Chapter 1
The Dark Lord Voldemort was dead, finally.
It had been years, many dangers, stupid plots and terrible manipulations had passed, but the Dark Lord was finally dead and gone for good. All who survived rejoiced in victory, all who survived likened the three who were hunted and went on the Hunt as heroes, the best of them, Harry Potter. He who was The-Boy-Who-Lived and became The-Man-Who-Conquered.
All except Harry Potter and his sister-in-all-but-blood, Hermione Granger.
Then, the rogue Death Eaters began attacking magical hotspots and undefended homes of their enemies.
In Diagon Alley, not even a month after the Final Battle at Hogwarts, Ron Weasley, Ginny Weasley, and Molly Weasley were felled in a surprise attack which targeted them specifically. It was the worst blow to both Harry and Hermione, and the non-blood siblings retreated into Grimmauld Place to escape the notoriety and in general the rest of the world.
For Hermione, she hated the attention, possibly more than Harry had, and she hated even more the misery and depression in which both she and Harry had sunk into. If not for Kreacher, whom the war had effected a great personality change upon, both she and Harry may have starved and worse. But Kreacher bullied them into eating, and taking multiple health potions, and so at least their physical states gradually improved. This led to Hermione, who was fighting the worst after-effects of war, torture, and a severe case (though not as severe as Harry) PTSD, to do what she did best; research and plan.
The negative aspect of this was shown when her research formed into a Big Plan.
Hermione had found, while exploring the Black Library, a ritual which would give something to Harry, and even herself, that which was most desired: Family.
There was a ritual which would make them brother and sister in blood, make them twins in blood and magic. She, of course, being muggle-born, would be adopted and assimilated into the House of Potter, and even the House of Black due to Harry’s ancestral ties and Sirius Black’s Will. Hermione knew it would be more painful for her, but she was desperate too for a family, as her parents were doomed to never remember their daughter, and she had no one else. The Weasleys, what was left of them, were broken, fractured, and half of them not even in the same country anymore.
Harry had always been her brother, and now she could offer him what he most desired officially. Sure, it was Blood Magic, but she had grown and learned. Not all Blood Magic was Dark, and she knew this was only a step on the path for healing of them both.
That Kreacher was consulted, if only in an off-hand fashion, and approved (he no longer called her a mudblood), well, to Hermione’s slightly broken spirit, it was only a boon.
“So, what you’re saying,” Harry began to reply to her long-winded explanation, “Is that you would be my sister in truth, not just in declaration?”
“Yes, Harry. This ritual would make me your twin, in blood and magic.”
Harry looked at her across the kitchen table in Grimmauld Place for a long moment. It was a rather rare lucid moment unmarred by his severe depression, and the weight of his green-eyed gaze was heavy with both intelligence and understanding.
“You said there would be physical changes. And magical ones.” The tone was placid and neutral, unlike the Harry before the end of the Blood-War, but showing what Hermione knew to be his hidden Slytherin side.
She nodded anyway. She’d done the research, understood the risks, and if she were completely honest with herself—which she’d had to be lately to even get through another day— she was more than completely fine with the effects said ritual would enact. If part of it was no longer seeing a mixture of her mother’s eyes and her father’s face when she looked in the mirror every day, well, that was all the more reason to go ahead and do the ritual.
“Yes,” Hermione agreed. “I’d probably take the brunt of the physical changes, though we would both me mingling our magic. You, as the senior House would be gifting me with characteristics of yourself and your blood-line.”
“And you’re okay with that?”
“Yes, Harry. You’re my brother. I’ve known that longer than you, really. I felt it on the train before we started our first year at Hogwarts.”
Harry looked at her again, his eyes piercing and searching, until at last he simply nodded.
“Alright,” he said. Part of it was acceptance of Hermione’s stubbornness. A larger part, and he knew she understood, but he still felt a tremor of guilt, was due to his desperate desire to have family, connection. He was alone and vulnerable and she was offering a feast to a starving man. He might have thought longer, thought better, of the whole plan before, but he wanted what she was offering. He wanted to belong with someone, to something greater than himself. He wanted someone who wanted him. And Hermione had always been the only one who had never wavered, never abandoned him. Hermione had always been the only true friend and ally he had ever had. There was a reason he regarded her as his sister, and it was so much deeper than what others normally thought of as blood-kin. But if she was offering to mingle her blood with his, offering to take his as her own, he couldn’t deny her.
“Your looks will change,” he said instead of the multitude of emotional thanks he could have sputtered.
“Yes,” she agreed. “But, Harry, nothing I receive from you would ever turn me away. You should know that by now.”
Oh, and how he wanted to weep with her solemn declaration. She had proven it many times over, and he was thankful. She was the only reason he hadn’t gone quite mad yet, even if they were both hiding from the world.
“So, when do we do this?”
“On the Solstice, the Summer Solstice. It is the soonest, most magical day there is. And I want to claim you as my brother in truth, as my twin. There isn’t as much preparation for the ritual as you would think, for how much it changes lives. It’s an old ritual. Ancient even.”
There was silence for a moment, while both thought over the changes that would occur after the next three days. For the Solstice of Summer was in three days, and Harry had the feeling she had deliberately made it so he’d only have a little bit of time to consider. A wry grin, the first he’d felt in weeks since all the death, made it to his face.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t have sorted into Slytherin, Hermione?”
She snorted, a pleased and amused light entering her honey-brown eyes, eyes that might change after the ritual.
“I never said Ravenclaw was the only other House offered to me at my sorting,” she said a with a prim grace, nose upturned slightly, an expression and attitude which would not have been out of place on Narcissa Malfoy nee Black’s visage.
In the background, a newly reformed Kreacher, nearly shivered with delight at the prospect of adding a member to his master’s House. A member who might contribute to the adding of the House of Potter-Black. If both his Master and potential Mistress had children, the house would flourish even faster and wider than if the two magicals married each other. Kreacher nodded to himself, refilled their wine and tea, and was satisfied.
Harry, however, laughed, uproariously, the first hint of true pleasure and humor since before the war ended. “You…you sneaky snake!”
Hermione smiled with accomplishment and humor both. Harry had accepted her, and wanted her as a sister. She was doubly pleased.
“You know,” Harry said after he calmed, “I was supposed to go to Slytherin too.”
Hermione only snorted. “With your penchant for intrigue, of course you were. Though I’m not surprised at Gryffindor either, considering your impulsiveness. The Sorting Hat must have had quite the debate with you.”
Harry only smiled.
“In three days you’ll be my sister in more than word. In blood and magic.” Harry paused, a small and pleased smile still on his face. “Thank you, Hermione.”
A soft light entered Hermione’s warm, brown eyes. She smiled. “Of course, brother. I look forward to being recognized in truth.”
Both magicals snorted, laughed, and continued to drink their wine and tea. It had been a good end of the day.
Kreacher hovered on the sidelines while his master and newest mistress stood over the silver bowl held upon a marble, ritual pedestal. He watched as each cut their palms and spilled blood into the bowl. The House-Elf could see the wisps of magic eagerly spilling forth to mingle together. Both young magical were quite powerful for their age. He may have called the one named Hermione a mudblood in the past, but that was because she was. Now, she offered his master family, she voluntarily spilled blood to be accepted into his master’s family. She had helped his master defeat the Dark One, to cleanse his putrid artifacts, and she had stood by his side for years. She would make a great sister to his master.
“I offer my blood freely,” Harry intoned, as he cut his palm with the ritual silver knife. “So that it might supply she who is to be my sister, my twin, with my strength, my magic, my legacy.”
“I offer my blood freely,” Hermione repeated, after she had accepted the knife from her brother to be and cut her own palm. “So that it might mingle with he who is to be my brother, my twin, to add to his Magical House, and accept the bond of kinship he offers.”
Together, they spoke. “With this blood, freely spilled, I bond with my sibling, and accept all gifts and magic therein.”
The silver bowl of mixed blood smoked, sizzled, and then settled.
Kreacher stepped forward, a silver chalice in his hands. He portioned the mixed magical-blessed blood into the chalice, then handed it first to his master.
“I drink of our blood, and twin I name you in magic and blood. I take you into my House as my sister, and my Magic.” Harry lifted the chalice to his lips and took a deep drink. It did not taste of blood when he drank, but of magic and ozone, and fresh air after a rain. It surprised him, but he handed the cup to Hermione even so, who accepted it with grace. “Let our bond be formed and uncontested. So mote it be.”
“I drink of our blood and twin I name you in magic and blood,” Hermione repeated. “I accept my place in your House, my brother, and into my Magic.” Hermione took a deep drink before handing the chalice to Kreacher once more. “Let our bond be formed and uncontested. So mote it be.”
There was a brilliant flash of white light before Hermione crumpled, caught by Kreacher, and lowered onto a nearby settee. Ripples of magic flowed over her, colored green, gold, and white.
Harry rushed forward, unknowing exactly of what was occurring, but accepting the magical occurrence of the finished ritual.
“She will sleep, Master, until the change is complete,” Kreacher said.
Harry nodded, though still concerned. He would watch vigil over his newly minted sister and twin until whatever changes were wrought completed. He did not notice the chair that slid under him, catching him as he stumbled into it, still intently watching magic work over Hermione. He did not notice Kreacher conjure blankets and place one over himself and one over Hermione as his eyes fluttered closed in exhaustion.