Title: Hidden Truths
Author: Kiristeen ke Alaya
Series: Not planned
Genre: Harry Potter
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: None current, beyond possible canon
AU: to HBP and DH, but I will keep certain historical information from HBP.
Warnings: Minor Character death (we've seen them appear only once, maybe twice, in the series).
Summary: Following the death of Hermione's parents, certain truths, long hidden from everyone, come to light, throwing Hermione's life, as well as several others into chaos. Hermione is her mother's daughter, but she isn't her father's.


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Prologue
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Dinner had long since been cleared away, and Hermione was helping Ron and Harry with their homework, hers having long since been completed. She, in between spelling, grammer, and other such help was drafting a letter to her parents. She had been so caught up in school this year that she hadn't written them in over a month, and it was well past time that she did so.

She shook her head, scanning over what she had already written. She certainly had enough to tell them. As she put quill to parchment, she promised herself that should wouldn't ever go this long without writing them again.

"Do we have to do this now?" Ron asked for the fifth time. "It isn't even due until Monday."

"It'll be nice to get it out of the way," Hermione repeated, shaking her head, "don't you think?"

"Not really," Ron muttered, but returned his attention to his transfiguration essay.

It wasn't the first time they'd had this conversation -- tonight even -- and it probably wouldn't be the last. Hermione knew how to counter most of Ron -- and Harry's -- objections and could laugh at it even. Well, she could laugh at it when she wasn't trying to get her own homework done at the same time. When she was, the arguments were simply irritations she could do without. In those cases, the boys didn't get much done. A snippy Hermione wasn't a very convincing Hermione. She knew that, but sometimes she just couldn't help it.

"Look at it this way Ronald," she tried again. "If you finish your homework early, your weekend will be completely free of homework."

He brightened at that. He always did. Unfortunately, it wouldn't last long. It never did. Hermione counted down the seconds until the red-head -- who Hermione was absolutely convinced suffered at least a mild form of ADHD -- was distracted again.

"Hey, Harry?" he asked.

"Yeah," Harry replied, eagerly looking up at the distraction.

Hermione snorted, but ignored them. It was better in the long run if she gave them a couple of minutes, then reminded them to get back to work. She'd spend longer arguing if she tried now.

"Quidditch practice went great, tonight, don't you think?"

Harry nodded enthusiastically. "We're going to stomp Ravenclaw tomorrow."

Ron grinned broadly at that, taking his still new role of Gryffindor Keeper seriously.

"Awww, is the mudblood mummy having trouble keeping the kiddies in line?" drawled an all too familiar voice.

Hermione sighed as she gave up all hope of either Harry or Ron finishing anything tonight. A run in with Malfoy was always followed by at least half an hour of disecting what was done and said and then an hour of fantasizing what they could have done or said. It too was old hat by now, unfortunately, it wasn't nearly as amusing. It was merely irritating.

"Go away, Malfoy!" Ron snarled, predictably going red in the face as he rose to the ferret's bait.

"Your insults are getting a little lame, Malfoy," Harry offered through grit teeth. "What's the matter, running out of brain power to come up with interesting ones?"

Hermione sighed again, doing her best to ignore the byplay -- at least mostly. She was keeping enough eye on them to make sure nothing escalated to wand point. For the most part, though, she was able to tune them out completely and finish her letter, signing it with a sigh of relief.

She looked up when she was done, surprised to see that Malfoy had already left. When had he gone? She frowned, not having realized before then that she hadn't been paying close enough attention to notice that. She hadn't been wrong about the after effects, however. Both Harry and Ron had all but abandoned their homework and were ranting about the ferret.

She sighed and stood. She wasn't staying around for this. "I'm going to take my letter to the owlery," she informed them, gathering her things up. She got absentminded responses and she shook her head as she left, wondering whether five minutes from now they would even remember where she had gone.

x-x-x

Harry nodded absently as Hermione told them she was leaving, not breaking off his rant about the bloody ferret. He was just-- He frowned as a dark owl swooped in through the owl windows high above the great hall. It was carrying a black envelope and headed directly for Professor McGonagall. Neither was a good thing. He pointed, drawing Ron's attention to it.

They had all become all too aware of what those black envelopes meant. Bad news. It didn't always mean exactly the same thing, but like a howler, they were easily identifiable as news of the not good variety from the ministry.

Mere moments after opening the envelope, Professor McGonagall gasped quietly.

Harry and Ron exchanged a worried look and both head immediately for the head table, their unfinished work lying forgotten on the table.

McGonagall frowned as they approach, setting down the letter and speaking before they could voice their concerns. "Where is Miss Granger?"

She went down to send an owl to her folks," Harry said, frowning even more now. Had something happened to them? "What's wrong?" he asked, hoping his half formed thought was way off-base.

McGonagall pulled herself up straight. "Mr. Potter, would you please fetch Miss Granger. Inform her that she is wanted in the headmaster's office."

"I will, Professor, but--"

McGonagall nodded sharply, rising and brushing past them as soon as she heard his answer.

Ron and Harry exchange another worried look as they stared after her, both wanting to know more.

"That was a ministry letter, Ron," he said hollowly, telling his friend nothing he didn't already know.

They rushed out of the Great Hall intent on finding Hermione. Harry just hoped they wouldn't be sending her to find out her parents had been killed. He knew she wouldn't deal well with that at all. Who would?! he asked, berating himself for the profoundly stupid thought.

They skid to a stop at the top of the stairs leading down to the owlery, startled at Hermione's abrupt appearance through the door.

She frowned at them. "What were you doing running in the halls?" she demanded of them imperiously. "You could have seriously hurt someone."

Habit had Harry cringing back from the criticism, but he rallied quickly, knowing it wasn't the important matter right now. "Bad news, Hermione," he told her. "McGonagall got a black letter," he continued, trying to figure out how to tell her without just dumping it on her. He watched as awareness slumped her shoulders. She, too, knew what those letters meant. She just didn't know the worst part yet.

"Who--"

"You're needed in the headmaster's office," Ron blurted and Harry could have smacked him. As caring as Ron was, tact had never been his strong point.

Hermione gasped, shaking her head as tears sprang into her eyes.

Before Harry could say anything else, she darted around them and took off at a dead run.


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Chapter One
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"Bad news, he says," Hermione muttered numbly. It was pretty much all she could think at the moment. She was functioning in basic mode only. Nothing made sense in her world now. She had spent the night in the infirmary; though she had protested that at first. She'd wanted to be around her friends, not stuck alone all night.

She'd spent several hours tossing and turning, sleep refusing to come as she turned scenarios over and over in her mind, trying to figure out if she should, could, have done anything to prevent this. Her parents were dead! She would never see them again.

Sighing, she pushed the food on her plate around a bit more, trying to decide if she could stomach even one more bite. Deciding, rather emphatically -- her stomach giving a leap and twist -- that, no, she couldn't, she pushed the plate away and ignored it entirely in favor of her tea. That at least should help calm her stomach. That was her hope anyway. She didn't want to embarrass herself by sicking up what she'd managed to get down.

She was dressed, but not yet allowed to leave the infirmary. Beyond that, she was so very tired, and wanted nothing more than to lay back down and forget the world existed. She didn't dare, though, not without the help of dreamless sleep. It had been midnight when Madam Pomfrey had come in and made her take some last night. It was only that, that had allowed her any rest at all, she was sure.

None of it seemed real, not truly. Part of her believed that if she could just go home, everything would be the way it should be, normal. In all the years she had been helping Harry, she had never really thought about the fact that her parents might be in danger, might die. Harry and Ron? Yes, she'd thought about that a lot. Herself? Yeah, she'd thought about that, too. It was inevitable, really, that she would. They had all been in quite a few dangerous situations together. She just hadn't thought about her parents.

They represented her other world, and had nothing to do with this one . . . or so it felt like to her most of the time. But he had broken the rules, he and his death eaters! He had mixed her two worlds into one gigantic mess of misery.

She was too caught up in her inner world to notice when company arrived, not even the voice as it spoke truly penetrated, though she did hear it in an abstract, not related to her kind of way; enough, anyway, that she registered it as female.

"Miss Granger!" Professor Snape snapped, loudly.

She jumped, snapping her head around in startlement, not having realized he was even there. It was then that it penetrated that Professor McGonagall had been trying to get her attention, had called her name twice, in fact. "Yes, Sir?" she asked, not having the energy to do muster much more of a response.

Snape rolled his eyes, sneering at her. "Pay . Attention!"

"Severus," Professor McGonagall chided.

The professor didn't react much to her prodding beyond huffing in irritation.

Hermione, embarrassed by her lack of concentration, worried her lower lip as ducked her head and stared at her clasped hands in her lap.

"Are you ready?" McGonagall asked quietly, gently.

Ready? Hermione thought with a touch of hysteria. She had forgotten until now what had to be done today. I'll never be ready for this! "Yes, Ma'am," was all she said, though, nodding.

McGonagall nodded and moved back, allowing Hermione to climb out of the bed. That simple action took almost all of the energy she could muster. She didn't see how she was going to do this. It didn't seem possible.

After she gained her feet, Professor McGonagall held out a goblet far enough Hermione could just barely see it in the periphery of her vision. She snapped her head up, wondering what it was. "It's empty," she said, confused.

"It's a portkey, Miss Granger," Snape sneered. "Surely, you've heard of them."

Outrage momentarily burst through her apathy and several rather inappropriate retorts sped through her mind. The feeling didn't last long enough to get her into trouble, however. She sighed instead. "Of course, Sir," she whispered, reaching out to touch the empty goblet.

"Of course," Snape muttered, sounding rather disgusted.

Between them, Professor McGonagall sighed and, as soon as Professor Snape touched the portkey as well, she activated it, all three of them disappearing from the infirmary.

She stumbled as they appeared in a small room without windows and a single exit. Underneath the numbness, her mind was active. Although she had difficulty actually fully registered the questions, they roiled deep inside. Like, what was this room? Had it been set up expressly for the purpose of portkeying? Or was it simply a handy closet that conveniently didn't get used for anything else? Where were they? Were they in the building they needed to be in, or was this just a . . . waystation and they would need to travel the muggle way to their destination?

Her feet following Professor McGonagall -- courtesy of Professor Snape's firm hand above her elbow -- Hermione simply let her mind go blank. It was better than thinking, better than feeling. She honestly didn't believe she would want to do either of those things ever again.

After what seemed an eternity of wandering, they stopped at a desk, Hermione completely ignoring the conversation between Professor McGonagall and the moron sitting there smiling at them. Hermione wanted to reach out and smack the idiot, a flash of outrage once again, briefly, piercing the fog surrounding her. She signed where and when she was told to sign, barely registering that she was actually signing anything. The thought that she should pay attention to what she was signing waved at her and sped away.

As they stood there, though, longer and longer, panic began to edge its way past her comfortable numbness. Barely grasping hold of her remaining sanity, Hermione wanted nothing more han to find a dark corner, or better yet, a hole and make the whole world simply go away and leave her alone. This was just a ridiculous amount of red tape just so she could do something she didn't want to do in the first place!

Professor McGonagall had met her parents. She knew them on sight. Why couldn't her head of house identify her parents. I don't want to see them like this! she screamed silently, the explanation from yesterday speeding through her mind even as she protested -- something about legalities. Professor McGonagall didn't 'exist' in the muggle world, so it had to be her. She was the only one who could legally say, yeah, that's them. Go away.

She almost laughed when Professor Snape finally lost his temper. It wasn't at her this time. He went into prime intimidation mode -- in defence of her. The shock was enough to make her blink and stare at the man in surprise. Who was this man and what had he done with her Gryffindor hating professor? Maybe he actually hated unnecessary paperwork and delays more?

As they were led down a long, dank corridor shortly thereafter, Hermione was pretty sure the potions master had terrified the poor receptionist witless -- not that she had that much sympathy to spare. Hers was pretty much used up on herself at the moment. The corridor lengthening, seemingly by magic, Hermione slowed her steps without thinking, without caring. She could not do this! She just couldn't.

Behind her, Snape growled lowly and grabbed hold of her elbow in a firm grip, firmer than he had used before and pulled her along. She didn't protest, didn't care enough to protest the semi-rough treatment.

As they approached a double set of doors at the end of the corridor, however, she balked. Gold calligraphy stood out across them, below a set of glazed windows, Morgue.

She tried to back away, shaking her head in frantic denial. She couldn't go in there. She only succeeding in turning, however, what with Professor Snape's still firm grip on her arm. The no's started out slow and quiet, but grew in speed and volume until she was shouting a constant stream. "No, no, no, no, no!"

Professor Snape shook her. "Miss Granger!" he snapped.

"No, nonononono!"

"Miss Granger!" he shouted, shaking her once more.

She jumped, gasping, then clamping her mouth shut. She swallowed convulsively, then took a deep breath, just to be able to whisper. "Sorry."

"Quite understandable," Professor McGonagall consoled, sounding incredibly sad. It made Hermione wonder just how many times the older woman had, had to do this. "Come now, child, the sooner you do this, the sooner it's done and over with."

Snape scoffed.

Pulling herself from the man's grasp, shaking, Hermione took a step forward and closed her eyes. Then the blessed numbness set back in, making her feel like she was moving through a thick sea of molasses as opposed to through doors and air. She could hear Professor McGonagall speak with the attendant inside, but all she could concentrate on were the gleeming metal doors with heavy locking handles on them. What? Did they think the occupants were going to get up and walk away if they weren't locked in? They were dead for heaven's sake! They weren't ever going to walk anywhere ever again.

Movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention and she absently noted when Professor McGonagall and the attendant moved toward a specific door, drawer, she knew they were called. Part of her sort of . . . phased out and she found herself wondering how this was done in the wizarding world. Was it any better, any easier on the family left behind? It had to be; certainly, nothing could be worse. God! I don't want to do this she thought in panic as Professor Snape propelled her forward.

When she stopped beside the now open slab, the attendant unzipped the horrid body bag and pulled back the edge. She just stared; stared at the face that was at the same so familiar and so very different than she had ever known. It took her several moments before she could look up toward the attendant. "What do I do?" she breathed faintly.

"You just need to tell me who this is, for the record," the attendant said softly, his voice quiet, polite, and most of all sympathetic.

It was too much for her, she burst into tears. "My father," she choked out, "Theodore Allen Granger."

The attendant nodded. "Thank you," he replied softly, continuing as he recovered her father. "I'm sorry."

Rather mechanically, Hermione watched as the attended moved to the next drawer. She automatically stepped forward as he pulled it open. The tears that had begun to slow, renewed with new force as he reached for the zipper.

No! she screamed silently, not all together certain she hadn't said it out loud as well, since the attendent hesitated briefly. I don't want to see my mothere laying there! Unfortunately, no one listened to her thoughts.

He pulled back the edge and looked over at her sadly.

Behind her, Professor Snape gasped; though, Hermione ignored him, not seeing anything beyond her dead mother, certainly nothing shocking enough to elicit such a response from him.

She clenched her eyes shut against a fresh wave of grief. Her tears didn't respect the barrier, they slipped through to continue spilling down her face. "My mother," she offered without prompting this time, managing to choke out only, "Granger," for a name, turning abruptly away from the sight of her mother laying there.

She felt McGonagall's arms fold around her and pull her from the room and out into the corridor and toward the chairs she hadn't noticed when the passed by them.


TBC
Kiristeen ke Alaya
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