DISCLAIMER: Unfortunately, I have no claim on the Harry Potter world as it belongs to the wonderful J.K. Rowling. Maybe one day she'll feel sorry for me and give me Sirius for my own... sigh...
Alrighty folks, listen up. I decided that since acts up 98 percent of the time to start a list of people to email when I update. If you want to be added to the list to get an email from myself, email me DIRECTLY at meiashae (at) yahoo (dot) com and state that you want to be added to the list or I will simply think you are a crazy person that is emailing me for no reason. I will try to provide a link in the email but that all depends on how busy I am at the time I update. As you know, this has been made into a trilogy which I have named "The Kismet Trilogy" For those of you who don't know and don't wish to scurry over to find a dictionary, kismet means "chance".
Story title: Memories of a Dream
At the tender age of eleven, Hermione Jane Granger was already at the top of her class in every subject at Mortant's School for Young Ladies. She was a favourite among the teachers and the daughter of two very well known and beloved dentists.
Yes, Hermione Granger charmed the hearts of those in charge, bushy hair and all. Though she had very few friends (if you could even call them that), Hermione was happy with her studious life and often found solace in the multitude of books that she read. Hermione found that it was usually easier to stay away from others because, even at a young age, Hermione knew that she was different.
You see, from the time that Hermione was born during that frightful night on September nineteenth, her parents- Mike and Ann- realized that Hermione was special. As you already gathered, Hermione wasn't special in the way that she was disabled or anything, but in the way that there was always something about her that made her unique.
Ann had always told her daughter that, upon her birth, on the night she was born, something extraordinary had happened. Ann Granger was hardly one to admit to the existence of miracles or miracle workers, but she remained adamant that on the night that Hermione was born, some sort of miracle had occurred.
The night of September nineteenth, nineteen seventy-nine had been a night, if not for her precious daughter's birth, that Ann Granger would have normally wished to forget. The small village of Braxshire had gone from eerily quiet to filled with screams of terror and fear as a multitude of robed figures appeared seemingly out of thin air and attacked, led by a tall man with flashing red eyes.
Maybe it was the fear that had triggered it, but at that moment, Ann went into labour three weeks early. She hadn't known where her husband was and she was afraid of screaming out of fear of one of the attackers hearing her. At all costs, she had to protect herself for her baby's sake.
And then she was there, an angel of mercy and kindness. Ann had briefly registered the sudden lack of screams before a pair of gentle hands softly touched her face, wiping the sweat from her.
Ann listened as the strange woman spoke kind words, soothing her as the contractions came closer together. She knew it would only be a little time now before she would have to push but yet she also knew that she had to hold out as long as possible. The air was quiet…too quiet.
It was then that Ann had noticed the piece of wood that the woman held tightly in one hand and the way that her eyes kept shifting uneasily.
Ann reached out a hand and gently touched the other woman's, causing her to jerk lightly before calming once more. "What's your name?" Ann asked her saviour in a hushed voice.
She noticed how the other woman had stalled briefly, seemingly considering whether or not to answer before smiling and saying, "Hermione. My name is Hermione."
Hermione had stayed with Ann for the two and a half hours that it had taken for baby Hermione to be born. Yes, Ann had named her daughter after her saviour who not only stayed by her side but also protected her with strange magic. Hermione, both Hermione's, were her miracles.
So now, eleven years later, Ann knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that her daughter was special and unique, just like she had known that her angel had been unique. She also noticed how her daughter had uncanny similarities to the woman who had saved them both.
So, Hermione was now an example of the perfect daughter and student. Teachers adored her, parents wished she were their own, and other students resented her. Hey, you can't win all the battles.
And so we find our young Hermione on this late summer's day right after school let out, in her room with a book on her lap, biting her lip. Ann was downstairs in the kitchen cooking a delicious meal while Mike was still at the office. He had been called in earlier when a well-renowned rugby player had broken his two front teeth during practice.
The air was very humid despite the fact that it was getting rather late in the evening. Ann had earlier opened a window in hopes of a stirring breeze sweeping through. Thus far, she had been unsuccessful as she had switched on one of the ceiling fans.
Upstairs, Hermione swiped her forehead with the back of her hand, smearing the sweaty film that had formed along her hairline. She gave a mighty 'harrumph' and pulled back her bushy mane with a hair tie, twisting it into a bun off of her neck. Sometimes she thought it would be better just to get it all whacked off. She had switched on one of her small fans earlier and was currently stretched out in front of it, hoping that the limited cool air would cool her down just a little.
She glanced up at the clock and noticed that the time was nearing seven; her father should be home soon and they would eat. That was a strict rule in the Granger household- you always eat as a family. Hermione rather liked the fact that they were so close, and yet sometimes she longed for the freedom she witnessed in other families. It wasn't that her freedom was restricted; it was just that sometimes she felt restricted by simply being there. It was rather hard to explain.
The other thing Hermione longed for was friendship. Not the friendship that was more like 'you scratch my back and I'll scratch yours', but the forever kind of friendship where they know you better than yourself sometimes. She lacked that.
Hermione found that she could no longer concentrate on the book in front of her. So, with a hearty sigh, she shut the cover and raised herself up off the floor. She made her way over to the window where she looked out at the large lawn where a single willow tree stood with a bench sitting beneath it.
Due to the fact that her parents were so successful, they were able to afford a lovely and yet simple two story house and quite a bit of land away from the main village. They had bought this house right after Hermione had been born.
Hermione ran her hands over the bottom of her shirt to attempt to smooth out the wrinkles. Then, she turned and walked out of her bedroom and down the staircase to enter the kitchen where her mum was humming a Bon Jovi tune while she rolled the chicken in the bread crumbs.
As soon as Ann spotted her daughter, she smiled and stuck out her cheek for Hermione to kiss. "Hello dear," she said as she slapped another piece of chicken onto the pan, "finish your book?"
Hermione sat herself onto a high bar stool and folded her hands on top of the island. "No," she replied, "it's too hot to concentrate on anything at the moment. Do you need any help?"
"No dear, I'm almost done. Your father should be home in a bit and this should be done." Ann smiled as she wiped her hands on her frilly apron. "Why don't you pour us a drink and take it into the sitting room. I'll be in right after I put the chicken in to bake."
Hermione complied and poured two glasses of ice tea. She took a sip of her own as she walked into the lightly coloured sitting room with the dark chocolate brown couch in the center. The fireplace and the couch were the main focal points of the room and Hermione found they contrasted pleasantly against one another.
Hermione was just getting ready to sit down when the shrill sound of the doorbell made her snap back up. The Granger household hardly ever received visitors and even then they called beforehand. Ann's voice called from the inner sanctum of the kitchen asking her to get the door.
Whatever she was expecting, it was not what she found on the other side of the oak door. The man and woman on the outside were shocking to say the least and certainly more absurdly dressed than most she had ever seen considering the man was wearing what appeared to be a dress.
But what shocked her most was the expression on the woman's face as the door opened. It was a mixture of shock, relief, and something else…something that Hermione briefly thought was love before dismissing the notion. Whatever it was, it was hidden an instant later as the older man laid a hand on the woman's shoulder.
"Miss Hermione Granger, I presume," the older man said quite cheerfully, his eyes twinkling behind his half moon spectacles.
Hermione found her eyes roaming the length of his strangely long white beard and then to his age old hands that were folded neatly in front of him now. "Yes sir," she replied, remembering that one must always be polite, "I am."
The man leaned slightly forward, a smile on his face. "Is your mother still in the kitchen cooking that delicious breaded chicken whose aroma is simply mouth watering?"
Well, he sure can give compliments, Hermione thought as she smiled and opened the door a little wider. "Yes, sir, she is. Would you like to come in?"
"We'd be delighted," was all he said as he allowed his companion to step in front of him and enter the house, not looking around but at her.
"Hermione?" Ann's voice drifted in from the kitchen, steadily coming closer. "Who is it dear?"
Hermione opened her mouth to answer but she just realized that she had never even thought to ask them their names. She glanced at the man and then at the doorway where her mother had just appeared.
"Ah, Mrs. Granger," the man greeted, "please excuse us for barging into your lovely home unannounced and uninvited but we thought it would be better to come in person rather than sending a letter."
"That's quite alright, Mr…?"
"Albus Dumbledore, my dear lady," the man replied cheerfully with a slight bow, "and may I present Minerva McGonagall."
Hermione felt a pull in her stomach but dismissed it as just her being hungry. The McGonagall lady was still looking at her peculiarly. Hermione found herself shifting nervously as she stood a little off to the side in hopes of making herself scarce. Hermione was never one to run away from a battle, but, in this particular one, her opponents were unknown.
"Well, it's a pleasure to meet you Mr. Dumbledore and Ms. McGonagall. Would you care for a drink?"
Dumbledore smiled graciously and took a seat while Ann retreated to the kitchen to pour two more glasses of ice tea. Hermione knew it would be impolite to leave the room (and she was not impolite) so she also took a seat…far away from the couch.
But not even the distance could stop those blue eyes from finding her. "Miss Granger, you are eleven I believe."
Hermione nodded once. "Yes, sir, twelve in September."
If possible, Dumbledore's smile grew wider. "Excellent. Right on time then." He glanced at the stern McGonagall and patted her hand comfortingly. "You know, Miss Granger, I do believe there is something about you."
Ann chose that exact moment to walk back into the room, hearing his last comment. "Why, I've been saying the exact same thing for the past eleven years. Ever since her birth, there has always been something special about Hermione."
"Yes," McGonagall said, speaking for the first time since she entered the Granger Household, "she is a very special girl indeed."
Hermione looked at her, not just stared but actually looked past the cool exterior and examined the woman beneath. She knew there was more than those piercing tawny eyes were letting onto.
"Mrs. Granger," Dumbledore said as he took the large glass from Ann's hands, "I'm afraid I wasn't completely honest when I told you who I am."
Ann paused just as she was about to sit down in a complimenting chair opposite of the couch. "You weren't?"
"No, you see I am Albus Dumbledore but I am more formally known as the Headmaster of Hogwarts," he replied. "Minerva, here, is one of the Professors and Head of House for Gryffindor."
"Hogwarts?" Hermione questioned. "I'm sure that I've read about every school and yet I don't recall…"
"That's because only a select few are allowed to know about Hogwarts," Dumbledore said as he took a sip of his drink. "You, by our presence here, will be one of those select few."
"I'm quite sorry, Professor Dumbledore," Ann said with a small smile, "but Hermione has already been accepted into…"
"Yes, yes," Dumbledore interrupted so pleasantly that there was no possible way to be mad at him, "that is all well and so forth, but I must request that you hear us out."
Ann seemed to be thinking it over but the door opened and closed as the sound of Mike Granger's voice drifted down the hallway.
Ann rose from her seat to greet her husband by the door with a kiss on the cheek. "Darling, this is Professor Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, and this is Professor Minerva McGonagall, a teacher there."
"How do you do?" Mike asked politely as he shook both of their hands. He then walked over to Hermione and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. "Hey pumpkin, being good?"
"But of course," Hermione replied sweetly. Mike took a seat on the arm of Hermione's chair, letting his arm drape over the back.
"So, Professor Dumbledore, what can we do for you?"
"We want Hermione to attend Hogwarts, of course," the old headmaster replied simply.
"Well, I'm terribly sorry but Hermione has already been accepted into the Royal Academy for Ladies," Mike said. "They've been after her for years and she's been offered numerous scholarships."
Dumbledore nodded his head. "Yes, we realize your daughter's amazing academic success, but we must impose the severity of your decision. You see, Hermione is special. In fact, she's more special than you could ever imagine."
"What do you mean?" Ann asked, obviously confused by the small hints that the older man was giving. Ann rather detested puzzles so it was no surprise that she was beginning to grow agitated.
Hermione found that she was sitting on the edge of her chair, waiting for his response. Though her father had yet to move, she could sense the change in him. She could even sense the change in her mum, noticing how white her knuckles had gone from her death grip she had on her cup. Hermione rather thought that it would shatter at any moment what with the pressure being exerted upon it.
"I'm meaning that Hermione's rare talents," Dumbledore explained, "would best be used in our school for we are the only ones that could really further her development. Actually, there are few schools in the world that could do this but ours would be the best for her."
"Please, sir," Ann said as politely as she could muster, "you're speaking in riddles. Clarify what you mean, please."
Dumbledore chuckled while McGonagall merely sat ramrod straight. "Of course, Mrs. Granger, but first, has Hermione ever done anything simply unexplainable when she was highly upset, angry, or extremely happy?"
"Why, no…," Ann said somewhat hesitantly as she glanced over to where her daughter sat with Mike. "Well…there was that one time…"
"One time?" Dumbledore questioned, raising one white bushy eyebrow inquisitively. "Care to elaborate?"
"Well, it was really nothing, you see," Ann rushed on to say, "she was only three after all…you see, Mike and I were watching a move and Hermione, I guess being her age then, was upset because we weren't paying her any attention…"
"I remember that," Mike said with a small smile on his face. "That's when our tele blew up. The maintenance guy said that it sometimes happens with old televisions."
"Yes, so that couldn't possibly be cause of Hermione…," Ann added hastily, her whole hand now turning white. "But then…there was also that one time at the zoo…Hermione was five and she loved monkeys, absolutely adored them. Well, when she couldn't get to them to pet them…well, the glass sort of disappeared."
"But the zoo guy said that it probably just shattered and we just didn't see it," Mike added in his daughter's defense.
"Did you see any glass?" Dumbledore questioned.
"Well, no, but…"
"Were they cleaning up any glass?"
"Not that we'd seen, but…"
"Do you know if there was any glass to be cleaned up?"
"Then where did the glass go?"
All of the Grangers looked at each other, trying to figure out what the strange Headmaster was trying to imply. The man confused them greatly. He was thoroughly frustrating in the aspect that he made them question the past by implying that something had not been the way they always thought.
"Sir?" Hermione questioned, scooting a little further forward on her seat. "Just what are you saying?"
Dumbledore sat up straighter as he folded his hands neatly on his lap. "Hermione is no ordinary girl. Since her birth, she has been watched over for both yours and her protection."
He looked at Ann. "Mrs. Granger, you know what happened over eleven years ago, or you think you know what happened. It was more than you could possibly ever fathom. However, I hope in some way to help you understand."
Hermione glanced at her father, trying to gain something from him. But yet she received nothing as usual. She hated it when she couldn't get the answers as fast as she wanted them.
"Does this have anything to do with the woman who helped me give birth to Hermione?" Ann asked softly. Her eyes were wide as she looked between Dumbledore and McGonagall, seeking answers too.
"Yes," he answered simply.
"She saved our lives that night, didn't she?"
Dumbledore hesitated a fraction of a second before saying, "Yes, she did."
Ann rose from her seat and walked over to the window, looking out onto the lawn. Everyone was watching her as she stood silent and still, rubbing her hand slowly across the base of her throat.
Slowly, she turned around, looking straight into Dumbledore's twinkling blue eyes. Her mouth was set into a grim line, her eyes hard.
"I know that that woman was different…a lot different," Ann drawled finally. "Just tell me, is Hermione, my Hermione, like her?"
Dumbledore smiled slowly as he looked at his companion from the corner of his eye, the twinkle shining brightly. "Yes, Hermione is exactly like her."
The room was deadly silent.
"You see, she is a witch."
A/N: And thus the first chapter of the second part of the trilogy is up...aren't you happy? I'm all settled into my new room now and man was moving a fun adventure...I especially liked the part where I tried to move my fridge up a floor by myself. Life lesson, always make someone else help you move. Saves time and energy.