Chapter One
SEPTEMBER 19, 1996
HOGWARTS, SCOTLAND
There were many instances during her all too bizarre life she'd wondered if maybe, just maybe if she'd been cursed with a bad luck. After all, it only made sense, right?
What was her chance of befriending the only boy the Lord Voldemort himself was bent on murdering every goddamn year like he couldn't survive otherwise? Honestly, what was the fucking chance?
Hermione sighed under her breath helplessly as she walked over to the bathroom where she proceeded to gaze upon the mirror whilst brushing her perfectly white teeth.
Only it wasn't her face gazing back at her, blinking those familiar brown eyes at her confusedly from across the shared bathroom. Hermione slowly put the toothbrush on the sink, spitting the water down the sink uncertainly.
The face staring back at her wasn't only outwardly beautiful in a very artistic kind of way only some very fortunate people were lucky enough to have; it was also a face that screamed familiarity to her for some reason she couldn't comprehend as of yet.
Her skin was snow white, her lips full in the way she'd seen many famous movie actresses were back home on the television. Straight, black hair fell down her small head elegantly, accompanied with a pair of a very familiar looking chocolate-brown eyes that were still gazing back at her all too confusedly from across the mirror.
It were those eyes that made her pause.
Because, as certain she'd been all of this was some bizarre dream, she knew those eyes. Those were her eyes. How could her eyes be on the face she couldn't recognize hard as she'd tried, despite the odd familiarity of it all?
Hermione struggled to breathe as she fell down on her knees on the cold bathroom floor and gazed with shaking shoulders to the light in the middle of the bathroom ceiling.
Quite slowly, Hermione raised her pianist's fingers onto her face, onto those same full lips and the small, slightly pointed nose she'd seen staring back at her on the mirror a few seconds ago. She ran her hands through her hair, those unfamiliar dark strands of hair she no longer needed to enhance to make it at least not look as if she'd been having a very bizarre make-out session. And then back again to her face, this face that didn't as if it even needed a make-up to look approachable, and attractive to the people.
The face she really could have used back in her first year when she was struggling to make some friends.
With a determination only shown in the people like her, Hermione struggled to her feet and abruptly turned on her heel and out of the dormitory before anyone could say anything about her new appearance.
She didn't know what was going on, but she knew she had to talk to Dumbledore. All she would ever achieve if she were to go to the library would be to tire herself out without an ounce of information added that could have possibly helped her situation. For once in her life, Hermione really didn't think she would find the answers in the school library.
Hermione waltzed out of the common room with precise, model-like steps she never would have known she was capable of (she really should stop to admire her body afterward), almost knocking people over in her hurry to the Headmaster's office. She hurried upward the stairs with careless steps, stalked through the dark hallway of the castle with her heart beating rapidly in her chest. She turned the corner after corner, walking through the series of hallways she really could have done without before she finally reached the entrance of the Headmaster's office.
She stopped by the entrance door that led to the Headmaster's office with shaking breaths, rocking her head through various names of the sweets that Professor Dumbledore possibly could've chosen for a password.
"Cockroach Clusters."
Nothing.
"Acid Pops."
Still nothing.
"Toffee Eclairs."
And the door creaked open slowly, allowing Hermione enter into the Headmaster's office.
She probably should tell Professor Dumbledore to change his password. It really was far too easy to guess. Or was that on the purpose? So, the students could easily get to him in the case they needed his help?
Inwardly, Hermione knew it was probably very rude of her to intrude on the old Headmaster this early in the morning, but this was a rather special occasion. She wouldn't have even considered intruding on him if it weren't an emergency.
Everyone knew Albus Dumbledore needed his break more than the most probably did. Hermione took a deep, calming breath before she knocked lightly on the tall, wooden door.
"Come in."
Hermione walked inside, astonished by the Headmaster's office for a second there (she'd never had the chance to admire it) before she'd drifted her attention back to the Professor and smiled somewhat anxiously, sitting before the Headmaster on the wooden, seemingly very old chair.
Professor Albus Dumbledore was a tall, white-haired man with an equally long white, Santa Claus-like beard that always somehow managed to make her think of Christmas every time they'd meet only after someone had tried to unsuccessfully deliver Harry to his waiting, murderous hands.
And she'd never been much of a Christmas person from the start. Even before she'd started Hogwarts, she'd always dread Christmas wherein she would be forced back home.
If one can even call that home.
Every time she would walk in the house, she remembered disdainfully, her mother would gaze at her silently, accusingly as she knitted, knitted and knitted. Patiently waiting for her to make that next mistake she could use to punish her, to lock her in that bloody closet until she felt she could no longer breathe. Have you been a good girl in the boarding school, Hermione? She would ask. You know what happens to the bad girls, don't you, sweetheart? And we don't wish for anything to happen to you, sweet thing, do we?
Hermione blinked her eyes forcefully, shaking her head to divert herself from such a train of a thought.
She really didn't need that right now.
"Ms. Granger." Albus Dumbledore repeated, his gaze suddenly concerned. "Are you feeling all right?"
Hermione stared. "You recognize me?" she asked.
"Of course I do." He seemed somewhat hesitant to say the next sentence. "After all, I've been the one to enhance your appearance all those years ago when I've left you in the orphanage."
Her mouth felt dry all of sudden. Her heart throbbed in her chest faster than before as she lifted her head up to look at the Headmaster with wide, astonished eyes. She gulped down, gazing down to her feet, those feet that seemed unfamiliar in the contrast to before.
Everything felt unfamiliar contrast to before.
And for that, she had him to blame.
Suddenly, Hermione jerked to her feet, slamming her hands loudly against the wooden, study desk before her in the rage. "Excuse me if I am being very rude or something equally offensive, but what the hell?" she snapped loudly.
She should have known. No parent would treat her the way her adoptive parents had treated her all along since the beginning of the time.
Like she was a freak. Some kind of an abomination of the nature. As if there was something seriously wrong with her just because she didn't match with their perfect little family with their perfect little lies. Well, guess what? There was nothing perfect about them.
And for the first time in her life, Hermione let herself to smile at the fact that if only she wished to, she could leave them.
"You've lied to me."
"It was a necessary lie." Dumbledore stated far too calmly than she would have liked for someone who've been responsible for most of the misfortunes of her life.
"Believe me, if there had been other way, I wouldn't have left you there. But to protect you from them, I needed to hide you away. I couldn't allow you to be discovered by them. Do you even know what your fraternal grandmother would have done to you had she discovered your existence? If she discovered her beloved son had betrayed her so shamelessly? You really think she would've allowed you to live?"
"Then, why now?" She forced back the tears, blinked them away. She couldn't allow herself to seem weak in front of him. She needed to be strong-willed now.
The same way she had done all those times her adopted father would accuse her of things she was in no way responsible for.
Honestly, how was it any fault of her Joyce found out he'd been cheating on her with his twenty-year-old college assistant? Just because he couldn't keep his pants on longer than twenty minites in the presence of attractive, you women didn't mean he could blame his mistakes on her like that. "Why tell me now? You could've easily thought some lie to tell me."
"Because she is long gone now."
She breathed hard then, calming herself down slightly. She didn't wish to make a scene here. Now, that would be simply humiliating. "Just tell me one thing then. Who are they? My parents. Just tell me that, and I'll gladly let myself out of your hair."
They have to have been fairly important wizards. Maybe they were in the Order when they'd died a very dramatic, untimely death. Otherwise, she really didn't think Dumbledore would have even bothered to enhance her looks (she would make him for that later on). Her parents must have meant something to them.
Hermione narrowed her eyes at the Professor, lifting her head slightly upward in the understanding. "You want something in the return." Fucking asshole. She should have known. Note to the self; tell Harry to distrust him regardless of how much he thought otherwise, force him if she have to.
She couldn't afford to leave her best friend in his hands.
"It's only fair, don't you think?" Dumbledore's eyes twinkled very suspiciously from across the room, and Hermione had a sudden urge to throttle the old man, forcing the much needed information out of him. She really didn't think negotiation with him would be wise. "You get your much needed information about the saddening tale of your parents' death a decade ago, and I would get the information I wish for in the return."
But what choice did she really have? It was the time for her to make a deal with the devil. "What do you want?" Hopefully, nothing too impossible.
She had enough on her plate already. Starting with helping Harry to defeat the lord of all evils and ending with doing homework before the designated date.
Also, finding someone willing to be her date for the Christmas party before the designated date. And find an affordable dress to attend the party in. Anyway, that wasn't the point. The point was that she was far too busy to play those political games with him. Though, it seemed, she was going to anyway.
One way or another.
"I need a certain information that Professor Slughorn has of a boy named Tom Riddle."
"Tom Riddle?" she frowned deeply to her brow, arching her eyebrows at the Professor incredulously. Did he think her completely foolish? She knew exactly who Tom Riddle was.
She'd been there when Ginny would cry silently in the bed because everything was way too much for the twelve-year-old redhead to handle. So, she would comfort her while laying beside her on the bed, telling her comforting lies she hoped would come true.
"As in, the Lord Voldemort?" Albus Dumbledore simply smiled at her knowingly, knowing he had an information she desperately needed. Again, she fought the urge to punch the lights out of him, or something equally hurtful. "You've asked Harry for the same thing. Why ask me now?"
"Because I've come to the realization he would be much more willing to tell you, Ms. Granger, than Mr. Potter." Ms. Granger? Didn't they come to an agreement she wasn't a Ms. Granger a few minutes ago? She really hated being associated with them. "After all, your parents were two of his most favorite members of the Slug Club. He loved them very dearly. Even attended their wedding, from what I hear. He'd been quite heartbroken when they'd died. Both times."
Both times.
Her parents didn't die at the same time? If then, it must mean one of them must have lived longer than the other. One of them must have mourned the other, have been forced to live a life without them in them anymore.
She couldn't imagine such a life.
"I would get the information you need from him. There's just one thing I need from you." She turned upward, anxious to hear the answer. "What is my name?"
"Hope."
"No last name?"
Professor Dumbledore grinned. "Get the information for me, Ms. Hope." He said. "Time is tickling."
She regarded him disdainfully, and turned on her heel, making sure to shut the door as loudly as possible, walking down the stairs into the dark hallway of the castle. Hermione stood silently in the hallway for a minute, everything she'd learned in the past hour seeming a bit too much to handle at the moment.
Albus Dumbledore would regret messing with her life. This was her life, goddamn it! She had the right to know who the fuck her parents were, and if they loved her the same way she'd always dreamed her adoptive parents would one day.
Except they never did.