The Great Rite of Old
Summary: Hermione is excited to receive her letter from Hogwarts. Finally, something explaining what she and her parents have known for years, but is it so simple? Her past is more precarious a secret than anyone could ever imagine, and the darkness buried in her bloodline isn't kept easily from spying eyes. "Welcome to Hogwarts...Miss. Granger."
Pairing: Possible Blaise/Hermione – Theo/Hermione (opinions welcomed as I've never written or read either.)
A/N: I'm going to start from the beginning, obviously, but I'm not going to follow the books as it will be mostly moot apart from select scenes. Her romance won't be taking place until around the end of the fourth year, possibly the middle of the fifth year. Let's see how this pans out. Please be open with me and let me know if you see room for improvement. I'm not interested in hurtful and hateful flames, if you seriously dislike the story, then there's a back button somewhere on the left top hand corner of your screen, push it. I crave and encourage creative perspective and welcome positive feedback or instructive criticism. Thank you.
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"Some things are too strange and strong to be a coincidence."
- Emery Allen
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Yr. 1980
In the months that followed the new year, a child's wailing claimed the attention of a young and ambitious couple in their earliest twenties. A blossoming beauty by the name of Olivia Jean Granger née Walker and her handsome Chap, John Alexander Granger, were making headway to their home of two years when the sound echoed and called to them much like a siren.
More so, the curious of the two, John followed the sound with his beloved at the arm. Their eyes met what appeared to be a swaddled infant at nearly the same time.
"John!"
"..." John had eyes on the shadows of the alley they stood in, observing for any movements as his wife moved forward and gathered the seemingly abandoned child into her arms. He moved closer ever so cautiously, then peered down at the whimpering babe. "She looks to have been left on purpose. No letter, no locket or pocket bag of coin."
Olivia frowned, "there is no need for a coin purse or letter. If this one's mother did not wish to keep her, then I will take her home. You know, I've always wanted a daughter."
"She is not to be confused with Moses, love. Should we take her to the hospital first, check-in with the Bobbies?"
"What will they do!? Put a flyer, perhaps a picture on a carton? Would you think the child's mother would come if we did? An alleyway, John?" Olivia held her hand out, motioning towards the spot she'd picked the child from, "I don't believe anyone will come. No, no. I see this one, look, her eyes are simply gorgeous. She needs a good home, and I intend to give her such."
"Well then, you seem to have come to a decision. What will you name the girl?"
Olivia looked adoringly at her husband before training her eyes back upon the babe, "as with so, you shall be, Hermione Jean Granger."
"A Winter's Tale?"
"No, I was thinking of Hermione Gingold. You know, "Fighting is essentially a masculine idea; a woman's weapon is her tongue."? Inspirational and never unfairly accused of cheating. Unlike a certain Queen of Sicily."
"I do see where you're going there. Right then, Hermione Jean Granger. It's lovely to meet you."
Lovely indeed. The days that followed the finding of young Hermione Jean Granger were beautiful, happy, and surreal. How they wished those days could stay, but with every passing year, stranger yet. Do you believe that the universe conspires against all the odds, for a soul to meet its destiny? Should, somewhere out there, a child be stolen away from a world, only to be pulled precariously back into it in early development, is it fate? Or is it merely, coincidence? What is…fate? What is destiny? It is the core of one's spirit, the linear lines that shadow one's soul and guide it unawares of where it's going or where it'll end. It is universes very own magick. Timeless. Unseen. Always there.
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"Fear...it always came down, to fear. Tricky thing, fear. If you're not careful, it can consume you, devour you whole. Unknowingly, silently..."
-Désireé Tiffany
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Yr. 1987
"Hermione, love!?"
Brown, doe-like eyes turned to the worried and unnerved cry of her mother, a blessed woman she was. Kindness in abundance, though she too felt distressed when alone with her daughter. Still, the fistful of blood and scuff marks all along the length of Hermiones' knees and arms; her maternal instincts were overpowering her fear. Crouching down before the seven-year-old, she brought a hand to the young one's forehead and barely pressed her thumb along the side of the cut that bled into her left eye. Hermione followed her mother's gaze down to her hand, the incision that came from the jagged and sharp rock that had caught her fall not too long ago.
"What happened? Those hooligans again?"
Those hooligans being the neighborhood boys that thought it funny to mess with the girl who could make things float when thoughtful or catch fire when upset. Hermione nodded, "it's fine, though. No real damage."
"No real damage, you say?" He sighed, "Olivia, could you clean her injuries. I'm going to have a word with the parents of these boys."
"Dad, you'll make it worse."
"...I can only make it worse if I stand by and do nothing."
Perhaps one of the better lessons Hermione had learned from her father. Naive, at times he was, John believed his daughter was undeserving of such hardships. Perhaps, when it started, she was. However, things do change. It wasn't the first time Hermione had been the victim of bullying. She knew it'd not be the last.
"What happened?" Olivia asked as she stole her daughters' hands in hers and guided her inside to the kitchen. "Was it...was it...magic."
There were no delusions with her parents. They were not in denial; no, they'd seen it. Countless, a time, and fearfully fretted over their daughter and her uncontrollable gift. Yet, in hushed and unsettled tones, they would speak the word as if it's mere mention might someone the forces of evil. That made Hermione smile. Not diabolically, just, in humor; it was funny. "Mm, yes. Not on purpose, I promise!" She tried to tend to her mothers' worry but only seemed to make it worse. "I was walking home from school, minding my own when Noah and Harry pushed me from behind! I didn't mean it, I swear!"
"...Hermione? What did you do?"
She said nothing; the door suddenly jolted open. Hermione jumped back from her mother. A bit in fright, a bit in surprise.
"Hermione!"
She ducked her head, "I didn't do it on purpose..."
"John?" Olivia whispered in uncertainty. Her nerves rattled more than before.
"The Jameson twins are both in the hospital. Took a spill down the hill, their mother said. Not to worry, Olivia. It doesn't seem she knows about Hermione. Still," he looked at his daughter. Her eyes were downcast, looking upon her scuffed and muddied buckled black shoes. "Hermione, I need to know what happened."
She shook her head.
"Hermione!"
"I just turned and waved my hand at them, to get them away! They pushed me down, and Harry kicked me in the side, I was scared. So I rolled a bit away and yelled, "get away from me!". My hands were in front of me, and then, they got thrown back suddenly. I don't know what happened! I don't know how I did it! I just wanted them to leave me alone! I hate them! I hate that they always hit me, push me and that they call me names!"
"Hermione, love!" Olivia threw her arms around her daughter, her eyes burning with tears as she hugged her tightly. Pulling her in as close as she could, she held her as she heaved heavy breaths, crying into her arms. Her daughter. Her precious, scared, magickal, daughter. "John, perhaps we should move?"
"Of course," he shook his head and frowned, "we'll just up and relocate every time she has an outburst? That's the option we're going to go with, Liv? When it comes to Hermione, you lose all sense. You realize this, yes?"
Olivia narrowed her eyes. Her husband seemed to feel that he was growing too close to dangerous territory as he lifted both his hands in exasperation and exhausted defeat. "She's different,"
"Well, that's certainly one thing we can agree on." He eyed his daughter and sighed, "I'll start looking into real-estate. It's early in the year, so the market is red with homes to buy." Making to walk away from his wife and daughter, he paused and glanced back over his shoulder, "Hermione..."
Blotchy cheeks and tearful brown eyes turned up from her mother's arms.
"Would you like to help me pick out a new home? One that's far away from the Jameson twins?" He watched her eyes light up. Glancing down at the safe arms holding her, she carefully dislodged herself from her mother before walking towards her father, who crouched down and lifted her into his arms. When all was said and done, she was his daughter. No matter how different she was. No matter how scared he might sometimes feel. He and Olivia chose to be her parents, and so...that was what he'd be. "What do you think, one story, two?"
"Story? Like a book?"
"No, like how big the house is. One floor or two."
She wiped her cheeks with the back of her school uniforms sleeve, "two...and no pink!" The bedroom she'd had for seven years had gone through only the slightest of changes, new beds and, toys a desk and books added to her ever-growing collection as an advent adolescent reader. The only thing that hadn't changed since her infancy was the cotton candy pink her mother had so graciously painted her walls. Hermione had a theory that the fluffy white clouds that bordered her walls wouldn't be quite so bad to look at it weren't for the taffy colored paint.
"I think we can manage that," he laughed a bit, glancing at his wife, who seemed a bit awestruck by how vocally her daughter had just expressed her disliked of the lovely color she'd chosen back in her babe years.
"Can we have a cat too?"
"A cat?" He chuckled, "maybe, not now, though. Don't get too needy dearest. Let's focus on relocation first, and we can go from there."
"Alright then, so, a two-story house, with no pink…and…a tall fence?"
Now that was an idea. John looked thoughtfully at his daughter; she didn't want them to have to move again. Her bouts of magickal slipups were by the handfuls, and he could understand her worry with neighbors. "I think we can find something like that, or maybe something out int the countryside a bit." Settling at his desktop, he moved the mouse and started to pull up local real estate. It wouldn't be a quick process, but it was a process. Just one more trial to overcome.
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Yr. 1988
September 19th was normally a day of celebration in the Granger household. There was no greater joy for a parent than that of bringing a smile to their child's face. Especially one who was so frequently troubled by unknown powers and untapped potential. Olivia looked upstairs with a small frown firmly laid out across her lips. "John dear, have you seen Hermione? She's not in her room, and I don't recall seeing her come downstairs this morning?"
"Strange. You've checked outside?"
Shaking her head, Olivia walked towards the backdoor while John parted in the hall and made his way to the front door. It was always a task to find the girl when he was off on her own. They could look for hours, and unless she wanted to, they'd not be seeing her. No, they would continue their search with no sign of their daughter. There was an emotional weight on Olivia's shoulder. One that only grew heavier as she thought over the growing hardships her daughter seemed to be going through. She tried to pretend like nothing was wrong, but both she and John had listened in on her frustrated rants in the privacy of her room. Seen the bursts of uncontrolled magick lay waist to lamps that miraculously repaired themselves in her fear of getting in trouble. They were always around to see it, to hear it, never did they step in to help though. What could they do? She was a whole different breed, an enigma with adolescent hormones. Preteen emotional tendencies didn't mesh well with untrained magick.
"Mum!"
Olivia rounded the corner of the house in the backyard as she heard her daughter call out to her. Finding her daughter kneeling on the ground, "what's it you've got there?" she asked.
"A bird flew into my window, I think...it's dead?"
Glancing around her daughter, she took in the bird and crouched beside Hermione. Reaching a finger out, she grazed the bluebird and watched it twitch and shake itself off. "In shock, dear. Nothing to worry about." She smiled, pulling her hand back from the bird, she turned her eyes to her daughter and was surprised to see that she didn't look to be all that happy. "Ah, it's your birthday, little one. You're turning nine! Let's go eat breakfast; then we're going out for some family time, love."
"Right!" She stood and ran inside.
Olivia sighed, her attention drawn back to the bird. She brought her finger to it and frowned when it didn't move as it had a moment ago. "I was wrong..." slipping her apron off, she lifted the bird and deposited it into the trash, not wanting her daughter to see it there when they got back.
Their day was a bright beacon in the anxiousness of growing magick and fear. Grinning madly, Hermione looked around at the felines and dogs, different breeds of all types.
"Dear, maybe a pet would do her well,"
"I'd rather not get her a cat. She's already performing strange bouts of magic, why encourage her with the age-old familiar."
Olivia swatted her husband on the arm, eliciting a chuckle from him as he placed said arm around her shoulder. "A friend would do her well,"
"Human friend, yes."
It was sad, but in the countryside, they'd moved out of the way of neighbors and traffic. The need to protect the magical girl they'd both come to love and, in some ways, fear, had become their biggest priority. Homeschooling her, she had a more comprehensive range of growth, and her subjects branched out in many areas, with both parents being fascinated in different fields of education. Knowledge, however, came with a price. In her growing intelligence, she was always alone—no neighbors, no school friends, no social life at all. A pet would probably make it worse, in John's honest opinion. However, he honestly did believe that she needed a real person in her life. He simply didn't trust her not to hurt another child accidentally. "I'm sure, one day soon, Hermione will be surrounded by friends who love her and cherish her. Let's hold off on a pet until she's thirteen, and if by then she still wants one, I'll oblige. For now, let her focus on her studies. Something to concentrate on will help her control her emotions too."
"Like an instrument, dancing or drawing?"
He nodded, though gave no indication to which one he thought might suit his daughter. She wasn't the dancing type, too expressive, and she'd rather indulge in a book than hurt her toes in heels or slippers. Instruments had a variation, and while he thought she would enjoy it, he couldn't see her caring much for it. Perhaps, she'd see the benefit of learning an instrument. Classy, dignifying, yet utterly dull. She already stayed inside all the time, why enforce her to continue hiding away while practicing. Art, on the other hand, he had no talent in art, nor did his wife; however, if he could encourage it, place the idea in her head. She may enjoy it, take it outside and delve into a world of charcoals and pastels—anything to get her out in the sun.
"Hermione, shall we continue to the museum?"
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Yr. 1990
Loud screaming, heavy footsteps. As aforementioned, Hermione had her bad days among the few good, and this was one of the bad.
"You're bleeding! What is this? Your window, John!" Olivia tried to make her way closer to her daughter but was suddenly pushed back by an unseen force. "Ah! Hermione~! Hermione!"
Hermione turned her eyes onto her mother and father, who came into sight. Thrusting her hand out quickly in front of her, the door of her bedroom slammed shut. Staring for a moment at the closed door, she brought her uninjured hand to the one bleeding and cradled it in her lap. Tears continued to fall, but she'd stopped screaming. Her mother and father pounding on her bedroom door, demanding she let them in, was the only noise left. She wanted silence. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on her room, imagining that she was the only one there it didn't help. She could still hear them. "I'M FINE!" She yelled out, "I'll fix the window! Just...let me be..."
"I don't care about the window, Hermione! Let me in, let me see too your injuries!"
"Hermione, open the door!"
Between the two, she could hear the bubbling annoyance in her fathers' voice. True he always felt a bit exasperated about her magick, he was more the no-nonsense type, if she were honest. That's what made him her favorite, but he didn't seem to share those sentiments. Not that she thought he didn't love her! No, no, no, she knew he did; however, she also knew he felt a bit cautious around her.
No petty arguments. Don't yell at her! Will she be upset if I say this? Is it okay to take her here? What if she uses magic?
There was always an underlined sense of fear where her father and mother were concerned, but her mother wasn't quite so good at hiding it. She was expressive and very emotional. Perhaps, much like herself. Whereas, her father was controlled and calculating; he kept his thoughts carefully tucked away when it came to her.
"Dad...please..." her voice sounded almost unfamiliar to her; she hadn't realized how raw it had become while screaming. "I will come downstairs in a few minutes...just, give me a moment."
The pounding paused, and finally, "ten minutes. Be downstairs, or I'll take an ax to your door."
She smiled at the idea of her father wielding an ax to plow down her magically enforced door. Not that she felt confident that she'd done much more than slam the stupid thing in her parents' faces. Still, it was enough to make her smile. The blood had started to dry in her hand, along her arms. She looked it over curiously. "I must have done something wrong..." Not paying too much mind to the glass shards on the ground, she took a deep and calming breath before standing, focusing on the window, she pictured the window whole and watched as the shards reconstructed themselves quickly and neatly. Turning, Hermione started on her way to the bathroom. She pushed the jarred door aside with her blood-free foot and brought her hand up in a wave. The water turned on with the motion, and she gave a small smile.
Simple things, she'd gotten accustomed to doing. Fix what you broke. Isn't that a cardinal rule? It was easy enough, so long as she knew exactly how it was before she'd broken it. She couldn't return things to their former glory or change their composition. It was a bit like science, or maybe she'd find her similarities in the Medieval Mavericks of the science community, Alchemists. The thought that she might be able to one day learn about that topic had her pause, the cold water biting down on her cuts as she wondered if there was Magick to Alchemy. Or perhaps it was just another science, and Magick had nothing to do with it.
"I couldn't possibly be the only one with these...talents." The blood circled down the porcelain drain. She thought back to what had caused the cuts along her arm, not but a moment ago. 'It's just a matter of imagination, right? I only wanted to make it appear as though it was sunny outside. The fog is so dreary, and the clouds make everything gray. I'll need to practice while mum and dad aren't around.'
She reached up and took the towel on the silver ring, drying her cuts and scratches carefully before pressing down on the faucet. Walking to her door, she glanced around her room and made sure everything was back the way it was before her miscalculation. 'Oh, blast!' She waved her hand at the spots of red on her floor and watched as they pulled from the carpet into almost a bead size sphere. As she eyed it, she couldn't help but think how beautiful the crimson liquid was. Holding her hand out, she caught the bead of blood and frowned.
"Well, not what I was expecting..." she rolled the hardened jewel in-between her fingers. Pocketing it, she started downstairs to set her mother's worries at ease.
-x-x-x-
Yr. 1991
On this bright, sunny, and very windy day, Hermione was seated outside with her father beside her. Curled up on the cushioned rocking bench with a pencil in hand. Hermione trailed the lead on the sketchpad in her lap as John rocked the bench too and fro. Her eyes settled on the red Cardinal that was perched right atop their fence.
"Hermione, you've got a letter in the post."
That wasn't normal. Hermione was homeschooled, had no friends, only socialized with her mother and father. Who would be writing her? She looked away from her rough sketch of the bird, eyeing the letter in her fathers' hand as he took it from her mother. Was it junk mail? Her mother often complained when the mailbox was full of useless junk mail.
"Strange," John held it out to his daughter, "I think you should read it. It seems the type of thing someone with your gifts would get."
That snatched her attention, rather efficiently if she were honest. "Something concerning my gift?" She asked, sitting up and holding her hand out for the letter. Her father gave a small nod, handing the note over as he did. Reading it aloud, she spoke clearly so that her parents heard her, "Miss. Hermione J. Granger, the Second Bedroom Upstairs on the Right…1002 Cherry Way, Horton Village, Berkshire, Slough. That's quite the address..." she turned the letter over and gave careful consideration to the wax seal. The scarlet red wax embossed with the crest of a uniquely crafted shield divided into four sections, in each section an animal. Top left housed a lion, the top right a snake, bottom left, what looked to be a badger, and the last part in the bottom right was a bird of some kind. Overtop the shielded crest, Hogwarts was neatly scrawled. Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus was below it. "That's Latin, right?" She tilted the seal so that her father could read it.
Laughing, John gave a small shake of his head, "yes, indeed. Say's "never tickle a sleeping dragon," praise the heavens that we've none of those flying around."
Arguably, a good point. Hermione couldn't imagine the kind of devastation such a giant and temperamental beast of myth might cause. Peeling the wax back, she pulled the letter from its sleeve and unfolded the old parchment. It read as follows:
HOGWARTS SCHOOL
of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,
Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)
Dear Miss. Granger,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on September 1st. We await your owl by no later than July 31st. Should you accept admission, a Hogwarts Professor will be around by week's end to confer with you in greater detail regarding all your inquiries.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
Her parents looked on at her as she considered the words, both peering slightly over to read the contents of the letter silently before her mother finally spoke. "A school of magic! Splendid!"
"It's certainly convenient. How did they know I had magic? Or where I lived..."
"Magic?" John supplied with a grin.
Rolling her eyes ever so boldly at her father, "obviously. Look here, where will we find any of this?" She eyed the list critically, "work robes? A pointed hat? Dragonhide gloves?"
"Dragonhide?!"
The letter was snatched from her hand. She laughed at the expressions her parents shared. Just a moment ago, her father had commented on the good graces of dragons not soaring around England, and here she required a pair of gloves made from the very same creatures hide. What irony.
"Let us reply and send this back."
"How? Where is the address?"
"Oh, it says Owl here," Olivia smiled, "Then let us hand it over to an owl."
Both John and Hermione eyed her in contemplation. One wondered if being around magick may have side effects. The other, if she'd always been this mad.
"Don't give me that look; there was an owl out in front when I checked the post." She started inside, both husband and daughter followed.
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(One Week Later)
Time passed slowly for the enthralled and enamored Hermione Granger. Placing down a blue pastel, she grabbed a dirty, multicolored cloth and whipped her blue fingers on it before taking a drink from the orange juice across from her. Setting the glass down, she paused as a CRACK sounded from out front her house. Pushing her chair back, she started towards the door just as the doorbell rang clear. "Coming," she said, though it was unnecessary. She'd already been at the door when the bell went off. Pulling the door open, a silent gasp, her eyes widened a fraction, 'a witch, I'd wager a guess.' She smiled, "you must be a Professor from Hogwarts."
"That is correct, Miss. Granger. I am the Deputy Headmistress and your Transfigurations professor, Minerva McGonagall. You may call me Professor McGonagall."
Hermione wasn't quite sure what Transfigurations was, though the name gave off some sort of a hint in the word transfigure. She felt convinced that there was more to it than altering or changing the shape of something. "Please, do come in. I'll gather mum and dad in the sitting room."
"Thank you," the woman walked in, green robes billowing majestically around her as she carried herself inside and towards the living room. Hermione's eyes followed her, ever curious about the older adult, though she kept her quandaries to herself for the time being. Shutting the door, she made her way upstairs and stole her father and mother from the study. Both were going over their workload for the next week. However, they'd been quick to put down their work to greet the Professor downstairs.
Minerva, as she'd told Hermione's parents to call her, and they did ask. Was what the Grangers would call stern. A proud woman, with a practical sense of dignity about herself: from the way she sat, to the manner she spoke, she was the very definition of reputability and order.
There had been a series of questions made by her mother and father, surprising Minerva by how easily they'd taken the news and how readily they served their problems.
"Concerning Hermione's magical outbursts, that's normal?" Her mother asked in uncertainty and worry.
"It's normal for children of the magical community to have bouts of accidental magic."
"Shattering windows and such?"
"When frustrated or upset. With no conduit, magic will find its release. That is why we take these children in at eleven and teach them what we can. It's completely normal."
Hermione could practically hear her mother's and fathers' thoughts. Normal. The word had never been one they'd used to describe their daughter. It was unthinkable, and while she was undoubtedly a typical magical child in Minerva's book, she doubted that she could ever be normal by her parent's definition.
By the end of her visit, Minerva had left in their hands the address of a Diagon Alley. Along with a letter for the pub and innkeeper of the Leaky Cauldron.
"This will be good for you, Hermione. Learning to control your gifts." Her father patted her on the shoulder before returning upstairs to his office. "We'll head to that "Leaky Cauldron" place tomorrow."
Turning to the kitchen, she stepped towards the calendar on the wall and eyed the date. It was July 30th, Tuesday. Taking a black pen, she wrote a quick but neat memo before circling it and smiling to herself.
Going to Diagon Alley!
"I'm so ready for a change."
-x-x-x-
Me: Hello, readers! Thank you for taking the time to read this chapter. Please take the time to leave a comment. Feedback is not only welcomed but encouraged. Tough love and such. I do not condone flaming, but constructive criticism is always enlightening. If you follow me on Facebook, I am frequently on Granger Enchanter Survivors 18+ and love hearing from all of you at any point in the day. Ideas, suggestions, etc. Much love, Akuma!