Just Like That?
Hermione Granger, Golden Girl, down in the Golden Coast of Australia.
A lot of people would find that irony cute or even funny. Hermione herself thought of it as neither as she ran barefoot through the hot sand to catch her dad.
That’s right, here she was, Brightest Witch of the Age, running in the sand of sunny Oz after a balding middle-aged man who happens to be her father.
It would be easier if she could use magic, but sadly, it was magic that got them there in the first place.
Not to mention that they were in full view of hundreds of muggles, enjoying the sun and surf before the sun set.
Panting, and cursing under her breath, Hermione stopped running to catch her breath as her father, Richard Granger, or as he currently knew himself – Wendell Wilkins, was still running full tilt several paces ahead of her.
Making sure her wand was securely tucked into the waist band of her cargo shorts while she bent forwards trying hard not to pant anymore like a dog, she thought of a strategy to get her errant father back.
Richard was running away after she failed to reverse her own Obliviation spell on him.
Instead of his eyes clearing and his mind recognizing her as his daughter, her father seemed to forget even her mother – his wife, and just screamed his head off at seeing a wooden stick pointed in his face.
He then bolted out of the door of their home, Hermione barely registering everything before running right after him.
She barely heard what her mom – Jean was screaming at her, though her Obliviation reversal went smoothly.
Hermione’s only thought was that of her father.
They’ve been at it for almost half and hour now and Hermione was about ready to drop.
She hasn’t run like that since the war. She was definitely out of shape, and she was barely gaining back her weight from all the food rationing, torture and running that she and her friends have endured.
The war against Lord Voldemort which ended only two months ago.
Straightening up and putting a hand to her eyes to scan the beach, Hermione could not find her father anywhere. Sighing, she internally debated whether to go to the local police station or to the Australian Ministry of Magic.
On one hand, her father didn’t seem to remember magic at all, or else he wouldn’t have freaked out at seeing her wand. On the other hand, he was a victim (sort of) of magic himself and may need magical experts to help.
She was still standing straight, biting her lip and worrying her finger nails when she was startled by a hand on her shoulder. She almost drew her wand but the hand that held her grasped her wrist and held it tightly.
Hermione looked up to the warm brown eyes of her mother, making her breathing even out as her heartrate slowed. She gave Jean a tight smile and was surprised that her mother didn’t smile and her eyes were dead serious.
Jean Granger opened her mouth to say the words that everyone dreads.
“We need to talk.”
>>>.<<<
“So let me get this straight, Richard Granger is NOT my father?” Hermione asked for what seemed like the thousandth time since she and her mother went back home.
The sun has already set and they were out in the small veranda at the back of her parents’ two-bedroom house. It was supposed to be a dinner and conversation but the Chinese take away that Jean ordered lay uneaten on the patio table between them.
Neither of them had the appetite it seemed.
Jean Granger, or rather, Jean DAGWORTH-Granger sipped on the red wine she was nursing and just nodded her head.
“Yes. And yes, again, I am a third-generation squib from the line of Hector Dagworth-Granger. At least I thought I was until I was seventeen when I met a wizard boy and interacting with him kinda awakened my magic. It was too late though; my parents didn’t know what to do. Dumbledore himself did not know what to do as magic never manifested that late, so they sent the boy to tutor me as he had just graduated from Hogwarts. He was a pureblood with too much time on his hands and Dumbledore wanted him occupied as there was a war happening and your father could be a hothead. We fell in love while he was teaching me. After a few months or so, we got intimate. I got pregnant. We decided to hide.”
She said it so nonchalantly that Hermione still had a hard time believing what she’s hearing. Even though it was the third time that night that her mother had told her.
Her father was a pureblood. ( Eugh )
Her mother was a witch.
A pureblood witch from a line of squibs.
She was related to Hector Dagworth-Granger, the famous potioneer.
She wasn’t a mudblood.
She was a freaking pureblood.
“I guess it’s time for us to head back to England and open up the Dagworth-Granger vaults.” Her mother said in the most even tone.
Hermione could only stare. Who was this woman?
The mother she grew up with was logical, yes, some would even say cold, but she wasn’t this… Whatever this woman – witch is.
“What about Richard?” She asked. He may not have been her biological father but he still raised her. She still loved him.
“I called it in to the Australian Ministry before looking for you at the beach. It’s best that he doesn’t have contact with us from now on as it would only confuse him. Your reversal worked – though it worked too well and also reversed the memory charms that Sirius has already placed on him.”
The name shocked Hermione to her core that she stopped breathing altogether for at least a few seconds.
“Di-… Did… Did you say Sirius?” She stammered, wide eye at her mother.
“Yes.”
“As in Sirius Black?” Was that her voice? So high and squeaky?
Her mother smiled.
It was a weird, lovesick smile.
“Yes, Sirius Black, your father.”
Hermione saw black and nothing else.
>>>.<<<
When she came to, it was day time, the sun was shining and she was laying on her parents’ guest bedroom. But perhaps it wasn’t her parents anymore.
No, Richard Granger wasn’t even Richard Granger. He was some random homeless muggle her parents took in and magicked to be her father.
It was supposed to be temporary, but the end of the war happened and her mother lost touch with Sirius and Dumbledore held her under a tongue-tying spell which prohibited her from divulging anything – until Dumbledore died.
Looking at the ceiling Hermione thought about it.
If she had just talked to her parents instead of instantly Obliviating them after Dumbledore had died, she would have found out the truth sooner.
She did not want to get up from bed as she though about the multitude of implications of her identity.
Sirius Black was her father.
Sirius Black was Harry's Godfather.
Harry's dead Godfather who died saving him.
Her real father was dead.
Did he know? Or did Azkaban purge her memory from him?
Was that why he called her “Kitten”?
Before she knew it, she was sobbing hard and she was shaking in her bed.
She didn’t even notice her mother come in and sit beside her on the bed. She sat up and hugged her.
Oh Gods, her mother.
She didn’t know that Sirius had died. Her last news of Sirius was when Dumblerdore told her that he was incarcerated. That was also the day he put the spell on Jean – to protect her and Hermione, allegedly.
Hermione didn’t believe that for one moment.
Albus Dumbledore was a lying, manipulative old goat and if he weren’t already dead, she would have marched over to Hogwarts and Avada’d him herself.
“Mum” She said softly between sobs.
“Yes, sweetheart.” Her mother said as she smoothed out Hermione’s hair.
“Remember when I said Harry’s godfather died?”
“Yes, you said something. I think it was your fourth? No, fifth year. You were all devastated.” Jean was still soothing her and Hermione had to gulp lungs full of air in order to say what she needed to say.
Under Dumbledore’s orders, both her and her mother and even Sirius way back then did not mention names. Only relations, friend, best pal, godfather. It was to “protect” them from Death Eaters and Voldemort he said. Only Ron and Harry’s names were mentioned because her parents actually met Harry and Ron.
Oh what tangled webs have been woven because of this deceit. Her mother never knew that her father’s best pal was James Potter.
“Mum…” She tried again. Her mother just hummed.
“Mum. It was Sirius. Sirius was Harry’s godfather.”
Her mother stopped fussing over her and looked into her eyes, seemingly not comprehending what was being said.
“Mummy, Daddy’s dead.”