Hey all! Here is another chapter for you!
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Chapter 10
Hermione didn't know if she was in shock or just simply extremely confused, but either way, her mind was short-circuiting. "Three years old…?" She tentatively asked while slightly flinching at the words coming out of her own mouth. She was mainly looking at Beckett, but she was rapidly glancing between the other three individuals with wide eyes. "The last time you saw me was when I was three years old?!" Hermione was having a difficult time time comprehending those last words the purple haired witch had just said. She received slow nods from all of the Black witches. "But, how could that be possible? I'm a muggleborn. I've had never been a part of wizarding world, let alone truly acknowledge that magic existed before the day Professor McGonagall came with my Hogwarts letter."
Beckett didn't really know how to respond. Though, mostly because she was a child, herself, at the time while attending her first year at Hogwarts when Hermione had been taken. Admittedly, she was a very bright child since she was born. So, she was neither naive nor ignorant to all of the happenings going on around her. However, despite that, Beckett wasn't privy to much information, especially in concerns to the brewing battle between the light and the dark. The adults didn't want any of the children to be in the know nor involved; it wasn't their business to do so. Living their childhood without the added pressure of a brewing war was their business-enjoying life. Though, whenever there was anything that involved her little witch, she demanded to know everything-especially after her disappearance.
When Hermione was born, everything had shifted for the metamorphmagus. Upon their meeting, Hermione being barely a day old and Beckett being eight, there was an instant and intense connection that formed between the pair. It caused Beckett's world to stop, and in that moment, she cared for nothing more than that tiny precious bundle wrapped in a soft blanket. As baby Hermione's big gorgeous eyes locked onto those of Beckett's, a burst of magic swept throughout the expansive bedchamber of the babe's parents. The older occupants immediately noticed the instantaneous bond as they watched as their magic displayed a visible presence that began to pulsate around the two younglings.
After that day, though she was curious, Beckett cared not of any of the trivial—in her opinion—business of the adults within her life. Her sole priority and attention, now, was focusing on the little witch that was destined to be hers forever. However, when that fateful day came to take away her Hermione, Beckett's world just crumbled. And that was the day that the cheerful, goodnatured, and warm child turned into what some professors would say as the deadly combination of her Aunts, Bellatrix and Narcissa—the perfect balance of cold, calculating and complete cruelty. She held no mercy for anyone she knew to associated with the 'light's' ideals. And that day, when her world took a sharp, dark turn, she made two vows to herself: one, she would follow in the footsteps of her family and House and achieve her justified revenge, and two, do whatever it takes to find her Hermione. And from that day forward, she questioned and demanded, wanting answers as to what happened that night and how it came to be. However, despite her non stop insistence, she had only received very few responses that offered no actual or helpful clue. And when that was all that she had garnered, Beckett had tried everything, anything, possible to find out what had happened to her, including suspecting the ongoings surrounding the Headmaster. Her family never trusted the man, and by extension, neither did she. And after Hermione's disappearance, that distrust and hatred for the man increased tenfold. Even then, however, there was nothing.
Now, right in front of her, the teenager Hermione was asking as to how could this be possible. How could a supposed muggleborn have any affiliation with the Black family, the purest and most notoriously prejudicial House in Great Britain. Oh, how Beckett desperately wanted to give the curly haired witch an answer to her very fair question, but she could not form any possible, adequate response for the girl. Of course, she did have several answers that she could give, but, with her mind so jumbled up at the moment, there was no possible way for her to let out a coherent thought.
Noticing her niece's inner turmoil, Narcissa decided to give mercy to her and help explain. "Hermione, I know that this has all been a very traumatic shock for you, but everything we say is true, and we are able to prove so." The fair haired witch had spoke softly, trying to convey her understanding. She did not know how the girl was going to react. Hermione had been speaking with a cold edge to her tone since the beginning of this conversation and even though she did relax some slight degree, Narcissa felt it wise to approach with caution as this part of their talk needed to be treaded carefully.
Sitting up straighter, Hermione swiveled her body to face the sisters, acknowledging that she had heard the older woman and gestured for her to continue.
"Prior to your run-in with my sister, Io, and our Lord, as well as our 'first' meeting at the Quidditch World Cup two summers ago, the last time any of us had seen you was when you were three. It was a devastation for all of us, especially for Io and Bella. You see, you were a very special little girl to all of us, as well as in general. And due to that, your family and your parents' association with our Lord that made you become a major target and victim to the cruelties and conniving acts of the so-called 'light' side."
Hearing this, Hermione took in a long moment to assess the sincerity in the blonde witch's words. Looking back and forth, staring intently into the eyes of Narcissa, she saw nothing but genuine sincerity and truth. However, she let our a heavy sigh, "not trying to sound in any way disrespectful because I can see the sincere candor in your eyes as well as hear it in your tone of voice, but how am I supposed to believe all of this? I mean, how do you even know that I'm this little girl that you speak of?"
Narcissa turned and looked at her sister. They looked to be having a silent conversation that could only have been communicated through their eyes. It seems as though they were debating as to who should answer because when Narcissa sighed, she poised herself to answer the question. "From the very first time I saw you-at the World Cup-I immediately knew who you were, and so had my husband. At the time, I found it rather amusing that whoever took you didn't even bother to place glamours on you. I'm actually surprised that there hasn't been any type of talk about your ancestry after they have looked upon you. You are very easily recognizable—very strong features."
Hermione had thought she saw a twitch of the Malfoy matriarch's lips when they first met. But, she had just brushed it off as the witch attempting to keep a snarl to herself when she saw the muggleborn. Though she was confused when the blonde mentioned the comment about her appearance and her features. How were her looks recognizable? And she never seen a person look at her strangely, studying her face.
"I found it amusing because, dear girl, you are the spitting image of your mother. But, you do have your father's curly, soft nutmeg brown hair."
Hermione didn't know what to say, however, she had always wondered why she didn't look anything like the Grangers. Sighing again, "again, not trying to sound disrespectful, but, how am I supposed to believe what you say is true." She raised her voice slightly, betraying her slightly panicked and overly confused mind. "I've not seen a picture of these parents. So, I have no comparison, and how does that confirm that I am this girl? And what makes me so special, especially to Madam Lestrange and Beckett?" The nutmeg haired witch was starting to get tired of these not so vague answers, right now was one of the times that she wanted straightforward and blunt responses. However, she quickly realized that she wasn't going to get them they way she desired.
"Hermione, you are well within your right to question. You are learning information that calls into question your entire life as you have come to know it. And I would be a little surprised if you didn't." This time it was Bellatrix who spoke, but instead of a soft tone like her sister, the dark witch spoke with an even and modulated tone. "And please, call me Bella, or if you must, Bellatrix, but I prefer Bella."
"Ummm…okay…Bella," that name left an odd and, yet surprisingly, not unpleasant taste in her mouth. "You said surprised, what do you mean by surprised?"
Bellatrix softly laughed at the question. "I meant that it simply would not be you if you didn't question the validity of our words. Your unyielding and ever questioning personality is very much like how your mother's was. And as well as the fact that when you were younger, your favorite word was 'why'." The dark witch gave the girl a soft smile.
She was an absolute enigma to Hermione. She couldn't quite understand the complexities of the witch's personality. I guess that's why people call her mad, Hermione thought. However, the nutmeg haired witch didn't see one ounce of madness in the Bellatrix that was currently sitting before her. She was not the witch that she had met at the Ministry. The dark raven haired witch she saw in the Department of Mysteries was the very personification of insane and wild. She was so unyielding and cruel, whereas here and now, she is compassionate and pleasant.
"And the answer to your question as to why you are special to myself and Io, well, I believe that will also answer your question on our confirmation of the validation of our words. Firstly, I'm sure that Beckett will shortly explain as to why you are special to her. As for me, well, your mother was my best friend, and when she found out that she was carrying you, she named me your godmother."
Stunned was a word that did not even come close to covering as to how Hermione felt. The darkest witch known, aside from Morgana, was her godmother. That can't be… "my…what?"
Smiling at her goddaughter's reaction, Bellatrix continued on, "yes, you are my goddaughter, and I simply adored you. Well, everyone did, really, including our oh so intimidating Lord."
Suddenly wide eyed, Hermione looked over to the Dark Lord. She had expected a cruciatus to be thrown at the ravenette; speaking so blasé about the darkest wizard of their time had to be grounds for a few rounds of curses, at least. Or, that is what everyone else who, apparently, wasn't close to the Dark Lord thought. But, apparently, it wasn't so, Hermione discerned, for when she looked upon the serpentine wizard all she saw was a deadpan expression with a slight lip twitch in either disdain or amusement—Hermione did not know. It was a very exposing statement, but the man didn't seem to dispute it.
After a moment of amusement for the dark witch, Bellatrix continued on, pulling Hermione's attention back to her. "When you were born, there were two features that I instantly adored the most. When I held you for the first time, your bright, beautiful, perfect hazel eyes locked onto mine and it was as if you were about look right into my soul." The ravenette did her best as to not flinch at the sappy words that were coming out of her mouth. She is a very dark witch and is extremely proud of that fact, and she lived for torture and destruction. However, whenever this little girl was around, the woman always melted into a goo of warmth and happiness. It was unnatural for her to feel this way. While she had loved her nephew, Draco, it just wasn't the same. Hermione was her goddaughter, well practically her daughter—in every way but in blood. She guessed that's how all loving mother's felt about their children, the light of their lives. "You were also born with a very distinctive birthmark, a birthmark that could only perfectly fit you." She gestured to the teen witch's covered arm that further to her than the other, "a medium sized, dark seal shaped birthmark on the inside of your right forearm near your elbow." While it was true that this birthmark was one of her favorite aspects of the nutmeg brown haired witch, she said it more as a way of proving the authenticity of the Black witches' words thus far. And it seemed to have done its job.
"You…know of my birthmark?" A now wide eyed Hermione asked, hesitantly. The hand that had been holding onto Beckett's left hand clenched at the notion, while her other went to clutch the arm where the birthmark was located. Besides the Grangers, no one knew about it, not even Harry or Ron. She was never particularly proud of or even liked her seal shaped mark. When she was younger, she had been mercilessly bullied for having it—often calling her ugly because of it. The fact that this dark witch, whom she has no memories of ever meeting prior to their run in at the Ministry, knows of her birthmark simply stunned the teen.
"Yes, Hermione, I do," her godmother confirmed while giving her a soft smile. "The first time I saw it was when you were born; I was present for your delivery. And also, that birthmark has a significance for you. You see, that seal is a marker of your true heritage and identity. It is a marker of your family ancestry and crest—every true heir in your family has or had one."
It was hard for Hermione to fully accept the indisputable evidence. The seal birthmark and the fact that the darkest witch in current existence was speaking to her softly and…lovingly. But, still, she was confused. She narrowed her eyes, not in suspicion or anger, but rather, questioningly. "What do you mean by heritage and identity? Who are my family?"
"Hermione, what I mean, or what we have been trying to tell you is that you are not a muggleborn and far from it, actually. You are the last heir of one of the most influential and powerful Houses in the British Isles, the Most Ancient and Noble House of Ronan, or rather the Ronan Clan of Ireland. And the seal is your family crest."
Hermione could see the visible importance of her supposed family's House. Everyone, aside from herself and the Dark Lord, sat up straighter, their posture impeccable in the acknowledgement of the great family. The power of the Ronans was still palpable, that was certain to the girl.
"And you are the only child and daughter of Brendan Ronan and Maeve Whelan. And your name, your real name, is Ryann Lyra Ronan." With saying that, Bellatrix took out a photo that she produced from the non existent pocket of her leather pants. She handed it over to her goddaughter, who was met with the moving image of the giggling toddler version of herself who was being held by her proud, smiling and waving parents.
Aside from her birthmark, this picture validated everything Beckett, Narcisaa, and Bellatrix had been telling her as she watched the very familiar image that she had seen since she was young whenever she looked into a mirror. She was so entranced by the photo that she didn't even notice that she was crying until she felt a familiar set of soft fingers wipe them away. As she looked up into those gorgeous violet eyes, her tears continued to fall. She couldn't help but cry; her life had been filled with lies and the possibility of growing up with her real parents and with her godmother and the other Black women that had been so cruelly taken from her.
Eventually, when she had finally calmed down, she looked up at each of the adults around her. "Why? Why would somebody do this? Who did this? What would they accomplish by taking me away from my family and you and my life? And what happened to my parents?" Despite having calmed down, her questions had come out in rapid succession, one right after the other. Inquisitive as always, but, now her thoughts were just going a mile a minute.
Narcissa spoke up this time, "Ryann."
Hermione hesitated at the usage of her real name. However, she was not surprised that the fair haired witch referred to her by her real name this time instead of 'Hermione'. She partially thought it because of her insistence of referring to Beckett by her true name, but also partially of the possibility being much more comfortable of calling the girl the name she had originally called her.
"We hadn't known of what happened to you or your parents until your house elf came to myself and Bella, demanding for us to quickly go with her to your home. We were highly confused, but the frantic look in the elf's eyes, we went with her. When we arrived, your elf had taken us to the drawing room. It was in disarray, to say the least; furniture was over turned, light fixtures were blown off…and…" the blonde took a quick glance look over to her sister, who was—shockingly—trying to keep the threatening tears from falling. "We found your father resting against the wall, and his eyes were glazed over. We didn't even have to check to know that he had been killed. He would have never left you or your mother alone when they were in danger if he wasn't. Neither you nor your mother weren't in that room, so we ran to the one room we knew Maeve would take you to, your nursery. And we found your mother sprawled across the floor, bound, and your empty crib."
Narcissa had to take a breath. Talking about this, though needed for Hermione's sake, was already bringing up so many emotions for the witch. "We didn't know what to do. We just stood there, paralyzed, shocked. Bella had asked your elf what had happened, but the elf was so upset, the only words she had said were the names of your parents' murderers and your kidnappers."
"Who?" Hermione couldn't help but interrupt with her question.
However, instead of Narcissa responding, it was Bellatrix who answered with a growl. "Albus Dumbledore, Frank Longbottom, Arthur and Molly Weasley, James Potter, Sirius Black, and…my dear little sister, Andromeda."
Hermione now knew why Andromeda was such a sore topic. Aside from running away from her family, she was one of the ones responsible for what happened to herself and her parents. "Wait, is that why you tortured Neville's parents? Not for," she looked over to the serpentine wizard, "the disappearance of…your Lord? But for what happened to me and my parents? And is that why you took so much glee in killing Sirius?" As she spoke, the teen carefully observed the dark witch's expression. She had noticed the glint of madness that filtered through the witch's eyes as she was obviously recounting the events of that night. And when Hermione asked her question, she saw a dark smirk plant itself on Bellatrix's face.
"Yes, and I would gladly do it again. And yes. The sweet torture of those…Longbottoms was mainly for interrogation purposes to find out where they placed you, but, I enjoyed every bit of it. And as for my blood traitor cousin, I gladly killed him out of revenge." Hermione nodded in understanding the twisted logic. It was a little off-putting, but nonetheless, understood the motives and actions. She could even go as far as to say that if she was put in a similar situation, she would do the same thing. This thought, however, shocked her more than Bellatrix's explanation.
"But, why would they do this? What was the point? Why did they take me when they could have just as easily killed me along with my parents?"
"Ryann," now Hermione just accepted the fact that the two Black sisters and the Dark Lord are more than likely going to refer to her by her real name, for it was the Dark Lord who spoke up this time. "You descend from a long line of very powerful and talented witches and wizards; powerful enough that you alone, even as a teenager, could be the deciding factor of the war between the dark and the light. And they didn't kill you out of what I can only assume was greediness. What good is it to kill the last heir of a very powerful and very wealthy House? Persuade you to their side and keep you rooted. You would-in their minds-have no doubt with helping them win this war, as well as fill their pockets for their own benefits and usage. Ryann, you are a very intelligent and gift witch. They don't call you the brightest witch of your age for no reason. As well as the fact that you have saved the lives of your 'friends', namely Potter and Weasley countless of times and assisted them with their schoolwork, to the point that they had come to expect it from you, including Dumbledore and his precious Order. They would very much want to ensure your loyalty to their cause."
In all honesty, Hermione wasn't very surprised to hear any of this. She didn't expect it, but, definitely wasn't surprised on some parts. It was true, over the past five and half years, it has become an expectation for her to devote herself to helping the boys and continue to save their lives. And it wasn't a shock when she learned of Dumbledore's seeking to claim any form of power in any way possible for his own personal gain. What that specific personal gain was, she did not know. Dumbledore was a manipulative old man, who treated them as pawns, especially Hermione herself. He even tried to persuade her into forgiving the boys, especially Ron, for yet another incident of a rude and disrespectful invasion of her personal life that they never seemed to cared for before in the first place, as well as going as far to insinuate that she was betraying Harry by just talking cordially to Malfoy. Hermione has also known that the Headmaster was trying to cajole her into a something more with Ronald. The very thought of it just made her shudder in disgust. As she realized this, the teen knew what she needed to do; where she belonged. She looked down to where her hand was entwined with Beckett's and she couldn't help but smile. She knew where she belonged and who she belonged with. Hermione looked up into the woman's purple eyes and sent her a sweet, loving smile that communicated the message of 'I choose you'. And the young curly haired witch was met with a smile and relief filled her eyes. And during this moment, she couldn't help but think that while Dumbledore and the 'light' were trying to keep her with the boys and them, their actions only pushed her away into the arms of her true family.
Clearing her throat, Hermione looked to the Dark Lord. "What do we do know?" Her question was met with relieved, pleased smiles from the three older library occupants.
Voldemort was very pleased with how Hermione accepted all of the information and was finally coming home. This night had been going a lot smoother than any of them had originally thought. "Well, considering that it is getting late, you are going to have to return to Hogwarts. And for right now, you will just act like you have been before tonight. It is imperative that Dumbledore remain unaware of what you now know. I assume that you have become proficient in occlumency."
"Yes, when I noticed that Dumbledore was acting weirder than usual, I felt it more prudent to block out my thoughts from those who are lurking around. I've even felt some pressure on my barriers quite a number of times whenever he was present."
The Dark Lord wasn't surprised this bit of news; though, He was pleased that the young lady was able to stave off the meddlesome professor's invasive actions. "Good. Now there isn't much more for you to do, but during the upcoming winter holidays, we will discuss as to what comes next. With that being said, I think it is best that you, Io, return our dear Ryann back to school." Both, the witches nodded their heads in assent and sent fleeting smiles—unsure and awkward on Hermione's part—as they left.
As they walked their journey to the front gate so they could apparate, Hermione asked a question that had been nagging her since Bellatrix had first mentioned it. "You know, you never told me why I was or, rather, am so special to you." She blushed as she addressed the other witch.
Beckett couldn't help but smirk at the teen's shyness. "As we hold our hands in each other's, what do you feel?"
Hermione was a little confused by the question, but come to think of it, she felt a slight pulsation of magic. "Well," she started, "it feels as if magic is swirling around us as a magnet, compelling me to be close to you and never let go." Beckett couldn't help but smile at her answer.
"That's exactly how it feels for me, too," the violet haired woman paused their walk as they now stood just outside the gates. She looked deeply into Hermione's eyes, "and that's how it has been since you were born. I had always wanted to be with you, and you with I. You would always cry and throw hissy fits whenever we parted. Hermione, what we feel is the magical bond that dictates that we were made for each other—a bond that only soulmates have. And when you were taken from me, I felt as if my heart was ripped from my chest and ripped up into tiny little pieces. That's why you are so special to me, Hermione, you are my other half."
The younger witch couldn't help but cry at Beckett's explanation and launched herself at Beckett. Locking hands into the violent hair, Hermione pressed her lips to those of Beckett's and kissed her with everything she had. The taller witch was pleased, to say the least and kissed the teen with equal passion. It was when they ran out of air when they parted their lips and pressed their foreheads together. Breathing heavily, the violet haired witch spoke, "you have no idea how long I have wanted for that to happen, but little witch, we really should be getting you back."
Hermione pouted unconsciously, disappointed by that fact but she, nonetheless, nodded her head. She made a move to step back when arms wrapped themselves around her waist and lips attached themselves to hers. And with that, locked in each other's arms, the two witches disappeared with a pop.
And that's it for this chapter! Thank you for reading it!