Hello my beautiful readers. I know that it has been awhile. I realize that I have two other stories pending. In my Covid despair I had to take a little break. Both stories will have updates in the coming weeks. Forgive me. This story just came out quickly. It had to! It's about thirty chapters so is extreme AU. It will end with Dramione but will have some Tomione along the way. This is a very slow burn, Hermione starts the story at ten years of age. Some parts may have triggers. I will do my best to warn you. I hope that you enjoy it. I hope that you review. With love and gratitude, Lark. I do not own this world.

Objects of Beauty

Chapter 1

Hermione looked down at her grubby hands and sighed. Dirt was caked under her fingernails from weeding the orphanage's vegetable garden. Like everywhere else, food was in short supply with the war on. Wool's orphanage was doing their part to grow their own. She walked to the lavatory. Mother would have been horrified to see her only daughter in such a state.

She had been at Wool's for six months now. Hard to believe that it was June already. A lump rose in her throat and tears stung her eyes. The night she had come home to find her parent's house burning to the ground was with her every moment of every day. Strange, that it was only their house destroyed on the block of unassuming homes. The Peeler who escorted her to the orphanage told her it was just plain bad luck. They had been as perplexed as she by the whole affair. In the end they decided that it had been a lone bomb that had struck it.

Shaking her head she willed her emotions to stay hidden. The other orphans were not kind to those who showed weakness and the teachers and adults who were meant to care for them even worse. It wasn't that she blamed them really. Wool's orphanage was an unattractive, imposing tower of stone that stabbed up into the sky. The facility was meant to house two hundred orphans and staff. However, with the war, the numbers had swelled to almost twice that. Space was scarce and nourishment or comfort even scarcer still. The adults were overworked and consisted mostly of women who had not had the option to marry or seek a better teaching position. Instead of loving the children as their own, they cursed the life that had led them to care for the hoards of unwanted brats. Every night London echoed with bombs and every day more orphans were dropped off.

One would think that the children would ban together but it was not so. They pushed and snarled at one another as they fought for their share. It was this brutal place that Hermione Granger now inhabited. Reaching the bathroom she turned on the faucet in the cracked sink. The hard, yellow bar of soap dried her skin and stung but she scrubbed her hands throughly until the were cleaned. She carefully remived the dirt from beneath her ragged fingernails. The water that ran from the faucet was cold and, despite it almost being June there was a distinct chill in the air.

She looked at the reflection in the spotted mirror. Her sad face stared back. Wild curls sprang from her head. Her cheeks were hollow from lack of food. At first glance most people saw a plain girl with large brown eyes, but on second look one would see that both the girl's eyes and hair were flecked with distinctive streaks of gold. The irises of her eyes were ringed with green. They delicate shades went from light to dark and were quite distinctive. Her father's had been the same. It was a startling sunburst that made a person who noticed look twice. For the most part, people saw Hermione as plain, almost homely. Her large teeth and unruly hair were a constant source of teasing for her peers. She did not mind. Her father had always told her that it was her mind that mattered most.

A pain squeezed her chest. They were once such a close family. Her parents had been pharmacists. Indeed, it was said that their remedies and medicines were better than any in London. Their products worked so well, many said it was almost like magic. They had owned a tidy shop in a affluent neighborhood and attended church on Sundays. Hermione was sent to the best schools and dressed in the finest clothes her parents could provide for her. That is what the public had seen. The Granger household had been something quite different behind closed doors. She noted the dirt on her cheeks and began to wash her face. Of course, that shining, upstanding side of them had only been half of who the Grangers really were.

She had been two when the first incident happened. Her mother had made spice cookies and given Hermione one, which she had greedily eaten. As with most toddlers, she immediately demanded more. When her mother refused, the jar full of cookies had zoomed off the shelf and into Hermione's pudgy arms so fast that her little body had been knocked back by the force. Astonished by such a display her parents began to teach her to control her feelings and her magic that very day.

Hector Granger had been delighted by his only child's magical power. He began to train her at once to use her magic as both protection and a weapon. He was a hard task master but a fair one and his daughter had been a more than eager student. Rose Granger's face often pinched with worry during the nightly training sessions. She explained to Hermione many times that magic was a dangerous thing for muggles to know about. Her green eyes would fill with sadness when she spoke of these things.

"But if you have a name for non-Magical people then surely there are more people like us?" Hermione asked once when she was eight.

Her parents looked at one another, sharing that infuriating look that adults did. "No, there is no one we know of." Her father had said slowly. "Guard yourself my dear, your life depends on your ability to keep your magic close."

"But Mother, you had to have learned these things from someone?" Hermione had persisted.

"Mind your mother. There is no one else. Do not go looking child. It will bring danger to our door." Hector told her firmly. She had not asked again. Her father rarely spoke so and when he did it was in everyone's best interest to listen.

The years passed and Hermione learned how to occlude her mind from invasions. She could control and use her magic without the use of a wand to her parents delight. Both mother and father had wands but told her that they were not necessary to performing magic. Hector had been a diligent teacher. It was as if her father and mother were constantly preparing herself for a score of unknown enemies, a fact which Hermione had tried to tease him about on more than one occasion. Her father's eyes would grow melancholy at these times. "May you never need these skills." He would say solemnly.

Her knowledge of healing potions and salves was a great help to the family business. She could identify scores plants and herbs and gathered them on the outskirts of London. They would often bring lunch and spend hours foraging in the woods and meadows. The Granger's garden was a marvel, providing a bounty of vegetables that they were only too happy to share with their neighbors. Of course, if one were to look too closely at the plants one would see that among the beets, leeks and cabbages were a wealth of plants that were quite different from the normal sort. Only the Grangers were allowed to see the garden.

It was in this way that Hermione grew up. Her dual life did not allow for close friends. Not that any of the other girls sought her out. She was too bookish and voracious for knowledge. To combat her loneliness Hermione threw herself into her studies. Now, at eleven, she could speak several languages fluently, was able to complete mathematical equations that would stump university students, and her understanding of the sciences had her father puffing his chest out with pride. He often brought her to lectures at the universities. Many muggle men hid their smiles when they saw Hector Granger escorting his solemn eyed daughter about. Little did they know that Hermione had already surpassed most of them in her studies.

Of course, the orphanage cared nothing about this. She was asked to shut up, get in line and wait for her share. Not that her share was anything much. Hermione glanced around the room and, seeing that she was alone for once, tapped the faucet with her finger and whispered an incantation. Pleasantly warm water flowed from the worn faucet and she rinsed her face clean. Smoothing her scratchy wool jumper, she tried not to think about the lovely clothes she once owned. She had been loved once but this was her reality now. It did no good to dwell on the past.

The orphans had free time in the afternoon. Most of them spent it running wild in the streets or lounging on their beds. Hermione drifted through the crowd to the sparse library on the bottom floor. Many of the books were cast offs from wealthy homes and did not hold a lot of interest for her. Still, any book was better company than none. It was not visited often by the other orphans, the better books having been stolen and spirited away by those looking to call anything their own. Indeed, when personal inspections were done each month many of the pilfered books would be returned, albeit briefly, to the shelves.

To her delight the room was also empty. She walked about, taking in the titles. Many of them were for younger children but there were a few classics and texts on science and travel. Glancing up she spotted a dusty tome on Albania in the corner of the topmost shelf. Deciding that it could be interesting she grabbed a step stool and stood on her tip toes to reach it.

A jolt of magic burned painfully into her hands. Gasping she snatched her hand back. Breathing heavily at the shock her mind unscrambled to realize what she had just discovered. Magic? Here? How could it be? Her parents had told her that there were no others like them yet here was an object that had been warded.

Hermione concentrated on the book as she had been taught. The magic surrounding it was as strong as her father's had been. Though this force was unfamiliar and dark. It's presence was cloying and very powerful. She investigated further. The barriers in place were complicated but she could break them if she chose. Her mother had taught her well in that regard. Every night they had checked the wards on their property. Hermione had of course wanted to know all her mother was willing to tell her on the subject. It had been a game of theirs. Her mother would ward special treats and if Hermione could break through them she could have them. At one point they had become so complicated that all of them had laughed at her efforts. In the end Hermione figured out each and every one.

She looked around the small library and thought. The dust that had gathered on the book showed that it had not been disturbed for some time. Perhaps it had been forgotten or left behind when the orphan had left to seek their fortune in the world. If this was the case then it would do no harm just to see what was hidden there.

Muttering the proper incantations under her breath she began the task of peeling the layers of protection away. Beads of perspiration appeared on her forehead. Whoever had done this was powerful indeed. Hermione was extremely stubborn by nature and refused to give up. After two hours the bell rang for dinner and she reluctantly abandoned her task. Walking as swiftly as she could to the dining hall she promised herself that she would be back tomorrow.

It took a week for Hermione to finally break through the wards of the book. She had wanted to whoop with joy but had managed to restrain herself as she held the book victoriously in her hand. She hurried over to a broken down armchair in the corner. Almost trembling with excitement she opened the large book at last. Two depressions had been hollowed out of the pages. One held a small diary.

Hermione reached for it immediately, hoping to get to the bottom of the mystery. To her great disappointment the diary was entirely empty. She flipped through every page carefully before admitting defeat. Why go to all the trouble to hide an empty book? Hermione knew that it would not have been so well warded without reason. Placing it to the side she looked at the other object in the book.

A heavy ring slid into her hand. A plain grey stone with an unfamiliar family crest was set in gold. It was not beautiful and Hermione wondered why someone would bother to set such a seemingly insignificant stone into precious metal. It appeared to be a smooth pebble that one might find at the edge of a river. She was about to slide the ring on her finger when she stopped. A wave of dark magic emanated from the ring. With a clatter she let it slip from her fingers to the book below.

This was no ordinary ring. It thrummed with life and when she prodded it with her magic. She could feel a curse upon it. She did the same to the diary and found the same life force housed within it. In comparison the small book felt more innocent somehow. A clatter in the hall warned her that someone was approaching. Quickly she placed the objects in the book and slammed the cover shut just as a group of girls entered the library.

They glared at her suspiciously. As they were a bit older and Hermione knew by now that being caught alone by a group of other children often ended in a physical altercation. Ducking her head, slipped from the room with the large book clutched to her chest and her eyes glued to the floor.

In normal circumstances the orphanage did not allow the children to roam about freely. As the war progressed the rules had lessened. Mrs. Cole, the headmistress seemed to think that as long as they turned up eventually and did their chores it was fine for them to wander at their peril. "The bleeding building can't hold any more of the little buggers. What do they expect me to do? I'm not a bloody miracle worker." She was often heard muttering as she stomped through the teeming halls.

Hermione slipped out of the front door and hurried down the street. She knew by instinct that there was something unnatural about the objects that she had discovered. Even now, there was a malevolent hum of magic emanating from the book. Whoever had made these objects was no friend of hers. Slowing she came to a small grouping of trees at the edge of a park by her old neighborhood. Choosing the largest of the English Oaks she walked to the base of it.

She sidled around the trunk so that she was hidden from view. Her mum would have said to let the matter sit a few days and think on what to do and a solution would come to her. Hermione knew that if she left these unwarded items in the library another child was sure to be hurt by them sooner or later. The park created a sense of calm. Afternoon light filtered through the trees casting a soft green glow all around her. She breathed in the scent of fresh grass and leaf mold and felt more comfort than she had in ages. Her parents often brought her here. She could almost feel their arms around her. Hector and Rose Granger would not want this life for her. She would live and be her best self always, for them.

After a stretch of time she sat up. Her hands began to dig in the soft earth at the base of the tree. When it was deep and wide enough she cast a silent stasis and anti damp charm on the book and carefully placed it into the deep black soil. Patting the earth back on to if it, she moved some dry leaves over it to keep it hidden. She sat back to admire her work and then quirked her head, deep in thought. At last, she decided to break her parents rule about no magic in public and placed a series of wards and a notice me not charm over the lot of it. That would have to do until she could figure out what could be done.

Scurrying back to the orphanage Hermione felt her mind being lifted out of the fog of despair that had plagued her since her parent's deaths. She vowed to not forget who she was and what she had come from. She was not just any child. A way out of the orphanage would present itself to her and she promised to meet it when it did. Her small fists clenched by her sides. She was tired, hungry and alone in this world. It had not gone past her notice to see how little power she actually possessed in this war torn place. It would not always be so. She would make sure of it.

That night at dinner Hermione noticed a tall teenaged boy slide into the hall with an elegance and demeanor not often seen among the throng of children. Angelic dark eyes peered out from between perfectly symmetrical brows. Full lips pouted from underneath a straight, chiseled nose. He was quite the most beautiful person she had ever seen.

He walked, graceful and sinuous as a cat to sit at the table where Mary Christine (the undisputed prettiest girl at the orphanage) sat. He stared at her until she lifted her bright blue eyes to his and then, blushing, looked away again.

Hermione turned to the girl on her right. Her name was Lulu and that she'd been living at Wool's for about eight years. Lulu seemed pleasant and had been kind enough to teach Hermione a thing or two about surviving when she'd first arrived. They often took meals together but both girls preferred their solitude. "Who's that then?" She asked, jutting her chin in Tom's direction.

Lulu looked up and her large eyes widened in fear and her gaze skittered away again. "That's Tom Riddle." She told her. "You'd want to be staying away from him."

"What? Why's that?" Hermione was intrigued.

The other girl shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "Funny things happen to those who get to close to him. Nothing so anyone can prove it was him but something's just not right."

"Funny how?" She wanted to know.

Lulu only shook her head as if afraid to speak. "He goes to some private school and comes back for the holidays." She offered instead. "This'll be his last summer here and I'm glad of it." Hermione opened her mouth to speak again but Lulu hushed her. "I don't want to talk about him anymore, don't want to catch his attention and if y'know what's good for you then you don't either."

Hermione nodded and the finished their sparse meal in silence. Try as she might, her eyes kept sliding to the dark haired boy. She noted that many other children, mostly the new ones had the same reaction. The children who had been there longer made a point of avoiding the spot where he sat. Perhaps he had only been misunderstood. Hermione could relate to that, her peers had never welcomed her. If this Tom Riddle was smart enough to get himself accepted into a fancy private school then it might be jealousy fueling the rumors. "Curiouser and curiouser." She thought to herself.