It had taken Hermione weeks and weeks to accept everything. She had screamed many obscenities, thrown many delicate vases, china and glass picture frames at walls and slammed many doors. But, eventually, she did calm down.
"Why?"
"Why what, Miss Granger?" Dumbledore had asked gently.
"You know perfectly well, why what. Why did all this happen to me? A couple of months ago, I was Hermione Granger. I was perfectly content to living a normal life with normal problems. Now, my parents are dead. And they're not even my parents. And the man who killed them, the man who slaughtered the two people I have ever loved is my own flesh and blood father. Voldemort. The very wizard who killed so many innocent people. WHY?"
"I cannot tell you why, Miss Granger. Fate works in mysterious ways."
"I hate him for killing so many. I hate them for leaving me. I hate her for abandoning me on that stoop. And as much as I don't want to, I hate you for lying to me all this time. Perhaps, not hate. But strongly dislike and distrust is a good substitute."
"I can understand why you would feel that way, Miss Granger."
A small cry emitted from Hermione's throat but she refused to let any tears fall. She had decided a long time ago that crying was futile to her situation.
"He doesn't know, right? He doesn't know that it's me yet. He hasn't found out that I'M his heir. He didn't attack my parents because he thought I was his daughter. Right?"
"That, thankfully, is correct. He does not know. He merely killed them because of your friendship with Harry."
"Oh God, Harry. All this time, he had gone through so much and I never understood what he could be feeling. Now I admire him for coping with this for so long."
"Yes. He has gone through more than many of us can in a lifetime. And now, so have you."