This is my unconventional take on the A/B/O dynamic. It will be clear as the story progresses, what I have in mind. It is a triad fanfic, my first ever. There are some similar plots to my other stories, but I started writing about the same time as Loves Labour Found...and held off posting it, due to certain similarities. It's completed, and I'll be posting a chapter a week. Reviews are always welcome. This is going to get angsty and steamy...so be forewarned.
Characters don't belong to me, they are the sole property of JK Rowling. Any names utilized in this fanfic, bear no resemblance to real people...artistic license and all that nonsense!
In the aftermath of the battle, Hermione felt herself watching those who'd survived with a heavy heart. There was a time she'd wondered if this day would happen; that Harry would emerge victorious, but now that it was here—she was having a heard time reconciling it all.
Harry was sitting with Ginny and Ron...all the Weasley's were there actually; comforting each other after the death of one of their own. Fred was gone, and Hermione had to wonder how George—his twin and other half—would survive the ensuing days and weeks to come.
Her gaze then fell to Remus and Tonks—who in death were still side by side. Shaking her head in despair—she had to wonder what would become of little Teddy Lupin. The boy was now an orphan, much like Harry had been.
The irony was almost too much to bear.
Luna was sitting with Neville, who proudly had the Sword of Gryffindor leaning against his leg as he wrapped his arm around the willowy blonde witch—the two clearly now a couple.
Seamus and Dean were chatting with Aberforth Dumbledore while Minerva, Flitwick and Slughorn were drinking tea and despite looking worse for wear—seemed in relatively good spirits.
Her perusal stopped short on a small family crowded into the corner—three shocks of white blonde hair acknowledged in her peripheral view, and Hermione felt her gut clench at the unwelcome sight. The Malfoy Family had defected at the end, and it was Narcissa Malfoy's lie that had saved Harry—but it wasn't like anyone really seemed to want them there.
For a split second, her gaze locked with the wintry grey of the youngest Malfoy, but before she could react—Hermione felt a tap on her shoulder.
Turning, she immediately noticed Kingsley Shacklebolt standing there, his expression filled with concern.
"It's time to leave, Miss Granger."
Hermione sighed, ignoring the pointed stare from her least favorite wizard as she nodded slowly.
"I suppose it is."
"Do you have everything?"
"I have what I need."
Hermione turned to follow the wizard, whom in the immediate aftermath of the battle, had been sworn in as the new interim Minister for Magic. As she made her way out towards the courtyard, her shoulders hunched in apprehension for what was to come. Her disappearance hadn't been planned, nor had her Father been privy to her plans. She had always known that there was only one choice she could've made under the circumstances, but that didn't make it any easier to know how livid her Father would be with her, once she returned home.
"Did Dumbledore?"
"He did." Kingsley nodded. "I was made secret keeper after he was killed."
Staring back over her shoulder, Hermione didn't immediately notice anyone watching her leaving, until she saw Malfoy staring at her—his expression completely devoid of emotion.
Ignoring the sense of warning and unease, she took Kingsley's proffered arm and felt the pull of apparition take her away and back to the life she'd had before Hogwarts—before Hermione Granger became whom she was now.
When she reappeared, the first thing Hermione noticed was the starkness of the white walls of her Father's study and the next thing she noticed, was him sitting behind his desk—his dark blue eyes fixated on her momentarily, before he took in her ragged appearance and Hermione could see his eyes narrowing, as his nostrils flared in anger.
When he stood up, all six feet of him was brimming with agitation—but being the ever polite and well-bred man he was, nodded to Kingsley, who bowed formally in greeting.
"Your Grace."
"You're not whom I was expecting to be escorting my daughter." Hermione's father bit out evenly.
"No, Your Grace."
Mouth thinning in ire, Hermione waited to be addressed—instinctively knowing from years of training, she wasn't to speak until her Father spoke to her directly.
When his eyes locked with hers, Hermione curtsied respectfully but all her father did was scoff.
"You've been gone for nearly a year, young lady. No word, no warning—gone!"
"I know, Sir."
"You know? Dis you also know how difficult it was to explain why my daughter, and heir—was no where to be found for the past nine months!"
"Father..."
"So now I'm your Father? I never should've allowed you to attend that infernal school!"
The Duke turned to Shacklebolt, and sighed heavily. "I take it this Riddle person is finally dead?"
"Yes, Your Grace."
The Duke nodded and turned his attention back to his only child. "Hermione, you will go upstairs and get cleaned up. I will send for the family Healer to attend to you."
"Of course, Father."
"You may go, now. I wish to speak with this gentleman, alone."
Hermione nodded sadly and went to leave her Father's study, but before she could do so, Kingsley said softly, "I can remove the charm, Your Grace."
"Ah yes, the charm."
Hermione watched as her Father pulled out his own wand and waved it over her, and while her appearance remained unaltered for the most part—it would now allow all within the magical world to recognize her for whom she truly was.
It was an ingenious piece of magic, much like a notice me not charm combined with a Fidelius, and would allow someone to hide in plain sight.
"You may go." Her Father huffed, and Hermione nodded again and made her way along the hallways of her ancestral home as she walked up the stairs towards her suite of rooms.
When she got there, it wasn't long before her Family Healer arrived.
"My Lady." The woman curtsied respectfully, and Hermione sighed.
"Hello, Healer Bramble."
Merry Bramble had been her Healer since she was a child. Her Mother had passed when she was ten, from mysterious circumstances. Her Mother's name was Angelique and Hermione had been given her name as well. Her full name was Hermione Angelique Jean. The surname Granger, belonging to the Dagworth-Granger side of her family, on her Mother's side.
Her Father however, was Duke Pierre Alphonse—the legitimate heir, to the Throne of France.
Unlike the British Royal Family, the French noblesse had retained its magic within its lineage. The Alphonse family was the oldest of those that remained and against his better judgement, the Duke had allowed his only child to attend Hogwarts instead of Beauxbatons, at the insistence of Albus Dumbledore.
"Let us see what we're dealing with." Healer Bramble said kindly.
Hermione undressed and was grateful when her Healer didn't react to the scars that now were visible. She just tutted and waved her wand, casting several diagnostic charms before pulling something from her medical bag.
The jar had a pinkish paste inside, and smelled of several aromas—some of them Hermione still didn't recognize. But when she placed the paste on her neck, Hermione hissed at the burning sensation and then there was a slight numbing before the skin cooled. When she turned to the mirror, she sighed in relief when she noticed the red scar around her throat fading.
"That paste is amazing." Hermione hummed, as she lifted a finger to where the scar that Dolohov had left her with after the incident in the Department of Mysteries, had once been—and was now only slightly visible to the naked eye.
Soon, these too would be a bad memory.
"It's a closely held secret of your family, My Lady."
Hermione watched carefully as Healer Bramble applied the paste liberally on the mudblood scar, and that too—began to slowly disappear.
"You will need to place the paste on the scars every evening for the next few weeks until they are faded."
"Fine." Hermione took the jar and nodded her thanks. "He's very angry with me."
"As he should be. I understand that you felt the need to stand by Mr. Potter, but if you had been killed—your Father would've lost everything, My Lady."
"I know." Hermione sighed in defeat. "I just don't know how my friends are going to take the truth. It wasn't exactly my idea to keep my full identity from them. I suppose I should've said something."
"It was not your place to do so."
"No, I don't suppose it was."
At that moment, Harry's patronus burst into the room. "Hermione, where are you? You left the castle and apparently Malfoy said you left with Kingsley. Is everything alright?"
Flicking her wand, Hermione's otter swirled into existence and landed on her shoulder.
"I'm fine, Harry. I can't explain right now, but I'll contact you soon. Love you."
The otter nuzzled her cheek before it moved out of the room and on its way to deliver the message.
Healer Bramble placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "You should get some rest. I will let your Father know of your condition, and will be back to check on you tomorrow."
"Thank you, Merry."
"You're welcome, My Lady."
Hermione decided to go and take a bath. It had been a long time since she'd had a proper one. Walking into her en suite, she smiled softly at the large brass claw foot tub and opened the valve to let the steaming water fill the basin. Adding some of her favorite bath salts, she tentatively checked the temperature before sliding into the water and sighed in pleasure.
As she soaked her aches and pains away, she had to admit it was good to be home. As angry as her Father was with her, she knew it was because he loved her. He wasn't an overly emotional man, and had allowed her to spend time with her Mother's cousins, who were like second parents to her. He had also encouraged her spending time in the Muggle World, and despite his heritage and that of her biological mother, both didn't believe in blood purity—at least not in the overt sense.
They'd always felt that knowledge was what was important.
Her Father had wanted her to attend Beauxbatons, as both he and her Mother had, but Hermione's magic had expressed on British soil, and Dumbledore had been alerted when Hermione's name had appeared on the Hogwarts registry. He'd visited her Father at their secondary home in London, and had encouraged him to consider allowing Hermione to attend Hogwarts. Her Father had been very reluctant, as he had suspected that Voldemort would return, and didn't want his only child anywhere near that reality.
Dumbledore had brought forth the idea to have Hermione sorted as a Muggleborn, which Pierre had felt quite unnecessary...
...at first.
Then her Mother had been killed right after her tenth birthday.
No one knew knew whom had done the deed, but there were some rumblings within the Muggle and Magical world of political unrest in France, and there were cries of protest about the current Muggle government. There was also an underground movement to restore the French nobility, (much in the way the British Crown was currently) but with more power given to the Monarch, and the Royalists had been making headway—that was until her mother was killed.
That had been the impetus for her Father allowing Dumbledore's plan to move forward, and Hermione had agreed only inasmuch, because she desperately wanted to attend school.
Now that the war was over, she would have to talk to her Father about whether or not he would allow her to take her NEWTS. She had no desire to return to Hogwarts, but she did want to finish her studies and she knew her Father would want her to stay in France.
Getting out of her tub, she dried off and went to get dressed in some sleeper clothes, and as she was about to climb into bed—there was a light knocking on her door.
"Come in."
When the door opened, her Father stood at the threshold and took in her appearance briefly before he entered with purpose—eventually sitting down at the edge of her bed.
"You look better." His voice was still brisk, but his expression had softened slightly.
"It's amazing what a proper bath can do."
His lips quirked up slightly, before he sighed in resignation. "I'm afraid I should perhaps, apologize for my outburst earlier."
"No, Papa. You have every right to be angry with me. I didn't tell you I'd left. I obliviated our family, and sent them away because I knew they'd be targeted."
"Yes, you did. However, I do believe the new Minister for Magic would be willing to help you recover them, should you wish it."
"I would like to."
"Then I will make the request." Pierre paused before he glanced down at his daughter's arm and his brow furrowed. "Healer Bramble mentioned your scars. Would you care to share with me how that happened?"
"I would, but if you don't mind? I'd like to have that conversation tomorrow? I'm rather exhausted."
"Of course, forgive me."
Hermione grabbed her Father's hand and shook her head slowly. "Papa, there is nothing to forgive. It is I, who should be asking you for forgiveness. I should've told you my plans, but I was afraid you'd forbid me to go with Harry and he needed me."
"Minister Shacklebolt did mention to me a bit of what transpired over this past year, and whilst I commend your bravery and loyalty, you must understand that as your Father it is difficult for me to admit that my daughter is now a fully grown woman with a mind of her own. I just wish you had trusted in me more."
A few tears escaped from Hermione's eyes and she wiped at them furiously, feeling her heart cracking at the bereft expression on her Father's face.
"I'm truly sorry, Papa. I only wished to protect you."
"Hermione, it is my job to protect you. Perhaps now that you're home, you might allow me to do so?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Good." He paused and then said evenly, "How do you predict your friends will deal with the truth?"
"I honestly don't know."
"Well, if they truly are your friends, they will understand. And if not?"
"I know."
Pierre stood up and placed a kiss on the top of his daughter's head, before tucking her under her duvet. "Get some rest. It seems the world will still be here in the morning."
"Goodnight, Papa. I have missed you."
"And I you, my angel."
Hermione watched her Father leave her room and sighed. She had no idea what the future would bring, but at the moment she really didn't care. She was just happy to be home.