WITH THE WIND IN HER HAIR
Ch. 2: Evidence
Harry stared at the picture. How could this be? Hermione was muggle-born, there was no way his parents could have known her, or anyone in her family. Harry stared at the picture. The girl, who must have been about his age at the time, looked exactly like his friend, besides the fact that her eyes were green. Like his. She was sitting on a front porch, and in the picture she was laughing. Her hair was flowing out behind her from a breeze. Harry kept flipping through the book, but there was nothing special about this photo album. Finally he reached the last page, feeling frustrated, having learned nothing new about the picture of Jean Evans. Tucked in the back flap of the book, there was an official-looking envelope. It was labeled St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies. The corners looked worn, like it was very old. Harry pulled out the document inside.
Name: Harry James Potter. Place of Birth: St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies. Oh, so this was his birth certificate! Date of Birth: July 31, 1980. Father: James Potter. Mother: Lily Potter. Yes, that all looked like the right information. Harry pocketed it, thinking it might be useful in the future.
Another flash of yellowing parchment caught his eye as it fluttered out of his hands onto the floor. He picked it up. Name: Hermione Jean Potter. Place of Birth: St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies. Date of Birth: September 19, 1979. Father: James Potter. Mother: Lily Potter. Harry stared at this confusing piece of parchment. How could this be right? Hermione had muggle parents, and she was not related to him in any way! ... How could this be? But Harry could not deny this piece of evidence. It was the right first and middle name, the right birthday. James and Lily could not have forged this. Harry also pocketed the document with Hermione's information on it.
Harry walked upstairs, hoping to find something to answer his questions. At the top of the stairs, there was a hallway opening up to three doors. The first was a bathroom, and Harry passed right by it. The second was a bedroom. Probably my room. Pushing open the door, he trotted inside. The curtains were drawn, and the whole room was in shade. Harry found a light switch and turned it. Light flooded the room. The walls, which were painted a light shade of blue, gave an almost tangible sense of peace. A small white baby crib rested in the corner, with a bedside table next to it. Upon further investigation, Harry saw that there was a closet in which a few of his baby outfits hung, and a small first-time broomstick that he had once seen in a picture. It suddenly hit Harry that this was the room in which his mother gave her life for him; the room where he obtained his scar. Harry felt something soft under his foot. He bent down and picked up a stuffed lion. How appropriate. Both of my parents were in Gryffindor and they expected me to be in it too. The lion was the Gryffindor mascot. Smiling, Harry placed the animal in the baby crib and left the room, switching out the lights.
The last room's door was locked. Harry quickly unlocked it with the "Alohomora" spell. Upon entry, Harry could tell this was his parents' room. There was a large four-poster bed in the center with a bedside table and table lamp. There was also a desk in the far corner under a window. Harry strode over to the window. He pulled his wand out of his pocket. "Lumos." The light coming from his wand tip flickered over every surface of the desk, so Harry could see it better. He pulled out a chair that was pushed in, and sat down. The only thing on the desk was a quill, an ink well, and a letter someone had begun to write. Harry picked up the letter.
Dear Sirius,
Have you ever noticed that life seems to become more and more complicated as it progresses? James and I are so happy with Harry. Only, there is something else we have not told anyone. We have a daughter. Her name is Hermione Jean, after my mother. Shortly after we were married we had her, but we were too young, too inexperienced. We needed some time to figure out how to be a married couple, as I'm sure all young couples do. So we gave her away. We gave her up for adoption. The adoption center wrote and told us that a nice muggle family adopted her immediately, and she is happy now. They even look a little bit like her, so I'm sure she'll never have to know she isn't theirs. Did you know she looks exactly like my mother? I look like my father, so she won't look like me. But she has James's eyes. Her eyes are a beautiful shade of brown. So then almost a year later we had Harry. We had begun to get the hang of being a family by then. I made a promise to myself that I would not mess up this time. I promised myself that I am going to be the best mother and wife I can be. Thank you so much for all your love and support.
Love,
Lily
Harry leaned his head back against the chair. So it was true. Hermione was his sister. He had proof, evidence in his mother's word. And she was adopted. No wonder she looked like Jean Evans. Jean Evans was his grandmother, and Hermione inherited her looks. Harry supposed that if Hermione had inherited their mother's eyes, he would have known from the start. He sighed. So it was all true then. No one except him knew that Hermione was his sister. Not even Sirius, to whom this letter was addressed, but not sent. Harry briefly wondered what Ron would say when Harry told him what he had found. But Harry didn't really care. He knew the true question.
How would he tell Hermione?