A Girl Named Hermione Granger: Year Four

Gift Chapter: Back On Track

Disclaimer: I suck way too much at updating to own something this awesome.

Quick note: We're skipping ahead to Halloween for the next chapter. The more I get into this day-by-day stuff, the more stuck I get wondering how to write dear ol' daddy and daughter bits. Case in point: this was your Christmas gift chapter. I know, I know, I'm so ashamed...

His office had always been a bit of a haven for him, not that he would admit it even under threat of torture. It had a perfectly sized fireplace, a nice, sturdy oak desk, and a wall of cabinets and shelves. It also had a loose stone in the floor with a perfectly sized cavity for a few bottles of fire whiskey.

Currently, Severus was reclined on the small sofa adjacent to the merrily burning fire. It was a piece of furniture that was rarely used, and then mostly only ever occupied by his daughter on her rare visits. Now though, he was glad to have it, as he sipped casually from his goblet of fire whiskey.

Today, as of approximately two hours ago, was his oldest – and likely to remain only – child's birthday. He was quite certain that she thought he had forgotten, but how could he ever forget? His slim grip on sanity revolved around her existence, and he loved her more than he had any other, perhaps even more than he had loved Lilly.

Dumbledore had assured him that it was quite normal for fathers to be smitten with their daughters, and he supposed he did recall how Lilly's father had doted on her, despite being a rather cold muggle man himself. However, Severus just didn't quite know how to express this to his only child.

Julie had been their buffer, helping him to understand the way his daughter was, and bringing Hermione to realize that her father did love her. How was their relationship to survive without the vibrant muggle born witch? Would it go back to the way it was in her first year, when every encounter was strained, and she would skip classes and meals, and he would hate himself ever more?

No. He couldn't let it fall back to that.

He drained the rest of the warm, bitter liquid from his goblet and slowly made his way over the mantle. There was a small box, elegantly wrapped in green and silver, with a tiny little card tied to the ribbon. He wasn't sure whether Hermione was all that fond of rings, but this one had belonged to his mother, and had been left to him upon her passing. She was only fifteen, and probably would not need anything as heavily charmed as this ring was, but it would hopefully prove to be the gesture he needed to make to keep them in the clear.

Tucking the box into his pocket, he stepped out of his office and made his way to the owlery.

The book sat tauntingly on her four poster bed, the black leather cover and its faded silver writing were daring her to open it again, and go past the preface scribbled in by her mother. Since she had removed the book from her vault in Gringotts, she had been mulling over what to do about it.

A part of her had wanted to hand it over to her father; have him check it over for dark magic. But she knew he would likely have confiscated it entirely and had it destroyed – that is, if he could even have touched it. She could quite vividly recall the shock she had received from the old photo album in the vault.

Moonlight filtered in the window to her left, barely illuminating the room at all. Just a few moments ago, the small clock next to her bed ha ticked over to midnight, officially marking the beginning of September nineteenth, her fifteenth birthday. It was weird for her, knowing she was officially a year older than her room mates, and her friends, but she had made peace with that for now.

Hesitantly she pulled the book into her lap and flipped open the cover, her eyes roaming over the looping, neat script etched into the otherwise blank page.

Child,
I have written this book just for the eyes of my progeny. Any other who try to read it, shall find a lovely little hex inside the pages. Inside you will learn all the neat little perks of being a Dolohov heir that daddy-Snape has likely forbade. I wish to ensure the survival of my line, so you will learn this now that you are old enough to have been presented my diary.

~Katherine Dolohov

A shiver ran up Hermione's spine as she gingerly fingered the corner of the page. She was quite certain that she wanted absolutely nothing to do with being a Dolohov, but she felt there was likely something very important in here. But would it destroy her to find out the true nature of her mother's mind? Would it change her outlook? Was she genuinely strong enough to read on?

It was those fears that kept her from turning the page. She was a clever girl, she could do more homework and reading than most of the witches in her year put together; she could brew complicated potions and had a knack for charms well beyond her level. But cleverness was not strength. Cleverness was not bravery. She wasn't like Harry and Ron, ready to charge into a potentially painful situation without a second thought. She was cautious – she had been hurt. And a great deal of that hurt was afforded her on behalf of her mother.

Not that Harry had never been hurt; she knew his life hadn't been much of a picnic either, although his parents had at least been on their side. But he was a Gryffindor through and through, brave like a lion. She was much more Slytherin, she didn't belong in the house of Godric Gryffindor, she wasn't brave.

Her heart stung as she closed the book and tucked it back under her mattress. She wasn't ready for that. Quietly, she snuck out of her bed and stepped into her slippers, drawing a fluffy dark red robe around herself for warmth, and she crept out of the dorm, down to the empty common room where the fire still burned.

She was mildly surprised, therefore, when she saw a house elf, puttering about with a duster following him to heel. "Oh, hello," She whispered as the small creature spotted her. "Miss should be sleeping," The elf squeaked, clearly upset to find a student out of bed in the middle of the night. "I'm sorry, I couldn't sleep…" The elf gave her a small smile, "Miss is like Harry Potter? Fascinated by the night?"

She couldn't help but chuckle softly, "I suppose so. Do you know Harry?" The elf's smile broadened and he bowed low enough for his nose to brush the floor, "Indeed, Miss, Dobby knows Harry Potter! Harry Potter was the one who set Dobby free!"

She was surprised by the house elf's name, but at the same time, she wasn't. She recalled How Winky had told Harry that Dobby had been having trouble finding a family that would pay him, and she knew Dumbledore was probably one of the only wizards that would agree to do such a thing.

"Dobby! I've heard about you from Harry," She was actually kind of thrilled to meet the house elf that had caused such mayhem in their second year, for both the boys and herself to a smaller extent. The short elf beamed up at her with his wide eyes, "Harry Potter speaks of Dobby? What an honour!" He tucked his duster into the waist of his pristine apron and took Hermione's hand, gently leading her to a cushy arm chair beside the fire. "Come and sit Miss, you will stay warm over here, can Dobby get anything for Harry Potter's friend?"

Despite her views on how house elves waited on wizards hand and foot, she actually felt a little bit grateful for the fussing. Her birthday wasn't starting out very well, and she hadn't spoken to her father since the night at the Burrow, Draco wasn't speaking to her either, at the moment. She had been sorely missing receiving affection. "Actually, if it's no trouble, could I have a cup of tea? It's my birthday, and I haven't been feeling very well…"

Dobby's immediate nod took her a little by surprise, "Anything Miss! Dobby will bring you tea. Do you have any requests?" It was probably considered sad that this was the nicest question she had been asked all week. "I would love some Jasmine, if you have it." Dobby gave her another large grin and bowed low, "Dobby will be right back miss!" With a muffled crack! The elf vanished from the common room.

He was back moments later with a tray covered in sweets, with a small teapot and a dainty little mug. "Here you are Miss, Dobby must be returning to the kitchens now, though. Happiest of birthdays, Miss friend of Harry Potter."

Hermione plucked a cookie from the tray and nibbled at it, feeling much better about her cowardice over reading the diary of her mother. If she had decided to read the book, she would not have met Dobby, and her birthday would have continued on its miserable path.

End gift chapter two!

I really wanted to do something with Severus to keep from vilanizing him, seeing as he kind of pulled a disappearing act.

Hopefully with the coming time skip, posting will be back on track. As it is, you can thank Strep throat for me posting. You remember the weirdest things when you get high fevers...Oh well.

All I can do is hope I haven't lost readers over all this time...I know how frustrating bad posting habits can be.

Hope you enjoyed this chapter!