Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.


Hermione stared forward at Blaise, her shallow breaths tickling her lips as they entered the air. She had been in this position for the better part of an hour, as Blaise painted her a picture of legend, generational magic, and wizard history. A picture in which she was now the focal point.

And it was utterly absurd.

"Blaise," she breathed out, frowning. "You…you can't honestly believe this."

"I do, Hermione," he replied, sitting up straighter, eyes focused on her reaction. "Like I said, you didn't grow up in this world, you never heard the rumours or the whispers, especially anytime someone brought up Theo's aunt and uncle. There are secrets everywhere, and you weren't there to hear them.

"You didn't grow up in this world," he repeated, leaning forward a little bit. "But you should have."

Hermione's heart was pounding, the movement of blood echoing through her head, and reaching the furthest points of her body; fingers and toes.

Blood. The thing for which she had been belittled and bullied at school, and for which her life was threatened daily in a war. Her normal, muggleborn blood. Her muddy blood.

She had heard the insult enough that it barely affected her anymore, in comparison to her schoolyard days. Grey eyes meeting hers as the word was thrown her way for the first time, causing an uproar from the Gryffindor Quidditch team, that fateful day in second year.

The same grey eyes that had made love to her.

"My parents," she whispered. Her eyes snapped up to meet Blaise's once more. "So are you arguing that my parents were just…pretending to be muggles. They…they were dentists. Why would they do that? Why would anyone do that?"

Blaise shook his head. "I don't think your parents pretended to be muggles. I think your mum did."

Hermione had no response.

"Theo's aunt Celia," Blaise muttered. "I saw pictures of her once. I was at Theo's during the break, and we were dicking around in the library at the Nott manor. We knocked a box off a shelf, and all these photos spilled out. And it was her, 'Mione. Her and Tiberius Nott, Theo's uncle. And in their arms, a small baby."

Hermione's heart pounded.

"Her eyes were just likes yours now, piercing green," Blaise whispered, his mind in a different place. "And her hair, it would have put your bush to shame. Theo and I tried to pick up the photos, but Nott Sr walked in and caught us. He just started screaming. Him and his brother were really close, and he didn't like to be reminded of Tiberius' death in the first wizarding war.

"Tiberius had to be your father," Blaise continued. "He died at Voldemort's hand. But Celia, merlin Hermione, she was smart. She must've gotten out with you. Disguised herself in the muggle world, remarried."

Hermione shook her head furiously. "That can't be true, Blaise. I had a father my entire life. From when I was a kid…he would take me to the muggle library in our town, just the two of us. We'd go on walks in the parks. Every year he would pick me up at King's Cross after school was over, and he was always so excited to hear about the year, and spells, and adventures. My father was a muggle. He only died last year. And he certainly wasn't a Nott."

"I'm not saying you didn't have a father, 'Mione," Blaise said softly. "I'm just saying he was not your biological parent."

A beat of silence followed his statement.

She was still shaking her head. "It just doesn't make sense, Blaise. You're telling me that my entire life has been a lie, that my mum and dad were wizards, that every memory I have from my childhood…going to muggle school, playing in the park with my dad, my mom's cooking, all those things are just…false?"

"They're not false," he replied. "They happened, and every single one of your memories are real. All I'm saying is that in another timeline, without the first wizarding war, without the target on your family's back, well, you would have different childhood memories."

"Target," she repeated, the word sticking with her. "I'm a target, Blaise, because I'm Harry Potter's best friend and a muggleborn. I'm a target because I've chosen to fight in this war at the risk of my own death. I will admit I'm a target, but because of autonomy, action, and prejudice, not because I'm some pureblood heiress."

"You are Harry Potter's best friend," Blaise nodded. "But you're also a Le Fay. Both those things make you targets, 'Mione. However, the reason for your targeting changes."

"But there were photos!" she cried out, losing it for a second. "All over my house when I was a kid. Photos from when my parents were in Uni together in the 70s, and their wedding day, and my mum being pregnant with me, in my father's arms. How could Celia have created a whole new life?"

"How can you do anything that you do, 'Mione? Magic. Powewrful magic. Celia had the same power that you have, I reckon she could've done anything."

"Except save her own husband, by your argument," Hermione murmured. "In your account, she let him die."

"She didn't let him die, Hermione," Blaise said. "Tiberius was his own man, he knew what he was up against. And besides, magic doesn't solve everything. We can't stop death."

"I did," she retorted. "I stopped death. You saw me."

"Yes," Blaise murmured thoughtfully, stroking his chin. "So you did."

"And besides," Hermione snapped. "My mother's name was Helen, not Celia."

Blaise appraised her for a minute. Suddenly he stood up.

"Hermione," he said, his voice catching a bit. "Those photos, the ones you just mentioned. Do you have any here?"

She frowned but nodded. She had saved a photo album from her parents' burnt out home after their murders. It lived under her bed in Grimmauld Place.

"Take me to it," Blaise nearly ordered.

Despite having serious reservations, she agreed, tired after he slight outburst. Following Blaise from the room, they both headed to the bedroom Hermione shared with Ginny. The latter was still occupied with the prisoners saved from the Malfoy Summer Home.

They reached the door and entered. Hermione kneeled down and reached under her bed, fingers clawing at nothingness until they found the rough spine of her family's photo album. She pulled it out, along with several dust bunnies.

Wiping away some of the dust on the cover, the golden script Granger Family appeared. She turned back towards Blaise.

"What are you looking for?" she asked.

He reached down and lifted the album, before opening it and beginning to skim the pages.

After a second, he let out a large breath that she hadn't even realized he had been holding.

"Hermione," he breathed. "Have any of the older order members ever met your mother?"

She shook her head. "They were supposed to once, back in second or third year. My parents had come to Diagon Alley with me and we were going to meet Mr. and Mrs. Weasley for lunch, but then…" she trailed off, blinking quickly as a thought invaded her mind.

"Then what?" Blaise prodded.

"Then," Hermione continued, her eyes glazed over as she took in the memory. "Then my mother said that she wasn't feeling well and had to cancel. Only my father came. When we got back to the hotel, my mother said…she said that she felt better, and that it must've been a fluke."

Blaise stared at her. "No one in the magical world has ever met your mother?"

Hermione shook her head, brow furrowed.

"Have they ever seen her, even a picture?"

Hermione shook her head again. "No, never. Even when they died…they were too burned to recognize their faces." She held back a sob.

"Hermione," Blaise whispered, before kneeling down next to her. She hadn't even realized she was still on the ground.

Blaise took a picture out of the book and showed it to her. It was a picture of her mother, taken one day at the lake by their house. She was laughing, her wide smile captivating. Even though it was a muggle photo, her eyes seemed to twinkle and stare right into her soul.

Her piercing green eyes. Hermione's breath stopped.

She knew those eyes. They had been staring at her in the mirror every day for a month.

She hadn't opened that photo album in a while. In her memory, her mom's eyes were softer, different somehow. They were distorted by grief and time.

But memory was fallible.

In this photo, they were unmistakable.

"Is this your mum?" Blaise asked, before Hermione managed a small nod.

"'Mione, this woman is the spitting image of Celia Nott."

Hermione stared at her mother in the photo. Her mother stared back, with those green eyes reaching Hermione's soul. And for some reason, though her head was pounding, and her world was spinning, she felt calm.

As if her mother was right there next to her, and not just a ghost in a picture.

The bloodline must survive.

She had been hearing the words in her head for weeks now, but every time, it was just a disembodied voice.

However this time, the voice of her dead mother rang through her ears.

Telling her what she needed to know.

Protecting her from beyond the grave.

Pointing her towards survival.

And then, it clicked.

She tried to calm her breathing, and to her surprise, it was easy. In the weeks prior, she had absolutely lost it more than once, with her mark taking the lead and overloading her body to the brink. Those overloads had been caused by a multitude of things; annoyance at Harry and Ron, frustration at being sidelined, stressful conversations.

Yet now, in a conversation that caused her entire universe to shift, she felt…fine. Her breathing stayed steady, her blood continued to move through her veins.

Blaise's words, if true, had just shifted the world beneath her feet. As if the foundations on which she had built her life had cracked, as if she had fallen through the floor.

But she didn't feel that way at all.

Yes, the foundations had shifted and the world she could see looked different than before.

She felt like she was looking through a muggle camera and had realized that the picture was slightly blurry. Blaise had adjusted the dials just an inch, and when she looked back, yes, the picture looked different.

But it didn't look wrong. It looked sharper, clearer.

As if this was what she should have been seeing all along.

"That's why the Death Eaters wanted me to stay with them," she murmured, tapping her fingers on her leg. "Because I'm…because I'm pureblood."

"Not just pureblood, Hermione," Blaise said. "You are the only living descendant of Morganna le Fay. Pureblood supremacy in the wizarding world is always about how pure you are. And your blood, 'Mione, it's made of magic and nothing else. You're the top of the pyramid. I would bet you have much magic in your veins than the Dark Lord himself."

"Well, of course, he's a half-blood, remember?"

Blaise shrugged. "You know what I mean."

She did. She looked down at the mark on her wrist and frowned. It had stayed gold since her pronouncement to the Order that she was going to rescue Draco, but now, it was shimmering. It looked the way heatwaves did over pavement on a hot summer's day when she was a kid, driving down back roads with her parents.

Her beautiful, loving, dead parents. Hermione's eyes went back to the photo of her mother.

"How could it all have just been a lie?" she wondered, her voice catching slightly.

Blaise shook his head. "It wasn't a lie, Hermione. It was protection. Your mother saved your life and gave you a brilliant childhood full of love."

"How would you know?" she said, nothing but calm in her voice.

"Because of the way you're looking at that photo," Blaise replied promptly.

"She did," Hermione muttered. "My dad did too."

Blaise wrapped his arm around her shoulders and gave her a small hug. It caused the same reaction as before.

Sensing her tense and frozen body, Blaise let go.

"The mark on your wrist," Blaise started again, leaning back on his heels. "It's called the Mark of Morganna. It represents the Le Fay family."

"Why did it only just appear?" Hermione asked, absentmindedly rubbing it with her mark.

Blaise sighed. "I don't know, 'Mione. The Le Fays, this is old, powerful magic. And with anything old and powerful, your family wanted to keep it as secret as possible. Everything I've told you has been picked up over years, from rumours and whispers at family events and pureblood parties. At least from what I've gathered, it wasn't common knowledge what Celia's heritage was. I only know because Theo's one of my best mates. You spend enough time with a bloke and his family, you learn the good stuff."

She raised an eyebrow. "So not every pureblood or wizard would know about the Le Fays?"

Blaise shook his head. "I doubt it. Every world has its secrets. The wizarding is no exception."

She paused.

"Do you think Draco knew?"

The hesitation before Blaise's answer was so slight that she would have missed it if she hadn't been paying attention.

But she was paying attention. And she didn't miss it.

"I don't know," Blaise answered smoothly. "He was just as close with Theo as I was, and no family is more into Wizarding royalty than the Malfoys, so it's possible."

"Royalty?" she raised and eyebrow. "Is there even such thing in the wizarding world?"

"There is now," Blaise whispered. "Morganna Le Fay, opposite Merlin, is considered one of the purest witches in history. She is the Original Witch. Her magic is said to have flown straight from the Creator, or whoever put that power on earth. And she passed it on through kin for over fifteen hundred years, mother to daughter, to get us to here, Hermione. To get us to you.

"So is there royalty? I can't say for sure, but if there is, it's you Princess."

Blaise's voice whispered the final word, and Hermione was trembling as he said it. It reminded her of a different moment, and a different Slytherin whispering the word as she laid her body before him for the first time.

My beautiful princess.

Draco's words from her memory bounced around her mind as she felt her pulse quicken. It could have been a coincidence.

But Hermione had seen and lost too much to believe in mere coincidences. She closed her eyes and tried to breathe.

Another memory flashed behind her eyelids. The same man, the same haunting, wonderful, wretched man on top of her, pounding into her as she cried, and squirmed, and came undone in his arms.

Morganna, Hermione! He had cried, burying his face in her neck, as he loved her in a way no man had ever.

"He knew," Hermione whispered.

Blaise raised an eyebrow. "Who?"

"Draco," she whispered, the sound of his name sending a knife through her heart. "He called me Morganna once."

To say Blaise looked shocked would be an understatement.

"Fucking moron," Blaise muttered. He saw her reaction, and his face softened.

"Look, Hermione. Just because he knew doesn't mean anything. I knew and I didn't tell you for good reason, it could be the same with him."

"He took my magic," she muttered.

Blaise shook his head. "No, Hermione. You gave it to him."

Another beat of silence.

"Look, maybe the bastard hasn't been truthful," Blaise conceded. "But that doesn't mean that he was trying to harm you or trick you or whatever the fuck. Hermione, I've known Draco for a really long time. I've hated him for years and been his best friend for the same amount of time. He's a complicated guy, but I have never seen him look at a woman the way he looks at you."

Draco's eyes as their bodies connected was burned into her mind.

"And the only way you'll ever be able to yell at the man," Blaise pointed out. "Is if we get the infernal twat back from captivity."

Hermione nodded, and forced herself to her feet. Something still felt off, and her mark was tingling again. But as Blaise led her from the room, she forced her brain into action.

"We need to go to the others," she muttered, taking the photograph of her mother that Blaise was still holding. Blaise raised an eyebrow but didn't question her decision.

The two walked downstairs and back into the kitchen. The group had diminished substantially, and now it was Mad-Eye, Remus, and Kinglsey, all staring at a map on the table. On their entrance, Remus looked up and met her eyes.

"Hermione? Blaise?" he asked, immediately sensing the tension in their bodies. "What's wrong?"

Hermione's arm was shaking as she reached out and dropped the photograph in front of the three men. "Do you know who this is?"

Her voice was shaking too.

Remus' eyebrows pinched thoughtfully, but it was Kingsley who spoke, picking up the photograph to examine it more closely.

"Is this not Tiberius Nott's wife?" he asked in in low voice. "She died in the first wizarding war."

"That's who it is," Remus said, frowning slightly. "She went to Hogwarts around the same time I did, though she was a few years above."

"Celia," Mad-Eye said gruffly, his magical eye staring directly at Hermione. "That was her name."

Remus looked up. "Why do you have this photo, Hermione?"

She took a deep breath. "It's mine, it's from my family photo album."

Silence overtook the room.

"Hermione," Remus said. "Why on earth would this photo be in your family photo album?"

"It's a photo of my mother," Hermione forced out, feeling the mark tingle again.

"No, Hermione," Kingsley interrupted. "This is a photo of Celia Nott."

Hermione tried to push the words out of her mouth but found that she couldn't. Was it that it didn't feel real yet? She had accepted Blaise's explanation, it had clicked in her mind, but was she not ready to change her identity, her heritage, her entire being by answering the query in front of her?

Who would ever be ready for that.

She turned to Blaise, her eyes begging for reprieve. Not just from the question, but from the whole situation. The winds of change were quickly transforming into a hurricane.

And here she stood, for a few more glorious seconds, in the calm of the eye.

Blaise spoke. "It is a photo of Celia Nott. That's the entire point."

Hermione watched as realization dawned on the faces of her fellow Order Members. After a few moments, Remus spoke.

"Merlin," he whispered.

Hermione sighed, accepting the hurricane as it hit.

"No Remus. Morganna."


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