Humming quietly to herself, Hermione fills the kitchen sink with warm, soapy water, preparing to wash the dinner dishes.

It hardly seems real to her, being back home as if nothing has changed, after all that she learned this last year; the mundane task of doing dishes seems to tether her to reality.

How long do I have? She wonders. How long before the war rears into full-blown chaos?

It's all been set in motion, and has been since last year at the Department of Mysteries, when the world could no longer deny the return of Lord Voldemort.

Now, after Harry and Dumbledore have started on the path to finding and destroying all of Voldemort's Horcruxes, it can't be long until the whole world starts to go to hell.

Not as if it hasn't already started, I suppose. With all of the strange disappearances, and murders, but at least we don't have complete warfare yet.

Families fighting in the streets and all…

Hermione finds herself worrying, not for the first time, about whether Voldemort knows or not that Harry is closing in on him.

Can he feel it? When part of his soul is destroyed? He knows about the diary, but could he feel the destruction of the ring and the locket?

"What do you think you are doing, young lady?"

Hermione jumps, sloshing water down her front.

"Mum! Don't sneak up on me like that," she chides playfully, turning to find her mother leaning in the doorway of the kitchen.

"I wasn't trying to," her mother sighs, "I was just trying to find where my daughter disappeared to, and here you are, doing chores. I thought I told you not to worry about those?"

Mrs. Granger crosses the kitchen and stands next to Hermione, reaching to take the plate and washcloth she's currently holding.

"Most parents would be pleased to find their daughter wanting to help around the house," Hermione insists, handing off the washcloth and beginning to rinse the plate.

"Yes, well most parents don't have a brilliant witch for a daughter. A brilliant witch, who I might add, spent the last several months working her tail off at school to, once again, make top of her class."

"Mum, I really—"

"No, I won't hear it. Go sit down, love. Relax for a change," Mrs. Granger instructs.

Hermione opens her mouth to argue, but a stern look from her mother shuts her down, and she slumps off to the front room.

It's not exactly like I can tell her, no thanks, mum… I'd rather not relax; it gives me too much time to contemplate the impending war I haven't told you about. Oh, no, don't worry, there is just some crazy murderous bigot who hates people like me and wants us all dead.

Yes, that conversation would go lovely.

She's just about to curl up in front of the telly and find a news program, when she hears a knock on the front door.

"I've got it!" Hermione calls into the kitchen, on her way to answer the door.

It's getting a bit late for—

She pulls the door open, only to find her stomach drop.

Hermione is face to face with Narcissa Malfoy.

Not pausing to think, Hermione draws her wand from the sleeve of her sweater and aims it squarely at Narcissa's chest.

"Now, my dear, is that any way to treat family?" Narcissa asks with a sardonic smirk.

Blinking in confusion, Hermione tightens her grip on her wand, her free hand slipping into her pocket.

"What… what are you doing here?" she asks.

"I've come to take you home."

In her pocket, Hermione's hand closes around the galleon she is always sure to carry.

"I'm not going anywhere with you," Hermione scoffs.

Send Help – H.G.

The galleon grows warm in her palm, and she feels the slightest flare of relief, knowing that surely someone will come.

"Put that away, dear," Narcissa tells her wearily, nodding at Hermione's wand. "I'm not here to hurt you. There is, however, a conversation we need to have, and I daresay you may not find it the most comfortable."

Hermione lowers her wand slightly, but doesn't relax her stance. She has to admit, only to herself of course, that she is extremely curious about what could have brought Narcissa Malfoy to her front door.

Common sense keeps her curiosity in check; whatever this woman may want, she is the wife of a Death Eater, a follower of Lord Voldemort, and not to be trusted.

"May I come in?" Narcissa inquires.

She almost sounds offended, as if it is Hermione's poor manners keeping her on the doorstep and not her affiliations.

"Hermione, who is it?"

Mrs. Granger comes walking in from the kitchen, drying her hands on a dishtowel, her eyes darting from the aristocratic stranger in their door, to Hermione, to Hermione's wand.

"Mrs. Granger, I presume?" Narcissa inquires.

"Mum—" Hermione starts, not sure what to say.

"Run and hide" would probably lead to far too many questions later.

"Yes," her mother says, stepping forward to offer her hand in hello. "And you are?"

"My name is Narcissa Malfoy. Your— Hermione is in the same year as my son, Draco, at school. I was hoping to speak with you. All three of you, supposing your husband is home."

Mrs. Granger's eyes tighten slightly, and Hermione knows she is remembering all of the things she's been told about Draco Malfoy.

She doesn't know half of it.

Despite the warning look on Hermione's face, her mother nods and gives a polite smile.

"Yes, of course. Please come in."

Narcissa nods her thanks, and slips in past a panicking Hermione.

Please, please, please someone had to have gotten my message.

She would prefer of all the D.A. members still carrying their coins, that Ron be the one to find her plea. Arthur should be home from work at this time, and could contact other members of the Order.

Calm down, Hermione, she tells herself as she closes the door. She is one woman.

One woman with an escaped-from-prison-Death-Eater husband.

"Darling," Mrs. Granger calls upstairs, "could you come down please, we have company."

With that, she leads Narcissa into their sitting room, Hermione trailing close behind, wand still drawn.

"Can I get you anything? Tea? Water?" Mrs. Granger offers, gesturing for Narcissa to take a seat.

"No, I'm fine, thank you."

Narcissa settles herself onto the very edge of the beige upholstered settee, while Mrs. Granger sits down beside her, and Hermione takes a seat on the sofa opposite them.

Hermione rests her wand across her lap in plain sight, and bristles slightly at the look Narcissa gives her.

A tolerant smile one gives to children while going along with their silly games.

They sit in silence until Hermione's father arrives.

"Mr. Granger? I'm Narcissa Malfoy. Hermione goes to school with my son Draco."

"Pleasure to meet you," Mr. Granger says genially, clearly missing the tension in the room as he offers his hand to shake.

"How can we help you, Mrs. Malfoy?" Mrs. Granger asks, cutting to the chase as her husband takes a seat beside Hermione.

"I'm sorry," Narcissa tells them, and if Hermione didn't know her to be one of the most composed women ever, she would almost think she sounded… flustered. "I'm not sure where to begin."

The Grangers wait, Mrs. Granger now watching her guest with almost as much suspicion as Hermione, and Mr. Granger still smiling politely.

"To think you've been so close all these years," Narcissa sighs, turning to Hermione. "I've often thought of you, knowing you would be Draco's age, but I… I never knew you were…"

She pauses, closing her eyes to compose herself.

When she opens them again, they seem oddly shiny, almost as if she is about to cry.

"Mrs. Malfoy," Hermione begins, more confused than ever, "I'm sorry, but I have no idea what you're talking about."

Maybe she's been confunded? Maybe this is a distraction while our house is surrounded.

"Hermione," Narcissa begins again, "I'm your aunt."

Staring unblinkingly at the woman across from her, Hermione still doesn't understand.

"That's not… that doesn't…" she stumbles, looking to her parents. "Neither of you have any siblings. This must be some mistake."

The smile slips from her father's face, and when she turns to her mother, Hermione finds her sitting stiffly, staring at their guest.

"Haven't you been curious? Certainly it can't come as a surprise to you that you come from a magical family? Honestly, I must admit I'm surprised you did not research into this before now. When I think of all of the time we've lost—"

"Research into what? There is no magic in my family! I'm the first witch to be born into the Granger family," Hermione argues.

"My dear… you don't know?" Narcissa whispers. "They never told you?"

"That's enough!" Mrs. Granger exclaims, standing up. "I think you have overstayed your welcome."

"Told me what?" Hermione presses, ignoring her mother.

"You were not born into the Granger family. You were adopted," Narcissa explains.

Time seems to freeze.

"No. That can't be right," Hermione argues, shaking her head back and forth. "Tell her she's mistaken."

Mrs. Granger won't meet her daughter's eyes, and Mr. Granger looks as if he is going to be sick.

"Dad?"

"Hermione," he responds quietly, "this isn't how we wanted you to find out."

He reaches for her hand but Hermione pulls away, jumping to her feet, still clutching her wand tightly.

Her head is spinning, and she feels like she's going to be sick.

"It's true? I'm— I'm adopted and you never told me? And… as if that isn't bad enough, you hid my magical history?"

"No!" her mother finally speaks up. "We wanted to wait and tell you when you turned eighteen. And I swear to you, Hermione, we didn't know you had a magical history. Not for sure."

No. None of this makes sense. I… I look like my mother. I don't look anything like…

"Did you say… aunt?" Hermione asks, turning back to Narcissa.

She can feel all of the color drain from her face.

As if reading her mind, Narcissa smiles reassuringly.

"Yes, dear, but don't fret. It isn't my sweet sister, Bellatrix."

Wracking her brain, Hermione recalls the Black Family Tapestry at Grimmauld Place.

"Andromeda?"

Narcissa arches an eyebrow, seemingly impressed.

"I had no idea you were so well versed in our family tree. Andromeda was disowned, and likes to keep her distance, so I doubt her familial affiliations come up much in conversation," she says, "but alas, no. Not Andromeda."

"Then I don't understand, because I don't remember any other Black sisters from the tapestry."

"Ah, that old thing. Yes, I'm sure your mother was not on there."

Hermione blanches at the term "mother", still not ready to accept anything she's told as fact.

"Tell me what you think you know about me," she demands, trying to sound firm, and brave, but unable to keep the quiver from her voice.

"I had another sister," Narcissa begins. "Her name was Lisette. She was the youngest of the four of us, just a year below me in school. She was… headstrong. You may or may not know this, but many of the old wizarding families, especially those among the Sacred Twenty-Eight, have arranged marriages."

Hermione recalls reading the term "Sacred Twenty-Eight" in an old wizarding genealogy book. It refers to the twenty-eight ancient families believed to be of the purest blood. To be among them is akin to being royalty, at least among the bigots who hold such standards still.

The Weasleys are among the Sacred Twenty-Eight, she remembers, though Arthur quickly changed the subject when she asked him about it last summer. He spent half the morning mumbling under his breath about crazy supremacists.

"Lisette was no exception, nor was the man she fell in love with. They were both promised to others."

"What happened?" Hermione asks, in spite of herself.

"They had an affair. That's not what got her disowned, mind you; affairs are common enough among the elite. How could they not be when marriages are made for connections rather than desires?"

Hermione scowls.

"Lisette broke the rules of etiquette. She got pregnant, and she refused to… take care of the matter. She demanded to break her engagement and convinced the father to do the same. He obliged her, but before they could marry, he was killed."

"What was his name?"

"Duncan Rosier."

Rosier… Rosier… oh…

"He was killed by aurors," Hermione asks, "wasn't he? For being a Death Eater?"

Looking regretful, Narcissa nods.

"Yes," she says. "It broke my sister. She ran away, disgraced and distraught. Several months later her… body was found. She hung herself. No one knew what happened to the baby. Until now."

Dizzy, and in shock Hermione sits back down next to her— next to the man she's called father all her life.

"This can't be true," she murmurs. "That would mean that I'm… I'm not a muggle-born?"

Narcissa smiles affectionately.

"No, my dear. You are a pureblood. A bastard, yes," she shrugs, "but that is hardly of consequence with blood as pure as yours."

Before she can think of a smart remark, there are several loud cracks from the kitchen, and Hermione jumps back to her feet.

She twists around, wand held ready, aimed at the kitchen doorway. However when she sees who it is, she could almost cry with relief.

Dumbledore is here, and he's brought Arthur and Remus. All three have their wands drawn.

"Thank Merlin!" she exclaims, rushing over to the three.

"What business do you have here tonight, Narcissa?" Dumbledore asks, jumping right to the point.

"What a welcoming party," Narcissa replies. "Quite unnecessary, I assure you. My visit shall be brief. I only came to collect my niece, as her guardianship falls to me."

Remus and Arthur exchange confused looks, but Dumbledore's stare doesn't waiver.

"Explain to me what you speak of," he demands.

So she does. Narcissa retells the tale Lisette and Duncan, the star-crossed psychopaths as far as Hermione is concerned, and explains how Lisette's whereabouts were traced to a muggle orphanage, and from there to Hermione Granger.

Sometime during the story, Arthur's hand finds Hermione's, while Remus rests another protective hand on her shoulder.

She is so thankful they are both here. Arthur has always treated Hermione as a member of his own family, and Remus has looked out for her many times as well.

"You know I cannot allow you to walk out of here tonight with Miss Granger, Narcissa," Dumbledore comments once the story is told.

"I know you cannot stop me. She is my blood, and belongs with me. You know that no silly little muggle paperwork outweighs that of our own laws! Hermione is a Black. She is also, may I remind you, underage still."

"Only by about two and a half months," Hermione pipes up.

"Be that as it may, I am your legal guardian until that point in time, and you will come with me."

"I assume you can prove this is not all a ruse?" Dumbledore presses.

"Of course," Narcissa replies, pulling a small vial from her cloak. "I've brought a paternity elixir. Hermione and I must both prick our fingers and submit a drop of blood, and it will reveal the truth."

"If it glows silver it would mean direct parentage, if it glows gold it means close familial match, blue means distant relatives, and no reaction means no connection," Remus explains.

Dumbledore takes the small vial, filled with lilac liquid and studies it closely. He inspects the color, and uncorking the lid he tests the smell.

"I am satisfied it is indeed an untampered with vial of paternity elixir," he announces, passing the container back to Narcissa.

She withdraws a small silver dagger, almost half the size of your average letter opener, and uses it to prick her index finger. Narcissa presses around the small cut until she is pleased with the size of the blood droplet, and then taps her injured finger on the mouth of the vial.

Hermione watches as the tiny scarlet drop of blood disappears into the lilac hue of the potion, which begins to softly bubble.

Narcissa hold both the dagger and the vial out to Hermione, who doesn't move from where she stands between Arthur and Remus.

"Miss Granger?" Dumbledore urges.

Swallowing thickly she takes the offered items. Following Narcissa's actions exactly, she pricks her finger, and expresses a drop into the bubbling liquid.

As the potion begins to glow golden, Hermione's heart shatters.

"Welcome to the family, my dear Miss Black," Narcissa tells her sweetly.

Feeling nauseous, Hermione turns and rushes for the Loo, shoving the elixir and dagger into Remus' arms before she flees.

She locks the door behind her and drops to her knees in front of the porcelain bowl, losing all the contents of her stomach.

This can't be happening to. There is some mistake. I'm not one of them. My parents… my parents are… liars.

She sobs noiselessly into the crook of her arm, her elbow propped on the edge of the toilet bowl.

How could they not tell me I was adopted? It's not like it would have changed anything! They are still my parents! They raised me for Merlin's sake, with so much love and affection… and so many lies.

Hermione isn't sure what the worst part of this whole ordeal is. Finding out her parents have lied to her throughout her entire life, or discovering that Narcissa Malfoy and – oh, god – Bellatrix Lestrange are her aunts.

This isn't real. It can't be.

"Hermione? May I come in?"

It's Arthur.

After wiping her tears away, Hermione stretches over to unlock the door.

"Come in," she rasps.

Arthur steps in, closing the door behind him, staring at her with so much sympathy in his eyes she can hardly bear it.

"Is this really happening?" she asks him, knowing Arthur to be the last person who would ever lie to her.

"Yes, and I am so sorry. I wish there was something I could do, or say, to help you, but I'm afraid I'm a bit useless," he apologizes.

"Don't say that. You're not useless."

"You may not feel that way in a moment. I don't know how to say this, I'm not— this is not… She wasn't lying, Hermione, about any of it. Legally, Mrs. Malfoy is your guardian until you come of age, and… there is nothing we can do to prevent her from taking you home with her."

Hermione's veins seem to fill with ice water, and her already upside-down world begins to spin faster.

"I—I— I turn seventeen in just over two months!"

"And at that point you will be free to go wherever you choose."

"But until then, I have to go with her?" she questions. "There is nothing that can be done?"

"If there were, I swear to you, I would already be doing it," Arthur promises.

Hermione nods, throat going completely dry.

"I know you would."

Arthur offers his hand to Hermione and she takes it, allowing him to pull her to her feet.

Taking a deep breath, she almost believes she is ready for this, but the weight of her situation hits her once more and her face crumples.

"Shh, shh," Arthur comforts as she throws herself into his arms.

He pats her back gently, until she finally begins to regain composure.

Arthur has always been like a second father to her — third father, her brain corrects, and she is thankful he is here tonight.

They exit the bathroom and return to the sitting room.

Narcissa is sitting as primly as ever, her expression a cool mask.

Mr. and Mrs. Granger are sitting side-by-side holding one another, in a display that would break Hermione's heart if their lies hadn't already done that.

Remus seems highly uncomfortable, standing on the far side of the room, scanning the scene constantly, eyes darting from windows to doors, as if still expecting this all to be an elaborate set-up.

Dumbledore is waiting where he stood when Hermione fled, his normal genial face more stern than she's ever seen it.

"Has Arthur explained the situation to you, Miss Granger?" Dumbledore asks her.

Hermione nods timidly.

"I can understand your hesitation, considering the events occurring in our world right now, and the loyalties of those present tonight," Dumbledore says. "So, despite not being able to prevent your departure with Mrs. Malfoy, I can ensure your safety."

Narcissa scoffs from behind Dumbledore.

"Really, Headmaster? I have no intent of harming the child, she is blood after all."

"Be that as it may you should have no objections as to the charm I shall place over her."

Narcissa sighs, but holds her hands up in acquiescence.

Dumbledore withdraws his wand from his belt and conjures a small silver ring from thin air.

He takes Hermione's hand and slips the ring onto her right ring finger.

Waving his wand in delicate swirling motions above the ring, he begins to chant under his breath.

When he's done, he tucks his wand away and turns to Narcissa.

"If any physical harm of malicious intent befalls Miss Hermione Black, she shall be instantly transported to my side," he explains.

Hermione's empty stomach flops as she hears Dumbledore refer to her as Black… hearing it from him makes it sound so much more real.

"Very well," Narcissa agrees. "Is that all? It is getting rather late."

Professor Dumbledore turns to face Hermione again and she knows the time has come.

She has to leave.

"I'll send someone for your things," Narcissa assures Hermione, "but we really need to be on our way."

Hermione doesn't know what to say as she looks from person to person in the room.

When her eyes land on her parents… her adoptive parents, she can think of nothing to say.

She knows it is cruel to leave without saying anything to them, but a tiny part of her wants to be cruel, after all the lies, and so she turns away from everyone and walks out the front door.

The delicate clicking of heels tells her Narcissa is close behind her.

It's just another adventure, she tries to tell herself, and you've been on plenty of those.

No matter what she tells herself though, as Narcissa's arm intertwines with hers, Hermione feels as if she is in mourning.

As the knot in her stomach grows ever tighter, she realizes she is in mourning, because Hermione Granger just died.