened her beyond the point of caring. He gave her a patient and slightly smug smile. She grew even more suspicious, she had never seen Albus Dumbledore smug.

"When she calmed down enough for me to tell her who I was; she was just as curious as I was. She said she had been looking for her heir, thinking she was at Hogwarts. I was struck with the resemblance the two of you have. I assume you know you were adopted?"

Of course she knew, she had known since she was four. The curly haired witch had just never told anybody, not Harry, not Ron, not even Ginny who was her best friend. She had always suspected that her birth parents had been wizards, but had never followed her heritage, never wanted to find out who they were and why they gave her up. Why should she have?

Her parents loved her and supported her, even though they couldn't quite grasp the sheer harshness of what her eleven year old self was thrown into. It was easy enough to guess she was adopted. Her parents looked nothing like her, her mother always had a year around tan and long straight hair and her father was a tall man with sandy blond hair with a few freckles on the bridge of his nose.

She ran a hand through her silky curls and almost smiled. It had taken two bottles of Sleek Easy potion a day for two weeks for Ginny to finally get her hair to stay permanently soft and frizz-free. They had both been amazed at the length of it when it was soft and shiny, it went flowing past her shoulder blades and to the middle of her ribs.

She caught herself and turned her attention back to Dumbledore.

"Are you saying, you found someone related to me?" she asked softly.

"That's exactly what I'm saying, Ms. Granger. Would you like to meet her?" He waited for her answer patiently. Her nod was small and curt, but the need for knowledge drove her past her hesitance.

The Professor stood and Hermione did the same. He flicked his wrist and the white cloth drifted of the massive frame.

"Hermione, I would like you to meet Morgana Le Fay. Madame Le Fay, this is Hermione Granger." Hermione would have been less shocked if Voldemort himself, came prancing in wearing only a red bikini.

"Morgana...Le Fay?" she choked.

There was no possible way she was related to the greatest witch in history. If he was telling the truth, she was directly related to Merlin himself, Morgana being his sister.

"I can't say I'm surprised, I knew there was no way that your magical ability was of muggle origin. You got things too quickly, produced high level spells that most professors can't even do, like your Candidum Ancile." She wasn't particularly paying attention to him, she was having a staring contest with Madame Le Fay.

He was right about the striking resemblance. Morgana was a beautiful women with an almost too pale complexion and deep honey colored eyes, with hair like Hermione's only with a redder sheen. She had small features and long fingers like her, but what really caught her off guard was the look of happiness on her delicate face.

"You were right Albus, she is perfect." she said in a soft soprano. "Come closer, little one, I haven't seen any of my descendants in a long while." Hermione took a small step towards the gilded frame.

"I thought all of my line had died out, it's silly now that I think about it." She shook her head and her waist length curls drifted around her crimson silk dress.

"I'll leave the two of you to talk," Dumbledore said quietly. Morgana and Hermione both nodded without looking at him. They barely noticed his exit.

"Albus told me about your exceptional talent," she furrowed her perfect brows. "I'm impressed, but tell me, why are you not married yet?"

Hermione almost burst out laughing, she was still waiting for the bikini clad Dark Lord.

"I...we...Women in this era don't get married this early." she said awkwardly.

"That still doesn't explain it, a beautiful witch of your pedigree should be happily married to a wealthy wizard by now." she said firmly. Hermione ignored that particularly disturbing comment.

"I don't even know who my parents are, how can you be sure I'm related to you?" It was the truth, how could she be absolutely sure? There were plenty of ways, if she were to be completely honest, but as it was, she didn't feel like it.

"Hold out your hand," The petite seventh year did as she was told. "Now, if you weren't my direct family, this," she gestured to the little ring of light that touched Hermione's fingers and encompassed the painting. "Wouldn't be happening."

"Oh," the young woman breathed. "I still don't know who my parents are..." and I don't want to know.

"That's all right, sweet one, we can find out when ever you are ready. I am glad the spell I put on my daughter didn't fade with time," At Hermione's confused look she elaborated. "I created a spell when my daughter, Camilla, was born. It keeps the resemblance of the spell caster in every female child born to the line. Of course, it changes to the male side if the person to cast it was a man."

"Why would you do that?" Tired from standing and fighting all day, Hermione sank to the floor and crossed her legs Indian style. Morgana gracefully sank down onto the grass beneath her.

"I was afraid that one day, my blood line would be lost. So, I planned a way to identify women of my family, but people soon forgot how to recognize us and my books were forgotten her in this castle."

"Wait, how would you have a specific place in the castle?" It wasn't impossible. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was full of undiscovered rooms and secret passageways. "Hold on," she said before the sister of Merlin could respond. "Who exactly did you...procreate with?" she asked uncomfortably. Morgana giggled.

"My husband was Godric Gryffindor, dearest." she said with more than a little amusement.

"Oh, you've got to be shitting me." she said in a flat tone. Morgana frowned at her.

"A young lady shouldn't use that kind of language."

"I normally don't," she said stiffly. A little crease formed between Morgana's eyebrows.

"Are you all right, dear? You look pale."

Hermione closed her eyes and willed away the nauseousness that rolled in her stomach. "So, your telling me that not only am I related to you, but also the founder of my house and of Hogwarts?"

"Yes, but are you all right?" Worry tinged her high voice.

"I'm fine, just a little tired, I had a long day."

"What happened?" she asked softly. Pain spasmed in Hermione's chest as she remembered her day.

"We were attacked in the Forbidden Forest, Death Eater's got past the wards we had on the perimeter." Ironically, they had been strengthen it when the had ambushed Hermione and her crew of wizards. Two of them, Miranda Lane and Steven West, were Avada'd before anyone had a chance to react. Hermione's clothes had taken most of the beating for her, all except on nasty slicing hex to her side. She had fared the best by far. "Two of my friends died and the rest are in the hospital wing."

"Oh, Hermione, I'm so sorry." she sounded so guilty that Hermione opened her eyes. "First you have to deal with that and then we dump this on you! I'm so sorry, if I had known, I would have told Albus to wait!" Her voiced pitched higher with each sentence. She would have continued if the dark haired Le Fay hadn't spoken up.

"It's alright, it's not your fault." she sighed."I think I just need to get some sleep, is all."

"Of course, of course, get some sleep and we can talk tomorrow. Hermione nodded and slowly pulled herself upright, her head swam and she almost fell. If Fawkes hadn't butted his golden head against her stomach to keep her steady, she would have fallen onto Dumbledore's desk and probably impaled herself on one of the many trinket's lying there. She patted his head in gratitude.

If birds could look concerned, Fawkes would look like Mrs. Weasley. He gracefully flew up to her shoulder and sang in her ear. He gently guided her out the door and into the hall. Every time she seemed unstable, he would softly push his head against her side and start leading her again.

It took an hour to get back to her Head Girl quarter's, Fawkes made sure she was safely lying on her bed before he left. As exhausted as she was, Hermione could not sleep. Her mind whirled and buzzed with new information.

She was Mrogana Le Fay and Godric Gryffindor's heir, the most powerful witch of all time and a man only second to Merlin himself.

She knew she she shouldn't have found out about her biological family.

~1~

1944

Tom paced in his room, running his hand through his hair over and over again. There was nothing.

No trace. No record. No nothing.

If he hadn't seen her himself, he would have said she didn't exist. He wanted to scream or blow something up. Her face had been burned into the back of his eyelids, waking him in the middle of the night. A new passion tangled with his need for power, it twisted inside him and was so prominent that he only thought of her, school work, and punishing his Death Eater's for not finding anything.

The students in the Slytherin house knew that something was happening, Tom was always distracted and his friends always had a frantic look on their faces. At one point, their Head Boy was so angry that the common room lay in rubble, the furniture splintered and the walls charred.

Tom paced well into the night trying all possible magical ways to find her. All of the spell's collapsed into themselves before he could find anything. The closest he got to any sort of information came in the form of a picture spell. He charmed a wall to show the girl. It was much like what the Foretelling Ones did, but it lasted longer.

She was sleeping when it showed her. Her soft curls spread around her face like mahogany flames and her full lips parted in sleep. She hadn't changed into anything suited for sleeping and her skin looked chalky, like she wasn't feeling well. She turned over with a moan and curled her legs into her chest. It was then that he looked at where she was, red and gold were every where. If he didn't know better he would say she was in the Gryffindor tower.

The picture faded before he could really inspect anything. His fist struck the wall with such force that little cracks formed by where his knuckles had been.

He went to bed with an aching hand and a raging burn inside of his chest.