whogirl: Thanks
DCMMFAN: okay
sexy-jess: Really? Already? Why don't you e-mail me who you think it is and I'll respond with a negative or affirmative. Thanks a bunch, I'll try.
foxer: I won't spoil it for you. Read and you'll find out.
McGonagall's Cat: Thanks! I'll be sure to fix that mistake. I guess I didn't do my reasearch as thoroughly as I thought.
EosRaven: I don't know yet. Maybe ;) Actually, I had someone else in mind to be her father.
rembrandt: Thanks.
snowyangel83: Thanks for the praise and the good ideas. I haven't decided yet whether he's gonna be HB. (Probably not though-- you're right that plot is a bit stale. I was thinking prefect, maybe...?) But the HB ideas you had were brilliant. Perhaps you should write a story.
Draco-Malfoy-Rules:(I agree (;) Thanks, I like to think that about my writing as well.
anna: I know I should have clarified and I can see where you might be confused. Hermione's home for the summer holidays, not Christmas. I'm guessing that the Grangers don't keep Galleons, Sickles, or Knuts around, so they probably sent her Muggle money. Obviously she couldn't use it at Hogwarts, so saved it to be used when she got home... say to pay for a cab. Sorry about the confusion.
I do have one more thing to say. Hermione's father is most definately NOT Severus Snape. Not even I would venture that far into the rabbit hole.
And now, to the second chapter, since you all seem to want it.
Chapter 2: All I Have Left Are Ashes...
Hermione started out of her fitful sleep sometime before dawn. The sky was just fading from pitch black to a dull gray, signaling the probability of rain. At first she just laid there in the gloom, waiting. Eventually, as the sky brightened, she heard the sounds of the world awakening. Birds chirped outside, doors on the block opened and closed and vehicles revved up so their drivers could be off to work. A typical day.
Inevitably, she heard the stirrings of her parents as they arose and prepared for the day ahead. Showers were taken and breakfast was made, and then there was the typical mad scrambling for keys and last minute things-to-do. Then the door opened and slammed as Mr. Granger left in his white sedan. Fifteen minutes later, there was a repeat perfomance and Mrs. Granger pulled out in her navy blue sports utility vehicle. A typical day.
Only it wasn't typical at all. Nothing was as it was before. Nothing could ever be the same. Hermione was quite shocked that the world had not been put on hold, as it certainly felt that way to her. She was also surprised by the deep, urgent desire she had not to see or speak to the people she had thought were her parents for sixteen years and nine months. The desire was so strong that the first owl she got from Ron or Harry she was going to owl back that they come and get her straight away.
When she was certain that there was no one left in the house, Hermione rose and showered. In the process of looking at herself in the mirror, she felt the very illogical urge to smash the piece of glass to bits. Her reflection mocked her, telling her that she should have known all along!
Neither of the Grangers' hair had that untamable quality that hers did. Mrs. Granger's was a soft looking dark brown, and her husband's was so light as to almost be blond, though he was slightly balding. There was no trace of them in the profile either. Hermione's features were delicate, as if carved from porceline. Her adoptive father's were blunt, and her mother's strikingly handsome. They were also rather tall, while Hermione was sorely lacking in that department.
"I should have known," she whispered, "I should have seen it,"
When she got back to her room, she notice that sometime during the night one of them must have brought the shoebox to her room. She stared at the thing that had turned her world upside down and wanted nothing more than to sledgehammer it to bits. Unbidden, a fury to rival even the stongest hurricane overtook her. How dare she? How dare C.W.R. do this to her, whoever that was. She hadn't even had the decency to leave a full name. How was she supposed to find out who she was? Why had she left her in the first place? Jumbled questions slipped in and out of Hermione's mind, and the anger, while not completely extinguished, was somewhat overtaken by confusion.
She picked up the box and brought it to her bed. She laid the contents out separately. Was this really all that was left of the woman who'd given birth to her? Was this all she'd ever have of her mother? She picked up the glass 'music box' and examined it carefully. She refused to believe that this was it. Finally, on the sixth side she hit paydirt. There was a miniscule groove smack in the middle and when she prodded it a little with her fingernail the box popped apart. The music began to play, even sweeter than before. It was oddly soothing to her frayed nerves.
Inside was a small pouch that when Hermione tipped it up spilled several Galleons and Sickles and a few Knuts. Under this was a tiny cameo, with a woman that Hermione could only guess was her mother. The picture smiled and alternately waved and blew kisses. To the girl looking at it, the likeness was astounding.
She was looking at a near replica of herself. The only differences that she could see was the hair. Her mother's, while curly, fell in ringlets about her face, as Hermione's would only do if she spent an ungodly amount of time on it. The only other was the shape and color of the eyes, Hermione's were brown and almond shaped, while her mothers were bright blue and slightly wider. The overall facial structure was identical. She clutched the cameo, unable to look away. A lump emerged in her throat, and for the first time she cried. Tears streaked unchecked down her soft cheeks and fell to the bedspread below.
Finally, she set the portrait aside and looked to see if there was anything else inside. At the bottom was a piece of parchment folded several times over to be able to fit. She pulled it out and opened it gently. The words were somewhat faded but still legible.
"My Darling Hermione, I'm so glad that you have worked out the secret of the Mystery Box. I was half worried that you wouldn't, but I daresay you have the intelligence of you father and it wasn't too difficult. As you have surmised I am a witch and your father is a wizard. I wrote this letter to you separately, for I wanted you to be the first to read it.
I had no choice but to leave you with the most loving and capable Muggles I could find. It was safer that way. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had risen to power and I did not want you caught in the fray. I hope you can understand why, he's probably got a whole section in the history books to himself. It was only because I love you so very much.
Perhaps you are wondering how I was able to hide my pregnancy? It was simple actually. By casting a glamour on myself I appeared quite normal. That's how I was able to fool your father. You must understand. He was very important to the cause he was working for, and it was imperative that he not be distracted.
Of course Professor Dumbledore knew, but then, he knew everything. He no doubt still does.
I'm sorry I never came back for you, even if I did survive. It was probably because you were getting older and didn't need me to come and uproot you from a happy life. I assure you that your happiness is above all else on my agenda, except for your safety of course.
Oh, dear I almost forgot! Please forgive me, for not disclosing my name in the previous letter, but I couldn't be certain it wouldn't be intercepted. My name is Catarina Wendolynn Rookesbury. Hermione was my maternal grandmother's name. We come from a long line of witches and wizards on that side of the family, I'll have you know
I do hope that you're not too angry with me, or your other parents for that matter. We have all done what we thought was best, I'm sure. I hope that you can forgive me, and when you're ready, find me, or at least what became of me.
Be good, Dear, and listen to your other parents. They love you just as much as I do. Mind your manners and do well at Hogwarts; your future depends on it. If you want any kind of career in the magical world, make certain you get good marks there. What else can I say? Oh, yes. If you do meet your father, don't judge him too harshly. He means well, he's just, well... him.
All of my love,
Mummy"
Hermione read and reread the letter. Finally, she had some of her answers. Yet somehow she had even more questions than before. Why had Dumbledore never told her, if he had indeed known her mother was pregnant? He must have seen the likeness-- it was exceedingly obvious, after all. For that matter, what about some of the other older teachers? Certainly McGonagall had been around at that time.
And another thing. If her mother had been in the predecessing Order, as she hinted at in the letter, why hadn't anyone ever mentioned her? In all the conversations, all the mentioning of previous members, no one had ever mentioned a Catarina Rookesbury. And the most burning question of all, the one that had been niggling at her mind throughout the past day: who was her father? Why was his identity such a secret? Did he ever find out about her? If so, why hadn't he ever contacted her? Or had she met him already? If that was the case why hadn't he said anything? He must have recognized in her the face of his former lover.
Unless...
Unless her father had perished in the war. Or maybe her mother an father had gotten together after the war and went to live a happy life... without Hermione. Somehow this thought was even more painful than the first, and she refused to believe such a thing could be true.
Just as she was puting the contents of the shoe box away (to be safely nestled in the bottom of her trunk) there was a tapping on her window. Hedwig was perched on her sill, looking annoyed with the robins that were putting up such a fuss in the tree outside the window. Hermione let her in and offered her a drink. The snowy owl declined. Off came the parchment around her leg and the white bird fluffed her feathers. The note appeared to be standard issue summertime salutations and full of how much Harry hated the Dursleys. Hermione halted Hedwig before she flew away.
"Could you stay for a moment? I want you to take something back to Harry for me."
Hedwig nodded regally and stayed put on the sill. Hermione scrambled around in her trunk for her quill and parchment and hurriedly dashed off a quick note--
"Urgent news. Get hold of the Weasleys and have them owl me straight away. I have to get out of this house"
-Hermione"
--and attached it to the owl's leg. Hedwig took off and soon became invisible against the gray of the sky. Hermione worried that she'd been too vague and that they would think she was in some kind of danger.
In a manner of speaking she was. In danger of losing her mind. Despite her mother's words, Hermione could not help but feel angry with her parents. All of them, but mostly her adoptive ones. Hadn't she proved over and over that she was a responsible, intelligent young woman? Yet they'd waited until she was almost seventeen to tell her. Didn't they realize what she'd went through? Thinking she was a freak because absolutely no one on either side of the family was or had ever been a witch. (Hermione had gone through the family tree numerous times.) Being called a Mudblood by likes of Draco Malfoy and his gaggle of Slytherin cronies. No, she maintained, they should have told her when she recieved the first letter. It was practically unforgivable that they had waited so long.
Practically, because no matter what she tried to convince herself of, she still loved her parents.
The reply came much sooner than she expected. Hermione was just making herself some lunch when Hedwig flew in through the ajar kitchen window. She looked quite frazzled and this time accepted a bowl of water. She waited patiently for the girl to read the short note:
"What is it? What's wrong? Has something happened? Are you hurt? Are your Mum and Dad hurt? Please answer.--HP"
Hermione scribbled a negative on the back of his parchment:
"Nothing's happened to me, Harry, at least physically. I'm not hurt, nor are they. I apologize for causing you panic, but I was in a hurry. I found out that I was, well, for lack of a better word, adopted. I don't want to stay here any more. Please inform Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, that as soon as possible, I would like to go to the burrow. Or even the other place. Please don't ask questions right now, I'll explain when we're all together. I truly am sorry for worrying you.--Hermione"
Hedwig soared off once more. Hermione knew Harry, and soon Ron as well, would be bursting with a thousand questions once they finally met up. But she needed time to get used to the idea herself, and didn't want to explain through owl post.
She spent the day doing a whole lot of nothing. She watched the telly for a bit, tidied up what little untidiness there was in the house, then began to read a library book she had gotten special permission from Madame Pince to borrow over the summer: "The Collaborative Record of Hexes, Curses, and Counter-curses, and their Uses" -by Adolpho Ferenze. Needless to say, she stayed immersed for quite some time.
At around five o'clock, she heard the unmistakable sound of a car pulling into the drive. Quickly, she packed up her things and retreated upstairs. She locked herself in her room, and extinguished the light.
A few moments later, she heard footsteps in the hall. They paused outside her room, as if the person might knock. Instead, a heavy sigh was heard and the feet continued on. Hermione exhaled in relief. She was not ready to face either of them yet, and it would have been impossible to fake slumber had her father decided to check in on her.
She sat in front of her vanity, and surveyed her reflection. Something seemed... hollow. Like there was something missing that she had never noticed wasn't there before, but was now glaringly obvious. Experimentally, she pulled her mass of hair back and braided it tightly. The effect was striking. Her face seemed less small without her 'lion's mane,' and tendrils fell endearingly to frame it. Perhaps she would wear it like that for special occasions. It was certainly easier than taming it into curls.
Turning on her bedside lamp, she once again pulled out her book and lost herself within the tome. It really was quite interresting. Perhaps she'd be able to teach Harry and Ron something when they returned to school.
So, how'd you like it? I know there was only a passing mention of Draco in this chapter, but I'm planning for the one after the next (chapter four) to concentrate almost exclusively on him. Did you catch the allusions I made to him? :) I'm sorry if it seemed a bit disjointed, I just had so many ideas at once and didn't want to lose any of them. I'll elaborate on some of the things I only skimmed over in chapter 3. Until then, Ciao!