Shattered Dreams
By Jaydee LaFaye
The plot and any new spells, characters, and magical devices all belong to me. The rest is Rowling's.
Chapter One
At ten o' clock in the morning, Hermione Granger was awakened by a persistent tapping on her window. Her eyes widened when she recognized Pigwidgeon, Ron Weasley's tiny owl, and she hastily got out of bed and let it in. Crookshanks eyed it warily as it nipped Hermione's fingers in an affectionate manner and bounced around the room like a berserk Snitch.
"Settle down, Pig," Hermione ordered. At last it stopped moving and perched on the table, holding out its leg so Hermione could remove the letter tied to it. She smiled at the familiar sight of Ron's messy handwriting.
Dear Hermione,
Harry's staying with us now. Dumbledore reckons it's safer that way. The Ministry has cast protection spells around the house. Mum and Dad send their love and we all hope you're okay.
Hell of a night, wasn't it? Good thing we managed to escape! Others weren't so lucky, though… the death toll's still rising.
Let us know if you have any problems, all right? We miss you.
Love,
Ron
Hermione placed the letter on her desk, her heart heavy with mixed emotions. She was glad to have heard from her best friends and to know that they were safe, but…
The death toll's still rising. She knew what night Ron was referring to. The night Voldemort and his Death Eaters had attacked Hogwarts and set fire to Gryffindor Tower. The night before graduation. The night everyone's lives had drastically changed. She grasped the edge of the table to steady herself as bitter memories came back to her in an overwhelming flood.
Downstairs she could hear voices. They didn't sound like her parents'… Visitors? Hermione closed the window, changed into jeans and a clean red shirt and dragged a comb through her bushy hair. "Stay here for a while, Pig," she told the owl. "I'm going to write back to Ron, but first I'll go downstairs, okay?" She had no idea whether Pig could understand her or not, but it hooted in a way that suggested it knew what she was talking about.
The first thing she noticed when she entered the living room was her mother's deathly pale face and her father's somber expression. They were sitting on the couch opposite two people who had their backs turned to Hermione. "Hi, Mom, Hi, Dad," she said cheerfully. The visitors turned their heads at the sound of her voice. One was a woman, with long curly brown hair, and the other was a dark-haired man. They stared at her for what seemed like an eternity, and then the woman said to her parents, "She looks well enough. I'm glad you've treated her right."
Hermione blinked, puzzled.
"Hermione, darling," said Anne Granger in a shaky voice, "these are Mr. and Mrs. Skiapellos."
"How do you do?"
Hermione's polite inquiry was met with stony silence. At last, Mr. Skiapellos crossed his legs and told her father, "Go ahead, Edward, tell her what she needs to know."
"We haven't got all day," Mrs. Skiapellos chimed in.
What's going on? wondered Hermione as her father took a deep breath, as if to fortify himself. "Hermione, there is no easy way to break this to you… and I wish I didn't have to…" He suddenly looked old and tired, and a chill of foreboding ran down Hermione's spine.
"What is it, Dad?" she asked nervously.
He flinched as if the way she had addressed him hurt. "Hermione, Mr. and Mrs. Skiapellos… are your real parents."