Her world was falling, falling, everything was going dark, something cold was pressing at her forehead, then a contrasting white hot burst of pain, a high cold laugh.

Green light flashed. Someone screamed.

Halloween, 1981 and Hermione Jean Granger's world as she knew it ended.

'You're looking for who?'

Ms. Rehana of the orphanage was a tall, thin woman, with lank black hair and small brown eyes. She squinted suspiciously at the stranger gracing her doorstep, a middle aged woman wearing a tight bun and clothes that had gone out of fashion twenty years ago.

'A Hermione Granger. I am Professor McGonagall and I have come to offer Ms. Granger a place at my school.' The stranger said, in a slightly exasperated tone, like she'd done this job far more often than she liked.

'I'm sorry, but this is an orphanage. We don't have the funds to send the kids to fancy schools.'

'It is for free. Her name has been entered there by birth and she is entitled for a scholarship. Also, it is a boarding school, which you do not have to pay for.'

Ms. Rehana squinted again. She sighed and then invited the McGonagall lady to her office. The Granger girl was called for and she bustled in, bushy hair flying. The girl was clever sure, but what she'd done to get a place at some boarding school for free, Rehana had no idea.

'Well, Hermione, you can have a talk with the Professor and ask her a few questions, I believe about this new boarding school of yours.' Ms. Rehana said. She nodded at the McAlister lady or whatever her name was and then left them alone.

It had been two days since Professor McGonagall had given her her Hogwarts letter and Hermione was thrilled. A magic school and she was a witch, how did they expect her to wait for another week?

Thinking on that helped Hermione to not dwell much on the rather dark side of what Professor McGonagall had said. A Dark Lord and why she had that lightning bolt scar on her forehead and who her parents were. Of course, Hermione had immediately asked the next question that popped in her head:

Why couldn't she have gone to live with her relatives? Surely, she'd have had some sort of relatives. Did they not want her? Had they known she was a witch and didn't want her?

Professor McGonagall had simply said that her only known relatives (Father's brother) lived in the US, and being the Girl Who Lived, she had to stay in Britain.

Jean and Will Granger. She hadn't known their names before. And she hadn't known that they'd been dentists. Weird. She had barely been to the dentist thrice.

She said it out loud sometimes, Jean, Will and Hermione Granger. It sounded nice. It sounded like safety. It sounded like family, goddamn it.

Hermione wanted this new world but she was afraid she would forget that the loss of her parents was because of this world. People like her, McGonagall had said, were called Muggle borns. And she might as well be the most famous Muggle born out there.

Hermione couldn't sleep. Hunger was gnawing at her stomach and the dorms were deathly quiet. She had snuck food before, but Luke had always been there with her. And they hadn't talked for weeks since that incident. Now if she went to the kitchens, he'd rat on her, Hermione was sure. Her stomach made its thoughts clear, giving a rumble. Hermione sighed, pulling her legs to the side of the bunk. She was on the top bed, with Selene on the lower bunk, but thankfully the girl was a heavy sleeper. Hermione tip toed onto the corner of the bunk, carefully avoiding Selene's sleeping body and landed on the floor, as quiet as she could manage.

The kitchen was across the dining hall, and the door was never locked. It was one of the things Hermione loved Ms. Rehana for. She walked to the kitchen on tip toe, careful not to make a sound.

Luke was there.

She'd have known that silhouette anywhere. Hermione walked on, slightly tapping him on the shoulder. He didn't so much as flinch before turning.

'Hermione Jean Granger, the Girl Who Lived! Royalty, eh?' he whispered bitterly.

'How did you know that?'

'Darling, who taught you to eavesdrop?'

'You were eavesdropping on me? How dare you; that was such an indecent thing to do-'

'Spare me the lecture, Hermione. I thought we were supposed to be friends? Best friends even?' Luke asked, his voice slightly straining at the end.

'And it has been two days since that lady told you about all this. In barely two months, you'll be gone, without even telling me the truth.'

'Luke-' Hermione started, but Luke wasn't listening.

'It's fine, Hermione. You won't even be here from next year, so what does it matter about me? After all, you're some Dark wizard vanisher, aren't you? You're probably famous as hell there, so have fun. And don't go trying to snuck food there, I doubt they'd appreciate thieving.'

'Luke, you have to understand, I'm not supposed to tell anyone about it,'

'I've told you Hermione, its completely fine. I understand. And the soup's terrible cold, I doubt you're going to want any.'

He was lying. He didn't understand and Hermione knew in that moment, that if she was ever friends with him after this, it would never be the same.

He found her practising her magic, the other day. Her jeans had ripped at the knee, and she was stitching it back. When she called out his name he didn't respond.

Hermione sighed. Luke was probably the only friend she had and without him, everything was just, so lonely. She kneeled on the dry grass, spotting a snake slithering along. Its forked tongue slipped out and it hissed. Except she could understand it.

I'm Hermione, she said.

You speak my language. You are gifted, girl.

Why, thank you, said Hermione. There was a sudden snap and she turned to see Luke staring at her, looking like he'd just seen a ghost.

'And your lot can speak with snakes as well. Charming.'

'Luke, please-'

He left and so did the snake. Hermione had never felt so lonely.

September first dawned bright, and excitement coursed through Hermione as Mr. Lucas gave her a ride in his battered Ford to Kings Cross Station. She'd never been in a train before, let alone a car. Hermione had double and triple packed her trunk. Ms. Rehana had even given her some pocket change for the trip to Diagon Alley, a few weeks earlier, and Hermione had managed to scavenge a few books at half the rate. She was in books, goddamn it!

Of course, there weren't exactly pages, but there was that line under You Know Who's terror reign in 1981, saying a muggle born called Hermione Granger, suspected to be the only known survivor of the killing curse as well as the cause for the Dark Wizard's subsequent disappearance. The book didn't mention her parents, except for saying they were muggles, which saddened Hermione a bit, but the prospect of knowledge was enough to keep her up all night in anticipation. The fact that she was a muggle born had apparently been a point of controversy, which Hermione hated, it sounded like some sort of racism, and she'd desperately wanted to read up on blood purity and what it meant, but she didn't have the money for a book. So what if all she got now was a bare few lines? Someday, she'd make sure there would be books about her, with her parents names as well.

Kings Cross was, for lack of better words, alive. People, everywhere- men in suits, boys and girls bustling around in neat, colourful dresses. Hermione looked ruefully down at her faded and patched up jeans and jumper. Oh well, she was in books and they weren't.

Mr. Lucas had left her at Platform Nine, with a gruff, 'Take care lass,' and in the bustle of people, Hermione felt small. She pulled her heavy trunk behind her, trying to spot the partition between the platforms. Hermione closed her eyes, and rushed in trunk first. When she opened her eyes, haggling the trunk along, the sight that met her eyes was a scarlet engine which looked so fabulous and bright and hopeful, that Hermione simply couldn't fathom anything wrong on her first day at such a prestigious school.

She managed to load it in with the help of another muggle born called Dean Thomas and they got into the same compartment, along with a sandy haired Irish boy called Seamus Finnigan. Seamus looked at her oddly when she introduced herself, but Hermione chalked it down to her being the Girl Who Lived.

'So, what house, do you think you'll be in?' asked Dean, apparently very curious about the system at Hogwarts.

'I'll be a Gryffindor,' said Seamus.

'I'd like to be one too,' Hermione said. 'But a Ravenclaw wouldn't be that bad, I suppose.'

'Hermione Jean Granger, the Girl Who Lived, eh? A muggle born with a thirst to prove yourself, you're one ambitious kid. I'd put you for Ravenclaw, but that would get you nowhere. Gryffindor, maybe?'

Gryffindor would be great, thank you.

'But you're too ambitious for your own good. And I've made my decision.'

SLYTHERIN!

Hermione's sorting was not the only controversial one of the evening. Ronald Weasley, whom everyone had expected to be in Gryffindor like the rest of his family, had been sorted into Slytherin as well.

Well, thought Hermione, if the Slytherins were as prejudiced as Dean and Seamus had said, she hoped she would have an ally of sorts in Weasley.

Hermione felt sick. She had never had so much food in her life. And everything tasted so good. Damn, she really shouldn't have had the treacle tart. Hermione hoped she wouldn't throw it all up.

'If you're wondering why its suddenly stinking, Millicent, the mudblood just walked in.' That was Pansy Parkinson, a pug faced witch whom Hermione immediately hated. She had never liked bullies. Millicent Bulstrode, another of her dorm mates, barely glanced at Hermione before returning to pet her cat.

'A mudblood, eh? You must have been really ambitious,' said Blaise Zabini, a dark skinned boy, who plopped onto one of the couches. The Slytherin common room was in the dungeons, and was promptly decorated with the house colours- green and silver. Even some of the couches had patterns of tiny emerald eyed snakes. Hermione wondered if they could talk. There were a few portraits, which moved and talked.

Hermione glared at him, suddenly aware of her second hand robes. She didn't know what a mudblood was, but it was obviously rude and the casual arrogance with which Zabini said the word made her believe it was a common insult in their lives.

'You shut your mouth, Zabini. You're just hating on Granger, cause she's the one who made You Know Who disappear for all these years.' Weasley cut in and Hermione met his eyes, smiling. Someone was standing up for her in this place. She immediately decided she'd try to be his friend.

'You're something to talk, Weasley.' Drawled a blonde boy, flanked by two huge boys who looked like his bodyguards. 'After all, you're a blood traitor. Oh, when father hears that a Weasley and by Merlin, the girl who lived were sorted into Slytherin. What would Salazar say? A Malfoy sharing dorms with a Weasley! There used to be standards, Father always says.'

Hermione wanted to say she didn't give a damn about what his Father said. Ron gave her a he's-a-git-ignore-him look and she nodded slightly in response.

Zabini grinned. 'We're not all going to kiss your feet, Granger. I'll be surprised if Pansy lets a mudblood sleep in her dorm. Perhaps I'll see you in the morning. Perhaps not. At any rate, good night.'

The two prefects walked in then, and everyone was directed to the dorms. She mouthed a good night to Ron before leaving, and made a mental note to ask him what a mudblood meant.

The orphanage had never been completely silent. Located in London, it was either the hustle of traffic or the incessant crying of infants. Lying on a warm four poster bed was completely new for Hermione. Everything was new. All her life, she'd been the girl from the orphanage. Here she was known. She wasn't famous the way filmstars were famous but to an extent she was, known.

Which was why she suddenly hated herself. She wasn't up for this at all. She was the orphan girl who never got adopted, with wild hair and beaver teeth. Her robes were second hand, her books tattered and old, her accent weird among the posh, well brought up pronunciation of witches like Daphne Greengrass. She wasn't pretty. She wasn't special. She wasn't even brave or intelligent enough to get into Gryffindor or Ravenclaw, damn it.

Hermione realised she was homesick for a home she'd never had.

She sat next to Ron Weasley for breakfast, and watched as hundreds of owls flew into the Great Hall. The blue sky, and the cacophony of goblets dropping, owls screeching, the scrape of a fork against the table, general chatter, increased in volume as the students of Hogwarts received their first post of the term.

Three red headed boys walked forward to the Slytherin table. Malfoy wrinkled his nose at them and started to brag about the sweets his mother had sent to Daphne Greengrass.

'So, Ronniekins? Never knew you'd be the one to turn to the dark side!' said one of a pair. His twin grinned mischievously while the other redhead, who wore slightly horned glasses cleared his throat.

'Now, Fred, George, there's nothing wrong on Ron's sorting-'

'Nothing wrong, Perce, just unexpected,'

'Guys,' protested Ron feebly. 'Did you write mum and dad yet?'

'Well, it certainly was a surprise, I'm sure they won't worry, Ron, but no, I haven't written them yet. I thought you should be the one to do it.' said the boy called Perce.

'Chin up, little bro. You've gotta watch out, now Ronnie.'

'Don't call me that,' Ron muttered, but he did look less nervous.

'What do your lot have first?'

'Potions,' said Hermione.

'Charming. Good luck, Ronnie!' With this farewell, the twins left and Ron continued eating with gusto. Draco Malfoy was now talking about a Professor Snape, their esteemed Head of House.

'Ron, can I ask you something?' He nodded.

'What's a mudblood?'

He looked slightly uncomfortable. 'It's a really foul name for someone who's muggleborn. Like you. They're gits, you'll be fine.'

Hermione just nodded, deep in thought.

So this new world of hers was as racist as the one she'd been born into. And they'd had a civil war, which the murder if her parents had ended and that was why she was called the Girl Who Lived. For not dying when the evil wizard wanted her to.

Of course, her house seemed to think it was a very casual subject. Zabini was the worst. The way he called her a mudblood was the way you called someone by their name.

('I didn't know the mudblood could pass her first term, did she wet her bed in fear, Pansy? Christmas, what a muggle idea, its Yuletide, you idiot! Very tragic story about your parents, don't you think? Muggles of the lowest kind, to leave you in an orphanage of all places,')

She didn't go back for Christmas. Food was good here and anyways, Luke didn't talk to her anymore.

They picked on Ron as well, at times.

('Blood traitors, the whole lot of them, did your parents have to starve to get you that wand? Hanging around with riff raff like Potter, everyone knows his mother is a mudblood, why, I think that book was bought in when, 1902?)

The fact that the rest of his family was in Gryffindor and that he was friends with a boy called Harry Potter, irritated them to no end. Dean and Seamus nodded at her sometimes in the hallways, but apart from that, the only friend she'd sort of made was Ron. She didn't like Percy, who was very pompous and Fred (they'd been surprised when she could figure them out), who was mean in his pranks at times, much but she liked George and Ron well enough.

It was a Saturday, and Ron had gone off with Potter to see the groundskeeper. Hermione sat in a corner, and reread her potions essay. Her writing and vocabulary were behind that of her year mates, because she hadn't attended school regularly. She also had a tendency to use slang, and nearly everyone had difficulty understanding her accent, which she blamed on Mr. Lucas's Scottish and Ms. Rehana's Bradford accents. But Hermione had always been a fast learner, and she was quickly scratching out words and rewriting when the Common Room door opened. Malfoy and Parkinson walked in, laughing airily. Nott, who was leaning on a couch nearby mumbled a greeting.

'Granger, don't tell me you're still doing the Potions essay. How did you pass the first term, if you can't figure out the spelling of Moonstone?'

'Shut it, Malfoy. At least I don't depend on my Father for my grades.'

'You stupid little mudblood, you don't even have a father.' Drawled Malfoy, smirking. Parkinson sighed.

'Now, now, let's not bother the girl. After all, if her parents were muggles, what can she do? Probably their filthy, common blood-'

'Shut the fuck up!' Hermione swore loudly, getting up in anger. She could feel herself flaring, the desire to hurt the stupid pighead growing, to hear her scream. She had always had a terrible temper if roused, and she could feel her magic shaking, reaching, maybe she would let it…

'Pansy, is this really necessary? The mudblood looks like she's going to explode,' Zabini remarked.

Hermione's eyes landed on the snakes decorating the wall of the fireplace. She could have sworn it just moved.

'Hello?' she hissed. There was no response.

'Trying to speak Gobbledegook, Granger?'

'I've told you to sod off and leave me alone, I think. Or are you as stupid as you look?' She didn't know where she was going with this, she usually never let their taunts rile her but God, Christmas vacations had ended, and yet, they were still like this. She hated them.

'The mudblood's getting a spine, Draco.' Remarked Blaise casually, still fixated on his fingernails. This. This casual indifference was what she hated the most. She wasn't even worth of him looking up to the scene going on.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. 'Mudbloods need to be taught where their places are. Up for a duel, Granger?'

'Going to waste your time and magic on illiterate little Granger-'

'I am not illiterate!' shouted Hermione hotly, her wand in her hand as she sensed magic flickering madly, uncontrollable, hurt the prat, hurt him…

Her wand slipped from her hand and with all her strength, she punched Zabini right on his perfect, pure well bred, genetic good looking nose.

She heard something like 'you bitch' and then someone had slapped her on the face. Parkinson.

She'd had enough. Hermione was not going to stand any of their insults for another moment. She'd endured them till Christmas, she'd given them their due time, tried to understand the why of blood purity, but all she could accuse them for was their rotten and bigoted upbringing. She clawed at the girl's face blindly, leaving a satisfactory cut on her cheek and then picked up her wand from below. She was a witch, Hermione repeated in her mind.

She pointed her wand at them, hand slightly shaking as she heard her own voice declare, 'Yes, I'm up for a duel, Malfoy.'

'I'm not fighting with a mudblood who prefers the muggle way. Have to report you to Pomfrey, I reckon, if you're going to have another breakdown,' he said coolly as Zabini stood up from his position. He was still smirking, even as blood trickled from his nose.

'I'm going to the Hospital Wing, Draco. Poor Granger is unstable as well, I see, probably why they left their Girl Who Lived in an orphanage.'

'I'm not the one with a bleeding nose, Zabini.'

'Don't make me punch you as well, Granger. Maybe we can truly see how filthy your blood is,' he said and before she could retort, he was out of the Common Room.

'Coward!' she called out, before slumping onto the armchair. Parkinson and Malfoy stared daggers at her before leaving. Hermione resolved to check her bed for curses before sleeping.

From tomorrow, first things first, she was going to look up some good hexes. Her knuckles hurt.

'You punched Zabini on the nose! Merlin, I didn't know you had it in you,' Ron thumped her on the shoulder excitedly when she told him what happened. George and Potter, who were there nearby, stared at her incredulously.

'You don't look like it,' said George and Potter nodded.

'I can't stand them anymore. They're such bigoted gits, every last one of them. Tracey Davis is half blood and they bully her at times but she still acts like I'm filth.'

'Ditch Slytherins. Its their upbringing.' Said Potter darkly.

'The rest of them aren't that bad though. Adrian Pucey is good enough. So is Laura Burke, she's fine. Its our year which has almost all Death Eaters in training.' Ron said.

'Yusra Shafiq is nice,' added Hermione, remembering the dark haired second year girl she's met in the library.

'She's pretty.' George said, slightly dreamy. Hermione smiled, inexplicably reminded of Luke.

It had been a week since she'd punched Zabini and while he still called her a mudblood, most of the insults had stopped. She talked with Yusra Shafiq as well, who despite being related to the explicitly pureblood Shafiqs, wasn't a blood purist.

'You're the Girl Who Lived, Hermione,' she said one evening. 'The purebloods who supported the Dark Lord hate you because you're the one who made him disappear. The purebloods who were neutral, like mine or Zabini, don't know what to do because you're muggle born. The muggleborns take you as some tragic heroine. And now that you're sorted into Slytherin, your image doesn't look that neat, eh?'

Yusra was barely thirteen, but she had the mind of someone raised up on a daily dose of politics. The clarifications she gave were clinical, detached and yet, invaluable snippets of advice. Hermione and Ron often sat with her in the evenings and it was interesting, to learn more about this world, the Dark and the Light of it all.

'This is so weird,' remarked Hermione. It was night, a Saturday and the Weasley twins, who were very impressed with Hermione since she'd punched Zabini on the nose, had dared her and Ron to sneak out at night. Apparently it was some sort of Hogwarts Experience. She usually wasn't one for dares but she supposed she was feeling reckless today. And she was curious to find more about the castle itself, which seemed to have some medieval, almost ancient aura around it.

'What did you say in the end? Water?'

'Weird,' Hermione repeated.

'Weeds?'

'Weird.'

'Weyar- what?'

'Never mind.' Sighed Hermione. Her accent wasn't that thick.

She was used to sneaking around- whether for midnight snacks or other things, but Hogwarts was just alive, breathing. You were never truly alone here.

They walked past a portrait of an old lady diagnosing Ron's freckles as some disease while informing Hermione that she was too skinny. They then narrowly escaped a pair of luminous eyes- Mrs. Norris, and hurried into an empty classroom.

'Woah,' Ron said. 'We'll wait till the cat goes and then find the Gryffindor room.'

The classroom was adorned with a few stray spiderwebs and dust covered benches. She walked further into the room, remembering not to make any noise.

'How do you do that? You look like you're gliding,' asked Ron.

'It's a god given talent, Weasley.'

'Yeah, right. You just mean you have experience in sneaking about.'

There was a tall, elegant mirror in front of her, and everything in Hermione was telling her to not look, but Hermione still did anyway.

'Ron, c'mere, have a look,'

' Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.' Ron read out. 'Is that how you spell a sneeze?'

'Backwards,' she clarified. 'I show not your face but your heart's desire.'

He stood in front of the mirror, mouth open in awe. The next few words came out excitedly and rapid.

'I'm in Gryffindor, my robes are scarlet and gold, wait I'm holding a Nimbus, that's the best broom-'

Hermione rolled her eyes. She hated quidditch and flying. Mainly because she was hopeless at it.

'And I'm Captain, and Head Boy, just like Bill, don't you think, and my Quidditch robes look brand new,'

'Is that what you really want?' she asked softly. 'New robes, riches, Gryffindor with the rest of your family, Head Boy?'

Ron looked at her. 'You think too much. Go on, have a look yourself.'

Hermione stood in front and gazed into her own reflection. Her front teeth were normal, and she was wearing a colourful, neat dress, her holly and phoenix wand in her fingers. Two people she'd never known were standing behind her, but their faces were familiar, like an old, blurry childhood memory. In her heart, she knew who they were. She just didn't dare hope for it.

In the early days at the orphanage, Hermione had somehow believed she would be adopted. It had never happened, and the fact had been accepted as it was. She had not known her parents names and that had been accepted. She had not known how they looked- whether her bushy hair was from her mother, whether her eyes were from her father, who had chosen her name and that had also been silently accepted. After all, there were kids who had never known parents, never been sung lullabies, never known their mother's milk. She had had that luck for a whole year, at the very least.

Sometimes, she felt she was lucky she didn't have any memories of her parents. Luke had had his parents till he was eight, and she remembered hearing him cry the first night at the dorms. She'd ignored it then. That way, at least she didn't miss them.

Then there was the fact that the Wizarding World had, sort of, left her in Britain instead with her father's cousin she'd never known of, but Hermione had also accepted that. There was no changing the past, only the future.

She devoured the sight hungrily, trying to remember any details, trying to see some personality in those eyes, but all she saw was happiness, peace, empty smiles. These were caricatures of real, dead people. She touched the mirror Hermione's hand. Cold, ungiving.

Her father, with warm brown eyes smiled down at her, ruffling her hair. Her mother looked at Hermione warmly, tears lining her eyes. Mirror Hermione was less skinny and more happy.

The scene changed.

Draco Malfoy, Parkinson, Zabini were lying at her feet. She stood tall, smirking, twirling her wand in her fingers as she looked down at them. Her parents stood behind her and they looked famous, admired.

Was that what she really wanted?

A/N: This is an AU, and as such, there is no Golden Trio because I find it highly unrealistic. Obviously, the Prophecy has changed, and Snape was not the one who heard it. Hermione will not fall in love with Draco Malfoy or be secretly pureblood, because that completely destroys the main backstory of the fic. Hermione being muggleborn is a problem, and so the Wizarding World thinks Voldemort has disappeared, not dead. Her character changes, and she is not going to cry in bathrooms, and she isn't as book smart as in canon. While she loves books, growing up in an orphanage hasn't exactly given her free library cards. She is still extremely smart and intelligent and a ruthless streak ( remember Marietta?) and still the girl who started S.P.E.W. More of Harry will be seen as the story progresses. And first year won't take up the whole fic, just another chapter.

Sorry for the long note, and review please. Feedback and any queries are welcome.