Hermione's mother looked nervous. "It's your grandmother, Hermione. She's been asking to see you, and I can't put her off any longer. Please, just go talk to her. She hasn't seen you in years and she really cares about you-- you are her namesake, after all."
---
The old woman sat wrinkled in the Grangers' drawing room, which smelled like lavender and plastic. "Grandmama, it's Hermione. Mum said you wanted to talk to me?" She took the old woman's hand.
The older Hermione Tyler grasped her hand and pulled her closer. Her eyes were sharp with intelligence, and she peered at her granddaughter's face sternly. "Little Hermione, I am disappointed in you. After all I've done for your mother and you, to see that you were all well-educated and progressive, to see a young woman with no plans to attend a good university or a career pains me." Hermione swallowed.
"But I do have plans, Grandmama. They're just not ... typical. I--"
"And you won't even tell me about this school you go to. What do you study? What fields interest you? I had hoped you would go to medical or dental school like your mother. Education is everything, child!"
"And it's everything to me, too, Grandmama. I just can't tell you everything. It's--"
"Why can't you tell me?" queried the old woman crossly. "I need to know everything! I need to know that you won't waste your life and just marry that dratted boy you visit every summer when you ought to be visiting your family!" Hermione gasped a little.
"Ron and Harry are my friends, Grandmama, just friends. And even if I did marry-- Ron I wouldn't stop my education or my career. I plan to do a lot of good, fight for causes, and discover new ... things."
"You sound very passionate and unspecific," said her grandmother crossly. "What are these causes you want to fight for? What do you want to discover? Just tell me, my dear. If it's a cause you truly believe in, I won't stand against you. Is it because of my politics that you refuse to tell me?"
"Oh, Grandmama, no. I know you'd support me, it's just that I'm not sure you'd believe me if I told you the truth. I'm afraid you'd think it was ... not wrong, but ... bad. Dangerous."
"Hermione. Just tell me, dear. I promise to believe you." The old woman's grip was surprisingly strong, and Hermione took a deep breath.
"I'm ... I'm a witch, Grandmama. There, I've said it. I go to a school for magic, and I want to study more magic when I finish school. Specifically: Arithmancy and Transfigurations, and maybe Healing. Potions, too. And I'm fighting for the cause of good, against the Dark arts and against the prejudice wizards have for muggleborns, part humans, and magical creatures." She said this very fast, and then went on, "And in case you think I'm making it up, I'll prove it to you." Hermione pulled out her wand and conjured one of her little yellow birds, which flew around her head a few times and landed on her hand. She placed it gently on the arm of her grandmother's chair and then sat quietly staring at her lap, waiting for a reaction. After half a minute of silence, she peered carefully at the old woman. Hermione Tyler was breathing quietly, staring at the far wall, where a picture of Hermione's great grandmother hung.
Grandmama's mouth seemed to be moving silently, and Hermione whispered, "What is it, Grandmama? Have I upset you? I know you were raised as a Christian, but witchcraft isn't anything like Devil worship, I promise. It's just magic-- it's in my blood, and I couldn't stop using it if I tried. Please say something, Grandmama."
She had to put her ear close to her grandmother's mouth to hear the reply. "My mother... My mother used to talk about magic. She said her grandfather -- her mother's father -- was a wizard, and she used to tell us stories he'd told her about a magical school. I always thought it was a joke, and I decided when I was young not to pass on such foolish stories to my children. But I wonder ... she told me once very seriously that it was all true, and I was angry at her for trying to manipulate me, since I'd just found out that Father Christmas was a hoax. Perhaps she was right, though."
Hermione stared at her grandmother in startlement. "Your great grandfather? A wizard? I never suspected ... Grandmama, what was his name? Maybe I can look him up in the library at Hogwarts next year, or in Diagon Alley if you really want to know about him soon. I could tell you if he really was a wizard. Then your grandfather must have been a squib-- that's a child of a wizard who doesn't have magic. Sometimes squibs' children are magic, but in this case it could certainly have skipped a generation--"
"Potter," said Grandmama. "Odysseus Potter was his name. Mother said we all got our ridiculous Greek names from his side of the family."
Hermione gasped and tears came suddenly to her eyes. Grandmama looked at her in concern. "What is it, child?"
"Oh! Harry's surname is Potter. He -- He has no family. I wonder if -- if we might be cousins! Oh, Grandmama, thank you. I have to go, I think there might be something in one of my books about the Potters' ancestry." She kissed her grandmother hurriedly and ran out of the room, leaving the woman to muse over old family stories and absently stroke the little bird that perched cheerfully on the arm of her chair.
---
Gordon and Iliona Granger were startled when their seventeen-year-old daughter ran at full speed from the drawing room, through the kitchen, and up the stairs. Worried that the old lady had upset her, Iliona went into the drawing room to find her mother smiling oddly and petting a little yellow bird. "Mother, what happened?"
"Iliona, dear, let me tell you a story my mother told me..."
---
Several minutes later, Hermione burst back into the kitchen wherer her father had resumed his reading of the London Times. "Dad, I need to go to Diagon Alley. It's just not in any of the books I have! Tell Mum I'll be back within an hour, unless I need to keep looking. I'll be back soon, anyway!" And with a crack, she Disapparated. Completely bewildered, Gordon Granger, D.M.D, got up and went into the drawing room to see what was going on.
---
Harry and Ron were idly tossing a Quaffle back and forth behind the Burrow when Hermione Apparated below them. They quickly landed and ran over to her when they saw the tears streaming down her face. She was clutching a large book and swiftly moved forward to throw her arms around Harry's neck. "What's the matter, Hermione? What's wrong?"
"Oh! Nothing's wrong, Harry." She gave a little laughing sob. "Just look what I found in this book."
"Pureblood wizarding genealogies? Hermione, what could you find in here that would make you cry?"
"Blimey, she hasn't finally cracked, has she?" said Ron lightly with a teasing smile on his face as he pulled Hermione in for a hug. She smiled to show that she knew he was joking but slapped him lightly on the shoulder anyway. They both leaned over Harry's shoulder as he read.
"Okay, it's the Potters, back around the 1800's. Weird names they had-- Perseus, Orestes, Odysseus ... sounds like they read a little too much Greek mythology, huh?"
"Look at Odysseus," Said Hermione.
"Hm, his wife was named Barbara Hollingberry. He had three children: Agamemnon (poor kid), Laertes, and Iliona. Looks like Agamemnon was my ancestor, Laertes never married, and Iliona was a squib. What's so important, Hermione?"
"My mum's name is Iliona. That Iliona was her grandmother," whispered Hermione, looking at Harry with bright eyes, still shining with tears of happiness.
Harry looked astounded. "So... that means we're cousins! Like ... third cousins or something."
"Fourth cousins," Hermione corrected, smiling. "Isn't it grand? It means you do have some family left-- me, and my mum, and Grandmama, Hermione Tyler. She's the one who told me her grandfather was named Potter."
"And it means you aren't exactly muggleborn, Hermione," said Ron grinning. "You're a Potter."