Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

i.
"Mudbloods can never be  real  wizards," the blonde boy tells her, sneering. He looks quite ugly like this. Plus, he hasn't been able to choose any wand yet (no wand has chosen  him ) so, Hermione doesn't see how he can say that to her. 'Mudblood' is clearly an insult, even though she doesn't properly understand it, yet. It doesn't sound very nice, though.

"I want to be a witch, anyway," she turns her back on him. It's a stupid reply. But he's a stupid boy, and so it works.

"You know what I mean," he hisses, to her hair.

"I really don’t," she replies, curtly. He shuts up. Hermione can feel him fuming behind her. He must be pink on top of all the pale.

It sticks, though.  Mudblood  sticks in her head like super glue.

She forces her parents to enter  Flourish and Blotts once more, and buys a book on Genealogy and Pureblood Customs.

She's not a mudblood. And she'll  prove  it.





ii.
Turns out you can't just prove it. You have to not  be  it, to prove it. Hermione glances at the book once more. If only Granger was somehow included in this Pureblood Names Cult Thingy...

Oh. Wait.

She flips open to the last page.

[ The Sacred Twenty-Eight are:  Abbott, Avery, Black, Bulstrode, Burke, Carrow, Crouch, Fawley, Flint, Gaunt, Greengrass, Lestrange, Longbottom, Macmillan, Malfoy, Nott, Ollivander, Parkinson, Prewett, Rosier, Rowle, Selwyn, Shacklebolt, Shafiq, Slughorn, Travers, Weasley, and Yaxley.]





iii.
Hermione chews on her quill (yes, it's a quill, because she's a  real  witch) - and frowns at the scratched out names. None of them seem to fit. 

Hermione Avery doesn't roll off the tongue well. Neither does Hermione Fawley. Shafiq is a little too much.  The Malfoys, the Ollivanders, the Weasleys and the Notts are too prominent to claim, and they all apparently have characteristic features. Which Hermione doesn't have.

'Bulstrode'  is, objectively, a horrid name. Yaxley sounds like a medicine company.

Longbottom sucks .

'Burke' is like begging to be bullied.

How do we pronounce Prewett?

Lestrange. Oh,  honestly.  Hermione is already strange enough.

In the end, there isn't much choice.

Hermione Gaunt it is.

Best part is, they're extinct. All dead. No Gaunt is alive and hence, no Gaunt can ever refute her claim. Nobody can. 

Even better, they're rumored to be descended from Slytherin, himself. The blonde boy, who Hermione guesses now, must be a Malfoy (there's a photograph of their family in the Pureblood Book) would probably be a Slytherin. 

That would show him.

She scratches off the last of the names from the List, and smiles, grimly satisfied.  Now, no pureblood will be able to say she's just a mudblood. And later, if it ever comes out that she isn't, she would have proven her worth by then. She'll cross that bridge when she gets to it.





iv.
1st September rolls in, and Hermione hugs her parents before crossing the barrier, says her goodbyes to her teary-eyed parents, and makes her way through. 

"My name is Pansy Parkinson," one of the girls on the train tells her, looking at her with barely concealed distaste.

"I'm Hermione Gr-aunt,"  Hermione says, clears her throat. "Gaunt. Hermione Granger-Gaunt."

Pansy blinks at her, thoroughly confused.

"Gaunt...as in?" she raises an eyebrow.

Hermione raises one right back.

Stick it to her!

"If you don't even know," she says, haughtily, "I guess I don't need  you  as a friend. See you later, Parkinson."

She silently cheers herself as she walks out of the compartment, before running into another kid.

"Theodore  Nott,"  he introduces, dragging his trunk in.

The emphasis on his last name tells Hermione exactly what to say.





v.
Hermione’s proud of her choice of name and her fast thinking. It's bound to help her now. The Hat's yelled  "SLYTHERIN!"  which is great, really. It would totally be a Gaunt's first choice. 

Descended from Salazar Slytherin and all.

("Woah,"  the Hat says, in her head.  "There's a whole lot of things going on in here.")





vi.
She goes through scores of books about Slytherin, and the Gaunts, and finds out everything she possibly can. It's a lot of fun, too. Breaking rules, that is. And having a secret identity while doing so. Even better.

Marvolo Gaunt
Merope Gaunt,  Morfin Gaunt

Merope is the one possible option, again. Both Marvolo and Morfin have some sort of criminal record. Hermione doesn't want  that  on her head. Merope seems good enough.

Merope's daughter? No, wait. Hermione’s too young for that.

Granddaughter? 

The idea has potential.

She decides on being Merope Gaunt's bastard child's bastard child, because why not, right?




vii.
"Oh, yes," she says, nodding. "Of course I know! Merope Gaunt, who you might  think  was the last of the Gaunts, actually...uh. Had a son."

"A son?" Draco blinks. He doesn't actually know who Merope Gaunt is, but the name sounds appropriately traditional and legit.

"Yes," Hermione says, quickly. "She did! A bastard son! Never married, my grandmother. My father had me. Obviously. And. Then. Well, he died, too. Vicious cycle, really."

"That's horrible," Theo Nott comments, mildly, from the side. Hermione  instantly  jumps on the little bit of sympathy offered.

"Oh, I know," she says, and looks down at her hands, as if hiding her tears. Theo Nott looks adequately horrified. "I got adopted by muggles."

Nobody pays that any mind. Hermione isn't sure if they know how the foster system works.

"What was your father's name?" Pansy asks, after a suspicious pause.

"His name," Hermione hasn't thought of that, yet. She draws a complete blank. Her eyes dart around nervously, and just when she feels she'll be discovered, she sees the  cat.  It's ginger and scurrying around on the window sill.

Cat. Of course. Cats. What are cats called -

"Tom," Hermione replies, smiling awkwardly. "His name was Tom. Tom Gaunt."

"Muggle name," Theo observes. 

Hermione agrees, " Bastard, indeed, yes."

It's all wonderful. 





viii.
"Father, aren't the Gaunts all dead?" Theo Nott asks. His father hums. It's Summer break.

"They are," he confirms, frowning. "A Noble family, the Gaunts used to be. Certainly not anymore." He seems bitter.

"I have a classmate who claims to be a Gaunt," Theo prompts. 

"That's not possible," his father says, immediately. "There are no more Gaunts left."

"She has a whole story for it. Nobody believes her, they think she's a liar. But she's  too  good at magic to be a mudblood, you know."

"Story?" his father doesn't seem too interested. Theo tells him the whole thing, anyway and watches his father pale, as he finishes.

"Tom Gaunt's daughter," his father repeats, carefully, looking awfully scared. "And she's good at magic, you say?"

"Knows everything already," Theo answers, quite seriously.

His father pales some more. 

"Stay on her good side," he says, abruptly. "She's- she's- she might not be lying."

He doesn't answer any more questions, just looks terrified everytime Theo brings up Hermione or Pansy bullying (re: trying to bully) Hermione.

"Need to talk to the Parkinsons, dammit," his father mutters under his breath. 

Theo stays on Hermione Granger-Gaunt's good side.




ix.
Draco Malfoy comes back to Hogwarts with chocolates for Hermione. 

"My mother sent these," he says, sulkily, pointing to the smaller box out of the two. "And my father sent  these."  He shoves both of them into her hands, before starting to walk out.

"Thanks?" Hermione tries for a confused smile.

"And if you ever need help," Draco says, dully, stopping in the doorway and reciting it like he's rehearsed it a couple of times. "The Malfoys are here for you. Er- at your service, I think."

"That's...good?" Hermione blinks.





x.
"Miss Granger," Dumbledore smiles at her. 

She smiles back. "Professor Dumbledore."

"I heard...some disturbing things, actually," he says, steepling his hands on the table. "About your family. Rumors about you, you know how school gossip is..."

He laughs and Hermione laughs, too, but she probably sounds constipated.

"A few Slytherins believe," he says, gently, "that  you  believe you're the daughter of a wizard called Tom Gaunt."

Act dumb, Hermione.

"What's a wizard?" she asks, nervously.

Not that dumb.

"I meant," Hermione forces a laugh, before talking, too quickly. "I don't know who that is. Tom? Tom Gun who? I'm afraid they're just rumors, sir. Nothing else. I don't know any Tom at all, in fact, I've never met a single Tom in my whole life. Well, except Tom the Bartender, who I met in - " 

"Okay," Dumbledore cuts off her babbling, smiling again. "That's good to know, Miss Granger."





xi.
First Year ends with Harry Potter and his merry band of Gryffindors (It's a Weasley and a Longbottom. Thank god she didn't take those names) rescuing some-sort-of-something from someone, it's all very confusing, Professor Quirrell dies, and Slytherin loses the House Cup.

Hermione’s top of her class, though. Priorities.

Second Year comes and goes, without much flair, (aside from a few minor petrifications.) They stop, when again, Harry Potter shuts the chamber of secrets or fights for his life or something. Exams are cancelled. 

Third Year isn't very eventful, either, (besides the fact that she's meddling in time and all). In the end, all Hermione can basically guess is that Harry Potter did something  again,  because just after Professor Lupin (who's a werewolf, she  knew  it!) resigns, Dumbledore comes to Hermione and takes her Time Turner. For "an important task." 

The next year, the Triwizard Tournament is held.

Hermione waits for Harry Potter to get involved in something he really  shouldn't. 

He doesn't disappoint.




xii.
The Dark Lord returns in 1995, using Harry Potter's blood.

"My Lord," Lucius Malfoy begins, after that plan fails, regretting every decision he's ever made already. "There's a little piece of news, that...you might not have heard of, yet."

Voldemort hums. "Go on, Lucius."

"There's a girl, my Lord," Lucius says, and Voldemort remembers Lucius saying the exact same thing before he broke the news of his engagement with Narcissa. 

That's strange,  Voldemort thinks.  They had seemed rather happy last night for Lucius to try for a divorce now. 

"Her name is...Hermione," Lucius pronounces the name very carefully, watching Voldemort as if for some reaction. He has none to offer. "She's in my son's year. And she claims to be your daughter."

Voldemort blinks. Blinks again. 

"Well, not your daughter," Lucius amends, hastily. "She claims to be  Tom Gaunt's  daughter."




xiii.
Harry Potter's death can wait. Lord Voldemort has something more important to attend to. 

His daughter. (Or is she?) 

Things in his head have been rather muddled since he's come back. Memories keep slipping past him, especially of his early childhood, and the years before the whole Chamber of Secrets Fiasco happened back in '43. 

And apparently, so do the memories of 1980 and the year before. (He vaguely remembers a Hermione Granger in his class with Quirrell. Top marks, and all. Persistent questions in class. She  can  be his daughter.)





xiv.
Voldemort ends up breaking Bellatrix out of Azkaban. Bellatrix must know. 

If Lord Voldemort ever had a baby, it would have been with her,  he thinks. 

Primarily, because she would have killed anyone else who tried.

"Did we?" Voldemort asks her, a bit hesitantly. He dislikes not knowing things. 

Bellatrix looks thoughtful. That never ends well. She's still in her prison attire. Voldemort wishes she would change. She stinks. A lot. And he can see something crawling on her shoulder.

"We...might have," she replies, finally, sighing. "She has the same hair as me," Bella points to the photograph that Voldemort had asked the Malfoy boy to get him. He doesn't point out that Hermione’s hair is lighter in shade. Maybe she'd colored it. That's what kids did, right? Voldemort had seen muggle kids doing that.  (And Abraxas, who'd dyed his hair blue at the end of their Fifth Year. He'd looked simply  lovely,  then - )

"And I've forgotten a lot because of Azkaban."  Bella says, and glares at him, like it's  his  fault that he died. 

Atleast he's come back. Most people don't.

"She must be mine," Bella says, before seemingly deciding it. "Yes. Hermione Gaunt  is  my daughter."




xv.
"Tell me about her," the Dark Lord commands.

"She's brillant," the Malfoy kid says, immediately. His father's told him exactly what to say. "Gets top marks in everything. Professor Snape’s favorite. Dumbledore's favorite, too."

Incredible. His daughter has achieved what he never could. Dumbledore's trust. 

They'll rule the world together. 

"What else?" Voldemort asks, trying to remember the boy's name. 

(Drago? Drake? Dragonius, maybe? Lucius has always been painfully dramatic, so it could be that last one.)

It's getting difficult remembering all these tiny details and what-not. He hadn't remembered his own daughter, for Merlin's sake. "Do you  like  her?"

Drago looks to his parents. Narcissa nods frantically.

"Yes, I do!" Drake says, "I love her!"

Narcissa clears her throat, and when Drake looks over, she shakes her head, slowly.

"What I meant is," Drake corrects. " She's a friend."

Voldemort hums. 




xvi.
"And what do you think of my daughter, Severus?" the Dark Lord asks, which, really. It's ridiculous. Hermione Granger, yes,  Granger  isn't the Dark Lord's daughter, for heaven's sake. Her parents are dentists. Her real parents.

"Your...daughter, my Lord?" Severus asks, gritting his teeth. "I-I think...she isn't actually- "

"Yes?" the Dark Lord asks, silkily.

"- aware you're alive," Severus changes track. "You- you should tell her. Even if she does know, she can't possibly know that you are Tom Gaunt, my Lord. Or that you want to reconcile with her. So, maybe if you tell her, then - "

"Then, we can start building our Empire together," the Dark Lord finishes, rather grandly. "You're right, of course. If she knew, she would have already seeked me out. I see my mistake."

Severus shrugs. That wasn’t what he'd wanted to say, but well. Life isn't fair. 

(That hasn't escaped Severus's notice.)





xvii.
"Second," Draco says. "In my year."

"To my daughter," Bella preens.

Narcissa sighs. This is  so  not what she'd thought she'd be doing this year.




xviii.
"...you think the only way to break the ice between your daughter and yourself is to send her the rarest books you own... on Dark Magic?" Severus sounds dubious.

"Draco told me she likes books," Voldemort says. "And she's  my  daughter. She must be just like me. Hungry for knowledge. Forced to live among muggles she hates. She'll love the books."

"Maybe, some context?" Severus suggests, skeptical. "As in...these books are for - "

"She'll understand," Voldemort tsks. 





xix.
"Did you know Tom Gaunt is You Know Who?" Draco hisses, almost barreling into her on the Platform. 

"Huh?" Hermione blinks.

"The Dark Lord? He Who Must Not Be Named?" Draco looks around, lowers his voice even more. "Did you know his real name is Tom Gaunt? Professor Snape told me! You're the  Dark Lord's  daughter."

"What the fuck," Hermione whispers.

Hermione Granger has  maybe  committed a slight error.




xx.
Okay, it's a big error.

So.

Picking 'Gaunt' had been a mistake.

Because, apparently, out of all the Sacred Twenty Eight that she could have picked, she'd picked the one who was dead-not-dead, and also the darkest Wizard of the century.

Hermione really had shitty luck when it came down to it.

You-Know-Who was now her fake father. Who knew if he knew she had been lying? Oh, what is she thinking, he obviously must know she's not his daughter.

It becomes even worse when Lord Voldemort gets to know. It's like the beginning of a lame murder documentary, and it starts the classic way : threats. 

Poorly concealed threats in indiscreet letters posted over breakfast.

There are books of curses and hexes and jinxes and potions and all sorts of nasty things that Lord Voldemort has sent her. He's bookmarked pages with the worst and most difficult ones, which can only mean that he knows them and is planning to use them on her. 

Or her parents. The real ones.

That's an issue.

She ignores the mail.




xxi.
His daughter doesn't trust him enough to write back, yet. She's got high standards, just like her father.

Of course she does.

Lord Voldemort doubles the efforts.





xxii.
Hermione gets more packages, the curses getting darker and more dangerous. Some of the books are so illegal that she worries about getting caught with them. (Professor Snape keeps turning a blind eye to them, for some reason?)

On Sunday morning, Lord Voldemort owls her a curse that can be spread through the children to the parents.

This time, she sends a threat right back.

It's a book of blood curses, standard Dark Magic, but if used in creative ways, it can be a good threat. She makes sure to  jot  down those creative ways. He should know she isn't fucking around. (Not much, anyway.)

She sends him the book.

And instantly gets more back. She even receives a few cursed objects. They haven't been activated yet, but that just shows that he underestimates her, nothing else.

Oh my god,  Hermione thinks.  She needs to get her parents (and herself) out of here.




xxiii.
"She's finally acknowledged me!" Voldemort tells Bellatrix, over supper. "She sent me gifts  back!  And she's noted down some amazing points. I think she wants to impress me," he confides.

"Lovely, my Lord," Bellatrix says, squinting down at the book that Hermione has sent.

She's definitely her mother's daughter. 




xxiv.
"I think both of us know why you're here again," Dumbledore tells her.

"Not really," Hermione shrugs, very nonchalantly. Her face is the very  picture  of innocence. She's rather proud of that.

"You have been corresponding with Lord Voldemort," he says, simply. "Who believes he's your father. Who's other identity is Tom Gaunt."

She waits.

"Anything you have to share, Miss Granger?" Dumbledore asks, very seriously.

"I..." she sighs, swinging her satchel from her shoulder, and takes out a packet of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans. "I have this. It's none of the nice flavors, though. Theo and I ate all those. We could share this packet. If you want.  No pressure," she adds. 

Dumbledore's eye twitches.