Nott So Different | Dramione

Chapter 5: The Author

The morning rays hit Hermione's hour-old tear-stained cheeks, as her eyes gently opened. It was during the most vulnerable hours of the night that all memories would flood her brain and turn into a nightmare of some kind. She looked around, seeing her new room, it was a lot grander than what she was used to, and it could definitely do with a touch from Hermione Granger.

Hermione Granger.

How ill that name feels slipping from her tongue. Born of a prejudiced family, to the point where they abandoned her. No wonder in the Muggle world she felt so out of place – she was not where she was supposed to be, she wasn't who she was supposed to be. All along she supposed it was because she was a Witch, but after the revelation a few days ago, it makes that much more sense. She felt as though her sense and fear of abandonment resulted from her muggle friends constantly leaving her out of things – whether it be birthday parties, weekend activities, or simply spending lunchtime together on the playground without her. But no. It was because deep down, her subconscious knew before she did – she was abandoned by the very people who were meant to love and protect her for who she was, not send her away simply for the gender she was born with.

Hmm. Despite not being muggle-born, she was still treated poorly for things she could not control.

Go figure.

Her eyes glided around the room and rested upon her exposed arm, revealing the most hideous form of branding known to man. She snorted at the irony, at least. The raw skin and dried-up blood that formed the 'Mudblood' tattoo reeked of it. The 'mudblood' that the prejudiced fucks spoke about, was the purest of them all, and their reason for her torture was all for nothing – she wasn't even muggle-born, to begin with, she was just muggle-forced.

A knock on the door disturbed her from her thoughts, and all she could do was groan at the incessant need of these people to constantly bug her. She sat up in her bed, pulled her sleeve down and with a flick of her wand, her bedroom door opened revealing the Malfoy woman. No matter the time of day, Hermione could always say that she looked beautiful and proper – unlike Hermione, who would often look and wear the same thing on a daily basis – her casual muggle jeans and top. But, not Narcissa – she wore dark-coloured robes, her hair and make-up always done up perfectly.

She began to wonder if her birth Mother was the same. Did she usually do her hair up, did she wear makeup? How did she feel when her wretched husband forced her to give up her only child at the time? Did she refuse? Where did Hermione's sense of bravery and courage come from? Did the Sorting Hat put her in the wrong house? Was she meant to be a... a Slytherin?

Hermione scoffed internally. Of course, not. Just because she was revealed to be a Pureblood, doesn't automatically mean that she belongs to the house of the snake. Her true colours were that of Gold and Red, and no one – not even her family name – would ever change that.

"Good morning, Dear," Narcissa began, walking toward the girl's bed - Hermione forced a smile onto her face, looking between the older witch and the object her fingers were toying with. "I brought you something. Theodore and I were rummaging through a few of his mother's items the other day, and found these beautiful pictures and items that she kept."

Hermione's eyes strained on the box that, she assumed, belonged to her biological mother.

"Theodore said he thought you should have it... Perhaps it would help you come to terms with the idea-

"I don't think I ever will come to terms with the fact that my parents abandoned me, Narcissa," Hermione said sternly. Narcissa simply looked up at Hermione with a soft, pitying gaze and nodded. Her mouth opened and shut for a little while, Hermione assumed she was trying to find the words to compete with what was just said.