Disclaimer: I own no part of the Harry Potter franchise; all characters and ideas belong to J.K. Rowling (and various and sundry authors from this site).
Once upon a time there lived an authoress who had read so many awkward fan fictions with confused plots (when they had a plot) and little character development (when they had characters) and generally bad timing and build-up…well, I'm sure you get the idea. She asked herself, where is the suspense? Where is the creativity? Where is the good grammar? At any rate, she had a brilliant idea one day. Using her infinite knowledge of both horrible writing and popular Harry Potter fan fiction, she decided to author a tribute to such works in the form of one extremely clichéd, convoluted, and melodramatic story. This is where our story begins…
Hermione Granger woke up that day with a splitting headache. It was her sixteenth birthday- or was it her seventeenth…twenty-sixth? She could never keep track anymore. After so many go rounds with the infernal time turner her third year, she'd lost track of just how old she was supposed to be. At any rate, she woke up, and that was quite enough for the time being.
Rolling out of bed, she stared at herself in the mirror disinterestedly and reached for her hairbrush. It wasn't immediately available, as her mum had left a letter for her on top of it. She stared at the letter disinterestedly for a moment and then turned her attention to it more firmly. It was addressed to her (obviously) and was from Hogwarts (again, obviously, because really, who else would send her mail on a fine summer's day?). So, upon realizing that it was from Hogwarts, she tore it open excitedly. She supposed it was a list of books and things she would need for the new year.
Yes, yes…spidery handwriting that detailed classes, books, supplies…and Head Girl? No, no. That couldn't possibly be right. She blinked, rubbed her eyes and blinked again. Oh, bugger. It must be her seventeenth birthday after all, last year at Hogwarts, all that jazz. She flew down the stairs in a rush to tell her parents, still a bit disappointed in her heart of hearts. After all, she'd thought she had a whole 'nother year at the grand hallowed halls of learning.
"Hermione? You're finally up, good, darling. Now sit down and eat your muffin. Your father and I have some very important news for you, in honor of your birthday," her mother said, bustling about in the kitchen's breakfast nook.
Her father rustled his paper a bit and grunted.
"Oh, Mum, I've opened my Hogwarts letter. It must be seventh year after all…so I'm seventeen today, I guess," she said, letting the offending piece of paper flutter down to the table as she took her seat.
Her father put the paper down and stared at her, amused. "Couldn't possibly be, sweetums. You're sixteen today. Mum already put the candles in the cake." He looked very sure and serene, sitting drinking his morning cuppa, so Hermione picked the letter up again to double check, though still neglecting to read it all the way through.
"Mrmph humph mmph," she muttered around a mouthful of buttered muffin and marmalade. What she really meant it to sound like was, "Yeah! You're right." Then she would've gone on to say, "The head girl they originally chose came down with an awful case of the higglybottoms, pastaflounces and hibbildypoobahs. She'll be out for months, maybe even years! Guess I'm the best girl for the job, as usual. Gee! I must be the youngest and oldest witch ever to serve as head girl in the history of the school- I'll have to check my favorite book, Hogwarts: A History, after breakfast and see."
Well, she would have said all that, except she was far more fond of morning muffins than talking. It was a secret well kept and one none of her friends knew, which was fortunate for her. She would've been plied with muffins all day to keep her quiet otherwise! And no one likes a fat witch. All those carbs! The sensibilities of it! She was indignant just imagining her friends deliberately stuffing her with harmful sugars and getting her fat for no reason. Although…then she really would have a valid excuse not to get on a broomstick ever again, which, of course, everyone knew she was deathly afraid of. She snorted and accidentally inhaled a piece of muffin.
Her parents looked concerned as she started choking and her father patted her back. She hocked the piece of muffin up rather ungracefully and set about making another.
"No, no- I'll get it. You just sit down, dear," her mother said.
"Open a present, for starters," her father implored, shoving several brightly wrapped packages at her. She nodded and gleefully tore into the gifts with the same fervor she opened her Hogwarts letter. Goody! Presents! Nothing like a nice present to start off your birthday right…huh.
She pulled a picture frame out of one box carefully. There was an envelope taped to the glass, efficiently covering up the picture in the frame. She looked at it oddly, then looked to her parents. They smiled back encouragingly.
Ah well. They were getting sentimental in their old age. She pulled the envelope away and gazed at the picture underneath, expecting to see an old family portrait. She gasped, laying a hand to her chest, her heart fluttering madly.
It was an old family portrait, of sorts. At least, the couple in it looked vaguely like her parents…but they weren't. And they were waving and smiling to her. It was a wizarding photo. She looked to them both again.
"Open the envelope- there's a letter inside," her father gestured. Her mother stood close by, ignoring the burning smell coming from the muffin toaster. Hermione's heart secretly ached for the mistreated muffins, but she held fast and opened yet another letter.
Her eyes scanned the print quickly. There were two sets of pages. One set was clearly adoption papers. The other set was a letter from her parents. She couldn't tell which ones, though. Oh, this was awfully confusing.
Dear Hermione, the letter read, We hope this letter finds you healthy. Well, it had done that. We gave your parents orders not to tell you about the adoption until you were old enough to understand, or were of age, or some such nonsense. We understand there will be some trouble with a time turner in your future, so we know we've no idea how old you will be when you receive this, but happy birthday, doodlyums! Oh, they certainly sounded like her parents, alright. At any rate, our time grows short. Even now we are forced to write this while on the run from evil, dark forces. These forces are called- here it was obscured by something, a stain, she thought. She sniffed the paper indelicately. Was that…Kikkoman? It was as good as saying 'the grand high poo-bah,' anyway. Pardon the spill, tweetsies. We're surviving on sweet and sour sauce from the Chinese buffet down the street at the moment. It makes for a messy meal and a messier letter. We just wanted you to know that whatever your adopted parents tell you, it's all true. We never meant to hurt you, darling dearyums! This is for your own good, we did this…the letter went on for some pages more, but it was mostly rambling nonsense and imaginary dinner menus.
She looked at the other set of papers on her adoption with a growing feeling of anger and betrayal. They stated the case more simply.
Hermione Jane Granger, orphan, adopted this day, blah blah blah to blah blah.
There was silence at the table as she stared down at the picture once more.
Her father cleared his throat. Her mother spilled some coffee for something to do. Hermione started to sniffle but bit it back down. No! This was horrible! Terrible! How could someone lie to their child all those years, unless…unless-
"I want another muffin!" she hiccupped, before continuing, "and an explanation. And it had better be a good one!" she threatened. Her father nodded and wiped absently at the coffee her mom had left behind in order to clean out the toaster oven and make way for more muffins.
"Er, well, you see…we're part of wizarding families, your mum and I," her dad began. He looked to his wife for help.
"We're squibs, love. Plain and simple as that. We're squibs from two once powerful pureblood families."
Hermione stared, shocked. She traced a finger over the picture. "And these are my real parents?"
Her parents looked to one another and finally her dad sighed and nodded. "Better tell you the whole story, then. Right. Here we go."
Taking a powerful long swig of his cuppa before beginning, he finally set the drink down and started in.
"Your biological parents, the ones you inherited all your magic from, were your mum's and my brother and sister, respectively. It's always been a bit unheard of for two wizarding families that are friends to both have squibs in the family, so whenever that happened, which wasn't often, they'd try to make an alliance of the two in the hopes that the combined bloodlines would be able to at least reproduce magical offspring. Complete nonsense, of course. We're more like mules than anything else- all but completely sterile, you know." Hermione groaned at this sidetrack and her father continued.
"Anyway, that's how both your mother and I and our siblings got together and married. They- my sister and her brother- were given the task of thrusting us together as often as possible, which is how they grew interested in one another."
"They were disgusting to be around," her mum interjected.
"They were," her father repeated, when Hermione took offense. "Always hanging on one another. Not sensible at all. That's how they got involved with all those dark arts sorts, and it was how they met their end. They tried to go turncoat on the dark lord and his armies, you see."
Hermione gave a small gasp. Whatever she had been expecting from her parents, this was not it. She leapt up, ready to run for it. Her mother slid another plate of muffins in front of her and she gazed at them, lip trembling. In the end, she chose the muffins.
Her dad continued once more.
"So they got themselves killed and asked us to be your guardians and we were more than happy to pretend to be muggles by that point. But it's only fair to tell you that you came from quite the lineage and there was more than one person who wanted to find you once your parents were gone. We had to go to great lengths to hide you and start life anew. Still, you're alive and made it this far, so we did something right," he finished, a little triumphantly.
Hermione nodded, wide eyed, around a muffin. Mmm…muffin. Oh, she could die for that muffin. She looked up from her lazy, well fed state and asked, "So what's my name? What family are we part of? Is it okay if I still call you Mum and Dad? Do I have new guardians? Who else knows I'm, well, me? And do I have any relatives left?"
Ah, well, muffins never could solve curiosity. Only senseless chatter. She stared at her parents and waited patiently as she slather jam onto a muffin. Actually, this was turning out to be a stressful morning. A stressful birthday. Thinking twice, she stuck the whole spoonful of jam directly into her mouth. Ah, yes. That was more like it. She waited for answers and dunked the spoon down into the jam pot once more.
Her parents gazed stiffly at one another and she sensed the topic of family was a sore subject amongst them.
"Some people know, but no one that would hurt you. Yes to the mum and dad bit. And no, you're staying here with us for now. You also have several cousins, darling, and some of the distant relatives on your mother's side are still alive. Her maiden name was Dumbledore and her mother's name- your grandmother, well, it was-," but her father stopped her from saying anymore. Said something about it being too dangerous to tell her that bit. Still, Dumbledore?
"I'm related to the headmaster?" she wondered quietly. How was any of this possible?
Her mum finally replied. "Yes. But only distantly! And our family name was originally Goulifon. The founder of our line was a second player to the founders of Hogwarts. Knew all their business, actually."
"That's generally what second players are good for," Hermione remarked.
"Yes, well. As for your name," her dad continued, "It's a bit ridiculous."
"Let's hear it," she replied, setting a good stolid face.
Her mother laughed.
"It's Rose Penelope Brigitte de Cassis St. Perpetua Siobhan Una St. Vincent Snape Goulifon."
Hermione blanched. "Snape?"
Her parents laughed again. "Is that the only part you have a problem with?" her mum snickered.
"Well…yeah, for right now!"
"Oh, he's another distant cousin, darling," her father reassured her. "You're not related to him in any way that means anything."
"Oh, right. Next thing I know you'll be telling me that my name really means 'moonlight flutterby,' that I have wings, I'm part werewolf, fairy and elf and I'm engaged to Draco Malfoy!" she retorted heatedly.
"Well…" her mother's voice trailed off and Hermione stared at her in horror. This was, oh, this was awful. Pureblood, head girl and only sixteen (or twenty-nine, who knows?) in just one morning! Would wonders never cease? No, really. Would they just desist, already? Deciding that she'd had enough muffins for one dreadful morning, she grabbed the papers, letters and picture and waddled from the kitchen to seek solace in her bedroom. This news bore much thought and consideration before she made any rash decisions like…running away or killing herself. The usual suspects. With a suddenly stricken face, her stomach caught up with her mouth and she felt distinctly ill.
How dignified, she thought fifteen minutes later as she lay hunched over, worshipping the porcelain god. What a beautiful beginning for the new pureblood heiress to the carefully hidden and traitorous Goulifon name. Those were her final thoughts as she hurled up the other ten muffins she had devoured so earnestly earlier. What could she say? It had been a stressful, dreadful morning and muffins were comfort food.
She vomited again.