Disclaimer: All I own is the plot. I don't even own the computer I use to type the chapters up, my 'rents do. OH WELL on with the show!
A/N: ATTENTION! WILL NOT BE UNDATING AS FAST! WEEKLY MAYBE
Chapter 3: Shocks & Revelations
The thestrals leading the stagecoaches were quite grotesque, but were a far smoother ride than the lake would have been, thrashing and careening the boats every which way. Jazz didn't understand why she could see them, knowing you had to see the death of someone in order to, but she didn't know exactly who had died in front of her.
She had agreed to share her ride with Harry, Luna of course, and Ron, and had arrived at the school and watched as little children strutted up the hills to the Great Hall's large oak doors, gracious, she was sure, to get away from the giant squid, searching for boats to knock over as a practical joke no doubt. Jazz rushed out of the cold air, thankful for the heat the Great Hall sent through the entire school. She regretted not being able to hang around her friends, and stood instead in the beginning of one of the many corridors of her school, waiting on McGonagall to see her to Dumbledore's office. Jazz fidgeted with her chestnut hair, twirling it mercilessly, while at the same time she fought to not bite her nails. She then realized she wasn't alone. Harry stood in a far corner, intent on watching every move Jazz seemed to make. Jazz ignored Harry, frightened of why he was watching her.
Finally, feeling as if she couldn't stand waiting any longer, she began to stuff a nail into her mouth, and a noise came from behind the teenager, scaring the life out of her. "Oh," Jazz breathed, clutching a hand over her heart, "its only you, Professor. You gave me a real fright." Jazz tried to laugh, but Professor McGonagall's expression, or lack of, for that matter, told Jazz it was serious. Mind you, with her graying hair in a tight bun and her eyes set in a scowl position, McGonagall was never the picture of cheerful.
"Follow me." McGonagall glided across the marble floor toward one of the staircases, guiding Jazz to Dumbledore's office. Not that she needed leading. She had been to visit him many times over the years, good reasons and bad. About five minutes and as many as twenty salutations from portraits later from the entrance, McGonagall and Jazz stood in front of a large cement gargoyle, sticking its chest forward importantly until it laid its eyes on the professor. "Toffee Teaser," Professor announced flatly, as if she thought the password was a waste of breath. Jazz watched as the gargoyle sprung to life, abandoning its post, allowing her and Professor McGonagall to go up a flight of stairs. They did so, and found themselves right in the center of the Headmaster's quarters.
"Ah-hem," came the clearing of Dumbledore's voice. Jazz didn't know why, but she felt an odd sense of warmth toward him, as if he were family to her. Jazz felt as if she could sit herself on his knee and tell him all her troubles, and he'd make them disappear. As the old man came into the candlelight however, Jazz realized how silly she was. His bright blue eyes shown with the happiness of beginning a new year, and his half moon glasses slid down his rather crooked nose, and he looked down onto his student, as if he was just that: her headmaster.
"It's nice to see you again, Miss Granger," Dumbledore informed her with a slight incline of the head, making his long white beard brush across his desk.
"The feeling is mutual, Headmaster," Jazz replied. She gave him a warm bright smile and sank gracefully into a chair provided for her, feeling as if someone had his or her eyes on her again.
"Hello, Harry, you can sit among us as well," Dumbledore said, a hint of sarcasm dripping from his voice. Jazz turned faster than wind, watching as Harry slowly stumbled towards a chair on the opposite side of Professor McGonagall.
"Well, now. Let me see, you must be hungry." Dumbledore waved his hand absently and a large plate of an assortment of foods appeared a-top of the freshly polished desk. "Help yourself," he added, seeing the expression of hunger and resistance on Jazz's face. She readily obeyed, grabbing a grilled chicken sandwich from the bunch.
"As I wrote to you, I've been wanting to know about the dreams Ms. Lovegood wrote me about. She's been telling me that you wake up in screams, correct?" Jazz, dumbfounded, nodded like an idiot once, her hair dropping into her face. The silver in her eyes glinted with anger, but it disappeared in a moment's notice, just as Dumbledore continued.
"I am to understand, also, that not long ago, certain…certain changes occurred." Dumbledore gazed openly into Jazz's eyes, prying into every thought, so she began to clean her thoughts. Dumbledore let out a light hollow laugh, and sighed, "Don't worry, Ms. Granger. I have no intention or invading your privacy.
"You, in case no one informed you, are a Seer. A most unique and rare Seer you are at that. Your premonitions seem to right history, and change the future. It is curious to me, however, that you did not receive your powers until you were in year - "
"Fifth year, sir." Jazz lowered her head, finishing Professor Dumbledore's sentence. He nodded and went on.
"Yes, thank you. Its curious because most Seers can use their powers before they even know they are magic. The trouble with a rare Seer as your self is; most of them have a part of their life that is of a great mystery, and they think that with the powers they now call their own, they might be able to unlock the hold on the memories they had lost.
"There is a great mystery to your life, Hermione." Jazz winced at the sound of her first name. "The gift of Seer is a gift that will be of great use." Somehow, Jazz had forgotten that she was sitting with two of the best professors at Hogwarts, and had collapsed into a state of shock.
"I'm not a Seer. I'm not. I'm just a regular witch." She kept repeating, over and over again, whilst McGonagall stood, patting her sympathetically on the back. Clouds threatened to cover Jazz's eyes again, but she pushed them aside thinking, 'Not now. I don't care what's going to happen.'
"But, Ms. Granger, you are neither a regular witch or just a plain old Seer." McGonagall took up the narrative, staring amazedly at the teen. "You are the Dream Girl, an Oracle that has for the longest time, been thought to be just a myth. You, dear, have become more important than any witch or wizard or sorcerer or sorceress has ever been. You not only are able to see the future, but you can travel to it, likewise with the past. You only need to know how."
"But – but - " Jazz sputtered stupidly, eyeing the desk without actually seeing it. "How? How can I be? How do you know you've the right girl?" Nothing made sense to Jazz; not what happened on the train, not being a Seer, not even McGonagall made sense. Jazz lifted her pools of silver to skim the room, seeing the portraits of former headmasters and mistresses almost falling out of their frames to catch a slight glimpse of her. Harry still sat a chair away, not brave enough to look at her.
"Your mother was one as well." Dumbledore answered quietly, as if it brought back painful memories to mention her.
"My mom? What's this to got to do with her? She isn't a Seer, she'd have told me." Jazz was confused. Why were the professors giving her pitiful stares, and why were Dumbledore's eyes swelling with…were those…tears?
"No, Ms. Granger. Your mother." Dumbledore paused for a moment, making sure Jazz had time to understand the emphasis of the word mother. When he saw her expression not change he continued sadly. "Jacqueline isn't your mother. And, I am sorry to say, your name is not Hermione Jasmine Granger." Jazz's mouth swung open, but closed just as fast when she realized it had. "Your name is Elise Hermione Granger. Your birth mother's name was Ana Marie Granger and your father's name was David Granger."
And POOF: there it is, Chapter 3. I hope it's to your liking and sorry I had to end it like that and that it's so short. I'll update when chapter 4 is done which will be soon I hope and don't forget to review! I love all kinds of them, just as long as I get 'em.
Sylverwings
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