When Hermione came to, she found herself in a large room, laying on a silver sofa. She blinked a few times, allowing her eyes to adjust to the dim candlelight before she studied her surroundings. There were many portraits around the room, mostly of older men and women, all with curly hair and brown eyes. Hermione groaned. 'This dream is too weird,' she thought, 'and oddly elaborate,'
Just then her eyes landed on a large portrait above the fireplace. It was a portrait of a woman, she seemed to be in her late thirties. Her brown eyes were filled with warmth and her smile brightened her face. She was beautiful in a simple way, her hair cascading in waves down her back. Hermione was struck by this painting, although she couldn't figure out why. She got up off of the couch, still feeling a bit dizzy, and made her way to it. She reached out to touch the gold frame it was in. She felt drawn to the picture, tempted to touch it, to see if maybe it wasn't a painting at all, but a woman standing in the fireplace, smiling down at her.
She was so entranced that she didn't hear her "father" come into the room. He came carrying a goblet of water, assuming she was still out cold on the couch.
"Ah," he said softly, almost reverently, jerking her out of her state of awe, "I see you have-er-met your mother." He looked at Hermione carefully, as though unsure whether or not to continue speaking.
"Hm?" Hermione looked at him, unintelligently, "My mother?" she ran her fingers over the gold frame absentmindedly, wondering when this dream would end.
"Wonderful woman when she was alive," he bowed his head, "You look uncannily like her." He offered her his hand, "would you like to come with me to the dining room, dinner is ready. I know you might not quite be up to it right now, but the sooner we get all of this business out of the way, the sooner we can start getting to know each other." He smiled at her. She hesitated, before taking his hand, it was warm, quite a contrast to the icy feeling that had settled in on her since she got off the train. He was obviously a hardworking man, physical. His hands were rough and calloused, but to Hermione, this was a good thing. You could tell a lot about a man by his hands, in her opinion. A man with smooth hands meant a man with a smooth life, and to her, smooth sailing meant weakness. You needed to know some hardship, it could only make you stronger.
She felt a sort of affection toward the man, although they had barely spoken. It was odd, because although he was a total stranger, she felt connected to him. To this house. Everything around her seemed somehow familiar, even though she hadn't seen it before.
He steered her into a large dining room, with a small table set for two. Like the room with all of the portraits, there were a few candles, making it barely light enough to see across the room. When they reached the table, he pulled out her chair for her and made sure she was settled before he sat down himself. Her plate immediately filled with the most delicious food, and she stared at it in surprise. 'too bad this is a dream,' she thought, smiling to herself, 'it'd be nice to have this kind of luxury!'
"Ahem," the man sitting across from her cleared his throat, "Hermione, I know all of this must seem very strange to you," he smiled at her kindly, "But I am your father. You don't seem to be… um… acknowledging that any of this is happening." He waved a hand in front of her face, "Blink for me, just so I know you're still alive." Hermione couldn't help but smile at him when he said this.
"You know, this is all very nice, but I'd really like to wake up now," she said, pushing her chair out from the table, "It's a beautiful home, really it is, and I don't mean to be rude, but I'm sure-"
In that moment she stood up, knocking over the candle beside her plate. A puddle of hot wax landed on her arm, "OW!" she said, looking around for something cold to stop the burn, "that hurt like a mother!"
Her eyes got wide, and she stared at her hand. "But that hurt… how could that hurt, if this is all a dream?!" she sat down, quieting a bit. Realization hit her like a ton of bricks. "This isn't a dream."
She looked into the eyes of the man now standing in front of her. He looked on with concern. Hermione swallowed, took a deep breath, and allowed him to sit back down in his seat.
"Who are you," she asked him, "and more importantly, who am I?"
"You, Princess Hermione Rose Dolce, and I, Prince Antonio Dolce are the only living descendants to the throne of Italy's magical world." He got up, and began to pace the room. "Fortunately for you, Italy now has a government similar to that of England…" He trailed off, looking at her.
"Unfortunately for us, it also meant that when you were born you were at high risk of being taken by followers of Voldemort. So we gave you up, and covered up your birth to everyone. Only one man knew of your birth, my best friend, and he has kept many secrets for us over the years. You will meet him soon.
When we gave you up, we wanted no evidence of ever having a child, so we had someone else go through the adoption process for us. We wanted no one to ever be able to use means of magic to be able to get your whereabouts. It wasn't until your mother died a year ago that I began to look for you, to make sure you were okay. During the year, I got into contact with the Grangers, and here you are."
Hermione gaped at him. He continued, "You are nearly sixteen, aren't you?" she nodded, incapable of speaking, "this may seem very sudden, but by the time you turn sixteen, you must be engaged to be married, or else the family curse set upon us shall take its course. You don't know the consequences…" he broke off shuddering.
"In order for you to choose your husband, we will hold a ball. Not an ordinary ball, but a wizard masquerade. It is the only way you will find your soul mate. Your husband will propose on the spot, and there is no backing out. The masquerade is the most powerful means of betrothal. It binds you to the man you are meant to love…" He smiled fondly, remembering his own masquerade.
Hermione found her voice, "So, you decided to spring all of this on me at once. The whole, married thing couldn't have waited?"
"No matter what Hermione, you wouldn't be happy. If I told you tomorrow, you'd have a different complaint. I figure I get it all on the table now, let you have your shock, get yelled at later." She scowled at him, he was right, "that is if you're anything like your mother."
She yawned, "well, I think the yelling will have to begin when I'm fully rested." She stood up and a maid came in, and ushered her out the door.