Everything began to pass in a blur for Hermione when she awoke within the Black family townhouse; she had been placed in the room she had once shared with Ginny, except the redhead's bed had been removed and her own enlarged. The pain of her injuries was still present, and Kreature had been muttering beside her; he had been waving her hands and casting elfin Magic to heal the worst of her wounds. It had been Kreacher who had saved her; he had been persistent in his efforts to keep her from succumbing to her injuries or dehydration. Without her friends, Hermione felt no real point in continuing to live.
Lying in bed, she spent hours staring at the ceiling, the pain in her body a dull throb compared to the agony in her heart. She drifted in and out of consciousness, the line between dreams and reality blurring. Each time she woke, Kreacher was there, his eyes filled with a mix of determination and concern, though Hermione knew that couldn't be true, Kreacher didn't care for her. Hermione knew, in some distant part of her mind, that he was the reason she was still breathing, though she couldn't understand why.
When she finally managed to drag herself to a mirror, the sight that greeted her was almost unrecognizable. Once filled with warmth and kindness, her eyes were now dark, hollow, and broken. They were the eyes of someone who had seen and lost too much, leaving her feeling broken. Her mahogany curls hung limply from her head, lacking the usual life and volume. The months on the run had not been kind to her features or figure, and Hermione felt herself wincing at the sight of her pale skin stretched tightly over her features and the clothes hanging limply on her skeleton frame. Despite Kreetures efforts to ensure she ate, she had not been putting on any weight, much to the Elf's frustration.
Hermione thought of ending things on her darkest days and freeing herself of this pain. She had never given much thought to the afterlife; she found the possibility that she could be reunited with all of her friends and family too tempting to bear at times. Her thoughts were always chased away by a burning guilt; her friends wouldn't have wanted that for her; they would have wanted her to live and find a way to move on without them, something that seemed impossible at the moment.
Kreacher had quietly removed all sharp objects from her reach, a fact that did not escape her notice. She didn't even have the energy to be angry about it; it was a distant concern, like everything else, and she found her heart slightly warmed by his concern. Her world had narrowed to the space around her bed and the relentless, suffocating grief that weighed her down. Days turned into weeks; before she knew it, months had passed, and she gradually began to heal. The cursed scar on her arm still pulsed with Dark Magic, but Kreature had been able to seal the horrendous slur while it still looked pink and angry. It no longer bled and released puss, which she found to be a small blessing.
Gradually, the overwhelming depression began to ease, just a little, but it made the days more bearable; her nights were still plagued with nightmares, some that Hermione didn't ever think she would genuinely escape. Despite the house's dark history, feeling safe in Grimmauld Place was easy. It had become like home to Hermione as a teenager and then again as an adult on the run with Harry and Ron. In peace, though, Hermione found that she was unable to keep her mind from fixating on the building questions in her mind; she felt a brimming need to discover the secrets behind what Voldemort had cast; Hermione had never once heard of such Magic before, but more than that she wanted to understand why only she and magical creatures seemed to be the only beings that had survived the effects of Voldemort's Magic on the battle filed; Hermione had never believed herself to be anything beyond the average witch, while Hemione knew that she was a powerful witch, she knew her Magic paled in comparison to the likes of Dumbledore, Voldemort and even Harry. Ron, for all his emotional range, was a powerful wizard in his own right. Knowing that there was something she was missing, she took the first steps out of her room.
She hadn't left her room in ninety-two days and hadn't had the strength to pull open the heavy oak door that separated her from the rest of the world. In her room, Hermione felt safe and within her own bubble of guilt and anger. Hermione let her feet guide her on the familiar path to the Black Library.
She needed to turn to the one thing that had always comforted her: research. She needed to understand why she was still alive when so many others were dead.
Hermione knew it couldn't be her Muggle-born status; she hadn't been the only Muggle-born there, and Dean hadn't been spared by Voldemort's curse. Hermione knew that whatever had kept her alive was specific to her. She felt this was her punishment for killing Voldemort. Her mind raced with the lack of information, spiralling in her need to find the answers; despite all her theories, she couldn't shake off the feeling that she was missing some large integral piece of the puzzle.
Books and scrolls soon covered every surface in the room, and her research could not be contained on a single surface. Kreacher brought her meals, which often went untouched, and he watched with worry in his eyes as she buried herself in her work. Hermione delved into ancient texts and modern theories, searching for answers. The need to know propelled her, giving her purpose where there had been none.
Kreature's behaviour towards the brunette brought her more questions; the elderly Elf had always been odd towards her; he had always tread the fine line between being affectionate and disparaging, alternating between calling her a Mudblood and Princess. Since her arrival at Grimmauld Place, he had stopped mentioning her dirty blood; he had started to bow to her whenever she summoned him. The Elf had saved her life when she had first arrived at the manor; he had barely left her bedside in the initial stages of her recovery, tending to her every injury and urging her to continue fighting.
Hermione once asked Sirius about Kreature's' odd treatment of her, but he released a bark of laughter and told her that the old Elf had gone mad tending to his odious mother alone for a decade. Despite his reassurances, Hermione had always felt that there was more to it than that; there was always a conflicted look on the Elf's face as he looked at her as if he couldn't decide what she was or who she was. Every time Hermione attempted to question him, the grumpy Elf would promptly disappear to some other part of the house for a few hours.
Shaking her thoughts of Kreature aside for now, Hermione concentrated on finding information about the curse Voldemort released, hoping that would lead to some answers about what had happened. She also looked for genetic spells and information about Magical creatures, hoping that would answer some questions about why she and Magical creatures survived.
It Took her three days to make any headway with her research. She had stumbled upon an ancient spell used to determine if children were true heirs. The spell was supposed to show your family tree. The spell was simple enough and only required a few drops of blood and charmed paper, which were easy to find with Kreature's assistance.
Frustratingly, the spell turned out to be a dead end. She had only received her name written, her last name suspiciously missing. Blood swirled on the parchment, but she couldn't spell out her family tree. Conflicted, she dug deeper, feeling her mind race with a new host of questions. She checked her casting multiple times and came no closer to receiving an answer each time.
Hermione had tried casting similar spells several times, but each attempt yielded the same result - she couldn't see her family tree. This was particularly troubling because she couldn't even verify the identity of her own parents. Hermione had already begun to suspect that she was adopted. However, she couldn't fathom why her parents, who had been cruel in their relationship, their only daughter, would volunteer to take on the care of a child.
Hermione's early years were marked by solitude and introspection, which fostered her independence and fortitude. Despite often being alone and removed from her peers, she found solace in pursuing her interests and achieving personal milestones with the support of Lela, the nanny her parents had brought into their lives. Hermione's father had converted a flat in their back garden for Lela to reside in, and she quickly became a source of comfort and affection for Hermione.
Lela's words of encouragement and displays of affection were the first Hermione had ever known. Lela offered tight hugs and bright smiles, and she had soothed Hermione through countless nightmares. These nightmares seemed to be a constant companion following Hermione's accident, which also stole all of her memories before the age of five. Building new memories of the people around her was easy when she was younger, and she had never really questioned it as she grew older.
An excuse that now felt hollow to Hermione. She had no memory of her parents or anything specific before waking up the day after her fifth birthday. She remembered waking up from a nightmare and not recognizing where she was, scared she had started to cry; Lela rushed in and soothed her worried sobs, explaining that she was safe and what had happened; Hermione didn't see her parents till the next day at the dinner table, her Farther ignored her presence while her mother gave her a strained smile while asking Lela to remove her from the room. It didn't make sense that they would voluntarily take on the responsibilities of a child when they had always made it seem as though she was a burden.
Hermione was deeply saddened when her parents let Lela go without even giving her a chance to say goodbye. It had been as if her Magic began to display itself when she got angry or sad. Hermione can still remember the curl of her mother's lips as she called her a freak. Her parents had been privy on one occasion; they had unexpectedly come home from a conference, not wanting her time with Lela to be encroached upon; she had shattered the windows in the kitchen; Lela was sent away the following day. After Lela's departure, Hermione's parents chose not to hire a replacement, believing she could care for herself at eight and no longer required a nanny's assistance with cooking or other tasks. Hermione had felt lost then, never knowing her life before having Lela.
Attending Hogwarts felt like a blessing. It helped her find a new family that she became determined to defend with all her power and, at times, make sacrifices that would forever haunt her. However, the more she thought about her situation, the more she couldn't shake the feeling that she was missing something significant. The lost years of her life now felt like a glaring hole, leaving her with an unsettling sensation as though she were on the brink of something terrible.
Hermione knew of a few ways someone could restore memories, though none of them were pleasant, each their own brand of torture depending on the method to remove the initial memories.
While searching for more information on memory restoration spells, she found an ancient book titled "Whispers of Damnation: An Anthology of Malefic Magic and its Haunting Echoes Across Time and Space." It had been hidden in one of the many desks within the library, locked behind a set of decaying wards. The book was bound in flesh and written in old English, with the letters written in dried blood; just touching the book gave Hermione an unsettled feeling.
In the book, she found mention of the curse Voldemort released; it had been released only at another time in history, at the beginning of the 5th Century. It followed the defeat of a powerful Dark Witch and was described as a great black smoke that covered everything in sight. Its power suffocated and killed every witch and wizard, not just within the area but around the planet. Magical creatures were speared for a time, their cores more substantial and strongly tied to the Earth's Magic, though they eventually succumbed to death.
The Dark Witch had tied her life force to the core of the Earth's Magic, where every magical being drew their power and life force. She hoped this would grant her immortality and infinite power to slay her enemies and their lands. The spell had failed spectacularly. It did give her a significant boost in power for a time, but nothing is genuinely immortal, and when she was eventually killed, the tie had been broken. The backlash of dark Magic poisoned the Earth's core. It was theorized that the spell had caused Mother Hecate, the mother of Magic and the goddess who blessed the Earth and people with her gift, to be so disgusted by the twisted Magic that she removed her gift, dooming all magical beings to eventually die.
For almost 500 years, Magic was gone. Over time, Magic gradually returned to the planet as Earth's core recovered and began releasing excess Magic to its people. According to this account, the sacred 28 were among the first families to be touched by Magic, causing Hermione to snort in derision. All those families were founded by Muggle-borns; the people they raved about had stolen Magic from their squib children.
Hermione wondered why they hadn't been taught this and why no more books were written about the dangers of messing with this type of Magic. Towards the end of the horrid text, she finally received her answer. The book had been written by one of the first Blacks. They had discovered ancient texts from the destroyed Wizarding history and realized they were not the original wizards. They were no more special than the Muggle-born's that they had already begun to hate and suppress to gain superiority. In their shame, the original families had come together to hide the truth and continue their ideology of being the strongest and purest, the only true ones worthy of Magic.
Once she had devoured the whole text, she closed it, placed it on the dusty desk she had been sitting against, and closed her eyes. She took a deep breath and called Kreature, bracing herself for the crack that followed his arrival.
"The Princess calls for Kreature." The small Elf bowed, his long ears barely sweeping the floor before he stood straight to face her.
Hermione took a deep breath before meeting the Elf's large grey eyes. "'I need you to get me some newspapers—wizard, Muggle, anything you can get your hands on. I need to know what's been happening for the last three months. Can you do that for me, Kreacher? "Her hesitant eyes met his in question. Kreacher looked hesitant before nodding and disappearing as quickly as he had arrived.
Placing her head in her hands, dishevelled brown curls cast a curtain across her features. She wasn't sure she wanted the confirmation the papers would bring; if the curse did as it suggested in the book, Magic would have been removed again, only resulting in catastrophic consequences. The magical world was much larger than in the 5th Century when Wizards lived alongside the muggles. There were no hidden villages or cities. Hermione could imagine the chaos following the sudden appearance of new Wizarding homes and offices.
She would guess that places like Hogwarts and Diagon Alley would be safe for some time. Like magical creatures, Places of heightened Magic with ancient wards built upon by every generation of new witches and wizards would be able to maintain themself for a time. It could be the same for places like Grimmauld Place, whose wards were as ancient as the birth of new Magic. Eventually, though, all wards would fall, and Muggles would be able to freely access those places, and they would be able to learn everything that had been hidden from them since the founding of the statue.
With determination, she hauled herself upright and made the decision to initiate the memory reversal process while she patiently waited for Kreature to come back. Hermione, fortunately, stumbled upon a small ritual that she could undertake independently; it called for specific potion ingredients that she remembered Professor Snape had stored in the property for his brewing, along with a few drops of blood and a Pensieve. The ritual was rumoured to be excruciatingly painful. Nonetheless, given the mystery surrounding the removal of her memories, it was the lone method guaranteed to restore some of her lost recollections.
Hermione could recall Sirius mentioning that his father, Orion Black, had a pensive in his office, though she was unsure if one remained. Sirius had banned everyone from entering the space when the Order took over. She had heard him in there once when he was in one of his moods; he had been wailing, and she could hear what sounded like breaking furniture and smashing glass.
She moved quickly, unsure of how long she had before Kreature returned. Making her way down into the Basement, she promptly secured the necessary ingredients for the ritual and a spare copper cauldron. She was thankful that Professor Snape had been rigorous in casting preservation charms.
Quickly moving up the two flights of stairs between the Basement and the office, she didn't hesitate to push open the mahogany door. Her suspicions were confirmed: Sirius had indeed destroyed the room. A once grand desk had been reduced to a pile of wood, and the deep purple drapes had been burned, leaving them with gaping holes and ash. Books were scattered around the room; some were destroyed, and some were thrown across the room. Secured in the far corner was a black marble Pensieve it looked untouched in the room's chaos.
Striding across the room, mindful of the broken glass scattering the floor, she quickly made her way to the Pensieve. Placing the cauldron and ingredients on the floor next to the ancient artifact, Hermione took a moment to truly study the craftsmanship of the Pensieve; she had heard that Dumbledore had one in his Office from Harry, though she had never seen it in her trips to the Headmaster's Office.
The Pensieve belonging to the Black family had a deep, midnight black colour that seemed to swallow up all the light in the room, sending shivers down Hermione's spine. The Black family crest was carved at the top of the bowl, featuring three crows beneath a suspended wand and skull. The family motto, "Toujours Pur," was prominently displayed in stark white, commanding attention with its striking contrast against the black background.
She returned to her array of precious ingredients and focused on creating the necessary potion. She carefully sliced the Erumpent tail and added it to her bubbling cauldron. Then, she meticulously ground the Lionfish Spine and stirred the mixture three times in an anti-clockwise direction. Allowing the concoction to simmer, she prepared for the final ingredient - her own blood.
Hermione wielded her wand with steady precision and deftly cast a simple cutting curse across her palm. She watched intently as the blood welled up, capturing exactly twenty drops before delicately letting them fall into the bubbling cauldron. With a final stir clockwise, she carefully removed the mixture from the heat. As she gazed at the concoction with grim resolve, she couldn't shake the knowledge that the upcoming experience would be far from pleasant. The text she had read had vividly described the session as akin to being torn in half, the mind burning as memories were forcibly brought back to the surface.
Hermione hesitated, feeling a sense of dread as she brought the potion-filled ladle to her lips. The noxious fumes assaulted her senses, and she struggled to keep the vile concoction down. As Hermione forced herself to swallow, she felt the first twinges of pain, a sharp, searing sensation that quickly spread through her body like wildfire. Gritting her teeth against the agony, Hermione forced herself to kneel and focused on the incantation she needed to recite. With intense concentration, she placed her wand at her temple and began weaving the intricate spell to extract the tormenting memory. Each syllable she uttered felt like a herculean effort, the burning pain threatening to overwhelm her at every moment. A small whimper escaped her lips as she slowly lifted her wand, a shimmering blue wisp of Magic trailing in its wake. Time seemed to stretch into eternity as she carefully maneuvererd the wisps of her memories, guiding them into the waiting Pensieve, a vessel for storing and examining memories. As the memory left her, a profound sense of relief washed over Hermione, and the searing pain gradually began to subside, allowing her to draw in a deep, calming breath.
After enduring the terrifying tremors, she finally felt a calm washing over her, allowing her to draw precise, refreshing breaths. Her gaze was fixed upon the collection of memories now restored to her. Summoning all her strength, she took a deep breath and immersed her head into the basin.
Hermione found herself standing in a Muggle kitchen, which gave her a sense of déjà vu, making her briefly think she had returned to the Granger residence. However, as she looked around, she noticed the vast differences. The kitchen exuded warmth and comfort, with a large, worn white wooden table where it was evident many family meals had been enjoyed. The soft light streaming in through the large window above the stove cast a cosy glow over the space while a radio in the background filled the air with a sweet, soothing melody, creating a palpable sense of home. As Hermione stood there taking in the scene, she slowly realized that people were beginning to file into the room, adding to the feeling of warmth and companionship.
Two girls were arm in arm as they skipped into the room, their faces lighting up with infectious smiles and giggles; it was clear that the girls were siblings. With her curly blond hair cascading down to her waist, the older girl had striking blue eyes framed with long, fluttering eyelashes and looked around seven years old. Hermione couldn't help but notice the adorable charm of her slightly gap-toothed smile. The older girl then turned to her younger sibling, flashing a mischievous smile, and Hermione's attention was drawn to another child in the room - a younger version of herself, which caused her to stumble back in shock.
In the scene, her younger self appeared to be around five years old, with her brown hair cascading in a chaotic riot of curls. Her hazel eyes gleamed as she gazed at the older girl with unwavering adoration. Growing up with the Grangers, Hermione always sensed something was missing. She yearned for the presence of siblings - someone to share playful moments and the joy of reading during the solitary hours spent within the confines of the Granger's home. She longed for someone who would stand up for her when the bullies became particularly vicious.
It was clear to her now that the deep longing she had always felt was due to her missing her sibling. Her younger self had clearly adored her sister, who was equally loved by the older girl. Her mind whirled with the new information. Two women were trailing behind the siblings. The younger woman seemed to be in her early thirties. She had curly blonde hair that reached below her shoulders, and her hazel eyes were filled with mirth as she laughed at something the older woman said.
The mature woman, who appeared to be in her early fifties, possessed flowing locks of long, brown hair. The sun's rays beamed through the bay window, reflecting the woman's hair, revealing the subtle signs of greying. Her deep blue eyes radiated wisdom and kindness as she observed the younger girls laughing joyfully. "You girls, go and wash up now; your Mom and I will prepare dinner. Sookie, please take your brother with you; that young boy is glued to the TV!" The elderly woman's Southern accent echoed through the kitchen. Sookie, the older girl, led her younger sibling out of the room, and both girls hastily exclaimed, "Yes, Gran!" as they disappeared.
As Hermione watched herself leave the room, a sense of panic began to rise within her. The kitchen slowly faded from view, and her surroundings were swiftly engulfed by a swirling, grey mist as the Pensieve prepared to unveil the next memory. This revelation was undeniable evidence of her adoption and the fact that she once belonged to a caring American family. What astonished Hermione even further was the realization that she had spoken with a distinct Southern drawl, a dialect she had previously only encountered in movies. Drawing a deep breath, she steeled herself for what lay ahead as the grey mist dissipated, transporting her to a new setting.
It took her a second to realize where she was; it was achingly familiar, the Headmaster's office. Quickly scanning the familiar room, she spotted her younger self, not much older than in the last memory, standing within a large ritual circle, ruins curved in patterns around the space, some familiar and primary around summoning a great power, others Hermione couldn't place. She was dressed in a powder blue dress, which flowed around her younger self, landing at the knee, and black dolly shoes were secured with tiny bows. Her younger self seemed to be staring around the opulent space in fascination, her wide hazel eyes scanning the gawking moving portraits and twirling gadgets that filled the shelves. In the corner sat the preening phoenix, his disinterest in the office occupants clear.
Across from her younger self sat Albus Dumbledore, his colorful robes a garish purple; his blue eyes widened in shock as he stared at the small girl who had found herself in his office. In front of the Headmaster, an array of ancient tombs sat in front of the man, arranged carefully around a large copper bowl, its contents unknown. Still, Dumbledore didn't seem to mind the gentle bubbling steam being steadily released. Stoking his long grey beard, her regarded the small child, his eyes slowly filling with a familiar grandfatherly twinkle.
"Hello, my dear. May I enquire as to your name?" His voice carried across the office, startling the younger girl. Her eyes snapped to the large desk she had seemingly missed in her earlier examination of the office.
"Why can't I hear you?" the Southern drawl caught Hermione off guard once again. The question seemed to catch Hermione's and the Headmaster's attention; it was clear that the younger girl had heard his earlier question.
"What do you mean, my dear? Are you having trouble with your hearing?" Dumbledore leaned closer, his glasses sliding slightly down his crooked nose.
"No! Why can't I hear your thoughts? I didn't even know you were over there!" Her younger self stomped her foot, her face scrunched in frustration with the lack of answers. This seemed to startle the Headmaster; he leaned back in his wingback chair, his blue eyes widening again to display his shock.
"My dear, are you accustomed to being able to read the minds of those around you?" Hesitantly, the more petite girl nodded, her curls bouncing forward, a small smile lighting her face. "I can do other things too, but my daddy says I shouldn't talk about it."
"Oh, that's okay, my dear. You don't need to worry about telling me. You see, I am special, too." He briefly lifted his wand, and a burst of fireworks filled the office, their golden colors briefly lighting the younger girls' awed expressions.
"That's so pretty! I can't do that, but I can make the flowers grow in my Gran's house, and once my brother was picking on me, and I turned his hair blue!" Dumbledore's face held a polite smile, though danger lurked in his eyes as he stared at the younger girl.
"I would like to test something, my dear. I will try something, and I would like to see if you can hear what I am thinking. Is that okay?" He quickly closed his eyes for a moment before he stared at the young girl with focused eyes. Her younger self seemed to stare through the man for a moment before she beamed at the Headmaster.
"Hello, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, my name is Hermione Stackhouse," the Headmaster slowly clapped, his face lighting up as he stared at the small girl with renewed interest, the hunger clear on his face. Hermione herself felt as though she could stumble in shock. When she was in her sixth year, Hermione began to teach herself Legitimacy, but despite her best efforts, she could never breach another's mind; the Magic was always seemingly unavailable to her. Finding that her younger self had some natural ability to read minds was unbelievable. Hermione knew from her research that Legitimacy was being a natural-born user of the art, which was incredibly rare.
"Where am I, sir? Where are my Mommy and Daddy? I was just in the car with them when we were stopped by a monster," the younger Hermione said. Her eyes filled with tears, and she seemed to fold in on herself, her small face crumbling as she began to sob.
"Oh dear, don't worry, your parents are safe. To answer your question, you are at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, a place for special children, and you, Miss Stackhouse, are most certainly special."
The young Hermione stared at the Headmaster, her eyes still filled with tears. Sniffling softly, she brought a hand to her eyes, rubbing her already red eyes. "My Mommy and Daddy are safe?"
"Yes, my dear. Now tell me how old you are." From her position, Hermione could see Dumbledore slowly moving his right hand across his desk, shifting towards the elder wand, his long fingertips brushing against the elder wood.
Oblivious, her younger self attempted to take a step forward but could not move beyond the ruins painted on the floor; at the movement, a golden hue raised briefly, shining within the room.
"I'm five; why are you lying to me? You don't know where my Mommy and Daddy are! You're a bad man!" the younger girl's voice rose as she stared at the Headmaster with hard eyes. Hermione herself was surprised by the venom in her younger counterpart's voice.
"How did you... it shouldn't be possible for you to see into my mind! I have put my shields back up !" the Headmaster shouted. Hermione was not blind to the panic in the old man's voice. His mind was a careful web of secrets that he would not want anyone to have too unguarded.
"You're a bad man! I want to go home! Please, I just want my Mommy and Daddy." Clearly unaffected by the child's pleas, Dumbledore continued as if she had not spoken.
"You are here, my dear, because I need a champion to help me save everyone for the greater good. She promised me a hero who could kill him, and he would rise again. When that happens, Miss Stackhouse, you are going to stop him as she promised me."
"I don't understand, I want to go home! I want my Mommy and Daddy!" the younger Hermione's face scrunched in further frustration, her tiny fists curled in a fury at her sides. Even a spectator within the memory, Hermione could feel the power radiating from the young girl building within the ritual circle, causing the ruins to glow an unearthly blue. Standing suddenly, the Headmaster made his way around the desk, his hand raised to placate the younger girl.
"Please, Miss Stackhouse, I need you to calm down; you will do great things! "
"No! I want my mommy and daddy! I want to go HOME." With a final stomp of her foot, the built-up Magic released. The ruins crumbled against the magical onslaught, and the wooden floor cracked beneath her as the rune circle was broken. Magic erupted in a burning inferno, tearing through the office and hurling the Headmaster against his desk. Despite the pressure he was under, he managed to lift his wand and fired a simple stunner at the young girl, causing her to collapse into a heap on the ground.
Before the swirling grey fog took over again, Hermione heard Dumbledore mutter, "Obliviate."
Hermione found herself violently thrown out of the Pensieve, her knees giving way as she emptied the contents of her stomach onto the antique rug. Groaning, she rolled to her side and flicked her wand to vanish her sick. Her mind was once again spiralling with questions. Clearly, the Headmaster summoned her to his office for some reason. He seemed surprised to receive a child, but based on the ruins she had seen, Dumbledore was clearly prepared for something powerful.
More confusing was the power her younger self held. While Hermione knew she was no slouch in the power department, she had never possessed the level of raw power her younger self seemed capable of unleashing. Her younger self also possessed some form of natural telepathy, which seemed to vanish along with her memories. This led Hermione to believe that Dumbledore had something to do with it, most likely to prevent her from being able to rummage around in his mind when she arrived at Hogwarts, since it seemed her younger self was able to bypass his shields.
Hermione's emotions towards Dumbledore were complex. The retrieved memory revealed that the man had a much deeper involvement in her past than she had realized. He mentioned a ' She ' during his speech to her younger self. He said that he had asked for a champion, and 'she' had provided; who had kidnapped her from her family? And provided her to Dumbledore?
While he was alive, her relationship with Albus was intricate. He displayed a keen interest in her academic pursuits during her time at Hogwarts, consistently granting her permission to take on additional projects and even advocating for her to access a time-turner in her third year. Throughout her years at Hogwarts, she had numerous discussions with him, during which he relentlessly pushed her to excel in her studies and took the time to teach her advanced forms of Magic. She had considered it a great honour at the time but was left feeling rather hollow about the experience. She had once discussed her family with him, told him how she had always felt out of place with the Granger and as though she was missing something or someone, and he had sat there showing her genuine care, telling her to focus on the family she had discovered at Hogwarts. But he had known all along why she felt like that; he was the reason she had always felt alone.
In her younger years, Hermione cherished Dumbledore for his encouragement. He was one of the few adults who respected her intellectual endeavors and treated her as an equal rather than a child. However, as she matured, Hermione began to perceive the true nature of the man behind the twinkling eyes. She realized that he was a cold and calculating chess master, viewing everyone as pawns. She had assumed that she was merely another piece in his game, accepting her place on his board. Nevertheless, the recollection led her to believe that Dumbledore might have regarded her as his Queen.
As she reflected on her birth family, her heart ached with longing. A fleeting glimpse had revealed the love they had for her. The knowledge of having a sister and a brother brought a sense of warmth she had always yearned for. Knowing they were Muggles, she realized they likely never understood what had happened to her or where she had gone. Despite the overwhelming emotions, she gathered herself and returned to her room. Fatigued from the day's events, she wearily ascended the stairs, her eyelids growing heavy. As she surrendered to sleep, the image of her younger self and her sister brought a small, bittersweet smile to her face.