Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything you can recognise from any books or TV series or movies. I do however take liberties with the plots or mentions provided by JKR or other writers. The only profit I'm getting out of it is improving my English.
Title: Secrets & Keepers – Supernova
Rating/Warnings: R/M [AU; identity crisis; teenage rebellion; canon typical violence; profanity; discussion of and references to past events of gore nature; references to off-screen original character deaths; pure-blood propaganda]
Characters and pairings: Hermione Granger with the Granger family and wide assortment of original characters (some of which were referenced in Secrets & Keepers – Collision Curse) and surprise guest appearances from canon characters. References to Collision Course pairings and a couple of minor OC pairings. No Hermione's pairings aside of brief mentions about her crush on Lockhart.
Summary: Hermione learns the hard way that there's a lot of truth that shouldn't be passed around. It's a story of multiple crises starting from identity, trust in one's loved ones, the trust which one's friend put in one. It's a story of doubts which people voice about other people. It's a story of friendships that are forged in crisis. It's also a love story as much as a story about love. A pre-PoA AU.
Word count: About 6 500.
Spoilers: Canon spoilers for PS/SS, CoS and pre-Hogwarts PoA. Linked to but doesn't require reading of Secrets & Keepers – Collision Course.
Chapter summary: A pleasant day turns into a nasty evening. Also, Hermione gets a surprise visit.
AN: Crossposted here and on my ao3 account.
The story updates on Tuesday and Thursday.
I hope that You will find this story enjoyable. I would be the most grateful for constructive criticism.
Beta read by Regnbuen
Secrets & Keepers - Supernova
Chapter eleven: 7th July 1993
7th July 1993, 34 Willoughby Road, Hampstead, London
It all started the day prior when in an attempt to take her mind of everything she'd learned earlier in the day, she managed to successfully convince her Mum to visit a hairdresser. She wasn't preoccupied enough with her own thoughts to not miss the grimace that appeared on her Dad's face when Mum agreed that they definitely should visit a hairdresser before leaving for the holidays. Because hairdresser meant Delilah, and Delilah, and Mum's loyalty to her services was always a point of conflict in their marriage.
As a child of considerable curiosity and quite vivid imagination when it came to coming up with best/worst case scenarios, for a couple of years she assumed that Dad's distrust towards Delilah stemmed from her flirtatious nature. Delilah was a charmer, everybody knew that, she flirted with all the clients regardless of their gender, but no more than was inappropriate for Hermione to hear. She had this way of making people feel good about themselves while sorting out their hair.
However, It took science lessons for Hermione to solidify a particular observation on Delilah's physique. Delilah was a stout woman of quite considerable height, with fairly wide shoulders, a deep and soft voice, quite well developed Adam's apple and no waist line or breasts to speak of. She also wore high-heels in an absurdly big size, not to mention she wore flashy clothes and quite strong make up.
Whetever she had always been Delilah, or if that was a name she chose herself at a later point in life, Hermione didn't know, nor did she dare to ask. Not that it really mattered, Delilah was Delilah. She hummed along to that Queen song while she tidied up her salon and had an infinite patience with Hermione's hair. She joked with Hermione and quizzed her about her interests while avoiding conversation stopping hurdles with the ease of a seasoned politician (according to Mum).
Delilah was the only person Mum trusted to do her hair, according to Mum, since always. How they met she never asked but their relationship was excellent and Delilah never failed to find a last minute opening for Mum or Hermione, even though she was fairly popular due to the location of her salon.
This time was no different. Mum's evening call to Delilah had found them seated with Delilah's manicurist as soon as the salon's door opened, meanwhile Delilah and her employee, Jessica took care of their officially scheduled clients. Seeing that they were men they were dealt quickly with Delilah's usual charm and efficiency.
In a break between one scheduled client and the other, Mum headed off with Jessica into the side room for trimming her eyebrows and henna for eyelashes while Delilah seated Hermione in the hairdressing chair.
"So what are we doing today, my dear," asked Delilah. "Braids?" she suggested with a playful smile.
It was only her demeanour that stopped Hermione from groaning at the memory of that disaster.
"Deli, we both remember what happened the last time we tried that," she replied quickly. "Despite your best efforts they started untangling within a week, and when we got rid of them I looked like a baby lion with an overgrown mane."
"Yeah, I do remember," replied Delilah with a small smile. "You looked quite ferocious."
"I looked ridiculous," snorted Hermione.
"So what do you want?" asked Delilah curiously.
"To lose weight," replied Hermione briskly.
"All of it?" she received in return.
She frowned and looked at her reflection critically.
"No," she said finally. "A lot, but I still want to have enough hair left to be able to tie it up if necessary. I don't want a straight cut…"
"Told you that it was a mistake," interjected Delilah. "It looked fine as long as the straightening lasted but you had no patience for it."
"And we're allowing my fringe to grow out," added Hermione.
"Oh, thank God," said Delilah with a smile. "Told you that not all styles suit all people. In your case a fringe looks good on short hair. Who inspired you if I can ask?"
"Why?" asked Hermione curiously.
"Because I want to kiss them," replied Delilah playfully.
"Shopping assistant," answered Hermione. "She convinced me into an outrageous purchase but it was so beautiful…"
"And she made you feel so good about yourself," finished Delilah dryly. "She was right though. You're a beautiful young girl and you will grow up into a beautiful young woman. That beauty needs to be emphasised not hidden away."
"I go to a boarding school," pointed out Hermione. "With a pretty stiff dress code."
"I'm not trying to convince you to run around in fishnets and crop tops. Especially not up there, God knows, if you did you would probably catch pneumonia. There's a lot which one can do with their natural beauty," she added as she fiddled with Hermione's hair. "How about shoulder-length?" she asked. "We will give you a nice diamond-shaped cut in the back. It will be long enough for a braid which I know you like."
"Let's do it," replied Hermione with a smile.
"Well, buckle up. I'll go fetch the scissors and check up on your mum," replied Delilah.
It was a great day. An awesome day. The morning with Delilah, which left Hermione practically floating in the air, had concluded in a truly delightful early lunch that consisted of a superb steamed chicken fillet with vegetables. She consumed her portion without even a hint of nausea.
Afterwards she and Mum went shopping. Hermione tried to protest, claiming that she hadn't have a chance to outgrow most of her clothes but Mum insisted. As unclear as their holidays plans had been, at some point they were going to end up on the French Riviera, and apparently when one goes to the French Riviera one needs to be dressed well.
Not that Hermione minded the shopping trip in the end. She wasn't very big on shopping herself but she adored watching Mum try on clothes. She had an impeccable taste and a great figure for her age. Who needed someone who didn't want them when Mum was there, laughing at a truly outrageous summer dress. Yes, she'd lied, as had Dad, but in their own way they were looking out for her in the way they decided was best.
Hermione's biological mother on the other hand? Went against the wishes of her sister, hid her true identity behind an elaborate curse, decided that one child of her rapist she could raise but not the other.
And her father? Even the thought of him, despite not knowing his identity, made her uneasy. He could have changed but people hardly do. He was still a rapist and most likely Voldemort's supporter. Likely a pureblood who viewed people like Hermione as a piece of dirt at the sole of his shoes.
But then there was Mirzam, a loyal and fiercely protective aunt that was against the idea of surrendering parental rights. Determined in ensuring that Hermione had some sort of magical guardian even if it was supposed to be a supposedly deceased head of a pureblood family.
It puzzled her and to a certain degree worried her. Arcturus knew the truth, couldn't say it out loud but most certainly knew the truth. Who was she, who were her biological parents that caused him to assume the position Mirzam had vacated and followed her instructions. Who was Mirzam to him? What had she done for him to secure his obedience in following her instructions?
Those questions had plagued Hermione through the entire ride home and she found herself wanting to learn more. Maybe not exactly about her parents but definitely about Mirzam. For that she didn't exactly need Arcturus. Larry on the other hand…
And because all good things come to pass eventually the good mood petered at dinner, for which Dad arrived late and in a peculiar mood. At first Hermione assumed that it was due to surprise overwork, after all Mum planned to work today before Hermione mentioned a trip to the hairdresser. Some of the patients could have their appointments rearranged, Mum primarily worked with kids when she wasn't handling administration so it wasn't much of a big deal. Usually.
Dad made no comments about the changed hairdos even though Mum's looked very flattering and youthful, and Hermione loved hers more than she liked her previous one. Between one bite and another at some point he muttered that he made arrangements for a caravan for next Friday, and he expressed his hope that Mum wouldn't desert him again. Mum ignored the remark about desertion and asked when he was planning for them to leave.
It was an innocent question that gained her a remark that he'd already told her that he rented the caravan from next Friday. Mum shot back that she heard him quite well and that she wanted to know whether or not they were going to leave the country on Friday or Saturday. The rest of the argument had escalated from that. Mum brought up cleaning the caravan after previous users, Dad brought up an apparently truly outrageous additional fee that he already paid for cleaning. Then came passive-aggressive cleaning after dinner during which Dad saw the shopping bags and finally that led to…
"If we can afford all of that then surely we can afford paying other people than freaks to cut our hair!" snarled Dad.
Hermione's blood ran cold and her heart dropped to her stomach.
"Mark Wendell Granger," hissed Mum angrily.
"So," started Hermione in a soft, even voice, "what you're saying is that everybody who doesn't fit into your criteria of normality deserves that designation?" she paused. "You're saying that it doesn't matter that Delilah is a good employer and one of the pillars of the community, that it doesn't matter that she opens her saloon on Sunday after church for homeless people to cut their hair free of charge because in your book to deserve the opinion of a decent human being one needs to fit into your narrow criteria of normality and she will never do that all because she had a misfortune of being born in a wrong body?" she asked icily.
"Hermione Jean Granger…" started Dad.
"What about me?" hissed Hermione in barely contained fury. "Am I a freak to you, father mine?" she spat.
"Of course not, Hermione," Mum hurried to calm her down. "You're.."
"Mum, I wasn't asking you," Hermione interrupted her icily. "I was asking Mr Normal," she added as she glared at Dad. "So?" she added. "Out with it. Am I a freak or not?"
Dad stayed silent.
"Mark!" gasped out Mum.
Dad worried his bottom lip before he said slowly, "If you truly wish to know…"
"Mark!" hissed Mum angrily.
"Well, she asked," muttered Dad and he shrugged. "You weren't supposed to be like that," he added with a heavy sigh. "You were supposed to be normal."
"I am normal," snarled Hermione. "I don't have a second head. I'm still the same person I was nearly fourteen years ago. The only thing I did was grow up."
"You know what I'm talking about," grunted Dad.
"No, I don't," spat Hermione. "I was showing signs of magic from infancy."
"Children often do," growled Dad. "Most of them are sensitive to peculiar things and possess sometimes absurd reflexes. They grow out of it eventually."
"And I didn't," Hermione growled back. "Magic is a genetic trait, it's decided in the moment of conception. I always was like that and I will always be like that. I won't change, I won't decide to stop being a witch."
"Well, there are ways…" started Dad.
"Don't you dare!" snarled Mum, interrupting him mid-sentence. "Finish that sentence Mark Granger and you will lose both a daughter and a wife."
Dad closed his mouth, very slowly.
Hermione clamped her upper teeth over her bottom lip to keep herself from saying something she was most likely going to regret.
She knew what Dad was talking about. It was an alternative that Mum dismissed right away and when Professor McGonagall brought it up he grunted something about wanting the best for Hermione but at the time Hermione was a bit too preoccupied to pay attention to him. Evidently she should have.
Her stomach twisted itself in knots, making her feel nauseous. She didn't even want to hear about it back then. The idea of having one's magic bound and the memory of all of their magical incidents erased was too preposterous to consider.
But Dad was considering it. Still. Even three years into her magical schooling.
"He won't dare," said Hermione slowly, in a tone that sounded strange to her own ears. "Not because he will then lose his wife and daughter but because it will be the last decision that he will ever make."
"Are you threatening me?" hissed Dad angrily.
"Yes," replied Hermione in that same, even, icily cold voice. "I'm threatening you, father mine. Arrange the meeting and start counting the last hours of your life. And hope that I will show you more mercy in taking away your life than you will in taking away mine. Because that's how it's going to end. I won't let them take away my magic and my memories, I will kill myself first and I will take you down with me."
"Go to your room," snarled Dad lividly. "And don't come out until you're ready to apologise."
"Or what?" asked Hermione, still in that same tone. "You will spank me? I don't think so. Magic can be quite unpredictable while protecting a magical child from harm. And even if I'd done something truly outrageous I have a clean record. The worst that can happen will be a visit from the Ministry. I'm sure that they would love to hear about what lead to that incident."
She saw it coming, she really did but part of her was too rooted to the spot to move away, too surprised that Dad, caring and loving Dad would descend to that level.
The open-handed slap against her left cheek was both cold and hot and the force of it was strong enough for her to lose balance. On her way down she collided with a sideboard and blacked out for a moment. Not for long, and not completely judging by the sounds of commotion, Mum screaming something incomprehensible at Dad.
And suddenly everything fell silent and very, very still.
Hermione blinked slowly, letting her vision clear from the black dancing spots before her eyes to find an outstretched hand in the centre of her vision. She blinked again, taking in the rest of the arm that was turned to her. It looked nothing like the clothes that Mum or Dad wore, all black and billowy. But the hand was there and outstretched in an inviting gesture so she grasped it. As soon as she had long fingers closed over her palm and she found herself being pulled upright and into the folds of the heavy cloak, pressed from head to ankles against someone's body. The cloak smelt faintly of tobacco, wind and cloves.
Snape?
For some reason the cantankerous Potions Professor was the first person that came to her mind. Not that she ever managed to come closer than an arm's length to the man or even wished to get close enough to smell him. But the blackness and billowiness of the cloak quite strongly reminded her of Snape. As did the leanness of the man's body.
She took a couple of steadying breaths and looked upright readying herself mentally for the possible remarks she might receive if indeed the mysterious visitor was Snape. But as soon as her eyes focused on the man's face she knew that it wasn't him. Which was a relief. What wasn't was the menacing, thin-lipped expression of bared teeth, narrowed eyes and outstretched right hand that was holding a wand. Her eyes attempted to follow it only for the cloak to obscure her view again.
"Don't look," was whispered into her hair.
"What are you doing?" she whispered back.
"Nothing that will cause them any lasting harm," she received in reply.
"I'll be blamed for it," she muttered.
"No, you won't," came a reply. "We're taking this conversation out of this room," followed it.
Arcturus turned over his heel to the right, pulling Hermione with him and led her out of the kitchen, through the hall and into the study. He sat her down in the chair at the desk and leaned against it as he bent down to examine her face.
His expression still remained thunderous. His lips were drawn in a thin, tight-lipped line but the concern in his pale eyes seemed genuine enough for Hermione to sag a little against the back of the chair. His left hand continued to roam over the right side of her head while right held her gently under her chin. After a moment his fingers felt something and she felt a tingle of magic in the area.
Satisfied with that he switched hands, holding her chin with his left while in his right hand a wand appeared again and started shining light into her eyes. She closed them with a grimace.
"Let me," he said softly. "I just want to make sure that you didn't suffer any brain damage."
"A terrible loss it would have been," muttered Hermione.
"I agree," he replied. "The nerve of that worm," he spat.
"I provoked him," mumbled Hermione.
"I don't care what you said to him. He's an adult, the head of a family and the man of the house. A man that descends to physical violence against their child is a worm, not a man," retorted Arcturus. "Not that corporal punishment isn't necessary in certain cases but at your age there are far more appropriate ways of punishing a child without showing weakness of character."
"And at what age is corporal punishment necessary?" asked Hermione sceptically.
"I was always a firm believer that those that cannot take other people's warnings to heart that the fire indeed is hot deserve getting burned," replied Arcturus. "That said, both as a father and grandfather I found myself in circumstances when the miscreant flirted very closely with danger with no regard for their life or their health. Hence my father's holly seven slaps on the posterior for remembrance. Although in my case I once gained holly twenty-one and quite rightfully so. Never however, were such punishment administrated to a child past their eleventh birthday, and in most cases never past their seventh one. At that age you can reason with them quite well and punish them in a way that doesn't betray your weakness," he added as he lowered his wand and let go of her chin.
"Doesn't change the fact that I still provoked him," huffed Hermione. "And speaking of provoking…"
"I'm aware that you're worried about the repercussions from the Ministry but you really have nothing to worry about," Arcturus interrupted her. "I have immense faith in your mother's handiwork, and even if I didn't I have faith in…"
"Wait, my mother did something to this house?" Hermione interrupted him in turn. "How do you know that? What did she do?"
"Warded the house and entire premises more securely than Gringotts wards their vaults, and they take their wards very seriously," answered Arcturus.
"But why?" asked Hermione. "She gave me up."
"She gave you up, but just because she chose not to raise you it doesn't mean that she wishes you ill," replied Arcturus with a shrug. "It's an impressive handiwork, my dear, not that I would expect anything less from her. I just tweaked it a bit to allow myself a pass through, should you ever need me. I doubt that she would have noticed without dismantling the entire thing, highly unlikely to happen. She added a couple of things as the years passed, one of them is a pretty nifty ward that can be found around many pureblood households that obscures the magic done within its perimeter. The only magic it wouldn't be able to contain would be one that would level the whole thing down."
Hermione gaped at him.
"So what have you done to them?" she asked finally.
"Like I said, nothing that will cause any lasting harm," replied Arcturus. "My ancestors referred to it as Robbers Confusor. It's a variation of a confusing charm that confuses anyone but the caster into staring at a light orb. Confusion is intent based so everything one experiences while under it depends on the caster. It's not exactly light but it isn't dark magic strictly speaking. I wanted to exclude your mother from the conversation without causing her any lasting harm, had you been in the room only with your father I wouldn't be this considerate. Right now they are in a hazy, dreamlike state that will continue for as long as the orb is somewhere in their field of vision. Due to the compelling component of the charm, and easiness with which it can be maintained from a distance, it is highly unlikely that they will take their eyes from it."
"Wow," mumbled Hermione. "Is it widely taught?"
"Luckily no," replied Arcturus dryly. "It is a family invention and one of many magical secrets we still maintain. Not all people have a talent for it as mastering it requires a considerable effort and balancing of many components. My daughter had a flair for it, poor thing, used to cast it on us when we caught her sneaking out to meet her beau. My son or grandsons never mastered it, Orion had no talent, Sirius no patience and Regulus could never balance it."
"It's quite interesting," admitted Hermione. "You're really maintaining it while talking with me?"
"I'm a man of considerable power and disciplined mind. I was primed into multitasking my magic from an early age. The duties as the Heir of the Head of the family required that of me," explained Arcturus. "Gets easier with age, particularly after reaching magical maturity. Now explain to me the circumstances which lead to my visit."
So she did. Relaying the arguments word for word, and not just the words but her feelings and her behaviour.
"Most curious," muttered Arcturus when she finally finished.
"My outburst?" asked Hermione.
"Pray tell, have you started your courses?" asked Arcturus pensively.
"My what?" mumbled Hermione.
"Courses," repeated Arcturus. "Period? Menstruation?" he added after a moment when Hermione simply blinked at him owlishly.
"Yes, a couple days ago," she admitted finally. "But it's over now."
"Doesn't matter," said Arcturus as he shook his head. "What matters is that you bleed, both blood and magic and what's most important is that the blood that you bleed isn't just your own."
Hermione stared at him, mouth agape.
"What do you know about godparents?" asked Arcturus.
"That they name children with their blood," replied Hermione, she remembered that.
"Strictly speaking what they do is mark them with their blood as they name them," corrected her Arcturus. "Blood magic is a very fascinating subject, murky to simpletons but quite gratifying for those that approach it with respect. You were named in name and blood and not just by anyone but one of your closest blood relations. And because I know the circumstances in which it happened I can tell you that in the moment it happened you also had your mother's blood on you."
Hermione cringed and grimaced.
"Don't give me that look," Arcturus chastised her lightly. "Such is the nature of birth, pain, blood and a lot of icky slime. That hasn't changed for millennia and it's highly unlikely that it ever will. You have your own blood coursing through your veins, but at the same time you're of someone else's blood. The blood of your ancestors gives you life but it can also take it away. There are many dark curses that affect blood."
"Maledictions," nodded Hermione.
"Yes," agreed Arcturus. "They're the cancer of the wizarding world and secrets kept quite close to one's chest. Many innocent people have lost their lives just because one of their ancestors pissed off the wrong idiot centuries prior. But we're getting a bit off track. Blood is important to wizards."
"To the point of being the symbol of status," muttered Hermione.
"Merlin," sighed Arcturus and he shook his head. "Deja entendu," he muttered as he shook his head again.
"Already heard?" guessed Hermione. "My Aunt?" she asked.
"Who else?" asked Arcturus simply. "Blood magic was a subject she could talk about for hours. Though strictly speaking, I was doing the talking while she was making notes. Not literally, like I said, she wasn't stupid. The godparent's rite was something that fascinated her most of all."
"Why?" asked Hermione.
"Because the act of appointing a godparent or godparents is an act of surrender. The act of acknowledging one's mortality by appointing a guardian for the child and surrendering to them the right to name the child, to raise the child when the parents aren't able to do so. It rarely occurs outside of one's family, unless one has no blood family to speak of and friends is the only family they have," explained Arcturus.
"But why?" asked Hermione.
"Because of what it means for the godparent and godchild," said Arcturus. "The act of naming the child requires the surrender of one's blood, no more than a couple of drops, nobody bleeds copiously over the child unless they need to, but that rarely happens, and that's a story for a different time."
"Why?" pressed Hermione.
"My, my, aren't you curious?" chuckled Arcturus, and when Hermione narrowed her eyes at him he added. "The rite was most commonly used in times when the mortality rate was quite high. In adult wizards as well as infants. So, in an attempt to ensure a continued bloodline, in some cases the survival of the firstborn along with naming the child received a form of magical transfusion, a blood replenishing potion that was produced from willingly surrendered blood of the godparent or godparents. In some cases it was the tiny boost of power and protection that ensured the continuation of the bloodline."
"Then why is it rarely used?" asked Hermione sceptically.
"The capriciousness of the magic itself," explained Arcturus. "You see, the act of naming is an act of giving power to something. Metaphorically obviously. Surrender of blood however is a literal transference of power and everything that blood stands for. The wording changes from family to family and from person to person, but whether or not godparents simply accept their godchild as their ward, like most people do, the rite itself creates a blood link between the godparent and godchild. Depending on the godparent it can either be residual or as strong as that of a parent."
"You mean, a form of adoption through blood," whispered Hermione.
"Partial, there is still a separate rite for blood adoption. I'm uncertain what wording your aunt used. She never said and I never pressed, but judging by her extreme unwillingness to surrender you I'm hazarding a guess that the link she created was a strong one," said Arcturus slowly. "Not as strong as that of a parent, it would have been counterproductive with the surrender of parental rights, but strong enough to ensure a transference of power. She was a skilled witch and quite well oriented in protective spell work, then there was her ancestry and although I cannot reveal much I can tell you that her ancestors were well versed in protective magic. The limit of the protection that she bestowed on you was in her imagination."
"But how does it relate to my…" started Hermione and grimaced.
"I'm getting there," said Arcturus quickly. "You found yourself in a situation where your magic felt threatened. In some cases the magic lashes out to protect itself from harm but in some cases…" he grimaced. "My guess is that your own magic recognised that you found yourself in a dire situation where it was threatened by someone you didn't wish to harm and instead of lashing out it tapped to the reserves of magic that your aunt transferred to you in the naming ritual."
"And by tapping into her magic I tapped…" whispered Hermione.
"Into an echo of your aunt's personality," finished Arcturus. "Like I already said your aunt was fiercely loyal and protective of people she cared for. Threats to her person she took with a raised eyebrow but threats to people she cared for…" he grimaced. "Most of the time she was a kind and respectful individual that went out of her way to help anyone that asked for her help but…" he shook his head and smirked.
"What?" asked Hermione.
"That's a story for a different time," he said quickly. "You have some thinking to do after all and I really don't want to distract you."
"What I'm supposed to think about?" asked Hermione sceptically.
"Like what you want to do with this perhaps?" asked Arcturus as he gestured towards the kitchen. "I know what I would do."
"And you're giving me a choice?" asked Hermione suspiciously. "Why?"
"Because you started your courses," said Arcturus simply. "There are many points of maturity in wizarding world and they all come at different point of a witch or wizard's life. Full legal maturity occurs on the day of your seventeenth birthday, but the point of limited legal maturity arrives with the first signs of sexual maturity. By that point you can legally marry even though underage marriages are finally something that's frowned upon. Similarly at this point you receive a right to choose your guardians. That's why against all my instincts I'm waiting for your decision rather than following your aunt's request to the letter."
"So if I say, take me away from here…" muttered Hermione.
"Then I will do so in a heartbeat," replied Arcturus.
"And what will happen to my parents?" asked Hermione sceptically.
"There are a couple of options depending on what you want to happen," he answered pensively. "The adoption is illegal by both Muggle and wizarding standards. The Muggle adoption of wizarding children, unless they're blood relatives is in the wizarding world considered as bordering on the edge of illegality unless they can prove no ill will, but only if they went through proper channels."
"And my parents didn't," sighed Hermione. "Why?"
"Criminal record," said Arcturus with a shrug.
"What?" she gasped. "What sort of criminal record?"
"Your father," replied Arcturus sourly. "Sins of youth I'm afraid. Only child of quite wealthy parents. Probably wanted to be edgy and hung around the wrong crowd. Alcohol, illegal substances, a little battery here and there. Got caught and sent to juvenile detention. Sorted himself out and while the records got sealed…" he grimaced. "Then there's the fact that their marriage was mixed and even though their life as a couple was nothing short of exemplary by the time they got you they had been denied thrice the possibility of adopting a child through official channels. Granted each case was denied for a different reason connected to a specific child in question. Then there was their individual inability to produce a biological child."
"How do you know that?" asked Hermione sceptically.
"Because your aunt did," he replied simply. "She had a file on them, everything I know came from it. Your mother in her youth had a botched up abortion that rendered her unable to carry another child."
"Why would she do that?" she whispered.
"Not exactly my place or my story," said Arcturus with a grimace.
"Oh, come on," snorted Hermione. "It's Mum, she always loved children…."
"Similar circumstances to that of your biological mother," said Arcturus with a heavy sigh. "At a much younger age than your biological mother had been. About the same age as you are now," he added grimly. "Had it been performed by someone who knew what they were doing it wouldn't hinder her ability to carry another child in the future. As things stood it nearly bloody killed her. An emergency partial hysterectomy saved her life but hindered her ability to carry children which was proved by a second trimester miscarriage which she had in her twenties. In ended in complete hysterectomy that rendered her barren."
"You read her medical file," whispered Hermione.
"As did your aunt," said Arcturus with a shrug. "Your father's too. In his case it was a case of mumps that rendered him infertile. It came out a couple of years later when they tried to arrange a surrogate, so that avenue was also closed for them. Your aunt had found them at wits end on how to proceed from there. Their only option was a specified surrender of parental rights to them done by a biological mother."
"And she exploited it," said Hermione.
"They were forty years old Hermione, they failed with proper channels and took only your mother's word for granted. They deliberately chose not to see your aunt's reluctance to let you go. Luckily for them your grandmother had seen through that and not only offered her an option to name you, but also assured her that if she chose so, your contact with her wouldn't be hindered. At the very least by your grandmother," explained Arcturus. "If she hadn't been there, or if she'd considered your mother's decision as final, odds are that against her sister's wishes your aunt would have taken you away and claimed you as her ward with no consideration to everything she had done to ensure the transfer of rights to your parents."
"Why would she do that?" whispered Hermione.
"Distrust," sighed Arcturus. "Not to your parents specifically but towards the system. But that's a story for a different time. Let's go back to your options. Due to the illegality of your adoption going through official channels will ensure the immediate involvement of wizarding authorities. Best case scenario…" he grimaced. "Your adoption will be declared illegal and you will be removed from their care permanently with no possibility of return. Your parents and the rest of their family will get their memories modified and you will be put through a claiming process. That's three months of waiting for your biological parents to claim you. Risky option, and what would follow is even riskier, for you as well as for me. I will of course apply for your guardianship, and I have enough claim to win it, but I'm not exactly sure that it's the best option for either of us. Then there's the worst case scenario where your parents are put on trial in the wizarding world, and you really want to avoid that. A determined prosecutor can spin a tale of kidnapping or even human trafficking, and all of us will end up in a tight spot. Your parents possibly in the worst of all."
"And if we want to avoid that?" asked Hermione.
"Then your options are limited to joint custody shared between me and your parents," he explained. "Then there's complete transference of custody with or without the use of memory modifying charms. Or for everything to remain as it's now, with a minor adjustment of my involvement but in position of an advisor but not a deciding party."
"All of these require them to know that I know," muttered Hermione.
"And you don't want that?" asked Arcturus sceptically. "Why not?"
"Because they lied to me," she muttered grimly.
Arcturus snorted before he asked, "And can you say with a clear conscience that you never lied to them?"
Hermione grimaced and shuffled in the chair before she muttered, "It's different."
"How?" asked Arcturus curiously.
"Because they're paranoid and overprotective and if I kept them appraised of everything that's going in my life at best they would remove me from Hogwarts, and at worst…" she couldn't even finish the sentence. "I don't want that. I don't want to lose my friends, I don't want to leave Hogwarts, I want to be a witch. I don't want them to know that I know until I know what my options are."
"A truly Slytherin approach," said Arcturus dryly.
"Isn't that most logical?" asked Hermione sceptically. "How can I make an informed decision that might possibly affect the rest of my life if I don't know between what I'm choosing?" she asked. "What I do know is that right now I shouldn't make a decision that might jeopardise my options. Not that it will be easy," she grimaced. "That argument will be in the air for days…" she shook her head.
"If I let it, it might," offered Arcturus. "If you wish I might modify that memory into one of a mundane evening and inconsequential talk over dinner, weather and what's on TV."
"Could you do that?" she asked softly.
He nodded quickly.
"Thank you," she whispered.
"Just give me a couple of minutes alone with them," he said as he stood up and walked towards the door. "I will put them under a mild sleeping spell when I'm done."
"I'll head up to bed too," she sighed as she stood up.
"Oh and one more thing," said Arcturus as he turned towards her from the doorway. "Lawrence has something prepared for tomorrow if you wish to join him. He mentioned something about loitering around the train station until ten o'clock, from as early as eight I think. If not, he will pay you a visit some time on Friday, masquerading as a salesman, said that he would try to avoid arriving when your parents will be home."
"And why didn't he write me about that?" asked Hermione sceptically.
"He had a feeling that I would be able to pass it on somehow," replied Arcturus dryly. "Have a good night of rest, Hermione. He might look like a friendly dachshund but he's a seasoned investigator with all the tenacity and obstinacy of an old hunting dog."
"To be fair he looks more like a cocker spaniel," replied Hermione.
"Takes one to know one," came the reply from the corridor.
"Excuse me?" she called out as she ran after him and found him in the doorway to the kitchen. "What do you mean by that?"
"Nothing," he smiled at her. "You have a similar disposition. Charming to the point of cuteness, socialise easily with proper manners. Tenacious in pursuit. Also easy on the eye with just the right amount of compact size and curls. My wife used to own one early in our marriage," he added and coked his head to the right. "You remind me of her, we called her Lady Grunge because as cute and friendly as she was, she was a worse garden pest than gnomes and voles," he added before he turned around and walked into the kitchen.
Hermione, too stunned by the comparison and blinking at the swinging door didn't follow. When the shock of the comparison wore off she headed upstairs to her room.
TBC
Next: Larry takes Hermione out to investigate.