Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the other characters, they are the brilliant creations of JK Rowling!
A/N: This is just to bridge the gap between the Quidditch World Cup and Fleur's reappearance, therefore, there will not really be any Fleur/Hermione interaction. Sorry to those who were looking forward to that, but I think something else in here will satisfy you until then.
Chapter 2: Collision with Reality
The week that had followed the incident at the World Cup had been a blur for Hermione. When she had regained consciousness, she was already safely tucked into a spare bed in Ginny's room at the Burrow, the sun just peeking over the horizon. The pain that she had suffered through earlier seemed like an illusion, as her muscles let her sit up in the bed without complaint. Hearing her movement, Ginny sprang up from her own bed and promptly pushed Hermione back onto her pillow, ordering her to remain still while she fetched her mother. Hermione complied, not eager to incur the overprotective wrath of Mrs. Weasley, especially when she was trapped within the woman's own home. She could hear Mrs. Weasley well before she appeared in the doorway, carrying a scrumptious feast of eggs, toast, ham, beans, and fruit, in addition to a few mysterious bottles on a tray.
"Hermione, love, I'm so glad you're awake!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed, setting the tray on a nearby nightstand. "How are you feeling? Does your head hurt? Or your chest? Ron and Harry said that you had been clutching it before you passed out. Are you hungry? Is the food too much? I can—"
"Mum, why don't you let Hermione answer before asking her another question?" Ginny intervened from the doorway, exasperation at her mother's behavior apparent in her eyes. Hermione grinned.
"I'm actually fine, Mrs. Weasley, really," Hermione assured the Weasley matriarch. "Nothing hurts, I feel as good as new!" Mrs. Weasley looked skeptical, but before she could voice her concern Hermione announced, "Oh, I am just so ravenous!" and began to eat the food on the tray. Always happy that someone was eating, Mrs. Weasley relented.
"I'll come up to check on you in a bit, Hermione dear. Don't eat too fast, and," she added sternly, "do not leave that bed."
Hermione nodded in affirmation as she watched Mrs. Weasley return downstairs. She beckoned Ginny towards her bed, scooting over to make room for the youngest Weasley to sit. As Ginny made her way closer to Hermione, the elder witch couldn't help but notice the younger's growing maturity. It was only two years ago that Harry had rescued a trembling first year from the Chamber of Secrets, and the person she was looking at now exuded nothing but bubbly confidence, and right now, irritation.
"I'm sorry, 'Mione," the redhead apologized, sprawling out on the brunette's bed. "I told Mum that you had just woken up and would probably want a bite to eat, and she just started cranking out the food."
"It's really no problem, Ginny," Hermione said, popping a grape in her mouth. She glanced at the potions sharing the tray with the food, her curiosity getting the better of her. From labels such as "Draught of Living Death", "Draught of Peace", and "Sleepless Dreams", Hermione deduced that Mrs. Weasley had expected for her to be more than a little agitated in her conscious state. Turning to her roommate, she asked, "What happened while I was out?"
"For starters, you've been unconscious for about three days, thrashing about at all conceivable hours of the night, I might add. That's probably why Mum brought up all that," Ginny informed her, gesturing at the overflowing tray. "We met up with you, Harry, and Ron about half an hour after you passed out," Ginny paused, smirking at Hermione, "Ron insisted on carrying you the whole way back to the Burrow."
Hermione laughed at the younger witch's insinuation. "Ronald may have a crush on me, Ginevra, but I do not seem him as anything more than a best friend, and you know it!"
"You may want to tell him that," Ginny threw back playfully, "before he kisses you while you're conscious!"
"What?" Hermione bolted up from the bed, knocking Ginny as she changed positions.
"Oh, don't worry, 'Mione, he just pecked you on the lips when he thought no one was looking. It hardly counts as a first kiss, but—"
"That wasn't my first kiss!" Hermione blurted out, the events from before the chaos at the World Cup rushing back to her. Only when those words had left her mouth did she regret voicing them at all.
"When? You never told me, and you tell me everything," Ginny said, embracing her role as Hermione's confidante.
"Well…" trailed Hermione hesitantly not knowing how to tell Ginny. Heck, if she still wasn't sure of what had happened, how could she tell someone else an accurate summary? "It was during the World Cup, actually the night we left…"
"And?" inquired Ginny expectantly. "Was he cute? Was he tall? Oh! Was he one of the Quidditch players? A foreigner?"
"Ginny!" Hermione called, reining the young witch in from her own fantasies. "It was with…" the brunette witch took a deep breath, balling the bed sheets tightly in her hands, a scarlet blush gracing her cheeks, "with a girl."
"Come again?" Ginny asked, thinking she had heard wrongly, "You kissed another girl?" Hearing no objection from the still flushing Hermione, Ginny said, "I didn't think you swung that way."
"It wasn't on my own free will!" Hermione interjected, "She practically forced herself on me!" Though, Hermione acknowledged to herself, she hadn't exactly tried very hard to escape. "I was in the woods alone, without a wand, and she just grabbed me and kissed!"
"But you kissed back?" clarified Ginny. "Or she just sort of sucked on your face?"
"No, she did not 'suck on my face'" retorted Hermione, unable to ignore such ridiculous speculation, "But I didn't kiss back either… I don't really know what happened," the older witch admitted, frustrated with herself. "All I can really remember are her eyes, they were such a piercing blue…" Hermione blushed again, realizing she had voiced her thoughts aloud.
"What were you even doing out in the forest that late?" questioned Ginny, trying to form a picture of the situation in her mind, not missing the dreamy expression Hermione had had on her face.
"It was this dream I've been having," nonchalantly replied Hermione, "I think it's just this nightmare I get when I'm stressed or something. I just went out to get some air." Hermione knew she was downplaying her dreams much more than what she had just told Ginny, but she understood that nightmare even less than her encounter in the forest, and decided to learn more before really sharing it with anyone.
"So let me get this straight, Hermione. You were out in the middle of the forest collecting your thoughts when a girl with 'piercing blue eyes' came out of nowhere and kissed you?" summarized Ginny.
"Essentially," Hermione said, more confused than when she had woken up. Who was that woman in the forest? Was she the one who had been watching her all that time during the World Cup? Why had she passed out? Was that pain she had felt real? Was it related to her nightmares? Hermione groaned, burying her face in the covers. "This is such a mess…"
"So are you," Ginny hesitated, "you know, a lesbian then? I won't judge you if you are, but just to know."
"I am not sure," Hermione answered truthfully. "To be honest, I'm just really confused about everything. Between the kiss and passing out in the forest, I can hardly place myself. But I would really appreciate it if you wouldn't share the kiss thing with anyone, especially Ron and Harry. They don't have to know until I'm sure, and I want to tell them myself if that happens," Hermione said determinedly.
"Don't worry," promised Ginny, "Your secret's safe with me."
A few days after her exchange with Ginny, Hermione had finally convinced Mrs. Weasley that she was well enough to return to her parents. While she had been eager to leave them before, Hermione still loved her parents despite their strange behavior, and wanted to spend as much time as possible with them before leaving for Hogwarts. Mrs. Weasley understood the pain of familial separation, and allowed Hermione to leave on the condition that she forego any strenuous activity. The brunette readily accepted, not having planned to do anything but study, pack, and follow whatever family-bonding impulses her parents forced upon her. She could put up with their hovering for a few more days, and then she would be gone again.
Mr. Weasley was kind enough to side-along Apparate with Hermione to her parents' house in the morning, explaining to the muggle couple what had happened at the World Cup and assuring them that their daughter was relatively unscathed.
"'Relatively' unscathed?" Mr. Granger asked, concern lacing his voice. "I knew we shouldn't have let Hermione go this trip with these people."
"Dad!" Hermione warned, hoping Mr. Weasley wasn't too offended. Luckily, Ron's muggle-obsessed father was too busy examining the sprinkler system in the garden to take notice of the insult. Turning to her own parents she reminded, "The Weasleys were kind enough to invite me to the Quidditch World Cup! It's like the FIFA World Cup in that it only happens every four years, so it was a great opportunity."
"Walter," intervened Mrs. Granger in a hushed voice, "Perhaps it would be better to discuss this with our daughter inside." Addressing Mr. Weasley she said in an overly-polite manner, "Thank you for having our daughter," she paused trying to recall how exactly magical people went from one place to the other. Unable to recall the name of the popping teleportation that she knew Hermione had used to get back, she settled for a simple and vague, "Safe travels!"
Mr. Weasley tore his gaze from the sprinklers and shook the hands of both Granger adults heartily before stepping back. "Ah, yes, thank you! Tell Hermione to take it easy, we wouldn't want her to faint again!" Oblivious to the alarm that the Grangers displayed at his last comment, Mr. Weasley tipped his hat and Disapparated.
Ushering their only child inside, the Grangers herded Hermione onto a worn, comfortable, leather loveseat before settling themselves opposite of her on the sofa. The family stared intently at one another daring each other to speak first. Hermione had honestly been caught off-guard, she had not been planning on sharing her recent health issues with her parents. Internally she berated herself, she should have anticipated that Mr. Weasley would have mentioned to her parents what had happened, it was actually quite dense of her to think otherwise. She had naively assumed that her parents would ask her about the trip just as a form of courtesy, knowing they wouldn't be able to appreciate the event, or being able to relate well to any of the current events in the magical world. She was had been prepared to tell her parents that she had had a lovely time on her trip, that Harry and Ron were the same as always, except taller, that Ginny was still infatuated with Harry, and that Mrs. Weasley said "hello", not that she had been experiencing nightmares, stalked throughout her stay at the campsite, snogged by said stalker, who just so happened to be female, and passed out from inexplicable pain in the middle of a death eater raid. Who in their right mind told their muggle dentist parents that? At all? Nevertheless, Hermione was not called the brightest witch of her year for nothing, and sucked in a breath to explain the situation to her parents.
"Mum, Dad," she began, eyeing the couple warily across the coffee table, "the Quidditch World Cup was great, really, and—"
"How could that trip be so great that you collapsed during it?" interrupted Mr. Granger, disbelief in his tone. "You will never be going on a trip with those Weasleys again!"
"What?" yelled Hermione, unable to contain herself. "What happened to me had nothing to do with the Weasleys! I was collecting my thoughts out in the forest when some," Hermione paused not wanting to reveal the presence of her stalker and the death eaters. If her dad was so quick to forbid her from going on holiday with the Weasleys, she was never getting out of the house again if they found out about that she had been assaulted by a random woman and almost attacked by death eaters. "—when some drunken hooligans from the game started rioting. I was still recovering in the forest when the crowds started coming, and if it weren't for Harry and Ron I would have been trampled alive!"
"But Hermione dear, why were you even out in the forest? Why did you need to collect your thoughts? Did that Ronald boy do something to you?" asked Mrs. Granger, speaking before her frantic husband could start.
Hermione uneasily shifted in her seat, staring down at her feet. She hadn't told her parents anything about her dreams, about the pain that she usually found in her chest afterwards. She did not want to worry them more, but at the same time, maybe they already knew? Sometimes people screamed out during their nightmares, and though no one had told Hermione that she had been vocally disruptive in the night, maybe her parents were waiting for her to open up to them? Hermione decided to give it a shot. After all, wasn't honesty the best policy?
"I have been having nightmares," Hermione admitted, peering up to see her parents' reaction. Their expressions seemed to be frozen. While this was not the most desirable result of her confession, she decided to press forward, hoping to thaw them from their evident shock. "They started just after I came home this summer, and often involve me wandering around an abandoned house, followed by screaming or maniacal laughter. They are extremely disturbing, and I always awaken with an elevated heart rate. That's why I needed to collect my thoughts."
Hermione's parents had gradually paled to a sickly white as she summarized her nightmares, their eyes widening in despair. Hermione couldn't understand the extremity of their reactions. She understood that it was slightly horrific for their only child to be having recurring nightmares, they could be worried that she was afflicted with some mental trauma from her various escapades at Hogwarts. But the anguish in her parents' expressions went far deeper than that, like she was going to suddenly disappear from the face of the Earth. Before she could attempt to reassure them, her father suddenly got to his feet.
"You will not be going to Hogwarts this year," he quietly declared with solemn finality.
"Walter, you can't just stop her from going to school, that won't solve anything!" cried Mrs. Granger, tears welling up in her eyes.
"Yes I can, Michelle," Mr. Granger replied firmly. "If she doesn't go, then maybe—"
But before Mr. Granger could finish, an owl flew in through the open living room window, landing in front of the elder Grangers from its perch on the coffee table. Attached to its leg was a scarlet red envelope, seemingly shaking with rage. Hermione, who had been watching her parent's exchange in silent dismay, mouth agape at her father's proclamation, was stirred from her shock when she eyed the owl's delivery. It was a Howler. What could she have done now? She had done nothing to warrant being the unfortunate recipient of the irate letter, but nothing seemed to be making sense anyway. Untying the message from the owl, Hermione barely had time to register that it was addressed to her parents before it leapt from her hand, shifting from the form of a letter to a pair of angry red lips.
"REMEMBER YOUR PROMISE. DO NOT TRY TO STOP THE INEVITABLE!" roared the letter in a deep, oddly familiar, male timbre. Instantly, the Howler burst into flames, leaving Hermione's muggle parents staring in fear at the remaining ash.
"Mum, Dad, what was that about?" Hermione asked hesitantly, her mind furiously trying to decipher who from the wizarding world would have made a promise with her non-magical parents, what they had vowed to do, and what was inevitable. Much to her dismay, Hermione could not figure out the answers to any of them.
Her parents, shaken from their terrified gaze, plastered fake smiles on their faces as they turned to their daughter. "Never mind that, dear," her mother forced out, dishonesty dripping from every word that she produced. "Just go up to your room, now. Your father and I need to talk alone."
About to protest, her father sternly warned her, "Do not even think of trying to eavesdrop on us, Hermione Jean Granger. We know you are a curious child, but," Mr. Granger paused, deciding to change his course of action, "Actually, you absolutely cannot overhear this next conversation. As much as we love you, dear, even you cannot always quench your thirst for knowledge. We are going to leave, and in a couple of hours, we will come back. You will not ask as any questions, and we will not prohibit you from going to Hogwarts."
Without leaving any room for argument, Hermione's parents briskly left, leaving a bewildered Hermione in the living room.
The days that followed the arrival of the Howler were tense for the Granger family. The strain between Hermione and her parents was palpable, as the two parties were unable to compromise due to their collective obstinacy. Hermione refused to talk to her parents until they told her what the Howler was referring to, and Mr. and Mrs. Granger rejected the thought of acknowledging that the event had even taken place, preferring to act as if everything was normal though it evidently was not. A particularly nasty recurrence of Hermione's nightmare the night before she was due to leave for Hogwarts from King's Cross left the brunette witch sleep-deprived and irritable the next morning. In addition to the tortured cries of a man echoing through the disused manor, the whispered vows of fealty and dedication voiced by a slippery sounding young man haunted Hermione as she sat in the car en route to King's Cross.
Hermione bid her parents a stiff farewell before boarding the Hogwarts Express, feeling slightly guilty for parting with her parents so coldly even though she wouldn't see them until the next summer, but more angry that they had still insisted on denying her answers. She had met Harry and Ron on the platform, but neglected to contribute to their conversation about what might be happening at Hogwarts, opting to brood about her stubborn parents instead. However, Malfoy's boasting of Durmstrang drew her out of her reverie.
"Shh!" Hermione whispered suddenly, motioning to Harry and Ron stop talking. She pressed her ear to the door of the Slytherin's compartment, hearing the familiar drawl of their arch-nemesis.
"…Father actually considered sending me to Durmstrang rather than Hogwarts you know. He knows the headmaster, you see. Well, you know his opinion of Dumbledore – the man's such a Mudblood-lover – and Durmstrang doesn't admit that sort of riffraff. But Mother didn't like the idea of me going to school so far away. Father says Durmstrang takes a far more sensible line than Hogwarts about the Dark Arts. Durmstrang students actually learn them, not just the defense rubbish we do…"
Hermione pulled away, dragging Harry and Ron into the nearest empty compartment. After shutting the door she exhaled loudly, pinching the bridge of her nose. Harry and Ron looked at each other, unsure what to say to their wound-up friend.
"So he thinks Durmstrang would have suited him, does he?" asked Hermione a few minutes later. Not waiting for a response from either of her companions she continued angrily, "I wish he had gone, then we wouldn't have to put up with him at Hogwarts."
"Durmstrang's another wizarding school?" clarified Harry, looking confused. Hermione sighed, frustrated at Harry's ignorance. Did he really think Hogwarts was the only school of magic in Europe? In the world, even?
"Yes," said Hermione sniffily, "and it's got a horrible reputation. According to An Appraisal of Magical Education in Europe, it puts a lot of emphasis on Dark Arts."
"I think I've heard Dad mention it a few times," Ron said vaguely. "It's not in the country though, is it?"
"Well, nobody knows, do they?" answered Hermione, raising her eyebrows. "But one can only assume that it isn't seeing as all the wizards around here are educated at Hogwarts."
"Er – why doesn't anyone know for sure?" questioned Harry, still confused.
"There's traditionally been a lot of rivalry between all the magic schools, like Durmstrang and Beauxbatons. They conceal their locations so that no one can still their secrets," stated Hermione matter-of-factly.
"Come off it Hermione," Ron laughed, "Durmstrang's got to be about the same size as Hogwarts. They can't just hide a place as huge as the castle!"
"Well, Ron, if you had read Hogwarts, A History, you would know that wizards can cast charms over buildings to make them look abandoned to muggles, or render them Unplottable on maps!" Hermione explained, exasperated. She proceeded to filter out Ron's plans of pushing Malfoy off an iceberg, her anxiety over her parents' secrets returning. Why wouldn't they tell her what was wrong? Was she really that untrustworthy? She had been honest with her parents, why couldn't they treat her the same way?
Her encounter with the silvery blonde in the forest also nagged at the corners of the young witch's mind. Not a day had gone by since that meeting did she dwell on those soft lips envelope her own. As much as Hermione wanted to deny it, the kiss was not unpleasant, and the circumstances surrounding it made the brunette wonder why she had been following her in the first place. It was with these two issues that Hermione entered her fourth year at Hogwarts.
The first few weeks of the new term passed without incident, save for Dumbledore's controversial announcement of the Hogwarts' hosting of the Triwizard Tournament. Personally, Hermione thought the goals of international magical cooperation to be noble, but the potentially lethal methods employed in the tournament to be misguided. As for the age restriction, the intellectual brunette witch found it to be the most sensible decision if they insisted on preserving the barbaric tournament format. Only those who were legally old enough to decide should be able to gamble their very lives for wealth and "eternal glory".
Hermione was currently on her way to a Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson with the new instructor, former auror Mad-Eye Moody, whom the brunette was more than a little skeptical of. To be fair, following the brilliant teaching of Lupin was going to be a difficult task anyway, but Professor Moody was a little too enthusiastic for her own liking. His lack of boundaries worried Hermione to say the least, and she wondered about his mental stability on more than a few occasions. However, even the rule-abiding Miss Granger felt that his transfiguration of Malfoy into a ferret was well-deserved.
When Hermione entered the classroom, though, she couldn't help but feel perturbed at the sight of three large black spiders desperately trying to find a way out of the large jar imprisoning them. Taking her seat, she noticed Ron clutching with his desk as if he were trying to crush it beneath his fingers, looking directly opposite of the jar in the front of the room. Hermione barely stopped herself from giggling, remembering that Ron was deathly afraid of spiders, recalling the boggart's transformation in the same room less than a year ago. Harry seemed to remember this also, a small grin forming on his face as he watched Ron try to distract himself by talking about the latest Chudley Cannon's match.
Moody burst into the classroom a few minutes later, declaring that no books would be needed for the day's lesson. Hermione could only fearfully glance at the jar of spiders as she stowed her copy of The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection back into her bag.
"Curses," announced Moody, striding to the front of the classroom. "They come in many strengths and forms. Now, according to the Ministry, I'm supposed to teach you countercurses and leave it at that. Supposedly, you're not old enough to see what you're protecting yourselves against until your sixth year. However, Dumbledore and I have a higher opinion of your nerves than those politicians. In the real world, a wizard who's about to put an illegal, dark curse on you isn't going to warn you beforehand. You need to be prepared. You need to be alert and watchful. You need to look this way, Mr. Weasley!" roared the scarred professor.
"Yes, sir!" cried Ron, snapping his head back towards the front of the room, averting his gaze from the jar of spiders.
"Mr. Weasley, can you name for us one of the three curses most heavily punished by wizarding law?" asked Moody, slowly unscrewing the jar containing the spiders.
"Er, my dad has mentioned one before…" Ron began tentatively, dreading the progress of the lid's removal. "The Imperius Curse, or something?"
Nodding appreciatively, Moody whipped out his wand and muttered, "Imperio!" forcing one of the spiders to jump from the newly opened jar. Quickly closing the container before any of the other spiders could escape, Moody commanded the spider to perform painful feats of acrobatics before the stunned fourth years. Some of the students laughed nervously as the spider cartwheeled across the desk, but Hermione felt the familiar pain in her chest from her dreams returning. Even worse, though, was the feeling of excitement that she couldn't repress as she watched the spider flip in the air. She gasped almost imperceptibly, only Harry noticing the discomfort the brunette was in.
"Total control," explained Moody, guiding the spider back into a different jar. As the spider returned to normal, Hermione felt the pain in her chest subside. "After the fall of the Dark Lord, a lot of witches and wizards claimed they were under the influence of the Imperius Curse. I will be teaching you how to fight it later in the year, but only those with true strength of character will be able to succeed. In real life, just avoid getting hit by the bloody curse. CONSTANT VIGILIANCE!" he barked, bringing back everyone's attention to himself. "Who can tell me another illegal curse?"
To everyone's surprise, and apparently even his own, Neville Longbottom's hand shakily raised in the air. At Moody's approval he volunteered, "The – the Cruciatus Curse."
Taking another spider out of the jar, Moody enlarged the spider, so that the effect would be more apparent he reasoned, before crying, "Crucio!"
The spider began to writhe under Moody's wand, twitching unnaturally from side to side, the legs curled tightly into itself. Hermione felt the pain and sick euphoria return as well, grasping the robes above her heart in a futile attempt to alleviate the throbbing and shifting her gaze away from the spider to stop what she could only hope was morbid curiosity. Looking across the room, she noticed Neville's eyes tightly shut, his arms wrapped around himself tightly.
"Stop it!" Hermione gasped out, trying to appear as if she didn't feel like her heart was about to explode. "Can't you see it's hurting him!" and me, Hermione thought. Following her demand, Moody levitated the still twitching spider into the other jar. Just as the last time, the pain and excitement receded once the curse was lifted. Puzzled by this reaction, Hermione's eyes widened at the pattern if the final Unforgivable Curse was uttered as Moody taught to the class what the Cruciatus Curse did.
"And the last curse, anyone?" asked Moody preparing to offer up the last spider. Hermione began to panic, she had to exit the classroom before her insane Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher performed the Killing Curse right in front of her. Who knew how she would react to such a display of dark magic? But before she could flee, Seamus quietly said, "Avada Kedavra."
As Moody cast the same spell on the last helpless spider, Hermione could almost hear the twisted, jubilant laughter of the figure of her dreams before she felt herself collapse from her seat.
Hermione awoke tucked neatly into one of the many beds inside of the Hospital Wing, the afternoon sunset leaking in through the windows. Recalling the incident in Moody's class, Hermione bolted up, only realizing her mistake as her vision began to swim from the sudden movement.
"Miss Granger, it is good see you rejoin the realm of conscious," said Dumbledore, amusement laden in his voice. It was only after hearing his voice did Hermione notice the headmaster sitting at her bedside, or that her bed was the only one occupied, a rarity at Hogwarts.
"Though you would most likely desire to leave here immediately and find Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley," continued Dumbledore, motioning to Hermione to stay put, "I have probably put off having this conversation long enough."
"What do you mean, Professor?" asked Hermione, clearly not following the older man's train of thought.
"I know you have been suffering some haunting dreams lately, Miss Granger," revealed Dumbledore, much to Hermione's distress. "And I know that you had some sort of reaction to Professor Moody's demonstration of the Unforgivable Curses today." Hermione rolled her eyes at this statement. Wasn't her presence in the Hospital Wing a testament to that?
"What do those have in common, may I ask?" inquired Hermione, though she knew from the similarity of the pain that she had experienced that they were related. She wanted Dumbledore to just say what he had to say, to not beat around the bush.
"Miss Granger, your parents have been acting strangely all summer," Dumbledore added, throwing Hermione into greater confusion. "All of these things stem from one fact. One fact, Miss Granger, that even you do not know."
"What is it, Professor?" Hermione demanded, impatient. Dumbledore did not need to be pointing out gaps in her knowledge to explain her health issues. If anything, his skirting of the issue was just increasing the labor of her poor heart.
"Miss Granger," Dumbledore sighed, his genial façade crumbling away, "you are not the daughter of Walter and Michelle Granger." Before Hermione could say anything, Dumbledore said, "Miss Granger, please just let me say this all at once. You are not even a muggleborn. In fact, you are descended from two houses of ancient lineage. Your mother, Charlotte Gravois, hailed from the noble French house of Gravois, a respected French wizarding family. On that side you even have living relatives, including a grandmother," added Dumbledore, attempting to give the young witch some hope before continuing, "and your father, Tom Marvolo Riddle, had a muggle father and a pureblood mother who was descended from the House of Gaunt, the blood of Salazar Slytherin in their veins. But Tom Riddle went by a more famous name," Dumbledore gripped Hermione's hand before finally saying, "Miss Granger, not only are you the heir of Slytherin, but you are Lord Voldemort's daughter."
A/N: I hope you all liked this plot twist, as I find this scenario to be a fun one to work with. I decided to make Hermione's biological mother French for reasons that will be seen later in the story, but I think you can all guess. Originally this was chapter was going to extend to Beauxbatons' arrival, but it would have ended up too long if I had done that. I also didn't really edit this chapter, it is essentially the first draft. I don't normally like posting these, but I am so excited about finishing it and feel bad for not having updated in a while that I'm hoping you will all just excuse me if I have a few errors here and there. I am going to aim for weekly or biweekly updates for this story for now. Reviews are always welcome!