Chapter Two: Blood Never Lies

May 19, 1997

When Hermione woke up, her head was pounding and her eyes were bleary. She remembered being in the library, working past curfew… she wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand and it came away moist. Were those tears? Finally managing to focus on her surroundings, she realized she wasn't in the library any more. She was sitting in a spindly arm chair across from an intimidating black desk, and surrounded by gloom and eerie glass jars filled with floating dead animals and bits of plants. A flash of green caught her attention to her left and she watched the emerald flames leap high before receding to a small and ordinary orange.

"Professor Snape?" Hermione said, catching sight of the tall man by the fireplace and recognizing him at once. "What am I doing in your office?"

He turned to face her at the sound of her voice, his expression morphing from what could have passed for a look of concern, to one of suspicion.

"Miss Granger," he acknowledged, sweeping past her to sit stiffly behind the large desk, his hands steepled before him. "Would you care to explain exactly what you were doing in the Library past curfew this evening?"

Hermione thought hard, her brain still muddled and a bit confused.

"Uh..."

"Such eloquence," Snape hissed. "One would think that with your history of being unable to keep your mouth shut, an answer would be a little more forthcoming."

Hermione stiffened, her chin jutting forward at the insult and her arms crossing in front of her protectively.

"I was studying," she said defensively.

"Indeed," said Snape skeptically. "And pray tell, which class has assigned you to conjure disturbing pornographic scenes in the middle of your school library?" His voice was practically a whisper and Hermione felt her blood run cold at the memories his words evoked. The circle of Death Eaters. Voldemort straddling the woman as she screamed… her mother's face.

"Answer me!" demanded Snape.

Hermione cleared her throat. "It— It wasn't for a class. It was a personal project."

"A dark project indeed for the school's gleaming Gryffindor Princess." Snape practically spat the last word, leaning forward to peer more closely at Hermione where she sat across from him, uncomfortable under the scrutiny.

"I didn't mean to—" she began, "I mean, I meant to do the spell, but not to see… that."

"Of course not," said Snape mockingly, "Never has a student meant to be caught breaking school rules. I'm sure you thought your titillating little experience would remain completely private."

"I'd never!" Hermione burst out. "You think I wanted to see that?! You think I was—was titillated by that awful assault?" She stood up, ignoring the wooziness that accompanied the sudden change in position, and continued to shout at the man sitting across from her. "You're sick!" She continued. "To think I could ever want to— to see something like that." When she finished she was practically hyperventilating. Her hands had come to rest on the edge of the desk behind which Snape sat, and she was leaning over it, shouting into the professor's face. He eyed her speculatively before clasping his hands and leaning back in his chair.

"Well then," he said, continuing to watch her as she breathed, staring at him with accusing eyes. "Do sit down, Miss Granger," he finally ordered, "Before you pass out again like some simpering first year."

Hermione raised her eyebrows, but unclenched her fists from the desk all the same. She stumbled back into her chair, sighing quietly when she realized just how dizzy she had felt standing there.

"Now then," said Snape, his voice softer now, less accusatory. "If you didn't mean to see what you saw, what exactly did you mean to do?" Hermione studied his face before answering. He looked interested, perhaps a bit concerned. And he was a member of the Order, why shouldn't she tell him? She made her decision without much more thought, and the words began to tumble out of her.

"I was trying to learn Fenestram in Praeteritum," she said, voice low and hoarse. "I read about it almost a year ago, though I didn't know the spell then, and I finally found the book I needed in February. I've been working to translate it ever since then. Tonight I finally got to the incantation."

"Fenestram in Praeteritum," echoed Snape. "Window to the Past." Hermione nodded.

"Yes. It allows the caster to quite literally open a window on to their own personal time line." She gulped, looking down at her hands. "I thought we could use it for Harry. If he could see what happened between he and Voldemort—"

"Do not speak the name," Snape hissed. Hermione flinched, nodding and then continuing.

"Well, I thought it might help us to understand their connection. Maybe gain an advantage… So I tried it. The first time it worked perfectly." Hermione closed her eyes. Remembering the birthday scene as it had appeared through the window. "I saw my seventh birthday." Her eyes opened. "But you see, that was a memory of mine, and Harry has no memory of the night his parents were killed. I needed to make sure the spell could target events in a timeline that the caster had no recollection of themselves. I was aiming for the first time my parents were together with me. The first time they held me… And then I saw—" she couldn't finish the thought, didn't want to see again in her mind the violation she had witnessed through the spell.

"That isn't possible," the Professor snapped. Hermione looked up at him, meeting his once more accusatory gaze.

"What I've told you is the truth," She assured him, "Why would I make up something like that? Why would I actually want to watch something so… so evil!?"

At this, Snape stood up, coming around his desk, his robes billowing as they did when he moved quickly. Before Hermione could react he had approached her and put his hands on the arms of her chair, leaning down so that his face was scant inches from hers and his black eyes bored into her own dark brown.

"Miss Granger," he said quietly, "It is impossible that your spell worked the way you imagined, because what you witnessed has nothing to do with you."

"I think Professor, that my mother has quite a lot to do with me," she responded icily, refusing to break her gaze. She watched with a sense of satisfaction as he studied her for some sign of falsehood. Finding none, he stood up, staggering back as if she had shoved him, until he came to rest against the surface of his desk.

Behind her, Hermione heard the door to Professor Snape's office open. She turned around to see who was there and was startled to see Professor Dumbledore. He wore what looked like a magenta night-gown with silver shooting stars darting across the fabric field, and a matching cap. His long beard was braided beneath his chin and tossed haphazardly over one shoulder. Hermione might have laughed if the sight of the Headmaster didn't make things seem somehow more terrifying.

"Miss Granger," he nodded in her direction, "Severus."

"Headmaster," Snape acknowledged, clearing his throat and regaining his composure.

Dumbledore entered the room and strolled easily to the seat beside Hermione, sitting and angling himself to face her, his blue eyes serious behind familiar half moon glasses.

"Miss Granger," he began, "I'm afraid I must ask you to tell me what exactly you were doing in the library this evening."

Hermione's eyes widened at his tone. He did not sound angry, but concerned and determined. Panicking, Hermione looked up at Professor Snape.

"I'm afraid I already got the story from her, Albus." The black haired man said smoothly. Hermione listened thankfully as he relayed her story to the Headmaster, ending with her comment about her mother. As he spoke, Hermione watched Dumbledore's face for signs of anger. If the Headmaster had been summoned from his bed at this hour, she was sure she was in a lot of trouble. Oh God, she'd die if they expelled her.

"I see," was all Dumbledore said as Snape finished speaking. The old man settled back in his chair, sighing heavily and folding his hands above his stomach as he peered at Hermione. He studied her for a while before finally giving her a small smile and motioning for Snape to sit once more, which he did stiffly.

"Miss Granger," Dumbledore said at last, leaning forward as he spoke to her, his expression softer now. "I'm sure you are very confused at this point. I promise you, we will explain as much as we can before you leave here. First though, I think it might be a good idea to pause for a moment and have a good strong cup of tea."

Several minutes later, the three of them sat in silence. With a snap of Professor Dumbledore's fingers, a wizened looking house elf had appeared with a tea tray heavily laden with three steaming cups and a large plate of biscuits. He had set them on Snape's desk, bowing deeply before disappearing with a crack. Now, Hermione held a warm cup of tea in her hands, glancing between Snape, who sat scowling at his cup, and Dumbledore, who was sipping, and apparently, savoring his. Finally, Hermione took a drink herself, and received a warm, approving smile from the Headmaster. She realized, as the hot tea travelled from her mouth to her stomach, that it was exactly what she had needed. She could feel her nerves calming and her emotions regulating with every sip she took.

After several minutes more, Hermione had drained her cup and was feeling pleasantly warm. Professor Snape was still scowling, having left his own cup untouched, and Professor Dumbledore had, it turned out, been waiting patiently for Hermione to finish before speaking.

"Well, Miss Granger," he said genially, "I believe a story is in order." He turned to Snape. "Severus?" The potions professor nodded and began to speak, his voice unimpassioned and mechanical sounding.

"When I was a newly initiated Death Eater," he began. Hermione's eyes widened at his matter of fact declaration. "I was summoned to a revel on the Winter Solstice in 1978. When I arrived, I realized at once it was not the normal sort of gathering. The Dark Lord was dressed all in white. There was a stone alter and a chalice at the center of a circle of my fellow Death Eaters." Hermione's blood seemed to freeze in her veins.

"You were—"

"Miss Granger," said Professor Dumbledore, reaching across the void between their chairs and placing a steadying hand on her arm, urging her to be quiet and listen. Hermione bit her tongue and tried to push back the sudden wave of revulsion that seemed to engulf her. Snape continued.

"We stood there for several minutes before we heard her for the first time. She was screaming, dressed in nothing more than a white chemise. She was being escorted on either side by a man. I recognized her and the men with her as soon as they reached the circle. Averys Senior and Junior. The girl between them I recognized from school. Her name was Annora Avery, a Ravenclaw and a gifted witch, also the only daughter of a very ancient Wizarding family. It was rumored, you see, that the Averys were descended from Rowena Ravenclaw." Snape paused and gulped before continuing. "I watched the scene unfold, just as you did, though I understood a bit more. The chalice was ceremonial of course, and held a rare potion I had brewed a week before at the Dark Lord's request. When she drank it, I understood. The Dark Lord had spoken often of eternal life, of a dynasty to support him, full of power unparalleled. Annora Avery, it seemed, had been chosen to mother his dynasty, to beget his heir. The potion I had brewed would ensure it." He stopped again, rising from his seat and approaching the fire place to stare into it's depths, his face hidden from Hermione's gaze.

"Of course the ceremony was… effective. The girl was sent home to her family for the period of her confinement. The Dark Lord was pleased and began to focus on other pursuits. And then, four months into the girl's pregnancy, she disappeared without a trace. We tried everything to find her. Dark magic and tracking spells alike. Nothing worked. There wasn't a whisper of her anywhere. Her disappearance is the reason there is no longer an Avery Senior. The Dark Lord was… displeased." Snape turned back to face them then, his hands behind his back. "Shortly thereafter, the Potters were killed and the Dark Lord disappeared. Annora and the child became little more than a legend as the Death Eaters were rounded up or hid in the shadows. The search ceased."

He fell silent then, the story seemingly finished. Hermione was having trouble making sense of the tale. What was the point? It hadn't answered her questions. Whoever this Annora Avery had been, it had been her own mother, Jean Oswald Granger, in the window that night. What had the two to do with one another? Why would the spell have shown her something so horrible and substituted the real victim for an imagined one?

"Professor," she finally said, voice soft, "I don't understand. What does this have to do with me? Why would the spell have behaved in this way and shown me…that?"

Professor Dumbledore smiled at her kindly. "Would you do me the honor, Miss Granger, of telling me about your family?" The request took her by surprise, but she complied.

"Umm… They're dentists. They met in school and had me, then started a practice. They're Muggles."

"And your extended family?"

"I haven't got any," Hermione responded automatically. She flushed and continued. "My parents were only children and were both orphaned before they started dental school. It's part of the reason they got along so well."

"I see," Said Dumbledore softly.

"I know what you're thinking," Hermione continued, a wild note in her voice, "But it's not true. My parents are Muggles. My mother grew up in London! My father is from Edinburgh! My mother isn't this Annora person. She doesn't even know anything about our world! She couldn't change money when she visited Diagon Alley!"

"Calm yourself, girl," ordered Snape from his place by the fire. Dumbledore sent him a sharp look and then peered back at Hermione kindly.

"Miss Granger," He said quietly, "Have you ever performed a piece of magic which has malfunctioned in any way?" She shook her head, keeping her eyes riveted on the Headmaster. "Why then, should this be any different?"

"Professor, it just can't be what you're suggesting," She said, her voice little more than a whisper.

"Your birthday is in September, correct, my dear?"

Hermione nodded. "The nineteenth. 1979."

"And the Winter Solstice, Severus?"

Snape spoke clearly from across the room. "It was a Sunday, Headmaster. December the 21st, 1978."

"Almost nine months to the day between the two, I think."

Hermione shook her head again, her eyes watering. "Professor, my mother is a Muggle." She said again.

"Have you a photo album in your rooms, Miss Granger?" He asked. She nodded mutely. "May I?" She nodded again and Dumbledore summoned it. A minute later it sped through the room and into his hands. He laid it open on the desk and Snape strode forward, peering down as Dumbledore thumbed through it before pausing on a picture of a toddler Hermione in her mother's arms. Jean Granger was smiling at the camera. The photo was still, as were the rest, but she didn't need them to move to know how happy her mother had been, to see her eyes crinkling slightly at the corners and the laugh lines around her mouth.

"It's her, Headmaster," Snape said softly, a note of wonder in his voice.

"No it isn't!" Hermione shouted, springing to her feet and rushing forward to rip the album away from them and clutch it close to her chest. "You're wrong, you're bloody wrong!" And she burst into tears, the photos held tight in her arms and her own wild mop of hair floating around her as her shoulders heaved and she babbled incoherently, trying to make them listen, to understand that what they were implying was impossible.

It took another couple of minutes and a calming draught from Snape's potion stores to help her settle back into her chair, dry eyed and wary, but once again reasonably approachable. Snape had taken up his place by the fire again, his back turned to Hermione and Dumbledore as the latter spoke reassuringly to the distraught young woman beside him.

"I understand your reticence to believe," he was saying, "and I would be lying if I were to say there was not a shadow of doubt in my mind a well… So I think it's best to be sure. It is not a pleasant spell I'm suggesting… in fact, I think it falls under Professor Snape's subject, as I'm sure he'd term it dark… but given the circumstances, I think we must be sure."

Hermione looked up at the wizened old man beside her and nodded.

"Severus," said Dumbledore, standing as Snape swept from the fire to Hermione's side once more. She watched him as he moved, his expression dark, his eyes hooded as his hand reached for her wrist and wrapped itself vice like around it. He pulled her arm away from her body, and in his other hand appeared a gleaming dagger, clean and silver. Before Hermione could protest, she felt the blade pierce the skin of her forearm, dragging down like a line of fire and leaving a deep, flowing cut behind in its wake as she cried out. She tried to yank her arm back, but Snape's grip was unyielding, and soon she noticed a crystal vial beneath her arm, collecting the blood that spilled from her veins into a dark, quivering pool.

"Episky," She heard him say, and she watched in fascination as the wound on her arm knitted itself together.

"For the scarring," said Professor Dumbledore mildly, handing her a jar of what looked like dittany as Snape crossed back to his desk. Hermione watched him work. The former Potions professor moved quickly, his robes billowing as he swept from desk to cabinet to trunk to desk again until it seemed he had all the tools he needed. He poured her blood into a glass bowl over which he then held a struggling rat. Hermione winced and shut her eyes as it squealed and Snape raised a knife to its throat. When she opened her eyes again, the blood in the bowl seemed to have doubled and he began to stir it, adding three drops of clear liquid from another vial before producing a quill and dipping it in the blood, then setting it down once more beside a length of unrolled parchment.

"Miss Granger," he said finally, stepping away from the quill and motioning for her to approach. She rose as if in a dream and walked to his side. "The spell is parentibus revelare," he said, voice low. "This is the wand movement." His wand wove an intricate knot which she then imitated instinctively. Snape nodded, satisfied, and took a step back.

Parentibus revelare he had said. She recognized the latin. Reveal parentage.

She spoke the spell as her wand moved over the quill. She kept her eyes closed as she heard the tell-tale scratching, a sound that had once comforted her as it kept her company on long nights of studying. When it stopped, she felt the two men behind her step forward, one on either side.

"Miss Granger, will you open your eyes?" asked Dumbledore, voice soft, non-threatening.

She shook her head. She couldn't, she was too frightened. The quill couldn't possibly have written anything other than Jean Oswald Granger and Henry Frank Granger… but the alternative terrified her.

She felt a hand on her shoulder, heavy but reassuring.

"You are nothing like him," she heard Professor Snape say, his voice low and certain. "You never could be."

Her eyes fluttered open at his words and she met his gaze. Black eyes and pale skin, large nose and thick dark hair down to his shoulders. There was nothing comforting about his features, but she found herself trusting his steady gaze and the set of his mouth.

She looked down at the paper and took a deep breath.

"All right," she said softly, barely breathing. "Okay."

"Miss Granger, would you like to sit?" asked Dumbledore kindly. She shook her head.

"No. No," she repeated. "I think I'd like to go to my room now." She couldn't see the look of concern Dumbledore gave her, though she wouldn't have cared if she had. All she wanted now was to rest.

"I'll have Professor Snape escort you," Dumbledore murmured, patting her on the back. Hermione nodded and tore her eyes from the parchment, closing them in an effort to banish the image now seared there on her retinas. It was no use. Until the day she died she would see it, the bloody script in her own handwriting, spelling out the words that would change her life forever.

Annora Elise Avery, the quill had written, and Tom Marvolo Riddle.