The aftermath of the article and preparations for the Yule Ball.
Hermione burrowed further under the blankets as she heard a soft tap on her door. She refused to answer it knowing it was probably another classmate coming to ask more invasive questions or to gawk at her like she was an exhibit in a zoo. She squeezed her eyes shut not wanting to deal with anyone.
A week had passed since that troglodyte, Skeeter ran the article about her heritage, and she was still quite livid at not only the invasion of privacy but the allusion of her many conquests; she was so exhausted from keeping such tight control over her emotions. Her dorm mates, ever so curious about the latest gossip, hounded her for days until she completely blew up at them and then just shut them out. She'd closed the curtains on her bed and placed wards and silencing charms around her to remain undisturbed. The only time she opened them was when she knew she was alone.
She thought back to the day the article was released and could still remember seeing the hurt and fury in Harry's eyes as he passed the Prophet to her. She rubbed at the spot on her forehead where his thrown goblet had sliced it open. Though Madam Pomfrey had healed it in a thrice and there was no scar, she still felt as if there was still an open wound, one that seemed to be reflected on her heart. She could understand some of what Harry might have felt. But why should she be the one to always be transparent, to offer succour? She knew he kept secrets from her, he was always plotting and sneaking about with Ron under that damn invisibility cloak. The more she thought about his outburst and his lack of compassion and support the more her heart felt torn to shreds.
She didn't even know how to process Ron's reaction. Well to say he had a reaction wasn't entirely true. He just seemed to think she no longer existed. But his mother had made it abundantly clear what she thought of her, even though Mrs Weasley had known about her family ties long before the article came out. Ginny had come and said that she'd written her mum, telling her that Skeeter's vile rumour-mongering was just that and Hermione needed all the support she could get. Hermione was thankful for Ginny's words as well as those of Fred and George.
Hermione's thoughts turned once again to Harry. She'd supported him from the very beginning of their friendship. She'd lied that time with the troll. She stole ingredients to make Poly-juice and ended up as a cat creature and she helped Harry save his godfather Sirius. What did she get in return? Accusations of betrayal and hurt feelings. She'd never really let on how hurt she was when Harry would side with Ron. He never took her side or stood up for her and she was feeling that there was no point in continuing to hope that he would. Why should she bother maintaining a friendship with him or Ron, for that matter, when the one time she asks them for support, they refuse to give it? They just turned the other way and shunned her, saying it was a betrayal. Didn't they see that she was still the same girl that they trusted to stand by them no matter what?
She knew that wasn't entirely true. She hasn't been the same girl since that day in Dumbledore's office when she'd been introduced to her grandmother and her world had come crashing down. But at her core, she was still Hermione, still, the bossy know-it-all swot that Harry and Ron went to when they needed help, whether it be with some scheme they were cooking up or with homework; she was always there for them. She was so tired of treading water alone and needed the comfort of their friendship. She knew now that she couldn't completely trust them with her problems. Their reactions were just as she feared they would be.
Another tap sounded at the door and she continued to ignore it. She knew it was childish, instead of looking at her situation logically like she normally would, she was buried under her blankets trying to ignore the world. It wasn't just due to the reactions of Harry and Ron. No, it seemed that Skeeter's article had just enough salacious innuendo to spawn some of the most disgusting and asinine rumours Hermione had ever heard. Some were saying that she was going to sell her virginity to the highest buyer. Or that she was busy holding 'auditions' for the man that would marry her and be her introduction into pureblood society. Please, it was asinine. However, she couldn't help but feel buried under the negativity.
Kai tried repeatedly to send messages to her, clearly worried about her wellbeing, but she didn't have it in her to respond. Even the messages from her grandmother went ignored, and Hermione felt a certain amount of guilt for it. They'd been nothing but supportive and this is the thanks they received.
She still had no idea who leaked the information, but she knew that neither Kai nor her grandmother would ever willingly destroy the trust she had in them. Perhaps, could it have been Dumbledore? Had he somehow found her letter that day? No, she didn't think Dumbledore would willingly tread in the dungeons, the serpent's lair. But if it wasn't him, who was it and why didn't they reveal everything the letter contained?
Thinking of the Headmaster led her to think of her teachers. Hermione's thoughts turned to the one who seemed to have her back and didn't take the words of Rita Skeeter as truth. Professor McGonagall had tried several times to coax her out of bed the first day she missed class but when Hermione burst into tears she finally relented and made the concession for Hermione to submit her classwork via the house-elf who'd been assigned to bring her meals.
During her self-imposed exile, which honestly was for everyone's safety lest she had a burst of magic that could hurt any number of people, Hermione read. She read anything she could find on elemental magic. There was nothing on just Life elemental's, but she's learned a lot from the information she could piece together on accessing and manipulating the individual elements. She'd even begun to employ some of the meditation techniques, and she'd been somewhat successful.
Hermione was suddenly startled out of her thoughts by Crookshanks jumping up onto her bed. He rarely ventured from her side in the last week, seeming to sense that she was upset and would often curl next to her allowing her to hug him tight against her chest. He would meow and bat at her face with his paw, as if saying, "It's going to be okay." He often slept on the pillow next to her head, his purrs rumbling her pillow and offering her comfort. Of course, he would venture out from time to time leaving Hermione only when Mahira was close by. It seemed they had an unspoken agreement not to leave her alone.
Mahira was a different story. Instead of snuggling next to Hermione to offer her company, Mahira would peck at her hair, often grumbling about Ron being a git, or something nonsensical. Hermione would have found it amusing if she weren't so angry about the blasted article. It made her appear as if she too were a dark witch, just because of who her family was, not only that, but a trollop also to boot.
The letters that Mahira brought were stacked neatly next to her bed. She would thank her familiar by stroking her head before Hermione would curl back up under her blankets.
Mahira wasn't impressed by this behaviour. She would even go as far as lifting the letters in her beak, flying to the top of the canopy on the bed and dropping them to land on Hermione's head letting out a squawk as a reminder that the letters were indeed waiting for her.
Hermione would scowl up at Mahira and then just move them back over to her bedside table. They would go through the same routine several times a day with the same results. Hermione knew Mahira was trying to get her out of her funk, but she just wanted to wallow for a time. It seemed like everyone else could be a moody teenager, why couldn't she?
Her introspection was interrupted when the door creaked open and Hermione tensed, holding perfectly still hoping whoever it was would notice that the curtains around her bed were drawn and to leave her be. She lost count of the number of girls and even some boys who tried to sneak in just to gawk at her or try to speak to her.
She smirked to herself the first time a seventh-year boy had tried to sneak into her room. She could still remember his surprise when reaching the landing - for some reason, the stairs hadn't turned into a slide- She'd heard him boasting that he would be the one that would console her. And she would be so grateful that she would bestow her virginity on him. But when he touched the door handle, he received quite a shock, fell backwards and then slid down the stairs. He'd also been changed into a giant rooster. 'That would teach him to make a cock of himself.' Hermione had thought to herself at the time.
She half expected Professor McGonagall to scold her for transfiguring a fellow student, but it seems when she found out that he tried to force his way into her room, that the professor upheld the punishment for two days, refusing to reverse the transformation and the Seventh year now had to deal with people making crowing noises whenever he would pass by. Her thoughts were put to an abrupt stop when the person who opened her door made themselves known.
"Miss Granger!" A sharp Scottish brogue caused her to flinch.
Not wanting to upset her favourite professor, Hermione cleared her throat before answering, "It's Grindelwald."
The curtain to her left snapped open and Hermione looked over her shoulder to see Professor McGonagall pursing her lips at her. Giving a small tsk she shook her head, "It doesn't matter which name you're going by. You've been sulking long enough; this isn't the attitude one of Godric's house should display. I've been tasked to see you up and dressed, you have visitors in Professor Dumbledore's office."
Hermione frowned and rolled back over clutching her blanket tightly around her, "More unknown family members coming to upset my life?" she asked petulantly.
She felt the bed dip and touch against her curls, "Hermione," her professor spoke softly. "While I know you've gone through much these past months, you can't hide away from your problems. You're a brilliant witch who has a fiery spirit. Things will sort out. Your friends are worried about you."
"I don't have any friends," she said in a cold voice.
"Mr Potter has been w-."
Hermione shook her head at the mention of Harry. "Don't. Please, just don't."
"Regardless, you staying in bed is not doing any good. You'll get up from this bed and get ready to meet your visitors like the Gryffindor I know you to be."
Hermione frowned and nodded her head slowly knowing her professor was right. Things would eventually right themselves, but it didn't mean that the hurt would go away. She hadn't been the one that told Harry or Ron the truth about what happened last June; too much of a coward to do so. No, they had to read about it in the bloody Daily Prophet that she was Grindelwald's granddaughter. She wondered how they are going to take the news that not only is she related to the dark wizard but that of the Rosier family as well? Though come to think about it, if she was already considered to be a dark witch due to who her grandfather was, being a Rosier shouldn't darken her reputation too much more.
Rolling onto her back she tried to give a smile, but it was more like a grimace meeting Professor McGonagall's eyes. She felt slightly better knowing that at least her Professors didn't think she had automatically changed because of who her family was. At least, not all of them, the important ones. It was a soothing balm to her tattered heart.
Standing, Professor McGonagall raised a brow at her, "It's rude to keep your guests waiting. Go get cleaned up and changed and I'll escort you to ensure you make it there unmolested."
When she shoved her blankets off, Crookshanks let out a small hiss at being disturbed but Hermione ignored him and did what she was asked to do. Though, none too pleased about it she decided it was best to get this over with so she could return to her solitude.
Hermione did her best to ignore the whispers as she walked in step with Professor McGonagall. She could feel the eyes of everyone on her as she traversed the stairs to the seventh floor and Dumbledore's office. She heard it being speculated on if she were being expelled due to her ill reputation. She also half expected to be assaulted by Kai as soon as she exited the portrait of her house, but when the pair continued to traverse the corridors without anyone calling her name, or grabbing at her, Hermione relaxed a little.
She didn't dare look to see who was watching through the corridors. She didn't want to see Harry or Ron right now if she passed them. She was still trying to work out how she was going to accomplish cleaning up this mess. She was known as the brightest-witch-of-her-age, but right now she had no clever idea how to smooth things over. Or if she should even bother.
Hermione huffed at herself. She was the granddaughter of Gellert Grindelwald, there was nothing she could do about that, but what she could do was take pride in it. Sure, she had spent the last week hiding, but who could really blame her? She was sure other people, in her exact circumstances would have had similar reactions. Now that she was being seen by the populace of Hogwarts, she straightened her back and raised her head high. She refused to be looked down on for something she had no control over.
Thinking of her grandfather, she could honestly say that she started to feel affection for the dark wizard through their letters to each other. He wrote to her about his regrets, the reasoning for his actions and his life. It helped her understand that even when people make horrible mistakes, there was still hope for them to regret and repent. Not that he thought he should be released from his confinement, but it gave her hope that she could have a relationship with Gellert and get to know the real him, not him the history books would make him out to be.
Shoving her hands deeper into the pockets of her favourite hoodie, Hermione kept her face blank, her eyes looking straight ahead. When she'd gotten dressed at her professor's request, she decided she would face whomever it was in comfort. She was wearing her favourite muggle attire to meet her guests, a pair of faded jeans, a black jumper and a pink hoodie with worn trainers. She knew her grandmother would scold her if she saw Hermione in anything but her finest robes, but she didn't have it in her to care. She also hadn't bothered with styling her curls as her grandmother taught her, insisting she always looked her best when out in public. Instead, she opted for pigtails.
She'd argued constantly with her grandmother whenever she'd worn anything muggle. Her grandmother had reminded her that she was a pure-blood and as such, she should dress her station. Hermione argued that no one knew she was a pure-blood witch, that she would still be seen as a muggle-born and it would be seen as dressing above her station if she were always seen in robes. Her grandmother had worn a pinched look but conceded. As it was, Hermione still had to sneak her favourite muggle clothing into her trunk when she returned to Hogwarts because Vinda had decided to assist her in packing her trunk with lavish clothing and beauty products.
Her thoughts then turned to her parents. Merlin, she missed them. Their last meeting had gone so horribly wrong, but she missed them terribly. Although her father had struck her out of anger, and she surmised fear, she knew deep down that they had loved her. They lavished her with love and their time when she was growing up. It had only become tense when she received her Hogwarts letter. Looking back, she thought she should have questioned it, but what eleven years old would think to question their parents? Especially when finding out magic was real?
She knew she would never again hear her mother's tinkling laughter nor her father's smooth voice as he and Hermione discussed, at length, the wonders they'd seen or read about. She would miss the outings to museums, libraries, and to other countries exploring their rich histories, hearing her father expound at length the intricacies of ancient Europe. But no matter how many future memories she would miss out on, she would always have the ones she'd already experienced. She would take the lessons her parents taught her and stand strong, even if she did falter now and again. What better way to honour her memory of them than by embracing all of who she is and what she could become?
She was brought back to the present not even paying attention to their progress when she found herself before the entrance to the Headmaster's office. The door swung open on well-oiled hinges and Hermione froze as soon as she met her grandmother's vexed stare.
Hermione should've been alarmed by the look her grandmother gave her when she met her eyes. Vinda huffed and not saying a word, just grabbed her arm, went to the floo and called out Severus Snape's Quarters. Shock rocked through her core when she stumbled out from the floo and into the room where three people stood waiting.
Narcissa, Professor Snape, and Lucius Malfoy looked at her with varying expressions of surprise and concern.
Professor Snape stood before her and his keen eyes looked her over. She blinked up at him, her magic flaring to life being close to him. His lips quirked a little, his own magic brushing against her own. In a surprise move, he leaned down, brushed her hair out of her eyes, and winked at her before he turned toward the fire grate, calling out "Dumbledore's office". She blinked owlishly after he left. Lucius turned to bow at both Narcissa and Vinda before giving Hermione a small smile and a pat on the shoulder as he passed soon after.
"What is going on?" Hermione demanded she could feel her forehead tingle where Severus' fingers had ghosted over her skin and she fought a blush as she looked back and forth between her grandmother and Narcissa when she caught the knowing look they gave each other. Had she entered some alternate dimension where Lucius Malfoy gave her a second glance let alone touch her or smile at her?
Vinda, not saying anything just grasped her by the elbow and pulled her through the room. Hermione's neck craned to look around the room for an exit and was trying her damndest not to notice anything about the private sanctuary of Professor Snape. It felt too intimate to see where her professor lived, but she couldn't help her curiosity. Her eyes caught the thousands of books that seemed to line the walls and felt the desire to curl up and read every single one.
"Severus was kind enough to offer the use of his rooms to get you ready away from prying eyes," her grandmother explained as she pulled her through a bedroom and into a bathroom.
Hermione blushed beet red when she saw where her professor slept. She hadn't considered for one moment where he actually slept. Of course, she knew he did, but being her professor, she had respect for him and thought to speculate would have been bad form. She most definitely didn't notice the silk green sheets and bedspread or the large window that looked out on what she assumed was Black Lake at the head of the bed, the moonlight causing a flutter in her belly. She couldn't help but wonder what it would feel like to be bathed in that same moonlight, while surrounded by Severus' silk sheets.
Hermione closed her eyes for a moment, squeezing her eyes shut not wanting to think about moonlight, silk and her professor. She should feel repulsed, not whatever she was feeling. Her feelings were already confused enough with regards to him. He soothed her whenever he was around, his magic dancing along brilliantly with her own. He seemed to have a penchant for knowing when her magic flared dangerously and with a simple touch of his hand her magic would relax. He made her feel warm and cherished; she didn't want to think that her feelings could deepen.
She didn't want to even consider having inappropriate thoughts about him, the lines between what was or wasn't appropriate seemed to blur the more time she spent with him. There had even been a time not too long ago that she had seen something in his eyes that wasn't entirely innocent. She'd been quick to dismiss it, she didn't want anyone thinking that he could think of her as anything other than another one of his students; especially after Skeeter's insinuation that he had feelings for her.
She could see that he did care for her well-being and he had helped her in her time of need. The time she had spent with him over the summer had been wonderful, a peek into how he was outside of Hogwarts and she was privileged enough to see it.
Her thoughts came to a halt when Narcissa came into the large bathroom with several items floating behind her. She tsk'd and with a flick of her wand, Hermione was standing there starkers, she squeaked and tried in vain to cover herself up. Another flick of her wand and the large inlaid tub started to fill up. "In the tub, you go, silly girl. You have nothing I haven't seen before," Narcissa's no-nonsense voice commanded her.
Hermione pursed her lips at the witch before she folded herself into the large tub and crossed her arms over her chest trying to control her temper as her grandmother and Narcissa took up sponges to scrub her clean and wash her hair. She was sure she was in need of it but didn't appreciate it being forced on her so abruptly. The week she'd spent in solitude she readily admitted she hadn't been as diligent as she usually was with her hygiene and she wrinkled her nose at the mere thought. She never could abide by being dirty.
"What am I getting ready for?" Hermione let out a hiss when her grandmother was particularly brutal while scrubbing her back, she never realized that the mark left by Pythia was still that sensitive to touch. She knew it was there when she thought about it. Her clothes would brush against it in a strange way causing her to shiver, but she never had anyone touch it so freely before. She wasn't sure she liked it.
Her grandmother hummed slightly and peered over her shoulder meeting her eyes. "Why, the Yule Ball, of course."
Hermione tried to stand immediately but two hands shoved her down into the tub, "I'm not going."
And she wasn't. She had no plans of going to the affair where all her classmates and that detestable Skeeter were going to be. No, nope, not going to happen. The plebeian masses could just go rot for all she cared.
She knew it was rude not to inform Viktor she thought belatedly as her hair was tugged every which way as it was washed and rinsed. She hadn't thought about it when she lay there in bed trying to forget the world. He didn't deserve to be stood up, but honestly, she didn't know how she was going to just stroll into the Great Hall as if all was well in the world.
Because Merlin's hairy nutsack,-thanks, Kai- it wasn't. Harry and Ron would be there, and she wanted to avoid a scene. Ron at least would put it upon himself to open his big mouth and shove his even larger foot inside, it seemed to live there these days whenever he spoke to her. She was surprised he didn't have athletes' mouths. Though she could hope that he would continue to ignore her.
"Of course, you're going, darling," her grandmother said as she coaxed Hermione to stand and step out of the tub flicking her wand to dry her. Handing her a towel she led Hermione to a stool and forced her to sit. "You told me you had procured a date with Viktor, is that not the case?"
Hermione bit her lip, her nose wrinkling as she was poked and prodded, "Yes," she mumbled.
"Well, it's rude not to show up, Mia. You accepted his request, and you shall accompany him to the Ball. Now, stop pouting, it will cause wrinkles."
Hermione shivered as several spells flowed over her body and decided to sit in her despair.
"You need to realize that you're now a pure-blood, dearest," Narcissa's soft voice spoke from behind her. "We witches bear the brunt of the magical world despite what appearances say otherwise. Never let them see how much they hurt you. If it helps think of a glass wall between you and them. They can see you, but not touch you."
Hermione swallowed the lump in her throat before she spoke, "I just...I tried, I really did try to tell Harry and Ron, but I never had the opportunity considering how this year has been going. Harry has other things to worry about right now."
"While I understand your hesitance at telling him, I believe you did the correct thing in this instance. If Potter was truly your friend, he would've been supportive of you," a light touch to her shoulder and Hermione closed her eyes feeling the sting of tears.
"I thought he loved me," Hermione whispered.
"I know," Narcissa said. "From all accounts from my Draco, I thought the two of you were close."
Hermione's eyes opened and her brows furrowed. "Draco?"
Narcissa let out a small laugh but it was her grandmother who spoke up instead, "I forgot to tell you, darling, Narcissa is my great-niece making Narcissa your cousin thrice removed."
Hermione swore under her breath at the mere thought of Malfoy being in any way related to her. She was right, more family was crawling out of the woodwork to upset her life.
The person Hermione looked at in the full-length mirror was not someone she recognized. She eyed herself noting the curves of her body were more on display than she was really comfortable with. She had tried hard to wear loose clothing to hide the fact her body had grown exponentially since her Rite.
But in the gown her grandmother had put her in, she looked like a woman, not a child of fifteen that everyone thought her to be. But then her grandmother had scolded her saying, "Mia, you're beautiful. Be proud of how you've grown. No matter what societal norms would have you believe, you're not a child anymore, embrace it."
Her eyes travelled down her body slowly. Her hair was in a tight chignon, loose curls framed her face. Her make-up was light, her eyelashes curled to perfection bringing out the different colours of her eyes making them seem larger and bright. Her lips had a light sheen to them, they appeared fuller and almost pouty.
She raised her hand to her neck, a diamond necklace twinkled in a light matching her teardrop diamond earrings that Narcissa had given her as a welcome gift to the family. She tried to refuse but she insisted stating that she has no daughters and after spending time with Hermione, considered her to be an honorary one. The set belonged to Hermione's grandmother's sister, Narcissa's grandmother. She insisted it stayed with the women of the family. When put that way, she could hardly refuse. She also had a soft spot for the witch.
Her eyes travelled down to the corseted gown, silvery-blue in colour, the boning and applique shone like silver looking like someone had taken snowflakes, enlarged them and placed them in strategic places to enhance the features of the gown. When she'd first seen it, she thought it was a bit too risqué, but now that it was on it was quite tasteful. The corset nipped in her waist and skimmed over her hips, displaying but not flaunting her new curves.
A scarf-like skirt fell in folds to her feet and when she twirled, she could see playful flashes of her legs that looked amazing in strappy silver heeled sandals. The neckline of her gown enhanced her breasts and the same scarf-like material formed gathered sleeves, to give her a sense of modesty.
She never felt more beautiful and confident in her life.
Narcissa turned to face her giving her a once over, "When you enter that room, on the arm of your date, keep your head held high. The trick is to appear bored and above reproach. Never let them see that anything they do affects you, dearest."
Vinda grabbed her hand and Narcissa the other giving it a squeeze. "You're ready, darling. Remember, Narcissa and I will be there to keep an eye out for you should you need us."
Letting out a shaky breath, Hermione squared her shoulders determined to enjoy her evening and not let the opinions of those who didn't matter ruin her night or her life.