a/n: I know many of you thought I'm going to abandon this- but trust me, I won't. I love this fic of mine too much. Thanks to each one of you who has been reading and patiently waiting. Keeping my fingers crossed that the next one doesn't take so long.

Most importantly, a huge thanks to callieskye for making this version so error-free. I love that girl!

Chapter 17: Truth about the Truth

Thomas Granger woke up to the sound of someone moving around in the kitchen in the wee hours of Wednesday morning. An early riser himself, he picked up his bedside clock to find that it was barely five am. For a while, he lay still, his fogged brain conjuring images of his wife whipping up breakfast but as the last traces of sleep faded, he jolted up in worry...

Opening the door of his bedroom, he moved into the corridor, wondering to himself if he ought to have brought along his golf club just in case it was an intruder, but instinct told him that any intruder would have better things to do than ransack the kitchen while making enough noise to raise the occupants of the house.

As he entered the kitchen, a familiar head of curls greeted him. Standing stunned at the door, he quietly pondered how much his daughter's physical frame resembled her mother's during her youth. Those curls, however, were the same shade of brown as his.

"Sweetheart, what are you doing here so early in the morning?" he asked softly as he walked over to the oven. Hermione, he noticed, didn't turn at his voice, instead, she flipped some pancakes onto a plate. Hermione had always had a spare key to their home. Thomas knew that although she could, she never magicked her way into the house on principle.

She turned to him only after there was a heaping stack on the plate and Thomas immediately noticed the bloodshot eyes and her general dishevelled appearance. He rushed forward and pulled her into his arms, his worry mounting as her muffled sobs melted into his chest.

His first thought was Jane, but he had specifically asked the hospital to reach out to him with any changes and he held onto that hope as he guided his sobbing child to a chair and poured her a glass of water.

Hermione shook her head denying the drink and buried her face in her palms as her sobs grew louder. He briefly remembered the five-year-old who would rush into his arms, big brown eyes overflowing while she held a book in her tiny arms. Hermione had grown into a strong woman and sometimes he missed the little one who needed his strength. Where had the years gone? When had she grown up so much? And somehow, despite the years, she was still his little one.

"What happened, honey?" he cooed softly, pulling his chair close to hers and brushing the top of her head only to have his daughter fling her arms around him and break down uncontrollably. He couldn't even make out the words she mumbled into his chest.

Deciding that it was best to let her get the anguish out of her system, he held onto her, rubbing soothing circles on her back and occasionally planting soft kisses on her forehead just like he used to when she was little.

...

It took a long time for Hermione to settle down.

Guilt had driven away sleep. She had held on only until the sky began to colour in the east and then she had Apparated down. Using magic felt like an abomination. She hated every bit of magic in her. Blood- magic had made her a murderer. It had killed her unborn sibling, brought her mother to death's door much ahead of time; magic had destroyed the life her parents had dreamt of.

When her sobs finally settled and she had no more tears left to shed, she croaked out one single question at her father. "Why Dad? Why didn't you tell me?"

...

Thomas stared at the tear-stained, anguished face of his daughter, praying that she wasn't referring to what he feared she was. "What didn't I tell you, dear?" he asked haltingly.

"That I murdered my sibling, Dad! It was me who put Mum in the situation she is today! It was me all the time!" she cried out, fresh tears pouring out again.

"Who told you?" he asked her, horrified, and noticed the way Hermione's eyes met his as if she could see the truth in them, as if her last hope was shattering. And then she looked away, her shoulders slumped in shame.

"It's true then, isn't it Dad?" she asked, voice choking.

"Who told you?" he asked, fury rising inside him. For over twenty years, he and Jane had kept the secret safe because he knew how Hermione would react to the news, how much it would break her.

"No one," she replied, voice still a bare whisper. "I found the old Ministry reports while working on a case," she added slowly. "I was hoping-" She choked back a sob before meeting his eyes again. "Why didn't you tell me, Dad?" she asked again, anger and hurt marking her words.

He placed his palms on hers, surprised to see how wrinkled his skin was and how her's weren't as tiny as he remembered. "Because you had nothing to do with it, honey. Nothing," he replied firmly.

She let out an impatient sound, pulled her hands away and wiped under her eyes furiously.

"You are wrong," she replied, choking back a sob, "I had everything to do with it! I magicked myself out, Mum lost control of the car because of me, the-the baby died because of me!" she screamed while her words muffled with tears before she sniffed loudly and swiped her fingers across her cheek again. "Mum lost the chance to be a mother ever again because of me," she added softly but fiercely. "Her genetic Hemochromatosis might not have triggered at all if it wasn't for that accident," she exclaimed, her voice getting louder and tearier. "It was all ME! Me and my MAGIC!" she said banging her fists on her thighs as she stood up before she broke down again and collapsed onto her knees and laying her head on his lap. "I hate Magic," she said a while later as she looked up at him with her eyes overflowing. "I hate that I was born a witch, Dad! Don't you hate it too?" she asked.

Thomas sighed, missing Jane. She would know what to do. Brushing her curls away from her face with one hand, he rubbed her back tenderly with the other. "This is exactly why we didn't tell you," he said quietly. "We knew you would blame yourself, although it wasn't your fault."

He put up a hand to stop her from blurting out a brilliant counter-argument, smiling to himself at how much he could see both himself and his wife in her.

"There's so much you don't know, honey," he stated softly. "Your mother had a lot of complications during your birth," he added, remembering the days of their struggle. "In fact, the doctor had prepared us that your mother might not make it to term. And this wasn't even the first time," he confessed, "Your mother had suffered a couple of miscarriages before we finally had you," he exhaled tiredly. "I never wanted Jane to risk her life over and over again but she wanted kids so much, and she wanted many," he smiled sadly. "I had given up hope but then, you arrived," he smiled broadly through his tears, "You survived!" he exclaimed, cupping her face. "Miraculously you survived." He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Even if she had not had that accident, there was a strong possibility that the second baby would still not have made it."

"But there was still a chance that the little one would have, Dad! I did, didn't I?" she countered, looking up at him.

"No," he replied firmly. "I know the baby wouldn't. Don't you get it, sweetheart? You survived because of the magic in your blood! That saved you. It was your magic that ensured that Jane at least had one child to call her 'Mom'! It was the magic in your veins that made us parents!" he exclaimed. "How can we hate magic when it gave us our most prized treasure?" Hermione buried her face in his lap and he brushed her hair tenderly as he continued. "The second baby wouldn't have survived because I'm sure he or she was a normal- a Muggle, yeah?"

….

She bleakly remembered the little note in the file that had marked the unborn baby as a Muggle too.

"How did you know I magicked myself out?" she asked at last.

"We didn't," her father replied. "We thought you managed to open the lock somehow. Although we did often wonder how- it was too complex. But we were so thankful that nothing happened to you. We only realized the truth after your Professor Magonagall visited us with your Hogwarts letter."

"I still can't imagine how you let me go study magic, Dad…"

"Silly girl," said her father fondly "It was your destiny, my child, it's who you are," he insisted fondly. "And we are so proud of you for all that you have done and achieved."

"Still, there was so much Mum would have dreamt for her children, didn't she? How much have I been able to fulfil?" she asked remembering how she spent the whole year at school, and then most of the summers at the Burrow. And for two whole years, she hadn't even seen them when they were forced into hiding. Even now, she was so busy with her work and life that she visited only once a week.

"Yes, dream we did," her father said, breaking her musing. "Your Mum more than I," he added with a wistful smile. "She wanted to take you shopping for your graduation, and see you go out on your prom night with someone special."

None of which she got to see. Hermione thought sadly and her father continued.

"And she wants to see you walk down the aisle, she wants to see me give you away," he said softly, and Hermione looked up at those eyes and resolve emerged in her own.

Her father, however, noted it immediately.

Hermione Jean Granger," said the old man sternly. "Don't jump into decisions based on emotions. You mother and I trust you, and we know that you'll make the correct choice about your life partner. But getting married is a big decision, you should be ready for it."

"Dad, even I want to settle down," she said softly, it was strange discussing this with her father and not her mom, "I want to have a family too," she confessed, pushing away the image of a freckled face as she made up her mind. "Maybe soon…" she finished somewhat abruptly.

She quietly pondered telling him about Draco but couldn't gather enough courage to do it. After all, he only knew of Draco Malfoy as the bully who troubled her all through her school years, and whose father was a Death Eater. All he knew was that Malfoys supported Lord Voldemort. And then there was the conflict in her heart...Not yet, she decided quietly. That part of her life would require an enormous amount of explanations.

"I want to make one of her wishes come true, Dad," she said in a very quiet voice.