This story has no direction, is unedited, and stands to be more of a way to get my creative juices flowing. Thank you. - C

The groundskeepers hurried to collect their tools as rain pelted on them, soaking their uniforms until they clung to the skin. The head groundskeeper was shouting something, the lines in his face creased as he ordered the others about. In the rush to get inside, they didn't see the teenage girl looking out the window, her face blurred by the ancient glass.

The girl frowned, turning away to focus her attention to matters at hand in the room. Her father held a white knuckle grip on the wooden armrests of the chair he occupied, his wife kept her gaze forward while a calming hand was rested against her husbands arm.

"There is no other recourse?" Richard Granger snarled, "my brother was that vindictive that he sought to pull me from my anonymity?!"

"Dear, please be reasonable. Bartholomew was only doing what he thought necessary for the family." Jeanette Granger said quietly as she squeezed her husband's arm.

The solicitor eyed the couple as Hermione sat down in a leather wingback chair closest to the fire, listening intently to the discourse her parents were having with her late uncle's solicitor. If the conversation was going where she thought it was, she would be in a much larger pickle than she had started the summer with. She would never be able to explain this to Harry without him laughing hysterically at her; if he laughed at all. Ronald's reaction was something she didn't even want to consider. Either way, there would be drama.

"Your Grace, your brother considered every possible outcome. In the end, he did not want to donate the title and all its holdings to the British government. He thought that the Duke of Cheshire should be passed to you and as such, to your daughter." The weedy man shuffled the papers around on the desk before pulling out a large file labeled 'financials' and handing it to Richard Granger. "As you can see, you have inherited a vast sum of money along with Checkham House."

Jeanette Granger looked over at the paperwork as her husband's face turned a shade of green that couldn't possibly be healthy. The woman squeaked, bringing her hand to her lips and Hermione stood to see what the exact numbers were that led them to have such a reaction.

"Eight hundred million pounds!" Squeaked Jeanette Granger as she grasped her daughters hand, bringing her in closer. "Where did he get such a sum?!"

"His Grace had his hands in many pies, all reputable, of course," sniffed the solicitor. Hermione felt her head spin as she looked at the numbers in front of her. All of this was happening too quickly and she barely had time to keep up.

Her uncle, formally known as His Grace, Lord Bartholomew John Granger Checkam the Third, Duke of Cheshire, was somewhat estranged from her father. Of course when Hermione was a child there were small family gatherings where the brothers would attempt to reconcile their vast differences but Hermione hadn't seen her uncle since before starting at Hogwarts. He had never been a particularly nice man, insisting on sending Hermione to finishing lessons at the age of nine and then declaring her an oddity at the age of ten, just before her eleventh birthday. That was the breaking point between the two brothers.

Now her uncle was dead and the weight of his world was crashing down on her father's shoulders.

"He also explicitly wrote that you must hold the seat in the House of Lords." The solicitor said, shuffling more papers in his briefcase. Richard Granger audibly groaned, tossing the file onto the mahogany desk in front of him before putting his head in his hands.

"Richard, it will be alright, we'll make do as we've always done." Jeanette Granger whispered to her husband before looking up at her daughter, "Isn't that right, Hermione?"

Hermione smiled weakly and kissed her father on the head, "Dad, we can do this."

Richard Granger looked at his daughter, his brow creased, "we'll need to decide what to do about your schooling, Hermione. That's one of my greatest concerns."

The thought hadn't even entered her mind and while she did her best to stay calm she couldn't help the sharp gasp that left her, making the solicitor peer at her over his briefcase.

"Perhaps there's a way to keep the press to a dull roar?" her mother offered, squeezing her hand. Hermione nodded, trying to figure out how she was going to get past the paparazzi to get onto the train to go to Hogwarts. She would have to floo there, surely. She would also have to see if Dumbledore could somehow help because the Ministry surely had their own issues to contend with.

Merlin how she was going to figure this out was beyond her. A knock on the door startled the Grangers and the family solicitor from the quiet of the room. Richard Granger sighed, "come in."

A small woman dressed in a maids uniform opened the door and stood there, her eyes flicking at the family nervously. " Begging your pardon, your Grace," the woman said, "the funeral guests have begun to arrive."

Richard Granger nodded, then stood, wiping a hand over his jaw as he looked at the paperwork scattered about the desk. "We'll talk later, Johnston. I need a moment with my family."

The solicitor stood and gave a quick nod, "at your earliest convenience, Sir." then left with the maid.

"Dad," Hermione asked with a wobbly voice, "what do we do? I'm not leaving Hogwarts. Harry and Ron need me and I need them." Especially now.

Richard Granger sighed, "I will find a way. I didn't want this life… for any of us." He looked to Jeanette Granger, "you'll make a very pretty duchess, Jeanette." He soundly kissed his wife before turning to Hermione. "And you'll be the brightest, most beautiful marchioness the world has ever seen."

"Aww, Dad." Hermione said, stifling the tears that threatened to flow. The whole situation might have given anyone else a sense of excitement. A noble title and wealth to boot but the Grangers were different. For them, this was like being assigned a desk job in a cubicle for the rest of their lives; no flexibility, no privacy and certainly plenty of scrutiny. Hermione was used to being under the watchful eye of the masses though, but not to the extent that she might appear in the society pages of the Guardian or People Magazine.

Her father enveloped her in a hug, pulling Jeanette Granger along with them. "We'll meet this with grace and dignity," he whispered, "after all, we're Grangers… well… Granger Checkhams."

Hermione couldn't hold back her crying as the worries in her head spilled over into fat drops of saltwater.

"Shhh… it's alright, Hermione." Jeanette whispered, kissing her daughter on the head. "Chin up, wouldn't want your uncle's stuffy friends seeing you actually care. It might give them an aneurysm" Her mother produced a handkerchief and dabbed at her daughter's eyes.

Hermione held back a watery laugh and took a deep breath. "No Mum. That would be mean."

Checkham house was old, starting as a fortress built in the late thirteenth century before that crumbled to the ground in a fire. Various buildings popped up on the property since then, the last being a large English Baroque style palace. Hermione loved the architecture and the old paintings that adorned the walls but the building itself was drafty and creaked during the winter. She once saw a white mist move down the hall in front of her when she came to visit as a small child and that event resulted in far too many nightmares for the better part of a year. It was too large for her family and too imposing to feel welcoming but now it was to be called home. Hermione shivered, wrapping her black wool clad arms around herself as they moved down the corridor.

"We'll never be able to find Crookshanks in this place, Mum." Hermione said softly as their heels clicked on the floor.

Jeanette turned to her daughter and smiled sadly, "he'll love the adventure of it."

They came to a stop, listening to the low murmur of the guests that arrived for the funeral. Hermione didn't really want to pay her respects to her uncle's corpse but found herself at the side of his coffin anyways. She took the moment to go over in her head all the horrible things that her uncle had done over the years before she looked at him.

The man was balding, completely grey around what hair was left at his temples and even had a scowl in death. Hermione sniffed. The undertaker must have not cared too much about this particular client if he couldn't bother to put the face into a more neutral, sleeping position. Pity rose in her chest. The man had been a loner, associating with stuffy men, never letting himself fall in love and certainly never letting himself be happy.

"Goodbye," she whispered, keeping her chin up and walking to greet the sea of black that represented the guests.

Her father proved to be quite the diplomat that afternoon, listening to droning lords and politicians as if he'd been the one to be trained to be the next Duke of Cheshire. Hermione admired his stoic behavior and sought to emulate him when she was pulled into conversation by her mother who had been cornered by ladies of society.

"It must be such a relief for you, to know that the title will remain within the Checkham family, your Grace." One woman simpered, her voice just above a whisper.

"Yes, I am quite sure that my husband is pleased. Family is important after all." Jeanette Granger agreed quietly.

"Whatever will you do with the dental practice?" Another woman asked.

Jeanette paused, "I imagine that I will either go back to working there or we will sell it."

"Mum— mother, you love the practice. I don't imagine that selling it would be helpful to you." Hermione exclaimed.

Jeanette Granger took Hermione's hand. "I know. But we must all make sacrifices for our family, Hermione."

The women surrounding them tittered their agreements and Hermione began to feel a headache coming on.

Hours later, after everyone had gone home and the Grangers were left to their own devices, Hermione found herself in her pyjamas in the library sprawled on the couch in front of the fire with a book on the Checkham House history. She was just getting to the grisly details of the battle of Nantwich when a woman who was not a maid swooped into the room.

"Your father said you would be in here." The woman clipped out, reminding Hermione of a Prada wearing version of Professor McGonagall. She knew this woman of course. Anyone who had ever spent a moment in Checkham House knew of the uptight housekeeper Lady Graham. A woman, Lady Graham kept Checkham House on a clockwork schedule, managing affairs and arranging the minute details that kept the Checkham family on the up and up.

"Hello, Lady Graham." Hermione said, sitting up, "why were you looking for me?"

Lady Graham looked down her nose at Hermione, "in the morning we will be refreshing your finishing lessons, followed by a shopping trip to outfit your wardrobe and do something about your hair."

"My hair is fine!" Hermione bristled, causing Lady Graham to tut and pick up an offending curl.

"By the time the dresser is done, you'll look and feel much better. Trust me. Get some rest, Lady Hermione. Tomorrow will be a busy day." Lady Graham left as quickly as she came, and Hermione tossed her book onto the settee, completely put off by idea that she would be doing something so frivolous.

This was going to be a long two weeks until she could get back to Hogwarts.