Disclaimer: J.K.Rowling owns everything, I don't. No copyright infringement is intended.
Chapter 2
Hermione threw her books down on her already overflowing desk, pulled off her cloak and flung herself onto her bed. "Thank god that's over," she shouted to the empty room. Double potions with Slytherin was always tough, but today seemed especially brutal. That ferret-boy Malfoy kept staring at her all day and once she thought he even winked at her. "No Way! It had to be a trick of the light," she admonished herself. "Besides, if he actually did wink at me I might have to tear my eyes out." She grimaced at that thought, trying to figure out which would be worse -- the loss of her eyes or having to see Malfoy wink at her again. After a heavy sigh to clear her mind she quickly warded the door to her room. She then flung herself half off the bed and dove underneath, and for the millionth time since school began she grabbed for her treasure.
The ratty old shoebox never looked like a treasure to anyone else, but she didn't expect that it would. She carefully opened the shoebox and gazed at the slightly beaten trainers nestled inside. She had explained to her friends that the shoes had belonged to her father and were one of the few things that survived the attack on her parents. They may have been ugly, large, and smelly, but they were her father's and the only tangible evidence that her parents had ever walked this earth. The irony had been lost on them but not her.
Never, not even for a moment, did she feel bad about what she was doing now. There were always too many people lurking about asking questions -- secrets were held in high regard these days. With a quick flick of her wand the shoes shimmered and revealed the true contents of the box. Carefully putting her wand on the bedside table to avoid confusion, she gracefully lifted another wand from the depths of the magical container.
She needn't have bothered keeping the wands separated, as there was no chance of either being confused for the other. Her old wand had been cute, comfortable and unthreatening, the wand of a child. This wand was dangerously sexy, the wand of an adult, and she thought with a sense of pride -- highly illegal.
With her parents death Hermione had been plunged into a haze of despair from which some thought she wouldn't recover. Even the appearance of that appalling law barely registered a flicker within the bright young child. News of the death of an exceptionally bright Ravenclaw "mudblood bride" at a newly fashionable brothel was met with an outward grunt but nothing more. Or so they thought.
She had noticed the mid-term disappearances of the 18-year-old muggle born witches. She heard the rumors of abuse and, more importantly, she heard of the successful escapes to worlds outside the boundaries of the law. She was sure that had her parents been alive she would have already been gone.
Over the years they had allowed her more freedom than most children and with that independence she flourished. There was an unspoken understanding that they knew what was happening in her world, but also the sad acceptance that she couldn't just walk away. A bright future was at stake and the Grangers, ever intent on spoiling their only child, would never ask her to give up on her dreams.
It wasn't until too late that she realized she gave up on her most important dream. Not a day went by that she didn't blame herself for her parents death. She also couldn't help thinking that had they been around when the final blow -- that law -- had been struck, it would have been the last straw. With the loss of her future they would have pulled her out of the school and gone far away. If she was honest with herself she would have to admit that she would have gone with them. Right then and there. For all her posturing over the years she wanted to get away from this magical world. It didn't hold the same childish allure that had captured her imagination all those years ago. She had finally seen the real world of magic -- and she wanted out.
So she did what Hermione Granger always did when confronted with a problem. She planned, she researched, she studied and she didn't give up until she succeeded.
To the muggle world Hermione Granger was dead. The Death Eaters had made sure that three unidentifiable bodies were pulled from the wreckage, or at least enough pieces to assume that there were three of them. The coroner had been dismayed at the thought that even dental records couldn't assist in identifying the dentist's daughter. Somewhere in his head he thought of the shoemakers children before remembering to call his wife to hold dinner for him.
In a strange way she should have thanked them for the autonomy that came from her apparent death. No longer bound to any muggle law and feeling no particular allegiance to magical laws she sought assistance underground. The restricted section of the library, with its allure of black magic, and the now flourishing black-market became her salvation. She was a talented girl and whatever she couldn't make she would buy.
Her first venture had been the wand. Her childhood wand had been purchased at Mr. Ollivander's shop. She held back tears as she vividly remembered that day in the dusty store. Her parents, a picture of nervous pride, watched as she swished her way through countless wands looking for the right mix. It was no surprise to her parents when the owner commented on her remarkable ability, but after a stern reminder that she was a child and needed to control her blossoming talents he convinced them to go with a slightly less powerful "training" wand. His look of consolation was lost on the child, but his quickly whispered "come back after graduation and we'll set you up right -- I believe you'll grow up to be a rather stunning eleven inch rosewood with a unicorn base" seemed to do the trick.
At the time she just tucked the information away as a pleasant promise, but as she began her research she realized that never were more important words spoken to her. There was a reason that Mr. Ollivander's shop was filled with boxes of different wands. The length and strength of the wand, determined by the wood base, wasn't too difficult to catalog. But when you added in the various core materials available -- the combinations were staggering. She had expected to take months creating the right wand, and at one point during her research was tempted to look towards the black market for assistance. However, rationalizing that the man was highly regarded for his wand making abilities, she threw caution to the wind and decided to attempt his earlier suggestion.
She was more than pleased with the results.
Finishing the wand just before summer break, she was determined to use her private time to get used to its new feel. As she made it herself it wasn't cataloged and therefore would not be subject to Ministry regulations -- that was, after all, the whole point. Mr. Ollivander was right when he said she had a training wand. Her new wand was much more powerful. She could feel the energy emanating from it just by holding her hand over it's highly polished finish. Late at night when sleep eluded her she would think about her unregistered wand and would fantasize of blasting the Minister with a few untraceable unforgivables. "Take that you pervert" she would have yelled at his shocked expression. Sleep might not have come quicker, but deep down inside she knew she was taking back a little of what was taken from her. If only in spirit.
As she no longer had a home of her own, most of her summer was spent shuttling between Hogwarts, number twelve Grimmauld Place, and anywhere else that Professor Dumbledore thought would provide the most appropriate chaperon. One thing to be said for the man, he was a rather attentive guardian. She needed only carelessly mention a need or wish and it was done. New school robes? Why, no need to go to Diagon Alley -- the shop owner came to the school and fitted her on the spot. Some light reading? Well, he just opened up his personal library to her (yes, I'm finding lots of interesting books -- you've been very helpful indeed). But she needed private time to move her plans along, so when her time of the month came she finally broke down and told him that despite his overwhelming desire to help, there were just some things that a young woman needed to do alone. With his confused look spurring her on she add "or perhaps discuss with another woman." At this he cleared his throat and called for Minerva. Things got a lot less complicated after that.
Never one to waste an opportunity, her time with the order also proved useful. An overly successful night of poker with Tonks and Lupin took care of "private" apparation lessons (apparently they had never heard of marked cards -- who knew?) But the regular appearance of Mundungus Fletcher and his bag of bootleg trinkets provided the biggest windfall. Through his unscrupulous acquaintances she acquired a new muggle identity - right down to the birth certificate and passport. Even with her friendly discount it didn't come cheap, but they were a good quality so well worth the price.
Pushing past the identity papers in her treasure box she pulled out a stack of applications and a ballpoint pen before settling in for some work. Like most students her age the applications were to Universities. However, unlike the other students at Hogwarts, all of them had three things in common: one, they were located far away from ministry controlled areas; two, they weren't in any way associated with magical universities; and three, they all had scholarships available to overseas students. With a numbered post office box in Hogsmeade and use of black-market owls "Kaitlyn Saoirse" was continuing her education elsewhere.
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A/N: The name Kaitlyn is Celtic/Gaelic for Pure, and Saoirse is also Celtic/Gaelic for Freedom. -- This according to babynames.com.
Chapter 2
Hermione threw her books down on her already overflowing desk, pulled off her cloak and flung herself onto her bed. "Thank god that's over," she shouted to the empty room. Double potions with Slytherin was always tough, but today seemed especially brutal. That ferret-boy Malfoy kept staring at her all day and once she thought he even winked at her. "No Way! It had to be a trick of the light," she admonished herself. "Besides, if he actually did wink at me I might have to tear my eyes out." She grimaced at that thought, trying to figure out which would be worse -- the loss of her eyes or having to see Malfoy wink at her again. After a heavy sigh to clear her mind she quickly warded the door to her room. She then flung herself half off the bed and dove underneath, and for the millionth time since school began she grabbed for her treasure.
The ratty old shoebox never looked like a treasure to anyone else, but she didn't expect that it would. She carefully opened the shoebox and gazed at the slightly beaten trainers nestled inside. She had explained to her friends that the shoes had belonged to her father and were one of the few things that survived the attack on her parents. They may have been ugly, large, and smelly, but they were her father's and the only tangible evidence that her parents had ever walked this earth. The irony had been lost on them but not her.
Never, not even for a moment, did she feel bad about what she was doing now. There were always too many people lurking about asking questions -- secrets were held in high regard these days. With a quick flick of her wand the shoes shimmered and revealed the true contents of the box. Carefully putting her wand on the bedside table to avoid confusion, she gracefully lifted another wand from the depths of the magical container.
She needn't have bothered keeping the wands separated, as there was no chance of either being confused for the other. Her old wand had been cute, comfortable and unthreatening, the wand of a child. This wand was dangerously sexy, the wand of an adult, and she thought with a sense of pride -- highly illegal.
With her parents death Hermione had been plunged into a haze of despair from which some thought she wouldn't recover. Even the appearance of that appalling law barely registered a flicker within the bright young child. News of the death of an exceptionally bright Ravenclaw "mudblood bride" at a newly fashionable brothel was met with an outward grunt but nothing more. Or so they thought.
She had noticed the mid-term disappearances of the 18-year-old muggle born witches. She heard the rumors of abuse and, more importantly, she heard of the successful escapes to worlds outside the boundaries of the law. She was sure that had her parents been alive she would have already been gone.
Over the years they had allowed her more freedom than most children and with that independence she flourished. There was an unspoken understanding that they knew what was happening in her world, but also the sad acceptance that she couldn't just walk away. A bright future was at stake and the Grangers, ever intent on spoiling their only child, would never ask her to give up on her dreams.
It wasn't until too late that she realized she gave up on her most important dream. Not a day went by that she didn't blame herself for her parents death. She also couldn't help thinking that had they been around when the final blow -- that law -- had been struck, it would have been the last straw. With the loss of her future they would have pulled her out of the school and gone far away. If she was honest with herself she would have to admit that she would have gone with them. Right then and there. For all her posturing over the years she wanted to get away from this magical world. It didn't hold the same childish allure that had captured her imagination all those years ago. She had finally seen the real world of magic -- and she wanted out.
So she did what Hermione Granger always did when confronted with a problem. She planned, she researched, she studied and she didn't give up until she succeeded.
To the muggle world Hermione Granger was dead. The Death Eaters had made sure that three unidentifiable bodies were pulled from the wreckage, or at least enough pieces to assume that there were three of them. The coroner had been dismayed at the thought that even dental records couldn't assist in identifying the dentist's daughter. Somewhere in his head he thought of the shoemakers children before remembering to call his wife to hold dinner for him.
In a strange way she should have thanked them for the autonomy that came from her apparent death. No longer bound to any muggle law and feeling no particular allegiance to magical laws she sought assistance underground. The restricted section of the library, with its allure of black magic, and the now flourishing black-market became her salvation. She was a talented girl and whatever she couldn't make she would buy.
Her first venture had been the wand. Her childhood wand had been purchased at Mr. Ollivander's shop. She held back tears as she vividly remembered that day in the dusty store. Her parents, a picture of nervous pride, watched as she swished her way through countless wands looking for the right mix. It was no surprise to her parents when the owner commented on her remarkable ability, but after a stern reminder that she was a child and needed to control her blossoming talents he convinced them to go with a slightly less powerful "training" wand. His look of consolation was lost on the child, but his quickly whispered "come back after graduation and we'll set you up right -- I believe you'll grow up to be a rather stunning eleven inch rosewood with a unicorn base" seemed to do the trick.
At the time she just tucked the information away as a pleasant promise, but as she began her research she realized that never were more important words spoken to her. There was a reason that Mr. Ollivander's shop was filled with boxes of different wands. The length and strength of the wand, determined by the wood base, wasn't too difficult to catalog. But when you added in the various core materials available -- the combinations were staggering. She had expected to take months creating the right wand, and at one point during her research was tempted to look towards the black market for assistance. However, rationalizing that the man was highly regarded for his wand making abilities, she threw caution to the wind and decided to attempt his earlier suggestion.
She was more than pleased with the results.
Finishing the wand just before summer break, she was determined to use her private time to get used to its new feel. As she made it herself it wasn't cataloged and therefore would not be subject to Ministry regulations -- that was, after all, the whole point. Mr. Ollivander was right when he said she had a training wand. Her new wand was much more powerful. She could feel the energy emanating from it just by holding her hand over it's highly polished finish. Late at night when sleep eluded her she would think about her unregistered wand and would fantasize of blasting the Minister with a few untraceable unforgivables. "Take that you pervert" she would have yelled at his shocked expression. Sleep might not have come quicker, but deep down inside she knew she was taking back a little of what was taken from her. If only in spirit.
As she no longer had a home of her own, most of her summer was spent shuttling between Hogwarts, number twelve Grimmauld Place, and anywhere else that Professor Dumbledore thought would provide the most appropriate chaperon. One thing to be said for the man, he was a rather attentive guardian. She needed only carelessly mention a need or wish and it was done. New school robes? Why, no need to go to Diagon Alley -- the shop owner came to the school and fitted her on the spot. Some light reading? Well, he just opened up his personal library to her (yes, I'm finding lots of interesting books -- you've been very helpful indeed). But she needed private time to move her plans along, so when her time of the month came she finally broke down and told him that despite his overwhelming desire to help, there were just some things that a young woman needed to do alone. With his confused look spurring her on she add "or perhaps discuss with another woman." At this he cleared his throat and called for Minerva. Things got a lot less complicated after that.
Never one to waste an opportunity, her time with the order also proved useful. An overly successful night of poker with Tonks and Lupin took care of "private" apparation lessons (apparently they had never heard of marked cards -- who knew?) But the regular appearance of Mundungus Fletcher and his bag of bootleg trinkets provided the biggest windfall. Through his unscrupulous acquaintances she acquired a new muggle identity - right down to the birth certificate and passport. Even with her friendly discount it didn't come cheap, but they were a good quality so well worth the price.
Pushing past the identity papers in her treasure box she pulled out a stack of applications and a ballpoint pen before settling in for some work. Like most students her age the applications were to Universities. However, unlike the other students at Hogwarts, all of them had three things in common: one, they were located far away from ministry controlled areas; two, they weren't in any way associated with magical universities; and three, they all had scholarships available to overseas students. With a numbered post office box in Hogsmeade and use of black-market owls "Kaitlyn Saoirse" was continuing her education elsewhere.
------------------------------------
A/N: The name Kaitlyn is Celtic/Gaelic for Pure, and Saoirse is also Celtic/Gaelic for Freedom. -- This according to babynames.com.