A/N: Ok, the entire author's note section was just getting out of hand, so I'm going to save all personal thanks for the final chapter. A General Thanks to all my reviewers and a special thanks to any and all who have reviewed more than once. I must special-personal-thanks these two people, however, for without them, this chapter would still be embedded in my brain: D, a.k.a. DracoDew17, and helly, helly120.
Enjoy!

A Long December

Anna Begins: Part 3

The evening of January 2nd found Draco brooded over a cup of coffee in a small café across the street from the hotel at which they were staying. The Inquest was scheduled for the next morning at eight.

Hermione joined him after a few moments and ordered a small cup of tea. They sat in a pleasant silence, each absorbed in their own thoughts.

Hermione's flitted to her friends, Harry, Ron, and Ginny. They had been begging and pleading to accompany her on this trip for weeks. This past week was when she'd put a stop to it by telling them that if they did not stop pesting her about going to the Inquest, she would never help them with their homework again. She sighed, thinking that maybe it was foolish not to have allowed them to come. She needed their support. Her thoughts slipped into worrying about the Spencers. Even Ginny's comforting words couldn't completely banish the creeping fear inside her that she wasn't up to her new families' standards.

Draco's voice shook her from her musings.

"Hermione!" he hissed suddenly.

"What? What is it?" she asked, alarmed by his tone of voice.

"Look over there," he said, peering out onto the street. "Do you see her?"

Hermione turned in her seat and looked out into the street as well. She couldn't see anyone that looked out of place until Draco grabbed her arm and pointed, his finger shooting past her violently.

There was a small bookshop next to the hotel. A young girl, maybe about a year younger than the two, was standing in front of the window. She was slim, weighing about 115 pounds, and somewhat small, about 5'4". She was wearing fawn-colored corduroy jeans, a cream-colored cashmere sweater, scoop necked, a jacket of the same color as her jeans, cut as a jean jacket would be, and a pair of creamy-brown high-heeled ankle boots. She had a cream-colored scarf and gloves on, the same shade as her sweater, and brown-red hair, cut short and curly. She turned, briefly, and Hermione saw that her eyes were the color of a summer's cloudless sky. It could only be one person.

Draco drew in breath. "It is her. It's Sirena."

**************

It was the morning of January 3rd, and Paul and Annie Granger had decided upon receiving their letter that they would go to the Inquest as requested, though they had very little information to offer to the case workers. They had no idea that Hermione would even be there.

**************

It was four in the morning and Rebecca du Morier-Spencer stared moodily out the window of the carriage. Her husband, next to her, reached over and squeezed her hand. He knew what she was feeling. Hopeful, but not too much. To get hopes up and be disappointed would be a blow neither one of them could take.

Rebecca drummed her fingers on the windowsill. "How has it taken them this long to find her? These are supposed to be professionals, Charles!," she burst out.

"Rebecca, darling, please. They've done all they possibly could," Charles soothed her, as he had been doing for the past three weeks. Ever since they received the letter from Pierce saying that they'd found her. They'd found their baby girl. "Sweetheart, you know Pierce thinks that there's dark magic behind this. You know that dark mag…"

"I know, I know. I know everything to do with this case, Charles, you know that. Dark magic… if I ever get my hands on You-Know-Who…" Rebecca glared at the window, as if it were responsible.

**************

In the carriage behind them, Victoria Spencer was also staring moodily out the window. She tucked a long strand of straight dark hair behind an ear and rested her chin on her hand. She had her father's thick brown hair, the color of pecans. She closed her eyes, which, when open, were amber. Her facial structure was dainty, small-boned. Her nose was small and even, her mouth curvy and normally colored with dark lipstick. She wasn't wearing much make-up today; she didn't have the heart to get up and put in on that morning. She was nervous and anxious.

It had been a lifetime ago since she had seen her little sister. Her first little sister. She's been three when the little one was born and nearly four when her baby sister disappeared in the night. And then the years of lonely nights, of her mother desolate and inconsolable, of her own feelings of inadequacy; she hadn't been able to save her baby sister and she hadn't been able to forgive herself for letting the baby get taken instead of her.

There had been another baby, about five and a half years after her sister disappeared, and that one, Isabella, who was ten, was sitting next to her. Reading. Always reading, that one was. She had short, honey-colored curls and delicate glasses perched on an even, straight nose. Her eyes, though hard to see because of the glasses, were green, like their father's. Izzy was their father's favorite, being reserved and clear-headed. Most people assumed that she was shy and withdrawn, but her family knew that only spoke when she felt as if she had something important to say. Her dry sense of humor usually surprised most everyone, including those who knew her well.

The youngest Spencer daughter, Alexandra, age seven, was on the other seat of the carriage, facing her older sisters. She was laying down, for it was very early in the morning and she was quite tired. Her hair was like Victoria's: a somewhat darker shade of brown and straight. It hung to her chin, much shorter than her oldest sister's, whose hair hung all the way down her back. Her green eyes were open and round with tension. She, like Izzy, had never known this sister that they were going to meet, but unlike Izzy, with whom she was very close, she wasn't really sure what had happened and why this sister wasn't living with them now. Victoria had tried to explain it to her: that this sister was stolen by somebody (but who? Victoria said she didn't know.) and had been living with another family because she didn't know that she was really a Spencer. That didn't make too much sense, but Victoria never lied.

"Alexandra Marcelle," sang out Izzy. "Here it is." She'd been digging through an old book, a record of their family. Her father said it was a family tree, but in book form with notes. Well, he'd said it was annotated, but she knew that only meant it had notes.

"Alexandra C. Marcelle. Born 1894, died 1964. She would be…" Isabella quickly calculated. "Let's see, it says here that she married into the du Moriers and had a son, George`, who must be Grandpere`. He married Grandmere` and had Aunt Marie, Uncle Renee`-George, and Mummy. So she was our great-grandmother. That's who you're named after."

Alex smiled and sat up, interested. Izzy's voice also shook Victoria out of her glum stupor.

"And hmmmm," said Izzy, peering intently at the book. "Let's find me." She thumbed through the pages for a moment and then said, "Aha! I'm named after a Spencer, I bet, not a du Morier." She flipped more towards the back of the book and was silent, reading, for a moment.

"William R. Spencer, born 1920, died 1990. Married Isabella A. Rowan, born 1926, died 1950. One son, Charles; that's Dad. So, I'm named after Father's mother. And look! Here are all of us for real, not just our namesakes." She pushed her glasses up further on her nose excitedly and began again to read in her clear voice.

"Listen: Charles W. Spencer, born 1949. Married Rebecca C. du Morier, born 1955. Four daughters: Victoria Marie," Victoria nodded and smiled. "Um-me, here I am, Isabella Renee`, and here's you, Allie: Alexandra Marcelle."

Izzy closed the book and smiled up at her sisters. "Excellent," she said.

"Wait a moment, Isabella," said Victoria suddenly. "You skipped our-you know, other sister. Open up that book again."

Izzy looked reluctantly at the book. She had nothing against the sister that had been taken from them, but she had always been compared to this mysterious child. She flipped through the pages again and thought she probably ought to at least be truthful with herself. She felt like she had been the replacement, the filler child ("Maybe this baby will make us forget about the other one,") and she supposed that she harbored a little resentment towards her sister, whoever she was, just because Izzy never felt that she'd been able to measure up.

"Anastasia Colette," she said, reading the name from under Victoria's aloud for her sisters.

Anastasia. The Lost One.

**************

The day before, after spotting the girl in front of the bookstore, Draco had pulled a protesting Hermione away from the window while Sirena looked around, as if searching for something. Draco watched intently as she scanned the faces of the people inside the bookstore and those passing her. Then she seemed to notice that she looked out of place and went into the bookstore, still searching.

"Quick!" he hissed at Hermione, who crouched with him next to an empty table near the back, looking distinctly embarrassed. "Now! Go!" He pushed her out the door and rushed across the street. As soon as they entered the hotel, Draco hauled Hermione straight to the elevator, which she had previously explained to him, and randomly pushed a button.

"What are you doing?!" Hermione shrieked, recovering enough from the shock of his sudden and inexplicable actions. "We're not even on that floor!"

Draco looked irritated. "Well, then, take us to the right floor, and I'll explain when I'm sure that we're not being listened to."

Hermione pushed the correct button and then gave Draco a look that plainly said 'You're paranoid, psychotic, and you're frightening me.' "Why-," she started, but he cut her off with a quick movement of his hand.

The elevator dinged and they stepped off of it. Hermione guided them to their adjacent rooms, 1472 and 1474.

She unlocked the door to the first one and entered, still slightly put out about their incredibly strange exit from the café.

Draco immediately whipped out his wand and said, "Illuminatum Encantatum!" The room blazed with white lights for a moment and then reverted back to its normal colors.

Hermione blinked.

They were both silent for a moment and then she lost patience and said, "Well? Would you like to tell me why, after seeing Sirena Brown across the street, we ran screaming from that café?"

Draco looked at her seriously for a moment and then said, "Have you noticed that wherever we go, we always manage to run into Sirena Brown? Any trip to Hogsmeade, most times we leave the castle, when we're on the grounds, even, and now, when we're away in London? Doesn't that seem somewhat strange to you?"

Hermione frowned. It was true that they seemed to run into Sirena more often than not and that she always looked happy to see them, but she'd never thought that she may be following them.

"It-it could be, I suppose, but-oh, honestly, Draco, she's a child! She couldn't be-why would she spy on us? It doesn't make sense! She has no reason to do that!" Hermione was disturbed by the thought of being watched, but even more so by the cold and calculating Draco that the entire possible-stalking thing had brought about.

"No, she has no obvious reason, Hermione, I'll give you that, but I'm going to keep an eye on her… she's up to something. I can feel it." He looked just as troubled as she felt.

***************

If Hermione Anne had been nervous in the days before the Inquest, it was nothing like how she felt the next morning when Draco shook her awake at six.

"Up,' he commanded, coffee in hand already. "We need to be there in an hour and a half." He strode through the connecting door purposefully and Hermione couldn't help but notice that a) he'd left that door open and b) he was not wearing a shirt. She tried very hard not to think of this as she crawled into the shower. Morning person she was not.

And then the nerves started. The twisting and flipping of her stomach began when she thought "This is the day I meet my parents…"

**************

It was the same feeling that was coursing through five people who were still speeding towards London, edging ever closer. It was six AM and they were closing in on the city. They would be there in about an hour and a half.

Rebecca tried sleeping, but was unable to remain still.

Charles took up a book, but wasn't seeing any of the words. All he saw were his few and distant memories of little Anna, his lost daughter.

Little Alexandra lay on her eldest sister's lap , sleeping peacefully. They were so much alike that they found each other choice companions, but the age difference between them, twelve years, was a definite obstacle. Ultimately, Izzy and Alex were closer because they were closer in age. Izzy was now on the other seat, opposite her sisters, asleep.

She had worried herself to sleep. Who was this girl? What is this going to do to our family? She wished desperately that her best friend, Brie, would be there. She was afraid of this girl, this Anastasia.

And Victoria. She was just plain scared. It wasn't often that she was scared in this way, but the prospect of seeing her long-lost sister again, after sixteen years, was terrifying. What will she be like? Will she be a total outsider? What are Mum and Dad going to do?

**************

Seven o'clock. Seven oh-two. The minutes ticked slowly by.

Annie Granger watched them from inside the room. The white room with a large oval table and about two dozen chairs placed around it. She and her husband occupied two. The man who'd sent them that awful letter, Pierce Oculin, sat across from them.

He had sharp grey eyes and hair that was once blonde like Draco's but was now white with age. He kept it clipped short and brisk, like his manners. He was tall and slim, making him seem somewhat imposing. He spoke in short, curt tones that were not unfriendly, only businesslike and efficient.

He was certainly intimidating Paul Granger, and he did not appreciate it. Paul sat glaring at a spot on the wall, not wanting to be the first to speak.

Pierce Oculin took an instant dislike to these Muggles as soon as they had arrived. The man was distrustful and suspicious and the woman seemed to be frightened by the smallest sound. What had surprised him, though, was the child was not with them. And that they had no idea where she was; they claimed not to have spoken with her for several weeks. Pierce found this somewhat farfetched, but he said nothing in reply.

The door swung open and who but Lucius Malfoy, dressed from head to toe in black velvet robes, swept in?

"Oculin," he acknowledged with a nod.

Oculin stood and shook his hand. "Mr. Malfoy," he said gravely. "Thank you for coming, sir."

Lucius Malfoy had always found this man to be somewhat dry, but incredibly adept and had a begrudging respect for him. It helped that Lucius and Pierce had been school-children together. The door was still open and then Lucius' wife, Narcissa, and his daughter trailed in.

Narcissa looked particularly insipid. Her complexion was no longer milky white, but simply pale and colorless. It looked thin as paper and was beginning to show signs of age. Her face was delicately structured, her features refined. Her pale blonde hair had lost its lustrous shine and was somewhat limp and bland, but her eyes, always a sharp blue, were fixed on the small girl accompanying her.

"My wife, as you know, Pierce, and this is my daughter Calabria," intoned Lucius, as he had at every business occasion that he could think of for the last several years.

The young girl looked exactly as Pierce remembered Narcissa to be. In fact, had Narcissa herself not been standing there, Pierce would have thought the small girl to be her mother. Her eyes were the same deep blue and her hair, though a shade darker, was heavy and straight, as Narcissa's had once been. The skin, the nose, the cheekbones; they were all the same.

But as he bowed his head slightly to Narcissa, the child considered him with an intensity Narcissa had never possessed.

"Good morning, Miss Malfoy," he said, bowing his head in her direction as well.

She, however, extended her hand. "Very pleased to meet you, Mr. Oculin."

He shook her hand, surprised. From the corner of his eye, he saw Lucius motion for them to sit down. The Malfoys ignored the Grangers completely.

"So, Oculin, are the other school chairmembers coming to this meeting? And will Fudge be here? This is a case of a Hogwarts school-child, you know, not to mention a high-profile Ministry case involving one of the most prominent families of our world," Lucius said, harshly. "And who are these Muggles? Why are they here? This doesn't concern them!"

The Muggle man, Mr. Granger, stood and glared at Lucius, who regarded him coldly with steely-grey eyes.

"Mr. Granger, please sit," Oculin said sharply. "Lucius, I invite you as well to take a seat." Malfoy gave the Grangers another contemptuous look-over and selected a seat near to the head of the table, next to his wife.

Oculin walked around to the head of the table, shut the door, and continued, "This is a matter concerning all of you. You, Lucius, are involved in the Ministry of Magic and sit on the board for Hogwarts therefore it is your right to be present. You family is included in this invitation, of course. Mr. and Mrs. Granger are here at my invitation, Lucius," he continued. "They play an important part in the unraveling of the events that we have been investigating. And in response to your question, yes, Mr. Fudge will, of course, be present. You represent the board for Hogwarts, but Dumbledore himself is coming, as are several of the Aurors who have worked on this case. And Thomas Croaker will be here; you know, an Unspeakable. We've been working very closely with the Department of Mysteries on this case." He sat down and suddenly looked very tired.

Little Calabria was the only one to notice it as the clock chimed seven fifteen and the door opened again. It admitted a tall man with thick dark brown hair and small, round, gold-rimmed glasses, a small but graceful woman with great glorious amber eyes and golden-brown hair, another woman, about twenty years younger, who bore a great resemblance to the man, but had her mother's eyes, and two children.

Both the Muggles stood immediately and the Malfoys collectively thought that they'd always suspected that Muggles were nothing more than humanoid animals, frightened by the smallest noise.

The man immediately strode forward, a smile breaking out on his face. It was a good-natured smile, open and friendly. "Pierce, old boy! How are you?"

"I'm fine, thank you, Charles. And yourself?"

"As well as could be expected, I suppose, Pierce. Hullo, Malfoy, how're you?" Lucius stood, and the man, Charles, moved to shake his hand. "And Narcissa, and Calabria." He nodded to each of them.

The first woman, the older of the two in the doorway, stood hesitantly next to Oculin, speaking with him quietly. The younger of the two women maneuvered around the table with the two children sat next to the Malfoy girl. The elder of the two began to converse spiritedly with Calabria, while the younger sat quietly.

The older woman, whom Oculin addressed as Rebecca, moved over to where the Grangers stood.

How she looks like Hermione, thought Annie Granger. And the horrible thought came to her that the reason this woman looked like Hermione was because this woman was her mother. Annie nearly swooned.

"Mr. and Mrs. Granger?" she said, tentatively.

Paul said, "Countess." He inclined his head in a short bow.

Rebecca colored. She'd forgotten that these were Muggles, who would know her by her husband's Muggle titles. "Please," she said, laughing slightly, "Call me Rebecca."

She looked somewhat uncertainly at Annie Granger.

Annie tried to fight back the tears that were rising in her eyes. This woman was Hermione's real mother. Did that make her nothing but a paltry substitute? In made her furious and ashamed at the same time. She hated this woman without knowing her and that was undeserved entirely. And though she wanted to keep Hermione away from these people, she couldn't keep her child from her birthright any longer. And that made her long for the simple days when she was Hermione's mother and Paul was her father and Hermione was their daughter. Those days, she knew, were long gone and never to be repeated.

Rebecca Spencer looked as if she was about to say something, but the arrival of several men stopped her. One was short, with slightly patchy brown-grey hair and a missing eye. There were several chunk of his face missing particularly from his nose. He hobbled on a peg leg. The second man had black hair, black eyes and clear, pasty skin. He was tall, taller even, than Charles Spencer, and very very thin.

"Alastor Moody! Thomas Croaker! Welcome," said Pierce Oculin, shaking their hands. "Everyone, please sit down." Lucius resumed his seat next to Narcissa and the Spencers went to sit by the younger woman and the two children. Annie Granger instantly regretted her hesitation. That had been her moment to speak with Hermione's birth mother!

The two men, Moody and Croaker, sat at the opposite end of the table from Oculin and the Grangers, across from the Spencers and the Malfoys.

Then a older man, of about the same height as Charles Spencer with a long white beard, half-moon glasses, and kind blue eyes entered, followed by a shorter man in a green bowler hat. All of the wizards and witches stood, and the Muggles fumbled to do the same.

"Minister, Professor," said Oculin, bowing and shaking hands. The two men went around shaking hands, greeting everyone as if they were old friends. The Grangers knew Professor Dumbledore, as he was Hermione's Headmaster, but they gathered that the other man was Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic.

He greeted the Grangers cordially, and took his seat between the head of the table where Oculin was settling himself and Dumbledore, who sat to his left. Annie Granger sat between Dumbledore and her husband, nervously.

Three more men entered just then, all looking weary, but only Oculin stood to greet them. Alastor Moody growled a hello and both Dumbledore and Fudge nodded to them.

Oculin motioned for them to sit and quickly resumed his own seat, the back of it facing the door. The three men went to sit next to Croaker and Moody. There were two seats between the nearest of the men and Paul Granger; and in his opinion, there couldn't be enough space between them. Something about those three men and that Croaker and Moody gave him the shudders.

Some polite conversation circled the table for a moment before all fell quiet.

Seven forty-five.

And they waited for her to come.

**************

Draco got into the shower at seven-ten, causing Hermione to fret that they would be late. But surely not, she thought, Boys only take about five minutes in the shower.

At seven forty-five, Hermione was still glaring at an incredibly dashing-looking Draco, dressed in impeccably kept black velvet robes. They were riding in the elevator up to the 14th floor of the Ministry building. Draco had emerged from the shower only five minutes before.

"But my hair-," he whined, "It's still wet! And there isn't any gel in it! And it's humid outside!"

Hermione rolled her eyes. Her own golden-brown silk robes clung to her soft frame and matched her hair and eyes perfectly.

"And look," said Draco dramatically. "There is a wrinkle in my robes!"

The elevator dinged and Hermione thought she must have been mad to bring Draco in Ginny's place.

Draco strode masterfully down the hall, leading the way. Hermione walked cautiously behind him. He stopped in front of door 1412. Inquestion was emblazoned on the door. Hermione frowned at it.

A play on words or incorrect grammar? she mused.

Draco suddenly spun around and put both hands on her shoulders.

"What?" she said, surprised.

"Hermione-," he said slowly, as if choosing his words carefully. "I just want you to know…"

He paused, unsure.

"What, Draco?" she asked, impatient for them to get inside, for her to be able to meet her parents.

"I lo-," he began, when the door swung open, revealing Pierce Oculin.

"You have arrived," he said.

Draco moved from between the two to behind Hermione and she got a glance of a room full to the brim with people.

Draco placed a hand on her back, pushing her forward.

Hermione stepped into the room and recognized several of the people right away. Her par- the Grangers, Albus Dumbledore, Cornelius Fudge, Professor Moody, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. And then there were people that she did not recognize, but who looked familiar. They looked… just like her.

"Welcome, Anastasia."






A/N:

Ha! How on earth did I manage to squeeze in another 4 ½ thousand words between Chap 5 and Mione's session of Meet The Parents??? I have no idea, but I'm too tired to write emotional turmoil right now (I wrote most of this this weekend) and so, Chap 7 (tentatively titled A Murder of One) will come in the near future.

IF YOU LIKE THIS STORY, PLEASE BE SURE TO CHECK OUT A LONG DECEMBER: ADAM'S STORY!
(IT'S A SUB-STORY THAT MAY ACTUALLY REVEAL MORE OF A LONG DECEMBER THAN A LONG DECEMBER DOES!)

Thanks to all who've reviewed, and Helly, I promise to take you up on that idea of brainstorming for Chapter 7!

To sakura1287: I totally ripped off the hysterical "Draco Malfoy: The Amazing Bouncing…Rat?" by Maya (found on schnoogle) in the area of Draco's coffee thing. It was just so me, I couldn't resist! I recommend this story to anyone who has even the slightest passing interest in Draco Malfoy. (who doesn't, eh?)