Always Pure Chapter 21: Embittered, a harry potter fanfic

And I finally got another chapter out. Yay! Sorry it took so long, life happened, and I actually got a plot bunny for another story that hasn't left me alone in months. But don't worry I won't post anything new until I finish this story, which is hopefully being wrapped up within the next 5 or so chapters. Don't worry I'll try to not have it take 5 years (It really shouldn't).

As always, the usual disclaimer applies for this story. And always thank angstar54 for the amazing beta work. I don't know what I would do without her. Seriously she is amazing.

Chapter 21: Embittered

Dorea was worried.

She had not seen or even heard a word about her daughter since the death of the Black heir. And although their relationship has been strained as of late, Lady Potter would usually hear something by now—even if it were just an indirect comment from Molly Weasley. It had been weeks now and there was not even a mention of her daughter.

Her nose twitched as she let out a harsh sigh. Dorea worried terribly about her youngest child, and that concern continued to grow by the hour. It was for that very reason that she had decided upon a family meeting at Potter Manor. Whether or not Hermione showed up was beside the point; so long as they got this whole situation worked out—or at least formulated a proper plan— Dorea would be happy. At least then she would know or have a way to know that her little witch was alive.

She had had much time to think about the meeting and even more time to really pick at what had bugged her so much about her daughter's ties to the Black family. She had been jealous. And although completely unbecoming, it was hard to shake off. Dorea had been all but repudiated from the family for her marriage to Charlus—his blood status was the only thing that saved her from true repudiation.

Yet her little witch fought her way into their circle, becoming one of them to such a point that even Bellatrix Lestrange welcomed her with open arms. It hurt that her own family would be so accepting of another, even if it were her own daughter. The worst of it, a truth that made Dorea cringe in shame, was that it wasn't even a child of her own blood. Hermione was adopted, but the Black family received her like one of their own. It had made the Lady Potter jealous because it felt like the Blacks thought there was something wrong with her.

And how iniquitous was that? Hermione had done nothing but be herself, and yet Dorea struggled to accept that. Had tried to push away the only friends her daughter really knew. Shame swelled inside of the mother as she remembered. It had been Minerva's idea to meditate and try and find out why the relationship frustrated her so. When she found the answer, it felt like a bludger had hit her in the chest. She had pinpointed early on, back when the Black Heir had first been marked, that she was envious of the relationship—but to know the full extent just made everything worse. How could she ever look at her daughter again knowing how selfish her feelings were?

She should have been happy for her daughter. Pleased even—her daughter had obtained loyalty from a family more slippery than an eel. But she could only feel envy in her belly . . . and how inappropriate was that? Jealousy was a common trait, especially in the magical world, but to be envious of her own daughter? Dorea could find no excuse for it. Sometimes feelings were irrational after all. Hermione had told her once before that the younger Black generation was not like her own siblings; she just hadn't believed it.

But that was no more.

No longer would she allow her jealousy to control her actions. No longer would her actions weaken her words. No longer would she be this wretched excuse of a mother.

"Mum?" James' voice came from the doorway, startling her. He had always been a quiet walker. When he was growing up it took the house-elves to usually find the boy, as he was rather resourceful when he felt the need to be, something she had always enjoyed about him. Hermione had often helped him circumvent the elves once she had found out about Dorea's usage. Dorea shook her head, twitching her nose. She could think of those memories later when the realization of her behavior wasn't quite so fresh.

"James, dear, how have you been?" Her silver eyes lit up at the site of her son. It felt like far too long since she had last seen him. Looking at him now, she could barely recognize him as the boy she raised. Part of her missed her young boy . . . no children. She missed when the elves had to scold the pair for sneaking biscuits or having to place Hermione in time out because she snuck into bed with James after curfew to have him read to her. She missed what her family uses to be.

"Fine, mum. Why did you call for me?"

Dorea took her time to respond, debating on whether this whole thing was really a good idea. Her plan had so many things left to chance that it made her uncomfortable. But only so much can be done at this point. "I've talked to your father, he couldn't make the meeting due to something at the Wizengamot, and we have decided on our approach of Hermione," the mother responded. She knew Charlus had been uncertain of the plan, but due to her confidence in it, allowed her to proceed as she deemed fit. The Lady Potter knew he only wanted everyone's best interest, and although she respected his opinion, Dorea knew he just would not understand; he was just too much of a Gryffindor.

James couldn't form words, but a questioning grunt made its way from the back of his throat. He would be lying if he did not admit to being nervous. He was curious to know what his mother had planned. His mother had that usual gleam in her eye that spoke of tedious planning and at least a couple of contingencies hidden away. Usually, those plans came to fruition perfectly, but James did not know if that would really work in the case of his sister—'Mione was a bit like their mother in terms of her unpredictability.

"First, how is everything going with Lily?" Dorea asked, patting the empty seat beside her, James instantly moving to sit next to her. Her heart swelled at the sappy look at adorned her son's face at the name. Her son had found love, genuine love. It made her hopeful for the future. She listened as James talked about the pregnancy, the tummy kicks, and all the odd cravings.

"Were you scared?" Her son's question surprised her, so much so that it took her a bit to understand what he was asking. Once it sunk in, she laughed. For all his Gryffindor bravado, James really was still just a child. The question took Dorea back to the days when she was pregnant—the fear of miscarriage, the first time James kicked, or the countless sleepless nights after his birth. She wouldn't change a minute of any of it.

"Always. But I don't regret anything," she responded happily.

James was silent for a moment, obviously debating what he wanted to ask her. It upset her a little; had she really messed things up so much that even her son did not feel comfortable voicing his concerns with her?

"What is one thing you wish you did differently with us?"

Thousands of things came to mind the instant he finished speaking. Thousands of words flickered through her head, but the words wouldn't form on her lips. Thousands of ways to do things better instantly came to mind, but in the end the only phrase she could speak was "Be simple".

And just like that, the floodgates opened. Dorea could only hope that her son would listen to her.

"Be something that you love—despite everything." Quandaries would come and go, especially in times of war. The truth of the matter was that war had not scared Dorea nearly as much as the peace did. In a time of peace, she had forgotten her role as a mother. In a time of peace, she had let her anger towards her family destroy the relationship she had with her daughter. In a time of peace, she had become something she had hated.

"Be something that you can recognize." And perhaps this was the most important piece of parenthood that Dorea could think of. She had been so sure of how right she had been only to realize too late that she had become a stranger. Dorea had essentially become her mother, a fate so wretched that Dorea could think of nothing worse . . . save perhaps marrying Abraxas Malfoy. She had sworn years ago that she would never become her mother only for it to happen anyway.

The elder witch couldn't even recognize herself: her features remained the same, but she felt different. Growing up in a dark family, Dorea understood what Dark Magic felt like. Naively, she had always assumed that she would be able to tell if—well when now, she supposed—she was becoming like her parents. With her mother, the magic seemed to encase her and turn the air heavy. Her father's magic had the air practically humming a deep pitch. But for her? She never felt a thing. No indication or warning sign, nothing. It was only now as she gave this advice to James that she realized there is more than one type of darkness. And despite her original, well-meaning intentions, she had fed that envy; allowed it to coil in her belly, feasting on her jealousy as it lay in wait. Dorea refused to be a stranger in her own body. She refused to be jealous over her daughter's friendships.

From now on this snake would roar.

Hermione felt nervous as she stood before a man sitting on something like a throne. Vaguely the brunette wanted to know why most of the Sacred Twenty-Eight were so flashy with jewels and titles. Honestly, if anything, it was distasteful and cliché at best. However, despite her nerves, she had not backed down at the tender age of fourteen and she damn sure wouldn't be backing down now.

"I've heard a lot about you." The voice was gruff and scratchy, obviously not used much. Not surprising since Arcturus Black had isolated himself after the death of his eldest son. Why he decided to send for her of all people, Hermione did not understand.

The young witch did not know what to say. Of course, Regulus had talked about his grandfather, the man who always favored Sirius more. Arcturus held a lot of power as the de-facto patriarch of the Black family after Walburga disowned Sirius and Regulus' "death". But more than that—his very presence screamed danger. Her very magic felt on edge.

"All good things I hope?" She quipped. Hermione could swear she saw his lip twitch. The witch knew Bellatrix, Narcissa, Regulus, and hell even Orion, would have at least listed off a few good things about her. Walburga, on the other hand, had never liked the brunette; Hermione was nothing but a corruption of the Noble and Ancient House of Black.

"Hardly," he responded with a scratchy cough. Hermione blinked once before shrugging; Walburga would always hate her. Hermione had never really understood why the woman disliked her—yes, she had been adopted by a blood traitor family, but all her close friends were members of the Ancient and Noble House of Black. Then again, Hermione felt pretty damn confident in her assumption that Walburga hated anyone who was not a member of the Black family.

"You corrupted the spare." Hermione bristled at that. The spare. Regulus was so much more than a bleeding spare. But did anyone ever understand that? No. They simply saw him as something disposable. For a culture that claimed to value family above all, they were bloody terrible human beings. The family only mattered when it benefited. Hermione didn't understand how anyone could live like that: it infuriated her.

"So, it's true," Arcturus smirked. He hadn't believed Walburga when she said the girl's eyes glowed blue. But now? Now, the chessboard had been reset. It also aggravated him—Walburga had been groomed from birth to be a Matriarch for the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black, meaning she should have recognized the potential of this young witch, and yet she somehow missed it. His daughter-in-law's staunch support of that half-blood could prove disastrous depending on which side this young witch chose. Arcturus knew of her friendship with Narcissa and Bellatrix, both of whom support the Dark Lord. But the anger he could feel in the young lass' magic troubled him. The Head of the Black family wasn't so sure that friendship would be enough to save his House. Anger that festered had always proved to be the strongest of enemies—history has shown that plenty of times.

"Is what true?" Hermione asked, guarded. She tried to rack her brain on all the information she could on the Black Patriarch, but nothing came to mind. With this man, it could be anything. She hated the way he made her magic feel: like prey. And she hadn't felt like prey for a long time. It unnerved her.

"You don't even realize when it happens do you, Witch?" She noticed the emphasis on the word witch, noticed how his eyes sparkled in what Hermione wanted to say was amusement. She took a calming breath. If the elder man was amused, then he probably didn't want to kill her (which was good), but she still chose to keep her wand at the ready. The brunette decided to quirk an eyebrow in silent question. Now was no time to be a lion, not in the snake pit, and not when silence was more appropriate.

Arcturus decided to let the witch squirm a bit before answering. His youngest grandson had chosen his friend well: she felt like Magic and had this fierceness to her that even left him on edge. Her brown hair seemed to crackle in response to the magic of the Manor. He could feel the magic of the wards sizing her up and recognizing a potential threat; of course, his wards would take more than a mere slip of a girl to damage them. The youngest Potter was indeed sharp, as he could have easily used the wards surrounding his home to end her life. "I'm not stupid enough to kill Magic, foolish girl."

He watched as another quirked eyebrow responded, all other emotion having been wiped from her face. She had been so vibrant earlier, but now she was blank. "Slytherin House has taught you well," he praised. He knew that it wasn't the Potters who taught her that trick, even if his cousin had raised the girl. It crossed his mind that perhaps the girl hadn't known this tidbit of information. "But those blue eyes give you away, at least to those who remember the Olde Ways."

He watched as her hand twitched. A smile curled at his lips; she really didn't know when her eyes changed. Or perhaps she had grown accustomed to them and could no longer differentiate. "The Familiam Sirin had always been known as the Gate Keepers, those who could walk the two realms."

At this Hermione snorted. "The two realms?" This was probably another crack shot hypothesis about the Coven. She had read a few books supposedly about the Familiam Sirin, but all of them seemed to contradict each other. She figured it was just people making things up as they went, and it seemed that even the Head of the House of Black could fall for those toss pot stories. It upset her a bit, the bookworm in her heartbroken at all the contradictory information in books of all places.

"Ever wonder why Veela are allowed wands despite being considered creatures?" Arcturus asked in response. Young ones these days were so disrespectful. But it did concern him about their education system—was Hogwarts teaching them nothing?! Her body straightened in interest. Arcturus smirked before continuing. "They're not literal gatekeepers, but they did act as a barrier so to speak. You see Magic doesn't just go to anyone. Not all creatures can perform magic despite being aware of it, but many of the humanoid ones capable of it were believed to have been born from the Coven. Many of their policies, in fact, were in favor of protecting those creatures capable of magic, particularly the ones who didn't want to be fully integrated into the Wizarding World, hence Gate Keepers."

"And how do you know this? I have already read a book that claims I am soul bound to make my supposed Mate happy, but I just can't see myself being at someone's beck and call like that." Her eyes narrowed as she voiced her question. She still didn't really believe that book she had read at Hogwarts, though at the time it was all she could think about. She had fancied Sirius from a distance, but his total disregard for Severus' life really put a damper on that crush. But she could admit to herself that she had fallen for the idea of a soul mate and had latched onto it quickly enough. The idea of someone who could make her happy and complete her. Of course, that was when she had been a silly teenage girl. With magic, she supposed there could be such thing as a soul mate, but she wouldn't start a war for Sirius alone. However, she refused to simply settle on something because it made her Magic feel right, not when there were more important things like friendship and courage. Besides, nothing ever said she had to claim that special someone, or even that the feeling had to be romantic; surely there were some soul mates in history who were just friends. Hermione snorted at that thought and earned a curious look from the Head of the Black family. She doubted Sirius and her could ever be friends at this point—there was too much bad blood, or at least she felt like there was. How could you care for someone who had so little disregard for a person's life that they would feed them to a bloody werewolf?

"I was a teen when the last one made herself public, but we housed her for a while," Arcturus responded with a shrug. He watched as those still blue eyes widened. At that expression, he knew he had reeled her in. "Many of the books simply theorize or romanticize it – a common occurrence for something we know nothing about." Not that he liked that. Knowledge was an important and useful tool; it shouldn't be diluted down with fantasies. But he also respected why the Coven had allowed it to happen. After all, he never went spilling Black family secrets.

"Who?" she questioned tentatively. The idea of asking someone who received information straight from the source made her ridiculously happy. She loved books, but there were some things that should be asked directly. Unfortunately, she didn't get that opportunity in this instance, but this was second hand and would suffice.

"Anastasia," Arcturus replied. He watched as a frown marred her lips. The Head of the Ancient and Noble House of Black was curious what could have caused such a quick response. The witch had been happy not moments ago; it was only when she questioned the identity that a possible reason why came to mind. A scratchy laugh tore at his throat.

"I promise you the girl did not start a war for the man she was bonded with, despite what some of the books might claim. She had actually repudiated him for killing her family," Arcturus said with a grin. He watched as the witch pursed her lips, still not totally pleased with the information but mollified somewhat. It really did upset her when books held nothing but lies in them—it ruined the whole purpose of a book after all.

"You realize they use her as a prime example in several books about the strength of a soul bond towards the supposed bonded partner," Hermione replied with a pursed lip. Arcturus watched as her eyes flickered back to brown as he thought about her response. The young witch seemed a bit too focused on a bonded partner, making him question why. She had a strong independent streak, so he wouldn't be too surprised if she didn't like the idea of being tied down. But it seemed more than that. A thought came to mind and he decided to voice his opinion.

"You found him . . . or her I suppose." It was a statement, not a question. Despite her silence, the stiff posture spoke for itself: he had thought right. So, the idea of having a soul mate didn't bother the girl, which was good because he would have scolded her for not believing in such what with all the rituals for it at Samhain and Beltane—but the identity of her bonded rankled. He could work with that. "Though you do have a bonded . . . perhaps not a soul bond, however, there is a connection judged by your Magic. What you choose to do with it is up to you. But you should remember that Magic knows what it is doing." He doubted the young witch would really understand and he cursed his cousin for her ineptitude. Filthy blood traitors shouldn't be allowed to reproduce if they refuse to properly educate their offspring. Magic had blessed this young witch with a bond, something not everyone could claim—granted that had more to do with the Olde Way dying out than anything else, but the point remained, a witch should have grown up knowing about the bonds Magic could bestow. Arcturus could only hope that with his reassurance she would feel more at ease; he refused to allow this slip of a girl to just throw away such a gift.

It took another moment for her to respond. Part of Hermione was simply processing the information, the other part wanted to know why Arcturus Black decided to share this information with her so freely—a Slytherin never did anything for free, especially not a Black. "Why?"

She watched as the man give a razor-sharp grin and she knew he understood exactly what she asked. "As I said, I'm not foolish enough to tempt Magic."

The snarky response came out of her mouth faster than she ever thought it would. "No, you would just allow your grandsons to be abused and branded like cattle." It had always been a sore spot for her that this man could ignore his grandchildren's suffering. She had heard the stories from Regulus, had seen what happened when Sirius said no to his mother. That this man would freely give her information because it would create a connection with her irked her. But she had always been quicker to "forgive" her own murders.

Despite coming from what many would deem a 'blood-traitor family', Hermione had still grown up with the notions that a witch should be chaste, friendly, demure, forgiving, and respectable. She had spent years working towards each of those attributes, but always seemed to fall short. Hermione knew herself well enough to know she didn't really embody very many of those traits. Respectable depended on to whom one was talking, and while she could be friendly and even chaste as needed, she had never been demure. Hermione had always tried her hardest to be forgiving and she honestly felt like she usually succeeded. But she also still held grudges despite that—many of them, in fact. Despite what she had projected to the world or even her friends, she hadn't let go of her bitterness towards either Sirius or James—though she really couldn't claim to hate them either—for that night on the full moon. Yes, they technically saved Severus and herself, but had Sirius not mentioned it to Severus in the beginning, they probably wouldn't have been almost eaten. And honestly, she didn't think an apology for almost making them into werewolf food would cut it: that's not really something you could apologize for. At the end of the day, it wasn't the words that mattered to her.

She had wanted them to apologize, not for the words but the remorse, the genuine remorse at almost killing two of their fellow students. James at least felt somewhat bad, but she wasn't sure if that was because they could have gotten Lupin expelled or because he didn't really want them dead. A little part of her still felt it was more for Lupin's benefit than her own. Sirius couldn't even fake it. So yes, she still felt bitter about it. In fact, she wanted to hex them for it because how can you hold a grudge against someone you are supposed to love? Easily, apparently. She also held a grudge towards her parents for always seeming to take James' side. As an adult, one who had lived away from home for a few years, Hermione could recognize that sometimes she could be a bit petulant. She would even go so far as to say she had possibly over exaggerated some things in her memory. But that didn't mean it hurt any less. It didn't mean that her feelings were invalidated just because she looked at things from a slightly biased perspective. It had taken a while for her to understand that. For her to realize that you can love someone wholeheartedly and still want nothing to do with them, that the rancorous feeling inside of her wasn't exactly wrong even if it wasn't very healthy either.

But she could bury those feelings, deep down inside where they weren't so easily exposed. She had spent years burying things she didn't want to deal with: when it pertained to her mental, emotional, or even physical health she could quite easily put it in a box and never let it see the light of day. So long as she didn't have to face them, then Hermione could handle herself. She didn't want to face all that pent-up anger towards the people she should have been able to trust. The brunette didn't even really want to squash the acrimonious feelings she had for her family; she quite frankly didn't want to do anything with those types of emotions. Hermione had spent so much time burying things that to do anything else would be the equivalent of fixing a sinking ship. But for Regulus? Severus? For any of the people she felt close to, Hermione just couldn't let it slide.

Arcturus, on the other hand, had to decide how he would handle the situation. On the one hand, he had grounds to eviscerate the little chit for such a presumptuous statement. But on the other, he could finally use his age to impart some truths this witch needed to hear. And so, with a heavy cough he said, "Unless a lion can write, the story shall glorify the hunter." He had the opportunity to teach a young mind a lesson that needed to be learned. So many wizards today were disillusioned by the past that they forget that each tale had a multitude of sides. Ever since Albus bloody Dumbledore defeated Grindelwald people had been labeling various magics and even people as "dark" and "wrong". It infuriated him because Magic simply was.

Arcturus watched as her brown eyes widened, and he had to stop himself from grinning. He knew of what his youngest grandson and she would call themselves in the privacy of Regulus' room. The Head of House was unsure of the response his words might generate, but even still he did not want her to speak just yet. With a scratchy voice, he continued, "You're a young woman, one who has not lived even a quarter of a century. And yet, you stand before me claiming you know better."

He would not lie and say he wasn't offended by her remark. A Black always took care of their own, even if it didn't appear so from the outside. He had kept his Heir from being repudiated. Sirius would become Head upon his death. But he would not spill Black secrets to this young witch, no matter the power. "So how do you pray for your devil, Witch?" Arcturus questioned.

It was at this moment that her youth truly showed; not when she would spout off something heated or even when her eyes shined with curiosity. It was this perplexed look. Despite what the witch liked to believe, she hadn't lived long enough to really understand the similarities between good and evil. "For you to feel so righteous, tell me, how you pray for the man your beliefs indicate need it the most?"

The witch looked lost at his question. He could practically see the witch thinking, but no words came from her lips. By her very words, Arcturus knew what really angered the witch. He himself was not a fan of the young half-blood that his daughter-in-law seemed so drawn to. He had raised his son on firm beliefs and Orion had followed them well, even if his wife did not. Arcturus would never bow to anyone, let alone a young man filled with ideas of grandeur but no real class. However, just because he didn't worship that Riddle fellow did not mean he hated all the ideals he preached. Unlike the witch in front of him, he had a better understanding of where the lines between good and evil were drawn.

"Think on it, Witch."

So, can anyone guess the songs that inspired this chapter? Clues are in the very first scene! Let me know what you think of this chapter! I'll copyright the songs in the next chapter so as not to give it away. Other Copyrights below. And as Always everything canon you recognize belongs to JKR.