Chapter Two: The Visitors

When I woke once again all I could see was glowing red. My breath began to come out rapidly. I had thought I was free and I was back in the red room.

A cool cloth was then placed on my forehead. "Hush, young miss," Tips' voice said, and with those words from my old familiar friend I could feel my heart beat slow. "You is safe."

Tips had spoken well- I was indeed safe. I glanced around and saw that I was in the nursery. I was laying in my own bed, being tended to by Tips. The red was only the fire laid in the grate, which seemed to grow brighter and more cheerful the longer I glanced. The nursery, which previously seemed so dreary and cruel now seemed an oasis of life.

I slowly tried to sit up in my own small bed and was rewarded with the action by a stinging headache. I gasped out loud with pain, and Tips gently lowered me back down. He began once again to dab at my brow with a damp cloth.

"Young miss, young miss," Tips said as he shook his ancient head, "you must take care. You is still delicate."

I despised that word, delicate. I opened my mouth to argue with Tips only to release a great, shuttering cough. Perhaps Tips was right. It seemed I was not well. I closed my eyes and allowed myself only to feel the cool moisture on my face as I listened to Tips move around the nursery, muttering to himself.

The clock chimed six times and Tips' motions stopped. There were several long seconds of terrible silence. I knew what this was. Dinner would be served at seven, with my Aunt Umbridge entertaining some important members of the ministry. Tips must leave. I dreaded and feared being left alone.

"Tips will return, young miss," Tips finally said, and before I had the opportunity to protest Tips disappeared with a crack so loud the pain in my head returned to the forefront. I began to shiver. I had always been a sturdy child and this feeling of illness was new to me.

I was not well enough to stand, or even sit. I could not read, even if I had managed to hide some book in the nursery. Tips was not here for me to beg some story or song from him. All I could do was lie very still in the bed and try to sleep.

I slept alone in the nursery, with the hardest mattress and the thinnest blankets, and with only one toy to love- a worn rag doll that Georgiana had discarded years ago. I now understand that I was in desperate need of something to love, and to receive love. The servants pitted me, and Tips tended to me, but my Aunt Umbridge would allow them to show no softness or fondness towards me. And so my doll Hestia was the target of all my affections.

As I laid there with Hestia in my arms it almost felt as though she was attempting to return my hug. I wanted her to love me so much sometimes I could almost convince myself that she was alive and animated. Tonight she was giving me this comfort I so dearly needed.

There was movement outside the nursery door. I drew Hestia close in case John or Georgiana would attempt to enter. I had to protect her. But instead I heard voices- Becky, the maid and seamstress who had levitated me out of the Red Room, and Shannon, her sister the wash-maid.

"And when we entered the room there was a queer blue fire in the grate," Becky said. She must have been telling her sister about the Red Room. I struggled to hear the conversation.

"Fires aren't supposed to be blue," Shannon said. Her voice was careful. Shannon was always careful, always silent, and always keeping out of Aunt Umbridge's way.

"No," Becky said, "and here's the most curious thing. It wasn't a-behaving like a normal fire, now. It was making shapes. And when I went towards her it shifted to a great enormous dog and almost left the grate."

Becky sounded pleased with being able to tell this story. She was so pleased that her voice was carrying, so even as I missed Shannon's question I could hear Becky's response.

"Why, it was in the shape of a Grimm! It means she's marked for death- I'd be surprised if she lasts the night."

"That poor girl," Shannon said, her voice so soft I could barely hear it. They were speaking of me, and my blood ran cold. Becky sounded frighteningly close to excitement about my pitiful condition.

"Yes, yes, well the mistress says she'll call for a mediwitch if she lasts through the night." Becky's voice was fading as the two of them were heading down the hall to their own quarters.

If she lasts. I would last, I must. I was still young enough that I was not convinced of the necessity of dying, and I resolved that such a thing should not happen to me. I had confidence in my own ability, and Tips should not want me to die. And as if feeling my own doubts, Hestia felt warm in my arms, and I reminded myself that Hestia should not want me to die either.

"I shall not die," I whispered to Hestia. "I shall not."

The thought was still hot in my blood by the time that Tips returned to check on me after he had served supper to the guests. He changed the cloth on my head and checked me and over my protests slid a potion down my throat, and from there I fell into the deepest sleep.

I woke to the sound of Tips bringing in a tray. There was light through the one narrow window of the nursery, and when I carefully attempted to sit up I found that the splitting pain in my head had ebbed.

"There, young miss, easy as easy," Tips said and placed the tray on my bed. The tray was set with broth and weak, milky tea and toast with butter. Tips began to fluff the pillows behind me, and bid me to begin eating. A thrill ran through me of knowing that I would never otherwise be allowed to take my breakfast in bed. I would get to eat while reclining like a Roman Caesar or a Greek Senator. It was only this flight of imagination that allowed me to tolerate the thought of food, for I felt I had no room in my stomach.

Tips flitted about the nursery as I gently spooned some broth, rich and warm and smooth, into my mouth. As I began to eat my stomach loudly voiced its hunger. It seemed that I had miscalculated, and I ate more swiftly, the speed tempered only by the heat of the broth.

Soon I had finished everything on the tray, and Tips was clearing it out. "Young miss," Tips said, his gravely voice hesitant and peculiar, "yous has a visitor."

The word clambered through my head. In my eleven years that I had been alive I had never had a visitor before. Instantly my mind turned to the horrors that a visitor could bring. I could not believe that something good would come for me.

"Is it my Aunt Umbridge, Tips?" I said fearfully.

"No, no, young miss," Tips shook his grand old head. "It is a the meddy-witch." And so my Aunt Umbridge had kept her promise. I had lived, and she was now obligated to see to my well-being.

Tips disappeared with the tray before I could assent to the mediwitch. After one brief moment there was a smart rap on the nursery door. Without pause Becky pushed the door open, and then a spry woman dressed entirely in white entered.

"Ah, you must be the patient." She said. She quickly crossed the nursery and took my fingers in hers, then gave them a quick pump. Becky seemed to think this was sufficient because she abruptly left the nursery. The woman was carrying a large carpetbag, from which she drew a wand. With a twirl she conjured a chair, and let it drop to the floor next to my bed with a sturdy thump.

"Miss Hermione Granger, I am Madam Pomfrey, your mediwitch. I understand you had quite a scare."

I had never before seen a mediwitch. Tips did what he could when I was ill. Mediwitches did not come to Cracknell Hall either- Becky and Shannon, the only two human servants in Cracknell Hall were treated by the apothecary, while Aunt Umbridge insisted that she and her children received treatment at Saint Mungo's. I was not allowed either of those avenues because I was a filthy muggle. And so Madam Pomfrey's presence here was curious.

It was a curiosity that I had little time to explore, as Madam Pomfrey immediately began examining me. She extracted several curious instruments from her bag. One was a slender rope, one end of which she put into her ears and the other onto my chest. The end of my chest rested for a moment, then began to rove towards my stomach, then my lungs, then my throat, and finally my forehead.

"Tell me what happened."

I hesitated, but some deep instinct compelled me to be truthful with this woman. She was a stranger, but she was kind, so I told her as simply as I could about the Red Room.

"A fire appeared?" she said, as she was now using two slim wires joined at the end to measure the size of my skull.

"Yes. A ghost made it appear." I had been so convinced of this, but now my words sounded paltry.

"Did you see this ghost?"

"No- no. It must have been invisible."

Madam Pomfrey was now jotting notes, the parchment floating in the air. I was accustomed to seeing magic from my Aunt Umbridge, but I had never seen anything so natural as the way Madam Pomfrey used it. It made me feel terribly jealous.

"What happened before this fire appeared?"

"My candle went out." I felt foolish as I said this, but Madam Pomfrey appeared terribly interested in this.

"What did you feel between the candle going out and the fire appearing?"

I furrowed my brow and attempted to remember. I was not yet accustomed to thinking about my feelings.

"I was afraid," I said slowly. "And I was sad. For I wished to keep reading."

Madam Pomfrey nodded as if she too had wanted to read books when no candles were to be found.

"Miss Granger, I don't think anything is wrong with you. You've just been subject to a good fright. But I will do one more test for you."

At this statement she removed a syringe from her enormous bag. "What is that?" I asked, feeling fear build in my throat.

"I just need a bit, Miss Granger. Now, grasp your dolly tight."

"A bit of what?" I asked, but scarcely before the words had left my throat Madam Pomfrey had plunged the syringe into my arm and the vial was filling with red.

"What is that?"

"Blood, Miss Granger," Madam Pomfrey said as she withdrew the syringe from my arm. She then pressed her wand to where the syringe had been, stopping the bleeding and bringing fresh skin over the area. It was over so quickly I had no time to react.

She withdrew one more thing, a vial of blue liquid from her bag. She unscrewed the syringe and then slowly added it to the liquid, which turned the shimmering, pure white of a pearl. Madam Pomfrey studied the vial for a few moments before turning to me with a gentle smile.

"Miss Granger," Madam Pomfrey said, "have you ever wanted to go to school?"

"More than anything else in the world," I answered honestly. I had many reasons to hate John Umbridge, but one chief reason was that he was promised a place in school and I was not.

"Would you like to attend Hogwarts?" Madam Pomfrey asked me next. I shook my head in terror.

"No, I cannot go to Hogwarts. I have no magic."

"Miss Granger," Madam Pomfrey said, "do you know why I took your blood?"

I cocked my head like a curious dog. I had no answer for her.

"There is a test that reveals magic in blood. There are many signs of magic, of course, but in cases of doubt, blood can be mixed with a Sanguis potion. A non-magical person's blood will remain red. But a witch- why her blood will turn-" and here Madam Pomfrey shook her vial- "a pure, clean white."

Madam Pomfrey's brisk face softened when she took in my obvious amazement. "There is no mistake, Miss Granger. You are a witch as sure as I am."

"But the ghost-"

"Have you ever seen a ghost?" At the shake of my head, Madam Pomfrey continued. "They are corporal, and conversational. And they have no power over our world. A ghost could not have summoned that fire. But a scared and lonely young witch could."

"But my parents were muggles!" I insisted. "I can't be a witch, my Aunt says so." But even as I spoke these words I remembered that family tree. There was a w inked in after my name. Is that what my uncle had meant?

"Many witches are born from muggle parents," Madam Pomfrey said. "Your aunt is-" there was a brief hesitation in her voice- "mistaken. Would you like to go to Hogwarts?"

I shook my head with great conviction. "I should not want to go anywhere where John will go. Is Hogwarts the only school of magic?"

"There are others," Madam Pomfrey said. "I will let your aunt know to find a place for you. For now, get plenty of rest, and listen to your house-elf. He's taken remarkably good care of you."

Once I was sure that Madam Pomfrey had vacated the nursery I pulled Hestia out from her hiding place under the covers.

"A witch," I murmured, and held her close, imagining that she was alive enough to be celebrating with me.

I had long thought that my Aunt's poor treatment of me was a result of my own lack of magic. But in the aftermath I found that magic would not change her opinion of me. Her treatment of me did change. Where once she had found me sneeringly barely worth her notice, she now feared and despised me.

By her instruction, John and Georgiana gave me a wide berth. Becky and Shannon, never terribly attentive to me, likewise avoided my presence. Only Tips would consent to remain in my presence, but he was kept far more busy than before, and I suspected my aunt was endeavoring to keep Tips away from me.

It hurt to be discarded and ignored as such, but I could not rightly say it was not worse than the abuse and cruelty of before. I grew bold in my neglect, taking books from the library and studying them in the nursery. If I were to go to a magical school then I should not want to be behind of everyone, who should already know how to cast spells and brew potions.

And so I passed many days so in the nursery, studying the texts and keeping company only with Tips and Hestia, eating only what was brought to me by Tips on a tray and scarcely remembering to wash. I would have been lonely if I were not so consumed with trying to learn everything. Tips fussed at me to spend some time outside, but I ignored him. Outside was where John and Georgiana spent their time. I wished to cross paths with them as little as possible. And what power did sunshine and fresh air have over the imagination of a young girl more than stories of powerful sorcerers and magical powers?

I tried casting spells, but I had no wand. Books assured me that young children often manifest their abilities without intention when they are afraid or upset, but I did not want to put myself in the path of such emotions for experiments sake. I tried small spells, letting warmth flow through my fingertips. The morning that I made a daisy close and then open again I was filled with triumph. I was indeed a witch.

One morning when I was walking to the library, intent on learning more about potions ingredients I might find John ambushed me. He pushed me hard, so hard that I fell down, then laughed.

"I don't care what anyone says," he taunted me. "You're still a filthy muggle. No. You're even worse than a filthy muggle. You're a filthy mudblood."

The way that John spat the word out made it clear that it was a foul word, one that he meant to stab me with. I staggered back to my feet. Some of my daring that had flooded me with his previous attack returned.

"I will curse you for that, John Umbridge," I cried, and began chasing after him.

He fled, as only bullies can. I chased him down the carpeted halls of Cracknell Hall until he reached the parlor that I hated above all other rooms. My Aunt Umbridge was there. The parlor suited her. It was a handsomely proportioned room, but was hideously appointed with pink draperies and couches. She had arrayed the walls with wallpaper of birds, and boasted of the price more often than was polite. She admired it, but the birds always seemed to me to be frozen and terrified in the cages of the wallpaper.

"Mummy, mummy."

"There is no one by the name of Mummy here, John." Her voice was sickly.

John took a great gasping breath and I hid next to the open door, where I could hear but not see the proceedings. I wished to know the extent of my punishment before I was forced to bear it.

"Mother," John said, "Hermione threatened-"

"For Merlin's sake," my aunt snapped, all sweetness form her voice gone, "I told you to avoid that mongrel. I will hear nothing more."

"But Mother-"

"She will be gone soon enough," she said. "Surely you can ignore the mudblood for a few weeks longer."

I slipped away before the conversation was finished. I did not care to be caught eavesdropping, as I was confident that my aunt's council to John would not be extended to herself if she caught me. But I had learned something important. My days here would not be much longer. I rejoiced at this, and hasted back to the library, bringing more books with me. There was so much more to learn before I left.

It was no great surprise to me, then, that the next week there was a knock at the nursery door. What did surprise me was that it was not Tips coming with a tray to tempt my appetite, or even Shannon and Becky to collect dirty clothes for washing. It was my Aunt Umbridge.

"You have a visitor," she said, and her beady eyes swept over me. My unruly curls were tied back in an impatient plait so they would distract me from reading. My dress was a cast offs of Georgiana's, too small and worn in the sleeves. "I would suggest you smarten up-" her lips curled, "but it seems that would do no good. Come with me."

We were led to the parlor, where in a contrast to the bright and plump decor there was a lean man, clad entirely in black. My aunt ushered me to a couch directly opposite from him.

"You must be my new charge." His words were drawled and said with a sneer.

I had no idea how to respond and decided to proceed with politeness.

"Yes. I'm Hermione Granger."

"Yes, sir," the man said, and the room suddenly seemed cold. "I have heard much about you, Miss Granger. Your aunt assures me that you are a wicked child, a liar, and a slouch." His eyes raked over me and finally met mine. They were black and fathomless, and reminded me of stories of pits of monsters from Greek myths. "She did not mention your carelessness."

"My- carelessness, sir?" I could tell this man had some importance, and I wanted desperately for him to have a good opinion of me.

His answer was cutting. "No young woman of worth would greet a visitor looking like a scullery maid. Careless and soft in the head, it seems."

I had no idea I would be greeting a visitor and that as an unwanted guest at Cracknell Hall I had no silk gowns, no leather slippers. I longed to make this answer to him. But this did not seem a man who would allow any disagreement. I still had no idea of his purpose here, and so I swallowed my pride.

"Tell me, Miss Granger, why do you think I am here?"

"I do not know, sir." My voice was so soft that I was afraid he would not hear it. But evidently he did, and he approved of this answer.

"Miss Granger, my name is Professor Severus Snape." This was said with a lift of his chin, emphasizing how impressive he found his own title. "I am the headmaster at Prince's Magical Preparatory Academy for Witches. Your aunt has secured a position for you at my school. I am here to-" here his lips curled as if he was about to smile- "your intelligence, so that we might place you at your appropriate level. Now, tell me, do you want to go to Prince's Magical Preparatory Academy for Witches?"

He seemed a cruel man, but yet it was an escape. "Yes, sir."

"Good. And now tell me, what do you think of muggle?"

"I know no muggles, sir."

"But are dirty, filthy creatures, are they not?"

I had never met a muggle, but my aunt Umbridge and Professor Snape both seemed to despise them. As they both seemed to despise me as well, it seemed to me that I might quite like muggles.

"I should not say that, sir, because I have never known a muggle. But my mother and father were muggles, my aunt Umbridge tells me so, and I should not like to hate those who have begotten me."

It seemed a fairly reasoned answer to me, and yet Professor Snape was shaking his head before I finished speaking.

"She lacks a proper witches' pride. Now, you said that her magic never manifested?"

"Not until recently, and it was only at the insistence of a mediwitch that she was tested. It seems her powers must be weak and her capacity mean."

Now I do know the ways that a young witch comes into her powers, and I know how easy such signs can be ignored. My aunt always insisted that any magic was John's or Georgiana's, convinced that my heritage made magic of my own an impossibility. As a young girl I knew nothing of the lies she spouted by her insistence, only that this seemed desperately unfair.

"Of course," Professor Snape responded. "You have handed me an impossible case here, Mrs. Umbridge- a surly, foolish, weak creature."

"But you will take her?" My Aunt Umbridge fussed. Her smile was looking pained, and her eyes wild.

"I would not dream of keeping her here with you." His voice was oily, and it made me itch with hatred. School had so long been a beacon of brightness, but now the thought of attending his school was making my stomach plunge. "We at Prince's Magical Preparatory Academy for Witches specialize in impossible cases. We will give her the tools she needs to live with- dignity." That last word seemed a threat.

"Then we are in accord," my Aunt Umbridge said, and she dismissed me, ringing for tea from Tips.

That evening my aunt Umbridge summoned me once again to the parlor.

"I have told Becky to pack your items. You leave in two days."

I was silent with this news. Cracknell Hall had been a prison for me as long as I could remember. But I had the dreadful feeling that I was leaving one prison for the next.

"You must be grateful for all I've done for you," she continued. "Not everyone would give shelter to you like I would. It's only polite to thank your benefactress."

I had always tried to humble myself before her. For a long time I thought that if I was good, my aunt might come to love me. But no love had come, and then my method turned to avoiding detection. That had not worked. She had still lied and slandered me to strangers, and I now feared what I had so ardently hoped for. I could now properly say that I loathed my aunt, and this loathing allowed me to speak.

"You have given me less shelter than a stray cat in a storm receives," I spoke, and shock and fury flashed across my aunt's face.

"How dare you! I have given you nothing but love and generosity from the goodness of my heart!" She was shrieking at me, and I realized with a start that I was almost as tall as she. I pressed myself up to my full height and met her gaze.

"My dear aunt Umbridge, you must not tell lies," I said, repeating the charge she had often laid against me, and a thrill went through me.

The calmer I grew the more erratic my aunt became. She reached for her wand, muttering to herself about my ungrateful heart.

"Just a small curse," she said, and a pang hit me. I had never been cursed, despite the poor treatment I had endured here. But my bravery remained as she stretched out her wand with a cruel smile.

"And how would my uncle feel about you breaking your promise?"

My aunt went still.

"What did you say?" she hissed, her eyes wide and fearful.

"I said, and how would my uncle feel about you breaking your promise? The promise you granted to him before he died? I do think he would be upset to hear that you failed to keep your vow."

Aunt Umbridge lowered her trembling wand and there was hatred in her eyes, but she was listening to me. I wished to say more, but some instinct was stopping me. I met her eyes and hers darted away from mine.

"I would never harm you, my dear," my aunt finally said. Her coloring was high and her breath was rapid. "Nor turn you out. You wish to go to school, do you not? I am not forcing you."

Dumbfounded at the turn of conversation, I only nodded.

"You leave in two days," my aunt said, and then turned to sweep out of the room. "Tips!" She called, and Tips appeared with a crack. bowing. "Keep the vermin out of my sight."

Tips escorted me back to the nursery, where I laid in bed with Hestia and wept. I had won against my aunt. It was my first victory and I could taste the triumph on my tongue. But more than any victory what I craved was love. And there was none to be found here.

a/n Thank you for your following and your faith in this story. I can only hope to prove myself worthy of it.