Hello. Thanks for the great reviews and kudos! I must admit that it feels good to get back to writing. I have two chapters for you guys. After this the chapter three the story will start to take off. If you guys have any questions or need anything clarified please just reach out and I will reply. Also, I apologize if the word flow or story isn't a smooth transition. English is not my first language, but I would appreciate any feedback or critiques. I also updated chapter one just a little bit. (I found a few errors) I am looking for a beta reader and would love one that gave ideas as well. I will make sure to give all credit of course!

Okay, enjoy 3

-Cleo

To assume that Hermione was some weak creature that could be manipulated would be the worse mistake any being, human or Fae would ever make. She grew up a sheltered life but was quickly thrust into what could only be described as training to rule an entire magical species. She was brave but wise with her brashness. She possessed a fine-tuned ability to perceive a situation within nanoseconds and act with such precision, the other party would be incapacitated before they even registered the acrid taste of defeat. She did not fear death, for she lived among immortals. She learned the ways of their court from an early age. She possed the knowledge of dead languages and rare magick. Hermione was deadly...However, she was a former shell of herself. It's supposed that floating in between worlds for nearly a millennia would do that to any person. Whether they were immortal or not. Perhaps with time, this tiny witch would gain back enough of herself to realize her optimal potential. Until then, Hermione will have to do with the scattered remnants of what her great mind use to once be.

That's where we find our witch. Laying in Hogwarts hospital wing. Currently amidst her above-mentioned memories.

Please your majesty...we can defeat them, I-I know it." The young woman rasped, her entire body was on fire from the continued onslaught of war. Although her small frame stood fierce with determination, her golden-bronze eyes showed barely concealed pools of grief. So many of her people were slain for such a useless ideology.

She wasn't ready to give up.

She couldn't lose.

She wouldn't.

The witch tightens her wands around her vine wand. Personally acquired from the very same Liana plant that sprouted her ancient father eons ago.

"Your majesty, If you will allow. I will personally speak to -"

" Enough Hermione. Our forces are nearly depleted. Even with your late mother's magic, we cannot risk him getting ahold of you. This prophecy reaches far past our world. It will affect every dimension my brave daughter. "

" Father... I will sacrifice myself if that-"

"ENOUGH!"

The deep voice echoed in the small witch's mind. She couldn't place a face to this demanding voice, however, his fiery temperament was one she longed to embrace just once more.

Was this man truly her father? Why can't she remember his face?

Hermione pondered as she lay in what she assumed to be a hospital wing. She became aware that she was no longer floating in an abyss once she felt the soft cotton sheets of her bed and smelled a subtle pumpkin scent. Oh how much she's missed the sensations of scent and hunger. She missed sunlight and nature. Hermione found that she couldn't remember anything much besides her name and what had felt like ( until now) like an eternity of hell.

Hermione quickly closed her eyes at the sound of a rustling figure passing by her curtain-covered bed. That must have been the healer. The kind plump woman seemed to check on her every half-hour. This made it quite hard to sneak away. Hermione didn't know where she was but wherever this place turned out to be. These humans used the same magic as her mother..as her very self. She didn't know how she knew this, but she felt it in her very fiber. She held this very same magic this annoying older woman possessed.

Why could Hermione not remember her mother or father's faces? Just their voices and small glimmering moments that soon grew hazy the longer she tried to focus on specific details.

It was frustrating! All she could remember was that her name was Hermione, she was nearly 18 and she was a witch. Half witch…

A memory flashes forth. Hermione faintly remembered this day.

She was a young child; her soft curls a halo for her chubby heart-shaped face. She was playing in the palace gardens with distant cousins.

Hermione remembered that they were weird to her, they stuck to the old god's ways.

"You're a half breed you know that right?", the eldest cousin smirked. She was taller, having grown into her womanly figure. Her dark raven hair stood straight as glass. The girl's sneer reminded Hermione of someone, however whenever she tried to pull forth more memories she grew nauseous.

"Halfbreed? No. I'm Fae, I look just like you" young Hermione said with determination. She tilted her small head in a confused manner as if maybe she was a halfbreed?

"Yeah. Even though you're a princess, all the royals still talk about your father's scandalous marriage to a human witch. You'll never quite feel home in either land, that's what my father says."

"Cecilia! You're not supposed to repeat that", cried the younger cousin with appalled shock.

" I'm telling mommy!"...

The tired witch snaps from her meditative memories at the sound of the hospital wing door opening. She quickly turns to her side and snaps her eyes shut. Just in the knick of time as her curtains are slowly opened. A soft stream of sunlight flitters across Hermione's eyes and the young fae witch tries to still her breath to a steady rhythm.

"She has been sleeping all afternoon Headmaster. I do believe the poor thing has been severely traumatized in some way. Though, all medi-scans show that she's internally fine. No abnormalities. Just a few bumps and bruises here and there.", the healer finished.

Headmaster? So this was a school, A school of magic, her mother's magic. Hermione thought with a quick pang to her heart. She knew that her mother was dead, she died when she was a mere child...a naive child with foolish dreams... How did she know that she was capable of her mother's magic? why does she feel as if this magic is natural? Hermione easily noted that the older women's diagnostic spell work was sloppy. How could she know such a thing? If her fragmented memories were real and she was half-fae and witch then this would make sense.

"I see," says a calm quiet voice, and Hermoine is pulled from her thoughts as the voice of the headmaster says. "Do you mind giving us a moment Madam Pomfrey?"

"Of course, please alert me if my patient wakes," Madam Pomfrey says before a soft rustling of the curtains gives away her departure.

Albus Dumbledore stares at the young witch before him. She was most certainly a witch, There was no way that she would be allowed entry on Hogwarts ground if she was not at least of some magical blood. However, he was naturally suspicious of this young woman. Never in the history of Hogwarts has a student ever showed up unannounced. The other reason was mainly due to who found her. Tom Riddle was one of those young wizards that had the potential to change the world, to be a significant figure in magical history. It was unfortunate that young Riddle chooses fear and power as his ideal principles. Albus Dumbledore sighs sadly before staring back at the witch before him, he was certain her ill attempts at pretending to be asleep were quite awkward for the both of them.

"You are completely safe here young lady. I would like to help you, do you know where you are? I assure you that you are among friends. Dumbledore says gently.

The young witch slowly sits up, her bronze eyes instantly go to Dumbledore's wand. She clenches her right fist slightly before staring at the kind man's eyes."Where am I? A school right?", Hermione's voice rasps outwards, and the young witch realizes that she hasn't heard her own voice in years. The shrewd wizard catches her discomfort. He smiles softly before saying. "You are currently in the hospital wing of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I am the Headmaster Albus Dumbledore. You are safe here, may I ask you what your name is?.

Hermione stares at Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts. Why does that school sound familiar? Its name tastes natural to her tongue, though when she tries to focus on its origins, her mind grew black with nausea.

Hermione feels an icy chill as she comes to a startling realization.

Someone has blocked her memories.

She didn't know how she knew this, but she realized she couldn't trust anyone. Not just yet.

She also knew that she could not give these humans her true name. Only Hermione knows her true name, it was unwise in Fae culture to give a being your real name. It gave them power over you that could never be broken. She would go by her informal court calling.

"Hermione." She said softly, her eyes remained locked to the older wizard with the subtle glint of a well-conditioned predator.

The patient headmaster nodded softly before continuing. "Hermione, that's a beautiful name. Do you remember your surname?" The young witch shakes her head slowly, her riotous hair in agreeance to her proclamation. "Okay, well Hermione is a start. Can you tell me anything before our head boy found you near the Black Lake?" Hermione stares at Dumbledore, her gaze unfaltering as she thought about her next sentence."Who is this head boy? How did this boy find me?", She shifts uncomfortably, feeling exposed. The young witch knew nothing of how she woke up here at this school for human magic. This headboy may have the answers. She will pull them from his lips if that was the route she must go.

Albus notes the angered frustration in the young witches' changed demeanor. He unfolds his hands and puts his wand into his robed pocket. "Thomas Riddle is our head boy here at Hogwarts, he's a seventh year. He said that he came across your unconscious body while patrolling the grounds. He brought you to madam Pomfrey and alerted me once he realized that you were not a student here. May I ask if you remember anything besides your name and waking up here, Ms. Hermione?

The fae witch watches her words carefully. Though she was not cursed with having to speak only the truth like her father's blood. She knew that this shrewd wizard would notice any slight change in her temperament. She will be careful with her words. "I know that I am a witch. On my mother's side. I cannot remember my father or mother's faces. I can't remember my surname, nor my homeland, nor what year I'm even in. I know that I'm capable of magic, I have scattered memories of an older wizard. My tutor teaching me magic, several advanced courses... I cannot remember his face...just his voice…I'm seventeen...almost eighteen... My mother died when I was eight...I...don't remember anything else", The young woman finishes her spout of information by clenching the covers of her hospital bed and closing her eyes to the world with a polished finality.

Albus Dumbledore knew that he should not push the young witch any further. It's was best to get her a wand and sort her as sixth year for now. They could test her magical knowledge later after she's settled. He would say that she was his distant niece from America and was finishing school here at Hogwarts until her mother gets back from work travels. That would explain why he did not recognize her unconscious self until hearing her name. Dumbledore rises with a gentle smile, the witch flashes her eyes open in defense before realizing that he was wandless. "We will have you sorted into a fitting Hogwarts house and you can continue your magical education while we figure out more about your mysterious past. Would you like that? We can proceed with finding out your true identity once you feel you can trust me and this establishment. Let's say that you are my American niece, here while your mother is away on work travel? You may get a few sneers from the Slytherins, I'm not really popular with that house, however, you will be safe here. Hogwarts is an ancient and sentient castle that will protect its patrons until the very last stone."

Hermione stares at the old man for what seemed like minutes. She believed that he was sincere in his words, however, she also knew that this old wizard was no fool. He did not yet know if Hermione was a threat or not. Nor did she know if he was a threat to her. It would be wiser for both of them to keep close tabs on the other, not like she had any other choice. She was a guest in his school... She did not even know where Hogwarts resided. Certainly not anywhere in her world. Hermione needed to let this headmaster of Hogwarts know that yes; she would follow his rules and respect this establishment. However, she would not hesitate to destroy any human that stood in the way of finding out who she really was. What she lost...Hermione would not allow this wizard to think that he will be able to manipulate her in any manner.

The young fae witch's lip twitches slightly. She stands up slowly before holding out her right hand, she focuses intently on her palm before a beautifully carved vine wand materializes from thin air. Hermoine tries to contain her glee that she was able to actually summon forth her wand nonverbal, even in this weird land her fae gifts were strengthening. She snaps her eyes to the Headmaster and smiles internally at the subtle show of wariness the elder wizard's frost blue eyes now revealed. Hermione stashes her vine wand in the pocket of her hospital gown before smiling sweetly at the observing wizard.

"I greatly appreciate the offer. I do believe that with time I will find out who I really am. I thank you for the hospitality. Would you mind if I acquired suitable clothing? I would like to explore the school's library. Perhaps a bit of light reading will spark my memory Headmaster Dumbledore."

Hermione gazed at her naked form, the steamy bathroom mirror barely showing her small curves and slim legs. The young witch noted that her body had a natural athletic grace to it, she wondered what kept her active in her past life. No, not her past life. Her only life. Her eyes furrowed in disgust at how fast she could just forget about her old life. Hermione knew that wherever she came from, they needed her help. If her memories were correct then she was the half-fae daughter to some powerful king. Her mother was a mortal witch that somehow crossed the barriers between the human world and her father's world, her world.. Her eyes continued to move towards her soaking wet waist-length curls before finally resting on her ears. The young witch frowned. That's weird, she thought...The tiny witch didn't remember glamouring her ears to appear human. Once again, she could not explain how she knew this partial of valuable information, but her father's kind could make subtle changes to their appearance. Similar to her mother's type of magic transfiguration. She much preferred the word glamour. Hermione ran her delicate finger across her ears before pulling out her wand and tapping the tip to both rounded ends.

It takes several minutes before Hermione breaks the heavily warded spell that changed her ears human. She touches her pointed tips in familiarity before glamouring them back. She begins to get dressed as her mind wanders at lighting speed.

Someone did not want her to remember that she was half-fae, that or they were trying to keep her lineage a secret from other people. She clenches her fist at the realization that whoever blocked her memories was most likely the very same culprit to transform her ears. It's apparent by the advanced transformation done, as well as the warded concealment spell sealed over that someone knew way more than Hermione did. This wasn't mediocre magic either, this concealment spell was so flawlessly applied that you would have to be looking specifically for the change to ever have noticed that Hermione's ears were pointed. That's why the healer did not find any abnormalities on her scan…. But who and why would someone do this?

The distrustful witch's mind instantly goes to the Headmaster Albus Dumbledore… Hermione did not quite know where to sort the elderly wizard, not yet at least. He seemed genuine in his endeavors and she could see that he was well respected by all they crossed paths with that afternoon. However, something was unsettling about the man. Albus Dumbledore was where he was in life not because he was a kind old man, no he was powerful and knew when to make sacrifices. She has seen men like him. Hermione has been surrounded by powerful people her whole life. She stops to recall hazy memories of political parties and war council meetings. The faces of her comrades blurred the harder she tried to pull forth more. She felt as if a desperate artist, staring at a semi-finished painting of her memories.

She stops trying to recall anymore, for some reason she can not control when they appear. Usually, a smell or phrase would pull forth the more detailed one. She finished dressing and stared back at her appearance. She decided that she did not very much care for the clothing in this world. She missed the free-flowing tunic dress and cropped riding pants of her land. This drab wool skirt and blazer was not practical in any way. Hermione stared at the shiny black loafers before pulling her hair into a thick plait that reached the base of her hips in a curly wisp.

Dumbledore was her number one suspect. Until he deems otherwise she would not trust a word the man said. Second, was that head boy Riddle...She figured that he wasn't to be of too much importance. He's a boy after all, but Hermione didn't like the fact that he found her unconscious body. He could have changed her ears, though this magic was very advance and surely surpassed the level this school offered. Not to mention it was very dark magic...Still, until she actually met this Thomas Riddle, he would be added to her list of the very limited suspects.

Hermione is now pacing the living quarter she was granted until she meets the headmaster to be sorted. She paces the soft worn carpet as she awaited head girl Penny Clearwater to escort her to Dumbledore. As her mind raced with theories and memories, her right collarbone begins to itch. She noted it was a weird sensation. As if a soft finger trailed around towards her left clavicle before tapering off to her throat. She clenched her neck with a startled gasp. What was going on with her? Was she losing her mind?

Just at that very moment, as if the gods have ever had a more ironic sense of humor. There is a sharp rap at the fae witches' door. She jumps at the abrupt knock before heading towards the dark oak door leading to the castle hallway. Hermione granger takes a deep breath as she puts her vine wand in her robe pocket and opens that door for Penny Clearwater.