Disclaimer: I do not own any part of Harry Potter. All rights reserved to J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros.
Note To All (Updated June 28, 2012): I will be going through this story over the next little while and revising every chapter. This will consist of the correction of spelling mistakes, punctuation errors, the hefty modification of some facts and points. 'Dark Intentions' will essentially be rewritten, brand new and revitalized chapter by chapter. I may suggest that you reread the updated portions of this story, seeing as I have changed many things and added, in some cases, thousands of words to each section.
Thank you for your cooperation in the re-validation of this story for no chapter additions, I know it's missleading and annoying, but it's for the best in the end.
Your devoted author, - Addysen
P.S. I want to make it plainly clear that I have not followed in J.K. Rowling's plot regarding Hermione's age. In this story she is to be the same age as Harry and Ron, not one year older. Just bare that in mind while reading. I hope I have kept it consistant. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
What was her world coming to? How had they gone so long without confiding this information in her? How could this be true? Thoughts rushed through Hermione's head like a tornado's wind. Her family had lied to her! For at least sixteen years, they had lied.
“Darling, do forgive us. W-We didn't know what else to do. Please!” Jane Granger spoke while choking on her sobs. “We thought it would be best not to say anything. You already had so much to deal with, and at your young age, we –”
"Enough, Mother.” Hermione breathed. Too many feelings and emotions were swirling around in her head, causing her so much discomfort that she just wanted to run. “I can't take all of this right now,” still in her distant, trance-like obscurity, “do you not trust me enough with the truth? Do you feel that I can't handle it? Why would you do this to me? What could possibly be your reason?” she challenged while staring into the distance. “I have a right to know who I am, where I'm from.”
“Hermione, come now. There are good reasons why we did what we did,” her father pleaded softly. “Give us the chance to explain.” Their daughter was unsure what would be the most suitable strategy, run into the street and avoid the truth, or hear of the things which she should have learned many years before. With a loud exasperated sigh, she sat down on the old, worn, flowered sofa across from the man and woman by whom she had been so misled. As usual, curiosity got the better of her and her thirst for knowledge overtook her; she wanted and needed to know everything.
Once more her father spoke, “I guess we'll have to start at the very beginning.” He sighed and holding onto his wife's hand tightly, he delved deep into his memories. “I can remember it so clearly. Not sure if something like that ever really leaves you." Even sixteen years and some-odd months later. "Your mother and I were out at the old Griffin Pub with the Fletchers' one night, having a few drinks and dinner. We had decided that it was best if we walked home, in case we had had a few too many.”
"We were about halfway home when we came across the most unusual sight. Just out of nowhere, came this gigantic mansion. It had suddenly become visible between two townhouses that we knew to be side by side on a field.” Mrs. Granger explained thoroughly.
Taking charge, once again, Tom Granger continued the story. “This house had never been seen there before according to our inquiries, although, it was hardly visible through the flames by that point so we could hardly describe it in justice.”
“Wait, what?” Hermione looked forward into her father's dusty brown eyes as alarm and intrique festered.
“The house was on fire. We could hear the rush of the flames, objects breaking, and deathly screams from the inside. I've never been so terrified or so high on adrenaline.”
Hermione gasped in a shaky plume of air, but let them continue, knowing this had to do, strongly, with her.
“Your mother ran to the nearest open shop and called for help. The fire department came quickly and put out the blaze. It was not an easy fight for them. The police officers who had escorted the firemen to the house, made their way inside and looked for survivors. They found none and left with the remains of the dead. Yet . . . we had a feeling about that house, Dear.” Tom's eyes searched Hermione's in what looked to the teenager as curiosity at the fact of her very existence. “There must have been something that they had overlooked, we were sure of it. We were alone in the streets once again after a while, and it seemed as though the same impulse washed over us, your mother and I. We ended up climbing the ruins of the house, not sure of what we'd find. We walked right into a completely charcoaled hallway. It was huge, you could tell it once was quite a sight. The destruction was remarkable, but it was uncomfortable to be standing in a burnt-out building where people had died.” He took a shaky breath and continued, “W-we were about to leave when your mother . . .”
“When I found a piece of paper," Jane began, "a birth certificate," sensing that her husband was becoming overwhelmed. “I can't give an acceptable reason as to why it was lying about, but that seemed to be the least of our worries. We were suddenly shocked to hear crying from under some rubble within seconds of finding the certificate. Someone was alive, it was just . . . impossible. No one should have survived that fire. It was so much to take in at that one moment. We tore around in the rubble searching for the source of the sobs and then found . . .” Jane's gaze connected with Hermione's as she gave a sight nob.
“Me.” Hermione breathed. Her mother and father nodded in unison. All three were emotionally struck by this and their eyes started to tear up silently. Realization snapped over the young woman's face. “Then, the certificate – the birth certificate, doesn't it tell you all about me, my family? Do you have it? Is it here? Where did I come –” She stopped in mid-sentence at the look of four sad eyes shining pitifully back at her. Something was wrong.
“Yes, we still have the certificate, Hermione, but it's of no use.” Tom was clearly uncomfortable now. Hermione looked at him with interest in her honey-brown irises. “There is not much left of it now. It was scorched in the fire and was badly damaged even then. Now, after sixteen and a half years, it is hardly anything but dust.”
Jane sighed, seeing her daughter's confused look. “The only things that which were legible on the paper were your birth date – which is how we know you were born on the nineteenth of September, and that you were roughly just under six months old – and what looked to be your middle name, 'Hermione'.”
With a sharp intake of breath, Hermione rose from the couch, leaving an imprint of her body where she had sat. Her feet started to pace while her brain tried to work out the details of her life.
A house appearing out of thin air – not a house, a mansion. Fires, no survivors, a birth certificate lying in the middle of nowhere, 'Hermione' being her middle name? This was the beginning of the end of Hermione Granger, it seemed.
“Sweetie, calm down, please there's more.” her father quietly spoke.
“More? Are you serious, how can there possibly be more?” the young witch asked in vain.
“With this,” Jane breathed, with no emotion detectable in her voice. Hermione looked down at her mother's hand as Jane loosened her clutch on the velvet pouch she had been holding in her palm the entire time, and dropped it into her only daughter's grip.
Hermione cautiously removed the content from the delicate bag, setting her eyes on, “A ring?” She was utterly confused at this point, yet decided to inspect it, none-the-less.
It looked almost like a wedding ring. The silver of the band shone in the late afternoon sun that was pouring through the large windows. There was a vibrant green stone present as well. It didn't stick out like a stone usually would in such prestigious rings. The long rectangular emerald was embedded right into the center of the silver, leaving the band smooth all the way around, with no spots that could potentially cause a snag. As the young woman turned the ring, to inspect it further, something odd caught her eye. The emerald had captured the sunlight, for a second or two, and Hermione had thought she saw a snake embedded in it as well. She caught the sun once more and confirmed it. There was an acid-green silhouette of a serpent, surrounded by the emerald-green of the stone. This couldn't be good. It reminded her strongly of something that a Slytherin would possess.
On the inside of the ring something else was brought to her attention. There was an inscription on the inner side of the band that read:
'To: A.H.B.R. Love always: your Godmother B.V.B.L.'
It was so tiny and compact that it took her quite a while to decrypt.
The young witch was so engrossed in the inspection of the ring that she had forgotten that her parents were still sitting in the room and that she, herself, was still pacing like an anxious derby horse. Her mother gave her a strange look and then glanced at the ring.
“Hermione, Sweetheart, there's just one more thing that we need to share with you.”
“Uh, b-but don't take our word as truth," stammered Tom in what seemed like nervous panic.
“Yes, um, well we could be wrong.” Hermione could have sworn she heard her mother whisper 'and I hope we are' under her breath following her last comment, but decided to ignore it and focus on what came next.
“We believe that this has something to do with the dark side of your magical world. We didn't understand any of the strange occurrences which had happened the night we found you, that is to say, until you got your letter from Hogwarts, and found out about such magic. Even then we thought you too young to understand the truth about your life and kept quiet. We connected more of the pieces once you had returned for Christmas during your first year, and had confided your friendships and your enemies in us. You mentioned that one boy, Dra . . . Drake-Something . . .”
“Draco, Dear,” piped in Hermione's mother.
“Draco Malfoy? Why would any of this have to do with that conniving ass?”
“Hermione Jane! Don't you dare use such language in this house,” her mother exclaimed. Seeing the sheepish hurt and surprised look on Hermione's face, she quickly added, “Even if he is a repulsive ferret.” Hermione weakly smiled at her mother's attempt to break the tension in the room. It was a nice change to the atmosphere.
Her father cleared his throat and continued when he had the womens' full attention. “As I was saying, this Draco boy, you said he was in the house, at your school, that seemed to produce all of the criminals, am I right?” Hermione nodded. “The colors for that house were green and silver?” Hermione inclined once more. “And the crest for this house was a serpent?” Once again she acknowledge his point. “And if I'm not mistaken that ring which we found with you so long ago, is silver and green. I'm not doubting that a snake has something to do with that piece of jewelry either. It looks evil to me.” Hermione froze. He couldn't be implying that she naturally had some connection to Slytherin through her birth family could he? “You may have been of magical origin, Hermione. There is a good chance of that.”
“Dad that's complete rubbish.” she explained. For some strange reason she knew that they had not, or could not see the snake in the ring. This was bigger then she had originally thought and she needed to find out what was going on as well as what, and who she was suppose to be. Although, to accomplish that she would need to do it on her own. She couldn't have her family clouding her concentrated thought or become a liability. She loved them too much.
Could she really be a pure-blood? Hermione didn't know how she had railed onto this tangent track, but something was telling her she had to stop the path which her parents were thinking on. If the past was any indication, it could rapidly get to be too dangerous for them to know that any of their notions could be true.
“There is no way in the world – magical or otherwise – that this ring could connect me to Slytherin, or magical birth for that matter. Just because the crafter used a green stone and silver for the band doesn't mean that it's evil. I understand your concern, but I've dealt with much more than a ring in my six years at Hogwarts so far. I can handle it.” With burrowing tendrils of resentment, she finished off her speech and gave each of her parents a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you for the truth, but I'm going to head to my room and finish my Potions homework. Professor Snape will do more serious damage than this metal loop could ever do if I don't complete my essays.”
Her parents looked at her with shock plastered on their faces. They had spent so much time deciphering all of this about their daughter's life. They were bewildered that Hermione could make logic of it so fast. Yet, there were still things that were unexplained to them, such as the randomly appearing house and how she had survived, but they let it go for now, and watched as their daughter walk up the stairs and out of sight.
_____
Hermione reached her bedroom door and turned the knob with a shaky hand. Her world was going to fall apart, she could feel it. Something told her that battle had yet to begin. Once inside she collapsed on her bed and let the ring, which she had been holding so tightly, fall from her grip. In all actuality, she didn't have any homework left to do at all. She had finished it within the first three days of summer holidays. It was just made up as an excuse to leave the tense environment downstairs.
This was a nightmare. But, on the bright side, there was no way that she was evil and she knew that much for sure, despite her parents needless worry. She knew change would be inevitable but it couldn't be all bad, she might actually get status in the Wizarding World now. Hermione Granger, a pure-blood. Imagine the looks on Lucius and Draco Malfoy's faces when they found out, if they found out. The whole of the pure-blood business would be great if it was true, but right now everything was just so uncertain. For now she was still Hermione Granger after all, she hadn't found out enough to change that yet.
Resting her head on her arm, she thought. She thought about everything, about life, her friends, her enemies, the mysterious mansion, her true blood family, everything. She moved her head slightly to get more comfortable, which caused her hair to fall into her face. Her curly locks really needed a freshened up. She felt a bit unclean from the stress of the conversation with her family. Without debate, Hermione sat up and made her way to the attached bathroom for a relaxing shower.
_____
The water cascading down her form was a wonderfully liberating feeling. She felt so fresh and clean, smelling of watermelon and mango, as she stepped out of the shower. Wrapping a fluffy towel around her body she left the bathroom, with an extra bounce in her step, to change.
Once in her room, Hermione started to get dressed. She pulled on soft, purple underwear and a comfortable matching bra. Looking sideways, she caught her reflection in her lengthy mirror. She had changed, but not in the ways she had hoped. Her hair was now down to her purple bra-strap but hung with volume in wildly untamed waves and curls. She was still short and wore her old comfortable clothing; not much to look at.
Long legs, nice, round, good sized breasts, and an amazingly toned stomach were what she had been wishing for the most.
"Well, you can dream."
Her face was just the same as ever. The non-existent make up and a freckled nose caused her to look quite young for her age. Yet, one thing she had always loved was the sparkling, honey-brown eyes she possessed. Hermione was very proud of what she had become, even if it wasn't of fashion model status. There was more to life than being stylish and pretty, which was fine with her. How would anyone be taken seriously if they looked too beautiful on the job; she thanked the Gods for the way she looked; although, there was something that always troubled her relentlessly whenever she looked in the mirror.
Printer Friendly Version
