This is the story I submitted as part of the LiveJournal Severus Snape/Hermione Granger Holiday Gift Exchange. I was given prompts by Kerravonsen, and the one I chose was something I wouldn't have ever written normally. Her other prompts were more what I would write, but that's just it...it's what I would have written. So I decided to challenge myself and write this particular prompt you're about to read.

I must thank Izhilzha, who was Kerravonsen's 'go to if you have questions' for help in figuring out how to avoid K's squicks. I also thank Adelaide Archer and VelveteenBunny for the Beta and BritPick.

The prompt will be at the end of the story.

LiveJournal Gift fests/exchanges are amazing to participate in and read the results of. Some of the stories and artwork I have seen are simply stunning. Please visit this link (take the spaces out and change the words that are symbols to symbols) to find something wonderful: ljcomm equals sshg underscore giftfest

I hope you enjoy this rather unique story from me. There are no true triggers unless you've had a bad experience in searching for birth parents.

Part One

The bell above the shop jangled merrily as Hermione opened the door to Ollivander's. "Hello?" she called out.

A tiny wizard, white hair tufting up every which way, shuffled through a curtained doorway. He was bent with age and—as Hermione knew—the result of having been tortured during the war.

"Oh, Miss Granger…I expected to be seeing you at some point." He smiled widely in greeting.

Hermione laughed. "I suspect you expect to see everyone at some point, Mr. Ollivander!" She gave the man a gentle hug and asked, "How are you?"

"Fair to middlin' as they say," he responded, patting her on the back and then stepping away to walk to the counter. "I've taken on an apprentice."

"You have? I thought wand makers were born, not made?" Hermione asked as she too approached the well-polished, gleaming counter, the only thing not covered with the dust of ages on it. A faded magenta coloured pillow sat in the middle, flattened with years of use.

"True, true, but once we find the ones that are born, they must be trained," Ollivander trilled as he made his way behind the counter, where shelf upon shelf of wand boxes were stacked. "Now…let's see then. Your last wand was vine and dragon heartstring, was it not?"

Hermione nodded sadly. "Yes, it was."

"And since then, you've been using Bellatrix Lestrange's; walnut and dragon heartstring, 12.5 inches unyielding?"

"I have," she answered. "The Ministry sent me a letter stating they wish to remand it to their custody, so I have to get a new one. I don't know why I haven't done so voluntarily. I'm frankly surprised I've been able to use it at all."

Ollivander looked over the rim of his specs. "Can you do all the usual spells?"

"Oh, yes, come to think of it," Hermione mused. "All the standard ones; dressing, grooming, household and the like. I've not realised how easy it is to use; bit scary how easy at times to be truthful. I think it is time for a new one anyway."

"I am usually never surprised by the wand that chooses the wizard or witch, although Harry Potter's was a surprise…well not a surprise as much as well, interesting. Yours and Bellatrix's shared the same core, so it's not surprising that you could use it."

"But I thought, since her magic was so dark, it wouldn't work for me. I mean, my magic is much lighter than hers. I know siblings and parents can share a wand; Ron's was second hand from a family member, and Neville Longbottom used his father's, I believe."

"He did until his fifth year, and Mr. Weasley until his second year when he broke it," mused Ollivander. "Now, let's get to picking your new wand, eh?"

It took two hours and hundreds of wands until Hermione had her new wand. It was another vine wood one, only this time, it had a Phoenix and dragon heartstring core. It was slightly bendy but felt warm and homely in her hand.

Ollivander explained that her heart was indeed light and heroic for the wand to have such cores. "Although considering who your parents were—at least your mother—it does surprise me."

"What do you mean? My parents are Muggles, and I'm a Muggleborn; I am adopted."

"Aye, you are? Imagine that. Hmmmm," he said, and then abruptly escorted Hermione to the door. "Well, you have your wand now, and you'll do wonderful things with it. Thank you for coming, my dear!"

Hermione stumbled over the sill of the door as Ollivander gave her a bit of shove and closed the door quickly behind her, pulling the shade down to indicate his shop was now closed.

"Perhaps his war experience has made him a bit barmy," Hermione thought.

Their conversation came back to her as she prepared for bed that night. She had learnt as a child that unless her hair was braided, it would be impossible to brush out in the morning. She was sitting in front of the mirror of her vanity, brushing it in readiness for her plait, when she noticed, as she had been for several months now, how much darker her hair seemed to be.

She pulled the small lamp on the vanity closer and spread her fingers through her hair. Where once a honey blond/brown colour would shimmer with a few red highlights here and there as the light shone upon it, now there seemed to be darker colours, even very black hairs. Perhaps her birth mother was Scottish? Or maybe it was hormones—always a wacky thing for her. And hadn't her mother said that her own hair had darkened with age?

She turned away from the hair among her fingers to look at her face. She had noticed her skin was paler than it used to be. Over the warmer months, she had noted that when she sunbathed, she ended up burning much more than becoming tanned. Her body was probably changing and only now that there was no war to fight, she had a chance to notice. Her face looked a bit different as well. Her nose seemed to be a bit longer and now sported a bump. The bump could be the result of her torture, but she couldn't be sure. She idid/i notice that her bosom had gained two cup sizes and had had to purchase new bras in the past few weeks. Perhaps it was time for a check-up?

Shaking her head, she quickly braided her hair and then climbed into bed. It was usually her practice to read a bit each night, but tonight she was tired and gave it a miss. Her conversation with Ollivander returned to the front of her mind, and she contemplated the quirky old wizard's mysterious non sequiturs.

Hermione knew she had been adopted at only one month of age. She had been abandoned by her birth mother, and Helen and David Granger were at the top of the list for adoption after two long years of waiting.

She had a marvellous childhood filled with love, books, trips, and happiness. It wasn't until she was seven or eight that her magic, which looking back on it now had been manifesting for years prior, finally had to be addressed. Her parents removed her from school after one final burst of accidental magic set a classroom on fire, and her mother home schooled her until she got her Hogwarts letter.

It was ever such a surprise to get a letter and a visit on her eleventh birthday from Professor McGonagall. Her visit was a relief to her parents and Hermione herself. She was normal! She would be going to a special school where there were other children just like her. She would ifinally/i have friends.

But friends did not come easily to her. She had been too young to understand that her instinct to learn and prove herself to the magical world was overwhelming to the other students to whom magic was just part of life. She was called names and shunned for her exuberance in answering questions in class. It wasn't until the Halloween feast during first year that friendship came to her in the form of two rule breakers named Harry and Ron.

They became her very best friends, and she stuck by them through it all…the pranks, the undone homework, Quidditch, freezing cold conditions of the Horcrux hunt, first kisses, first love, heartache, abandonment, and friendship again.

It had bothered her that she could use Bellatrix's wand with apparent ease. She had practiced dark spells with her old wand and had had trouble getting it to obey her command. However, she had needed to be prepared for war, and it was only the fact that some of the darker spells might be needed on the horcrux hunt that pressed her on to learn them. It was easier to do them with Bella's wand now she thought back on it.

She turned over and huffed, punching her pillow. How is that Mr. Ollivander seemed to know things others didn't? Was it some sort of wizarding Alzheimer's, and he was simply just a dotty old man, suffering now from war stress?

Or maybe, just maybe he meant something among the waffle. Perhaps her birth parents iwere/i a witch and wizard or just one of them was magical? Maybe dark ones? The few dark spells she had had to perform in the war had come disturbingly easy, especially near the end when she was using Bellatrix's wand.

She also recalled that when she had to drink the Polyjuice to imitate Bellatrix, it was not as painful a transformation as it had been in second year. What she had never told the boys was that she secretly thought the dark hair looked good and wondered what her own face would look like with dark curls framing it. And Bellatrix had no freckles, the bane of her own existence.

Yawning, she tried to put the thoughts to the back of her mind so that sleep would come, but after a half an hour, she was still thinking and wondering. She flipped the duvet back and got out of bed. Padding over to her desk, she sat down and pulled out her quill and a piece of parchment. Lists had always calmed her mind when she was overcome by the thoughts within it, and so she began to write a few ideas down. Perhaps it was time to find her birth parents? If she did, she would speak to her parents first; she would do nothing without their support.

Twenty minutes later, several sheaves of parchment filled with notes, she was finally tired. Returning to her bed, she snuggled down and whispered 'Nox' to put out the lights. Sleep arrived shortly afterward.

"Hermione! Come on! We're going to be late for our reservation!" Helen Granger shouted up the stairs.

"I'm coming!" Hermione shouted back, followed by a succession of sneezes.

"Good heavens, love, what on earth?" Helen asked, as she made her way up the stairs.

"It's so dusty up here, Mum," said Hermione, sniffing wetly as the result of her sneezing. "Why didn't I bring a tissue with me?"

"As your friend Ronald is always reminding you, are you not a witch?" Helen laughed as she reached the top step and moved a little way into the dimly lit room.

Hermione laughed and with a small flourish of her hand, conjured a tissue and blew her nose. "That's better," she sighed, vanishing the bunched-up soggy tissue.

Helen looked around the room. "I don't suppose you'd work your, erm, magic on the room and clean it? What are you doing up here, anyway?"

"I'm digging through one of my school trunks. I'm looking for some of the Wizarding newspapers I saved to find some information that might lead me to my birth parents."

"But wouldn't that be in the papers from decades ago? I doubt there'd be anything in them from after you were born."

"There were always personal ads in the papers. You know: Will the lady who left the green cloak at The Three Broomsticks last Saturday night please Floo for its return; that sort of thing. Because of the wars, there were always missing persons ads; perhaps someone was looking for a child they gave up." Hermione looked at her mother. "Are you sure you don't mind me looking?"

Helen sat down on a dusty pile of old luggage. "Your father and I always knew there'd come a time when you'd want to know. That's why we were so open with you about your adoption. It doesn't mean we'll start loving you any less."

Hermione knelt in front of the woman who had loved her from the moment she was set into her arms. "I love you and dad, very much. I don't deserve your forgiveness for what I did, but I am grateful for it. I just hope that you don't think I will abandon you if I find them."

Helen ran a hand through Hermione's irrepressible curls, tucking one behind her ear. "You had the curliest hair, even at just a month old. It was just a tuft on the top, and I could never get it to lay flat." She cupped her hand around Hermione's chin and kissed her forehead. "Your father and I are not insecure about it, love. We have chosen to look at it as your gaining new friends into your life. Just like we did with Molly Weasley. That woman will make herself mother to anyone and anything, even your dad and I!"

Hermione Flooed into Number 12 Grimmauld Place to find the kitchen filled with laughter and music on the Wizard's Wireless.

"Hermione!" several voices chorused as chairs scraped and bodies moved toward her. She was swept into repeated hugs by all her friends; Luna, Harry and Ginny, Ron and Lavender, Neville, and George.

"Happy Birthday, Hermione!" they chanted.

"Let's party! The party girl is here!" hollered George, letting off a few of his Whizbangs, creating even more noise.

"Have a drink, Hermione!" offered Ron, enthusiastically handing her an overflowing glass of Butterbeer.

"Thank you," a bewildered Hermione said, shaking the excess liquid from her hand. "Thank you all! I wasn't expecting this."

"That's the whole point of a surprise party," said Neville. "C'mon! Your pressies are in the sitting room. Luna has been eager for you to open them."

Harry finally manoeuvred himself from among the crowed to stand in front of his long-time friend. Throwing his arms around her, carefully avoiding her hand holding the drink, he hugged her and whispered, "Happy Birthday, love."

Hermione laughed and said, "Thank you, Harry."

"Come on; everyone has been waiting for you to arrive. They've brought presents, drinks and nibbles. Kreacher didn't do a thing, I promise."

"Let's not keep them waiting then." Arm in arm, the pair climbed the stairs to the sitting room, where the crowd of friends again cheered the birthday girl as she entered the room.

Laughter filled the air as Hermione opened her presents. There were books from Luna, a Chudley Cannons Quidditch scarf, in shockingly brilliant orange from Ron, a packet of cosmetic products from an exclusive line of Witch Wonder products from Lavender, a beautiful new potted flower from Neville, and a lovely bracelet from Harry and Ginny. She opened a few silly presents such as a necklace of thistle from Luna (to help clear your mind of wrackspurts—it's a new treatment for war veterans)—and a pack of various WWW products from George, of course.

Once the gifts were opened and 'thank you' hugs were given, the nibbles and drinks were passed around and a raucous evening of games and fun began. It was well past midnight when Hermione pled exhaustion and stumbled up two flights of stairs to her usual room. Dropping into bed without changing, but thankful for having worn her hair in a braid, she fell into a deep sleep.

The next morning, Hermione woke, a slight headache nagging above her temples. Knowing Harry kept various potions in the kitchens, she shucked her wrinkled clothes and slipped into her dressing gown, tying it firmly around her waist. She dug her slippers out from under the bed and quietly made her way to the kitchen.

She opened the door to find Kreacher at the cooker, poking at a frying pan full of sizzling sausages and another of fluffy scrambled eggs. He turned at the sound of the door.

"Good morning, Missy," he said. "You is needing to eat?"

"Good morning, Kreacher. I actually need a hangover potion. Does Harry still have some?"

"Master is keeping them in that cupboard," he answered pointing his long and bony finger to a spot to the left of the dresser.

"Thank you." Hermione opened the cabinet and shuffled the bottles around until she found what she needed. She also pulled out a few more to set on the kitchen table in readiness for the others.

"You is needing tea?" asked Kreacher.

"That would be lovely," sighed Hermione, placing the now empty phial of hangover potion on the table. She sat down as Kreacher padded over with a steaming cup and set it in front of her.

Hermione nodded in thankfulness and took a sip. She watched Kreacher as he went back to the cooker and then as he moved around the kitchen, preparing breakfast. He was as ornery as ever, but he at least stopped calling her 'Muggle filth' after Harry threatened him with clothes. A scrape of the kitchen door drew her attention away from the elf and to the new occupant.

"Good morning," said Luna.

"Good morning, Luna," said Hermione with a smile. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yes. I made sure I had the down of a newborn ginger fairy under my bed to help me sleep. It also gets rid of hangovers," she said, pointing to the potions.

"Does it?" asked Hermione who took a quick sip of her tea before she laughed.

"No actually," Luna said sadly and reached for a potion while Hermione giggled.

Kreacher served both girls plates of breakfast and more tea and as they chatted, continued to work around them, dusting, washing up, and keeping more food warm for the others.

It was as Hermione and Luna put the finishing touches on yet another cup of tea, that more of the house stumbled through the door. Ron followed by Harry and Ginny and lastly George and Neville.

"Where's Lavender?" asked Luna.

"Having a li…li…lie in," yawned Ron.

"Master is wanting his breakfast?"

"Yes, please Kreacher, and plenty of coffee and…oh, hangover potions!" Harry cried, reaching for one. "Bless Hermione's curly head and all her pre-planning."

Hermione threw her napkin at him in mock outrage.

"What's on the docket for today, Harry?" she asked.

"Not much. A lot of loafing around, maybe a film; Luna's never been, and we thought we'd take her."

"Oh, good. We can just relax and take our time, yeah?" replied Hermione.

"Yes." Harry sat down and was soon tucking into a plate of food, along with the others. Talk was otherwise sporadic until Harry asked, "What are your plans, Hermione? Have you decided whether or not you'll take up Kingsley's offer?"

Hermione shrugged. "I'm still at the Ministry temporarily. I love liaising for Kings and the Prime Minister, but I'm not sure I want to do it long term."

"Is working with the PM hard?" asked Ginny.

"Not particularly," Hermione answered. "But I need something else…something less etiquette and more challenge, you know?"

Neville laughed, "Oh, we know. Trust us we know."

The group of friends all laughed good naturedly with Hermione. Talk turned to how the others were doing at their various post-Hogwarts pursuits. Neville had left Auror training to apprentice with Madam Sprout, Ginny had decided to leave the Holyhead Harpies after next seasons' matches, and George was thinking of branching out into a mail order catalogue line.

"Things for witches and, erm," he blushed slightly, "adult products."

At that, Hermione choked on her toast. "You mean…toys and whatnot?"

"Yeah," replied George. "I've been doing research on the Muggle side of that sort of thing, and it's big money!"

The girls in the group began to wonder about what sort of items George might carry, and the boys looked around at anything that wasn't the women talking about sex. After a few minutes, Hermione broke away from the giggling to get another cup of tea. After she poured a cup, she turned and leant against the counter, watching her friends with a thoughtful expression. Ron stood and approached her.

"You okay, 'Mione?"

"Yes, why do you ask?"

"You look like you want to tell us all something," he said.

"I do, actually, but I'm not sure how because I'm not sure you all will understand. Harry would," she said, gesturing her teacup toward the bespectacled young man.

"Harry would what?" asked Harry. Ron and Hermione hadn't realised the group had quietened down.

"Understand," said Hermione as she returned to the table and sat down. "I don't know how the wizarding world handles this."

"Handles what?" asked Ginny.

"What a child or adult who has been adopted has to do to find his or her birth parents."

It was quiet for a moment before George answered, "I don't know that I ever heard of a wizard wanting to find his birth parents. Most adoptions are arranged by families, usually one trying to get rid of a squib or hide the apparent disgrace of a daughter having had a child out of wedlock."

"That was true for many years in the Muggle world, at least the child out of wedlock," remarked Hermione. "At one time, many girls would go on tour of the continent, visiting some dying aunt, or be sent to a Mother's Home; it depended on the wealth of the family. Some women resorted to back alley abortions; who knows how many died as a result. In either case, now that the stigma around adoption, at least for Muggles, has been overturned, it's getting easier for adoptees to find their birth parents."

"Why do you want to find your birth parents?" asked Harry. "You have a wonderful relationship with your parents, and you've had a great childhood."

"Yes, I did," agreed Hermione. "But I've noticed some changes lately. My hair for example. It has become darker and my skin doesn't tan like it used to."

"But that could be any number of things," said Ginny. "Maybe you need to see a healer to make sure nothing is wrong."

"I may, Ginny, but in any case, it got me to wondering who my birth parents are. That and Ollivander."

"Ollivander?" asked Neville.

"I got a letter from the Ministry last week. They are remanding Bellatrix's wand to their custody, so I had to buy one."

"You hadn't done so before now?" asked Ron.

Hermione sighed. "That was a question I was hoping you one of you wouldn't ask."

"Why?" George asked.

Hermione ran her thumb along the rim of her teacup. "Bella's wand was easy to use. Easier and easier as time went by. I know that wands used by family members will work, if not perfectly for them. I was surprised that Bella's wand worked for me at all."

"So you think Bellatrix is your birth mother?" Luna asked.

Hermione stared at Luna for a moment, marvelling at the eerie way the blonde always seemed to know things and blurt them out. "I don't know," she responded slowly. "Ollivander said some things about dark and light witches and wizards and my new core and, oh I don't know. It got me to wondering, is all."

Luna said, "Even if your mother isn't Bellatrix Lestrange, perhaps you were born of a witch or wizard who had magic. Perhaps they were distantly related to the Blacks, which would explain why her wand worked for you. Then again, you could have had a witch or wizard somewhere in your birth mother's or father's family so long ago, and it only manifested through you along the family line."

"Or," Harry began, "your genetic make-up is simply causing the changes you are noticing. Perhaps you are of Scottish decent?"

"I wondered as well," mused Hermione. "But I could be from any genetic group where dark hair is common. Our ancestors didn't just magically pop into the British Isles, now did they?"

Several in the group groaned at Hermione's unintentional pun.

"So my question is, where would I start?"

"What do you know?" asked Luna.

"I only know that I was found at the steps of a Muggle orphanage. An honest to goodness case of abandonment."

"Idmufftrusmagicalmarriffageunddeafs," said Ron.

"Ronald," said an exasperated Hermione, "How many times have I told you: chew, swallow, then speak!"

With a visible swallow, Ron repeated, "I'd would start with Magical Marriages, Births, and Deaths at the Ministry."

"I'm Muggleborn, Ron!"

Ron deflated. "That's right. Hmmm."

"So there'd be no record of your magical birth?" clarified Neville.

"No. No Muggleborn, even though they showed up in the book of magical births at Hogwarts and attended Hogwarts, would be on record unless they registered themselves with their documents. I already asked Kingsley."

George put his cup down and said, "Well, I hate to break up this serious conversation, but if we're going to the cinema today, we'd better find a paper and look at what's showing."

Everyone began to chatter, and chairs scraped as each stood to leave the room and get ready for the outing. An hour later, most of the group had left, but Harry and Hermione had decided to stay behind, pleading the need for a bit of rest.

"Ah, quiet," said Harry and arm in arm with Hermione, they went to the sitting room and flopped down onto the sofa. After a moment, Hermione stood and grabbed a book from the shelf.

Each sat silently for a while, Harry closing his eyes and Hermione reading. "What do you want to do today?" asked Harry, interrupting the peace.

Hermione closed her book and tossed it aside. "Hadn't really thought about it." She shrugged. "I just wasn't in the mood for a film with the others."

"Neither was I," said Harry as he began to bite his fingernails. "Ginny and George have been to the cinema before, so they can handle showing the others how it goes."

"You want me to help you with something. I can tell by the way you're fidgeting."

"I am not," Harry said too quickly, putting his hands under his legs to stop the fidgeting he wasn't apparently doing.

"Harry…." Hermione hedged.

"I want to ask Ginny to move in with me."

"I've been expecting that."

"But I also want her to make this her own house."

"Okay, that shouldn't be a problem. I would think you could easily allow her to redecorate."

"Yeah, but there's rooms even I haven't been in yet and since the Blacks lived here, who knows what dark magic we might find."

Hermione smiled, knowing what Harry was asking her. "So you want good old Hermione to help you out so she'll be on hand to fix whatever you accidentally set loose in the place?"

Harry turned red.

"Of course I'll help you, you idiot. You only had to ask!"

Harry smiled. "Thank you."

"Where and when do you want to start?"

"At the attics, I think. That way we can put away the things we find later back in there after is clean."

"Have you ever been in the attics?"

"Actually yes. To look for dark books after the war. There's just one large box room where all that's really in there are some trunks and unused furniture. There are bedrooms on one end that the elves used to use and a small bathroom. The water works there, but I don't think any of the fixtures have been used in decades."

Hermione stood. "Let's get started then."

The door to the main attic room was stiff, but Harry gave it a shove, and the pair stepped into the dimly lit and dusty room.

Looking around, Hermione saw three filthy windows. She shot a spell at them and soon they were clean, letting more light into the area. She gaped as she saw trunk stacked upon trunk, old chairs piled up and lying haphazardly, head and footboards for beds, an old Cheval mirror with its protective cloth hanging at odds upon it, revealing the glass had darkened with age. There were long buntings of cobwebs swinging from the rafters. Some of the trunks were open, and clothing hung out of them, spilling onto the floor. Along one wall, bookshelves had been fitted and there was row upon row of books with gaps showing where books had been removed. Hermione felt her hands begin to twitch with desire.

"Harry, I thought you said there were 'some' trunks in here."

"Some can be a relative term, right?" Harry said cheekily, receiving a smack upside the head for his punishment. "Ow!" he laughed. "Where should we start?"

Hermione tapped her finger on her lip as she thought. "Normally I'd head right for the books, but perhaps we should look through the trunks first. If the clothes in them are in good repair, we can send them to the War Widows and Orphanage Home."

"War what?" asked Harry.

"Oh, it's an organisation Kingsley started after the war at my recommendation. We used the British Red Cross as a model. The clothes will be kept for times of crises."

"Can't people just magic their own clothes?" asked Harry.

"All the times you endured Madam Malkins' pins during robe fittings didn't clue you into the fact wizards bought clothes?"

"Oh yeah!"

"Honestly," Hermione growled. "Let's start on our left and work our way round in a circle. That's how my mum always cleaned house."

With a nod, the pair began to work. Trunks were sorted, items folded ("They'll clean them at the Centre," remarked Hermione) and repacked. The outsides of the trunks were cleaned and labelled with their contents and then moved to the area of the floor Hermione had cleaned (as they sorted, each would clean the floor, walls, and rafters of the area they were working in).

After a break for some tea and lunch, the pair returned to their work. The others had only returned long enough to inform the pair of their plans and leave again. It was well into the afternoon that Harry made a discovery.

"Hermione?"

"Yeah," she asked, straightening from the trunk she was packing.

"I found one of Bellatrix's trunks."

"And?"

"Erm…she wrote a diary."

Hermione's curiosity was piqued. "Really? Can I see it?"

Harry turned and to hand her the diary. The look on his face stopped Hermione's reach for the book.

"What is it?"

"I began to leaf through it. There aren't many entries, but well…read this one." He pointed to a particular page.

Hermione began to read the atrocious handwriting and grabbed Harry's shoulder for support. It couldn't be. It was just a coincidence, surely. She had been pregnant and gave birth to the child on the same day Hermione was born. Lots of babies were born the same day, so what?

Hermione turned the page and could only sink to the floor as she read. Bellatrix had glamoured the baby using a spell Voldemort had taught her. The baby was abandoned at an orphanage. The same orphanage her parents had been registered with and indeed had adopted a baby from.

"Harry…" she spluttered.

"It could just be a coincidence, 'Mione."

"I know, but…"

"We'll go to Kingsley," Harry said, "He'll know what to do. He'll know people who can test your DNA or something."

"Yes. Right. Of course," Hermione murmured distractedly.

"What do you want to do?"

"I want to go to my room and lie down for a while, okay?"

"Sure thing. Let me help you. Do you want the diary?"

"Yes."

Once she had closed the door behind Harry, she went to her bed, lay down, and burst into tears. She only now admitted her fantasies of finding an intelligent witch who had been in love only to realise life as a single mother in the wizarding world would be cruel to her and a child, and so made the most loving sacrifice of abandoning her child, were but dust now. There would be no tearful reunion, no new friend made. And certainly, there would be no joyful revelation to the birth father.