This story is written for the Movie Fest of the Strictly Dramione Facebook page. If you are a fan of Dramione, the Strictly Dramione page is the place to be! Go check it out.
I want to thank my lovely Beta and cheerleader Filisgare. She inspired me, motivated me, and kept me writing. Many, many thanks.
Disclaimer: All things Harry Potter belong to J.K. Rowling, all things Tangled to Disney.
Apologies for not updating last week, Muggle life caught up with me.
xXxDracoxXx
He mutely shook his head at her 'Of course you know me'. He couldn't believe it. She couldn't be, could she? How could he have missed it? How was it even possible. He dragged his hand through his hair and across his face.
"Draco! Draco talk to me! What did I do wrong?"
Hermione's frantic voice broke through his daze. "Nothing, princess, nothing. Just- just let me compose myself for a minute."
He looked at his wand lying in front of her. From day one he had known she was magical. He remembered the feeling of recognition he'd had back then, like he already knew her. Thinking it impossible, he had brushed it away, shoved it to the back of his head.
Realisation had hit the moment she turned in profile, the wand held in front of her face, that wondrous, happy look on her face. He had to be sure, he couldn't afford to make a mistake. Even though, deep down, he already knew he was right.
"How old are you?" he asked.
"I'm 18. Draco, what's-"
"And how long did you live in that tower?" he interrupted.
"For as long as I can remember. My aunt says we moved there when I was three, after my parents died."
"How did they die?"
"In a fire. Draco, what's going on? Please tell me what's happening!"
Oh Sweet Merlin, I can't believe this! He dragged his hand through his hair again, messing it up. "Let me tell you a story."
"What?"
"I'm going to tell you a story. Please listen Hermione, princess. I'll explain after."
She frowned but nodded at him, causing him to take a deep breath and launch into the tale.
"In the British Magical Society, we have, what we call, the Sacred 28 families. These are the 28 most noble and influential families. My family is part of them, along with the Black family, the Prewett's, the Greengrass', the Parkinson's and the McGonagall's. Are you following so far?"
She glared at him.
"Right. Well, uhm." He didn't really know how to continue. What to explain first? "There are rivalries between the families. We are all trying to one-up each other, get more influence in the ministry, become richer than the other, and so on."
"Why would you want to do that?" Hermione interrupted.
Draco gave her an incredulous look. He opened his mouth, but realised he actually didn't really have an answer. "For family pride, princess," he finally said. "But, to continue, even despite all those rivalries, we are a tight knit bunch. We form or own social circle, which includes parties, dinners, etc. The children from the Sacred 28 practically grow up with each other. They are still amongst my best friends."
He sighed and glanced at Hermione. She was avidly listening, her confusion temporarily forgotten.
"Everything was all good, until tragedy struck." He glanced up again as Hermione gasped and put her hands in front of her mouth. "The McGonagall's weren't a large family. Only Minerva, her husband, Ernest, and their daughter. She was a feisty little thing, always full of energy." He smiled at the memory of running after the three year old girl, five years younger than him. It seemed like she never got tired.
"What happened?" Hermione whispered.
He shook his head in sorrow. "I remember that Minerva almost died at the birth of their daughter. Somehow, Madame Pomfrey managed to keep her alive. They were so happy together, you could really see their joy." Another sigh. "There was a fire. It burned down their cottage near Hogsmeade."
"Oh no!" Hermione gasped.
"Yes. Minerva and Ernest were out for the evening, enjoying a dinner, just the two of them. When they returned, there wasn't much left but a smouldering pile of debris. The Aurors were already looking through the rubble. Two charred bodies were found; that of the babysitter and their daughter."
He pulled Hermione against him when he noticed she was crying. He knew he shouldn't - things just got a hell of a lot more complicated – but he couldn't stand her tears.
"Their grief was immense. They lost their daughter and a good friend. Ernest refused to believe that they were dead, though, stating that their friend was a strong witch. He kept telling everybody that she would have escaped, she would have Apparated. There was no way that she would have died in a mere fire. The Aurors never found the woman's wand, so they couldn't disprove his theory. They searched for a couple of months. No clue could be found, so they officially declared them dead."
He closed his eyes in remembrance. He had only been 8 at the time, but he still remembered the broken look of Minerva McGonagall and the wild despair that clung to her husband.
"It broke them," he whispered. "Later, I found out that Minerva was no longer able to have children. They had no hope of continuing their family line. Ernest wasted away in his grief. He died not long after. Minerva took his teaching position and secluded herself from the world. She hasn't visited a social function ever since. She has become a stern, strict but righteous woman. Her devotion to her job and the students is absolute. But if you know when and where to look, you can still see the pain she carries with her."
"That poor woman." For a while, they were surrounded by silence. "But what has that to do with how you reacted?" Hermione asked.
Draco grabbed his wand and looked at it, stalling for time. Finally, he turned to Hermione. "This tragedy, it happened 15 years ago. The child was three years old at the time."
"So? What does that mean?"
"Do you remember when I first saw you? I asked if we had met before."
"I remember."
He waited to see if she would connect the dots. When she didn't, he let out a sigh and resumed talking.
"I knew that little girl very well, princess. Ernest and my father were good friends, so we visited each other quite often." He put a finger under her chin and turned her so she was facing him. "The girl's name was Hermione."
"Like me?" There was a small tremble in her voice.
"I think you and her are one and the same. I think, Hermione, that you are Minerva's daughter. I think that Ernest was right; you didn't die in that fire. The family friend, Ella Sherwood, kidnapped you and set that fire to hide her crime."
Hermione pulled back. "No! Aunt Ellis would never do that! Why would she do that?"
He reached out for her but she flinched back.
"I'm sorry, princess, I know this must be hard. But look at the facts. You are magical. You can brew Wolfsbane potion. You felt your magic when you held your wand. There's no use in denying it anymore. Your Aunt kept this a secret from you. Why? Why but other than to prevent you from learning how to defend yourself?"
"No! No! You are lying!"
"Princess." His voice nearly broke with compassion. He hated himself for hurting her so, but she needed to know the truth. "Princess, that tower you lived in? It has no stairs. I walk around it, trying to find it, but there was none. I think your Aunt Apparated up into a room under the floorboards."
"No! This can't be! This can't be true!"
He noticed her defences going down as she saw the truth behind his words and pulled her back to him, letting her cry against his shoulder.
"Why? Why would she do that? Why would she lie to me?"
Heavy sobs wracked her body and all he could do was hold on to her. He wanted to shield her from the pain, tell her it would be all right, but knew it was a lie. He could make heads nor tails of it all. Why indeed? What would be the purpose of kidnapping Hermione? A three year old child?
Hermione suddenly stiffened in his embrace. "My hair!" she whispered. "She did it because of my hair! All those years she warned me about people who wanted me because of my hair. Who wanted to use me. When all this time, she was the one using me."
"Uhm, your hair?" Draco asked. Wait, right, her hair glows and heals people. Of course!
She started fidgeting. "Yeah, uhm, I never told you?"
"I think you have," he answered. "It heals, right?"
Hermione nodded. "I used it for her all the time. I never questioned it, she's the one who raised me after all. But if-" she swallowed, "but if what you're saying is true, then that must be the reason. She doesn't want me, she wants my hair!"
She started sobbing again. Draco rocked her back and forth in his arms, trying to calm her down but knew it was futile. He felt sorry for her. Her entire world was crumbling around her.
"Are you," she sniffed, "are you only here for my hair too?"
"No!" he cried out in shock, pushing her away from him so he could look her in the eye. "No, princess, don't think that! I'm fa- I couldn't care less about your hair! I'm magical, remember?" He gave her a lopsided grin.
"But so is my Aunt."
He blinked at that statement. That's true. Then why? "Perhaps she has a disease that magic can't solve?" He wasn't sure if that even existed, but he had to tell her something. "Or perhaps she simply wants to stay young?" That sounded awfully vain, even to him, but it was a possibility.
She shrugged helplessly. He cradled her head in his hands and wiped at her tears with his thumbs. There's only one way to see this through, to learn the truth. "We have to head to Hogwarts," he stated with finality.
"Hogwarts?"
"I haven't told you about Hogwarts?"
Hermione shook her head. He thought back and realised that, no, he hadn't told her about it. When they talked about his childhood, the topic of magic was still being avoided. He had talked about school in general, but never mentioned the castle.
"It's a school for magic. After we buy our wand at age 11, we go to Hogwarts to learn how to use it."
Her eyes lightened up and he had to suppress a chuckle. "There's a school for magic?" she asked, excited.
"Yes, princess. There are more of them, actually. But Hogwarts is by far the best of them all. Minerva McGonagall, your mother, teaches Transfiguration there."
She blinked owlishly. "I have a mother? She's still alive?"
He smiled at her. "Yes, princess, she's still alive, and we are going to go meet her. Now, up you go! I need to contact Blaise." He stood and pulled her to her feet. Searching his pockets, he found the ribbon that served as their portkey. "Hold on," he said, holding the ribbon between their hands, just as they did with the stones Blaise always sent. "Portus!"
Arriving at the hotel, Hermione went up to their room as he walked to the front desk to write a letter to Blaise.
"Mate,
Make your excuses to the woman you're currently entertaining and get your ass here. ASAP!
Draco"
"Please dispatch this note with your fastest bird immediately," he asked the receptionist.
"Certainly, Mr Malfoy. Will that be a long distance or a short distance delivery?"
He blinked at the question. "I honestly have no idea."
"No worries, sir, it will be taken care off."
Nodding his thanks, he turned and left. When he arrived at their room, Hermione was already under the covers. He grabbed the comfortable trousers and T-shirt he usually wore to bed and headed for the bathroom, still reeling from his earlier discovery. I have been travelling with Hermione McGonagall. How could I not have noticed? How? It's not like Hermione is a common name. Sweet Merlin, such a messed up situation.
Returning to the bedroom, he noticed Hermione wasn't sleeping but blankly staring ahead of her. He walked around the bed and crawled under the covers next to her.
"I've messaged Blaise. I don't know where he is but he should be here tomorrow or the day after."
"All right."
He frowned at her lifeless answer. He didn't know how to react to it, she was always so bubbly. I can only imagine how she feels. Her entire world has been turned upside down. After some deliberation, he reached out an arm and pulled her back flush against his chest.
"It will be ok, princess. We'll figure this out, don't you worry."
A shiver went through her and she pressed herself closer to him. "Do you think so?"
He hated how small her voice sounded. "Yes, princess, I really do think so," he answered, kissing the top of her head. "Now go to sleep, it's late."
Her hand covered his and held it tight, as if to make sure he wouldn't disappear. Draco stayed awake, listening to her breathing slow down and feeling her body relax against his. Only when he was certain she was peacefully sleeping did he close his eyes and follow her into temporary oblivion.
Blaise found them not long after breakfast, while they were both reading in the hotel's lounge. Draco was getting more worried by the minute. Hermione seemed distracted and withdrawn. She hardly paid attention to the book she was attempting to read and he had to call her name twice before she reacted to him. Looking up to see Blaise was a huge relief.
"Mate! You got here quickly!"
"Who do you think you are? Summoning me away from my fe-" he glanced at Hermione, "my most friendly company? I'm not your servant you know!"
Draco merely smirked, knowing it was all boasting with no real vehemence in it. Blaise frowned at the lack of reaction from Hermione.
"Is she ok?"
"I'll be right back," Draco said to Hermione. She nodded vaguely. He turned to Blaise and guided him out of the room. "We need to talk. How did you get here so quickly anyway?"
"I was sticking around, knowing this was your last stop. What's up? What's wrong with your girl?"
Draco dragged his hand over his face. "Long story, mate. Do you remember the McGonagall's?"
"Do I remember Professor McGonagall? What kind of question is that? Of course I remember her!"
"No, not just the Professor. Do you remember what happened to the family? When we were about 8 years old?"
"Draco, you know that tragedy is practically a taboo subject. Why are you bringing it up?"
"Do you remember how Ernest McGonagall kept refusing to acknowledge that his daughter was dead and kept telling everybody she must have been kidnapped?" Blaise nodded, an uncomfortable look on his face. "I think he was right."
"What?" Blaise bellowed. "By Circe's tits, where is this coming from?"
"I think Hermione," he vaguely waved towards the lounge, "is actually Hermione McGonagall."
"Have you lost your mind?"
Draco heaved a sigh. "Just hear me out. She's 18 years old and has been living in that tower ever since she was 3. Her aunt told her her parents died in a fire. Her name is Hermione, hardly common, now is it. When I first saw her, I thought I met her before. Even you mentioned she looked familiar the first time you saw her. She's magical, no doubt about it, only her aunt lied about it for all her life. And yesterday, when I gave her my wand, mate, she looked so much like the Minerva I knew when I was young. The resemblance was uncanny."
"I don't know." Blaise shook his head. "You really think it's her? Do you even realise how absurd your story sounds."
"Yeah, I do, it even sounds absurd to me, but I'm sure of it. We need to get her to Hogwarts, have her visit McGonagall."
"Right, ok, I can see if I can get a Portkey to Hogsmeade." Blaise glance towards the lounge. "Why is she so … lifeless?"
"Her aunt has been feeding her lies her entire life. She didn't take that well. I'm worried about her."
A smile lit up Blaise's face. "Well then, let's see if I can cheer her up." He strode off.
"Blaise! Wait!" Draco yelled after him, to no avail. He hurriedly followed his friend.
Blaise dropped himself next to Hermione, plucking the book out of her hands. "You haven't even said hello to me, you hurt my feelings."
She blinked at him in confusion.
"Don't tell me you've forgotten this handsome face and drop-dead gorgeous body, now have you? Oh no! You have! That is inexcusable. But seeing that you've had Draco distracting you, I'll forgive you, but only this once." He took her hand and brushed his lips over her knuckles. "The name is Blaise, Blaise Zabini, a good friend of Draco's, only better looking."
Draco rolled his eyes. "So not true, mate."
"See?" Blaise whispered to Hermione conspiratorially. "He's jealous!"
"Seriously Zabini? That's the best you can come up with?"
They started bickering, and from the corner of his eye he could see a small smile tugging at the corners of Hermione's lips. She was watching them, her eyes going from one to another, like watching a ping-pong match. Blaise was still holding her hand. Draco wanted to rip it out of his grasp and hold onto it himself. He took a deep breath to steady his emotions.
"Don't you have a portkey to acquire?"
Blaise once more turned towards Hermione. "I won," he said in that same, whispered tone, winking at her. He spoke up. "Yes, I do. I'll have it delivered to your room, tomorrow morning at the latest. Bye Sweetheart, I'll see you around."
He rose and walked past Draco, clamping a hand on the latter's shoulder. "I hope you know what you're doing, Draco. This pot wasn't meant to be stirred again."
Draco nodded in acknowledgement. "Thanks Blaise, I'll let you know what happened."
With another small bow to Hermione, Blaise turned and walked away.
"I like your friend," Hermione mused.
Draco bristled at her words, but tried not to let it show, giving her a smile.
"I like you more though," she added carelessly, grabbing her book and starting to read in earnest.
Draco felt like his heart would explode from happiness.
xXxXxXx
The portkey was delivered later that evening. They had spent their day at the hotel, Draco noticing that Hermione wasn't up to going into the city and not even suggesting it. Instead, he taught her how to play chess. She was a quick learner.
"When do we leave?" Hermione asked when he put the envelope with the portkey on the bedside table.
"It's activated with a spell. We can leave whenever you feel ready." He watched her fidget. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, staring intently at her hands.
"I-" She fell silent.
He went to sit next to her. "What's on your mind, princess?"
"Are you sure?"
He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her against him. She sounded so small, so scared. He couldn't stand it. "I'm pretty sure, yes, but we'll never know for certain unless we go there and find out. You deserve so, so much more than being locked up in that tower."
"But what if you're wrong? What if my parents did die in a fire and I'm not who you think I am? What then?"
"Then we go from there. Either way, I will protect you, princess. Trust me?"
She nodded against his shoulder. He now wrapped both his arms around her, causing her to curl up against his side. "It will be fine," he murmured, kissing the top of her head and hoping he spoke the truth.
The next morning, after breakfast, Draco found himself in the alleyway next to the hotel, a nervous Hermione standing in front of him. It had been a long night. She had been unable to sleep, tossing and turning until he once more pulled her against him. For long hours, he had murmured sweet nothings to her, hoping to calm her down. By the time dawn came, she finally fell asleep.
He stretched out his hand, the stone portkey laying in his palm. "Let's go find out who you really are," he said.
Her eyes flickered between his and the portkey. The nod she gave him was nearly imperceptible, but she reached out and put her hand over his, trapping the portkey. Pulling out his wand, he transported them both to the outskirts of Hogsmeade.
Hermione was shaking like a leaf. He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her around, giving her a clear view of the castle. Her mouth fell open in surprise.
"That, dear princess, is Hogwarts. The best wizarding school in the world."
"You didn't tell me it was a castle!" she exclaimed. "It's magnificent!"
He wrapped his arms around her. "I know," he smirked. "I wanted to surprise you."
"That's where you learned how to use magic?"
"Yes."
They both looked at the castle for a while, Hermione in awe, Draco with nostalgia. He had a lot of fond memories that took place within those walls. He vividly remembered the feasts, the time spend in the common room, on top of the Astronomy Tower (not always for classes) and the many successful pranks. She would have studied in those halls, just as I did, were it not for this wretched aunt of hers.
"Come on," he eventually said, "let's go see if Rosmerta has a room for us to stay in."
"Rosmerta?"
"She owns the Three Broomsticks, a popular inn in the village."
The started walking down the path towards the village. Hermione was looking around with wide eyes. For a moment, he took the time to really look at the village as well. He'd been here so often, he hardly noticed the charming houses and all the magic freely displayed in the windows. Happy that she was momentarily distracted from her worries, Draco slowed down and gave her the time to look around.
"I knew you would eventually come here!" a shrill voice yelled behind them.
Draco spun around, instinctively pulling Hermione behind him. "Alison Blair?" he exclaimed, vaguely recognising the woman.
Hermione peeked over his shoulder. "Aunt Ellis? What are you doing here?"
