A/N: Returning to the present, rather than the backstory. It is 2002, and Hermione is 23. Also, a huge thank you to boobearhplover for reviewing! You're awesome!
Hermione shut the book with a thud, letting it fall onto the glass coffee table. Rubbing her eyes blearily, she looked out of the window to see the sun rising. Had she really read through a whole day and night without realizing it? No wonder she felt so hungry. Then, she noticed the small plate of sandwiches and the cup of hot jasmine tea on the other side of the table. A smile briefly crossed her face. As she began devouring the sandwiches, her mind whirled with all of her newfound knowledge. "That's the most unladylike manner of eating I've seen," a voice cut through her thoughts.
Hermione shrieked, dropping her half-eaten sandwich in her lap. Looking towards where the voice had come from, she saw a large portrait on the eastern wall of the library. A tall man with dark hair looked down at her, stern but slightly amused. "Who are you?" she snapped, annoyed at his smirk.
That smirk quickly turned into a frown. "You dare to ask who I am? Have your parents not taught you anything?"
Slightly offended, Hermione replied, "I'm a muggleborn. So of course my parents wouldn't have taught me who some cranky man in a portrait is." She paused slightly. "I'm sorry. That was quite rude of me. But no. I don't know who you are."
The portrait looked momentarily confused, before he schooled his features back into a tight aristocratic mask. "You're not a muggleborn. You're in my house aren't you?" He watched as Hermione's face crumpled and any semblance of defiance left her body.
"So it's true, isn't it?"
"What is true?"
"I'm not originally a Granger, but instead a Sagitta?"
The man seemed to show some compassion towards her, a feeling her hadn't felt in the almost century of emptiness in the Manor, or basically since his death a half-century before that. Even during his lifetime, few truly earned his trust and his love. Somehow, this witch, with her different mannerisms and defiant attitude, had already wormed her way into his heart, and he swore to teach her the things she clearly had yet to know about. He wondered what had gone so drastically wrong that one of his heirs would completely not know her heritage. "What's your name, my dear?" he asked in a voice so warm even he was surprised.
"Hermione Jean Granger. Uhm. Actually Hermione Sagitta, I suppose." She said this so morosely. Everything she knew about herself was a lie. She didn't even know her middle name. Was it still Jean? Was her first name still Hermione? She figured she'd keep the Hermione Jean. She'd always liked her name. Maybe she'd even keep the Granger and just tack on Sagitta at the end? Hermione Jean Granger Sagitta. It had a nice ring to it.
She looked back up at the portrait who was silently observing her. "Sir? Mr. Sagitta?" she asked hesitantly.
"The name is Neoptolemus."
Hermione's eyes lit up. "Neoptolemus? Like the son of Achilles?"
The man countered with, "Hermione? Like the daughter of Helen?" He went on to tell her that it was a tradition for members of the Sagitta family to be named for Greek heroes, especially those involved with the Trojan War.
Hermione chatted with him for a bit longer, before suddenly realizing what she had meant to say before. She took her leave from him and attempted to go back to her room. She knew she needed some time to process everything that had happened. She stepped out of the library and began walking through the long corridors. She was sure she knew how to return to her room, but she ended up miserably lost. Hesitantly, she called out for Spotty.
With a crack, Spotty appeared in front of her, "Mistress be calling for Spotty?" Hermione got the elf to lead her back to her room. Idly, she wondered when she'd started calling it her room. She still didn't quite want to believe she was a part of this side of the wizarding world. Dismissing Spotty, she sat down on the edge of the bed, thinking hard. Instinctively, she felt that everything she had read was right. She was a Pureblood. She was the sole heir of the House of Sagitta. All of the other Sacred 28 families had betrayed hers. At this, she felt a surge of anger spike through her. The Weasleys. They had treated her like a daughter, a sister. Even when things with Ron hadn't worked out, they had remained close friends. Somewhere down the line though, their family had helped make hers nearly extinct. She might not have existed and it was their fault. She looked to the fireplace in her room. It was connected to the Floo. Stepping in and throwing the green powder down, she cried out, "Grimmauld Place." Stumbling into Harry's living room, she let the emotions wash over her, and burst into an uncharacteristic flood of tears as Harry came down the stairs.
"Hermione? Hermione, what happened? Are you hurt? Where have you been the past few days?" Harry shot off several more questions at her to which she just sobbed louder.
She began to speak, almost incoherently. Through her tears, she managed to choke out, "Everything… is falling… apart." Her best friend held her tightly, joining her on the floor. Her tears had nearly subsided when Ron's head poked through the fireplace.
"Harry, are you ready to go? Oh hey, Hermione. Wait, why are you crying? Hold on, I'm coming through. Just let m—"
Hermione screamed so viciously that Harry jumped back in surprise. "Stay the HELL away from me, Weasley," she spat out as she picked up the nearest object. The vase crashed into the fireplace, shattering loudly. In the hallway, the portrait of Walburga Black woke, and the woman began screaming like a banshee.
Harry rolled his eyes, getting up to go shut the curtains in front of the portrait. Hermione get up to follow him. The minute Walburga saw her, her shrieks grew louder. "Mudblood! Mudblood sullying my house! Filth!"
Hermione marched right up to the portrait. "Shut up. I'm not a mudblood." Harry stared at her, wondering what had gotten into his friend. Walburga sneered, asking who she could possibly be. Hermione's eyes narrowed. "Does the name Sagitta mean anything to you?"
The next moment was one for history books. Walburga's mouth, ready to make a cutting remark, snapped shut. Her eyes widened in fear, and the blood drained from her face. For a whole 15 seconds, she was silent. In a shaky voice she whispered, "No. No, you're not. All the Sagittas are dead. Gone. All dead. How do you know of them? They aren't in any books anymore. Who are you really?"
Standing tall and straight, Hermione accepted her identity, speaking coldly to the portrait. "I am Hermione Jean Granger Sagitta. You will remember my name."
A/N: Reviews pretty please? I know many of you are reading this. Just an itty bitty review can make my day 3
