I need you, but they say I'll never know you.

Intro:

Hermione is sent to live with the Grangers, a squib couple loyal to Albus, with no knowledge that she isn't their child. Entering the magical world she's manipulated into friendship with the boy who lived. Though all her life she experienced intense feelings she could not explain - as if she were experiencing the feelings of another. With no explanation forthcoming from her parents that seem to know more than they let on Hermione learns to live with it. What happens when by her fifth year truths are revealed and loyalties are tested.

Throw in a veela mate who is as possessive as she is beautiful then Hermione is in for the ride of her life.

note: hi so for the past week or so I haven't been able to get this idea out of my head. I drew up a rough plan just to make sure I had captured the idea to come back to once I had finished some of my other stories off but unfortunately this wouldn't leave me alone so I did what any writer would and I wrote. This is a little different to my usual and it is a dark!hermione fic so please be patient with me while I tinker with this. But let me know what you all think all my love nell xoxo

MMBB.FDGH.MMBB.FDHG.MMBB.HDFG.MMBB.FDHG.

The brown haired girl stumbled slightly as she was suddenly hit with the intense feeling of utter hopelessness, or that was the closest word she could use to describe the feeling that so abruptly coursed through her, her heart squeezing painfully as her stomach flipped in response. She caught herself quickly, combing her fingers through the wild curly locks that hung haphazardly down past her shoulders. Hurrying herself to catch up with her two friends Ron and Harry. Not that they'd noticed she had fallen behind.

Not that they ever noticed. Or cared.

She shook her head, dispelling the intrusive thoughts before they could spiral any more than they had begun too. She was well aware that her 'friends' only cared when it suited them. They only paid interest to her when they needed her. Or more so when they needed her brain. It had always been this way, for as long as she had been a part of the magical world. Something that had been difficult to swallow to start with.

At the tender age of eleven she had been sorted into a house she knew she didn't belong in and forced to make friends with Harry Potter and his insufferable friend Ronald Weasley. She had no choice in the matter but she didn't find that out till recently. Until she started questioning everything she thought she knew when things stopped adding up. Not that it ever had, she just hadn't cared to notice, afraid of what she'd find.

But last year had changed that, during the triwizard tournament. Or more specifically, it was two individual yet equally prominent events last year that forced the young muggle-born into re-evaluating her entire thought process and life.

The first was at the very beginning of her fourth year upon meeting the rival schools that were in attendance for the Tri-wizard tournament. She had thought nothing of it at first, passing it off as another lapse in judgement of the ever incompetent ministry. However her opinion soon changed when she came face to face with one French witch named Fleur Delacour, daughter of the current leader of the Veela clans.

Fleur was tall, slender and had the most amazing long golden mane of hair Hermione had ever seen and she wanted nothing more than too be able to run her fingers through the witches hair and those oceanic eyes made her feel like she could drown. The way the blonde smirked at her as she passed had Hermione believing the witch knew exactly what she was feeling and that alone infuriated the brunette, not at all understanding where her sudden feelings had come from.

She wanted to blame it on the unexplainable feelings she had experienced all her life. The ones she knew weren't hers but no matter how much she tried to deny it, and oh she had tried the full year Fleur was in attendance at Hogwarts, she knew she couldn't. With each passing confrontation with the infuriatingly attractive blonde, each time they bumped into one another, each glance and knowing smirk. It became clear. It was undeniably her and so began the beginning of her doubts about the world around her.

Growing up she had been taught to believe in her parents values. She was a growing woman and one day she would marry a man and have children, that was her place in life no matter how much she inwardly recoiled at such a motion. Never understanding exactly why she felt so repulsed by their ideals until Fleur. Until that witch, not even entering the magical world where love became a spectrum that was more widely excepted and explored had shaken her mother and fathers teachings. Fleur Delacour had though.

Irrevocably.

Over the course of the year she read, about wizarding traditions when it came to marriage and children. Learning how it had been normal for all gendered couples, whatever form they took, to marry and have children for as long as magical history had recorded. Especially among the pureblood families. She saw how historically those that apposed such notions were predominantly muggle-born and for some reason that infuriated her because how dare anyone come into a culture they didn't understand and demand they change, tainting such a magnificent world with their prejudice.

It had been a scary thought, one she found herself having more and more as she dived deeper into the divide between blood status and the brunette couldn't help but know if anyone ever found out about her views she would be labelled an outcast. Already a mudblood to the purebloods she wouldn't even have a place with the 'muggle loving' side of the magical world.

So she had done the one thing she had become an expert at and she hid. She hid behind her books, hid behind Harry Potter and what being his friend meant for her. Their group being dubbed the golden trio. All the while Hermione secretly hid the feelings of dark bitterness that had slowly seeped into her heart at not only her own heritage but also the doubt and mistrust she was growing for their headmaster Albus Dumbledore.

She felt it was both a curse and a blessing, her newly discovered doubt. It had her scrutinising everything, analysing every encounter but remaining unscrutinised herself.

It made instances like her sorting in first year shine in a new light when the sorting hat had began to murmur about her Heritage and meaning she was a great candidate for Slytherin only to abruptly stop and shout Gryffindor without explanation. The smile she interpreted as kind and grandfatherly from Dumbledore at the time now showed the barely disguised look of calculated satisfaction.

The troll, an unfortunate accident then, became the understanding that someone had deliberately let it in via the dungeon knowing Hermione was in the bathrooms closest to that area. Having fled there when the teasing from Ron about her intelligence had become too much for her. She remembers the look of glee on their headmasters face the morning after when Ronald and Harry had suddenly become best friends with her, looking back with new understanding she knew what she previously though was just his happiness at her finally finding friends was in fact a carefully constructed plan coming together.

The more she had delved into the past four years the more she was certain things weren't as they seemed, that she was an unknowing participant in some game, the rules of which only Albus and a select few were apparently privy too. Yet she knew she couldn't do anything about it. She was the only one she knew that felt the way she did, to reveal what she knew, what she had worked out would only ostracise her. She'd be even more of an outcast than she already was.

The second event to happen that caused her already questioning mind to solidify her suspicions. Harry Potters name coming out of the Goblet of Fire, which should have been impossible considering Dumbledore had spelled it to ensure that no one under the age of seventeen could enter. Meaning it had to have been one of the professors or the events Organisers (the ministry) that had placed his name in the cup. From this she quickly realised that Professor Moody was extremely suspicious. He didn't act like the Moody she remembered meeting in the summer while at the Burrow. The imposters act was similar, so similar she knew those less observant than her which was the majority of society in her eyes would miss the oddities.

Hermione though, she had spotted it, the way this imposter because she knew it couldn't actually be Moody standing in front of them teaching and encouraging them to practice the unforgivable curses, the way he grew excited when talking about dark magic, the way he had stumbled more than once when referring to the Dark Lord as anything other than the dark lord. The way the man paid far too much attention to Harry and the way he constantly had to sip from the silver flask he always carried in his left hand side pocket of his robes, while shifting nervously as if to make sure no one was paying him any attention when he did so.

In a momentary lapse of judgement Hermione had brought her concerns to the head master, but upon realising Dumbledore would do absolutely nothing in regards to her concerns she decided not to even attempt to interfere. So instead she had launched herself into her course work and helping Harry prepare for each task. Granted not much could help the entirely too full of himself wizard at this point but she knew she was expected to help him and she would never have it said that she didn't give her all to her given tasks.

While playing dutiful muggle-born best friend to the boy who lived that year, Hermione simply sat back and observed all the absolutely, glaringly obvious manipulations around her. Though it wasn't really all of that she considered the solidification of her suspicion but the moment Harry returned to centre stage at the very end of the tournament clutching Cedric Diggorys lifeless body, she knew. Undeniably knew things weren't what they said for two distinct reasons.

The first being that bracing herself for the expected fear in response to Harry's frantic shouts of "he's back, Voldemort is back" she was instead filled with something akin to glee for the first time. She felt hopeful almost and she knew that was wrong. As a muggle-born she knew she should fear the rise of the one wizard who preached purification of the Wizarding world. A purification that would ultimately mean her death.

And secondly at that very moment, she felt those feelings that belonged to the other that had followed her, her entire life surge forward, excitement filling her veins, though for the first time ever the connection she had with this person, whomever they were. Burst forth and strengthened and suddenly she wasn't alone in her head anymore. A female voice that felt so familiar and soothing yet completely foreign filtered through her mind. Jarring the young witch frightfully. Having not expected the intrusion.

The words spoken though, she knew, would change her life completely. A change that she could only welcome.

Now here she was, only the second week after the beginning of a new term and a new year, pushing down her growing bitterness at her friends apparent lack of regard for her as the strange woman's words rang in her head.

She hadn't caught much of what the woman had been trying to say, though what she could work out was that the woman was pleading for help and cursing Albus Dumbledore. It made Hermione relieved when she had heard the woman, the confirmation that there was someone on the other end of those strange feelings she had felt her entire life soothed her. Confirming for the first time that she wasn't just imagining it all. All the sleepless nights she experienced growing up filled with fear not her own, the bouts of anger and longing all making sense when she heard the woman's voice, confirming her theory that she was linked to someone somehow. Something she was determined this year to look into more.

She wanted to figure out who the woman was, not having heard her voice again since the night Voldemort returned. She had waited patiently, always mindful of listening for the woman but she had been silent. Her feelings filtering through to Hermione a little less consistently than they had previously.

She had vowed that between looking to avoid Professor Umbridge the new teacher of defence against the dark arts the ministry had sent to Hogwarts, who was already showing an intense dislike of muggleborn students, particularly her and helping to keep Harry alive as she was expected to do she would read up all she could on the strange link she shared with the mystery woman and continue to conceal herself from the now ever present disgust she carried for the boy who lived, his annoying red headed friend and their headmaster.

She didn't know what she'd find only that she knew she had to find the answers to her many questions and couldn't help but believe this link would be her key to figuring everything out. In the mean time she would carry on as normal and hope she could keep herself in check enough not to reveal just how she was truly feeling.

"Oi Hermione" she sighed, reluctantly speeding up more to catch up with the idiotic due as she had come to think of them now.

"Yes Harry?" She replied, politely pushing down the nausea she felt when Ron openly began staring at her chest as she approached them.

"We were talking about the Transfiguration homework, old McGonagall set us. It's due tomorrow but we've got no clue mate. You'll help us won't you?" And merlin knew just how difficult it was for Hermione to swallow her automatic response of 'do it yourself you narcissistic fool' and smile at the lazy ass of a boy, that homework had been given over a week a go and he had no excuse not to have even done some of it.

"Of course I will, shall we meet in the library after dinner, I can help you do it then. Both of you." She replied, as politely as she could, hoping they didn't catch her slight eye roll or the frustration in her voice.

"Sure, thanks Hermione" and without another word both boys turned and hurried down the corridor, not sparing her another glance in the slightest.

She sighed. This was going to be a long year.