Lover of the Light

The Ending of a Story

No one was breathing.

Actually, she wasn't breathing.

Hermione could not feel her lungs fill with the warped, tensed air solidifying in the room. Any form of protest, plead, or incantation had died at the base of her throat when her mother said something completely impossible. 

Your real parents.

No. None of this was right. Hermione knew that much. She was about to take a step forward and inspect her mother for any sign of the Imperius Curse, but the unknown woman—this Allegra Zabini—moved first. She extended a hand out to her, intent on touching Hermione's wrist.

"Don't," Hermione hissed, stumbling back and onto the last step of the staircase. 

Although her lungs had seemed keen on not working moments before, now they were heading for an overload. 

Your real parents.

She heaved, clutching at her chest as every inhale brought on a sharp pain to her bones. 

"Sweetheart, please," Jennifer Granger begged through a sob of her own. She moved the woman aside, reaching out for Hermione, but the latter recoiled from her touch, too. "You have to calm down. You have to let me explain—"

"Where's Dad?" Hermione demanded in a loud, shrill shout. "What did you do to him?"

"Richard stepped out, sweetheart," Mrs. Granger told her, tears dripping down her cheeks. "He couldn't be here. He couldn't stand to lose you again."

"I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere," Hermione cried. "Bring my Dad back, Mum. Bring him back. Please."

Mrs. Granger pressed her lips into a tight line, swallowing down another cry and a promise she could not fulfill. Slowly, she turned back to the two figures standing in the background. 

"I am sorry, Hermione," said Deon Zabini with a low, regretful tone. He reached for his wife's hand, squeezing it tightly before moving both of them a step forward, aligning with Mrs. Granger. "I know it might not seem like it right now, but we are not here to cause you pain. We just wanted to share our truth—your truth after so many years."

Hermione shook her head as to toss out the words from inside her eardrums before they carved themselves into her brilliant braincells. She covered her face with her palms, crying into them. 

Your real parents.

With a deep breath of her own, Allegra pulled on every bit of courage she owned. She released her husband's hand, taking a calculated but determined step toward the crying girl. The sight and sound almost knocked her down flat on her backside, too, but she managed to balance herself as she knelt before Hermione.

"Do you want to know our story?"

Hermione looked past the gaps in her fingers, stiffening at the proximity of the elegant woman. She tried to settle the sobs rattling her bones. She needed to think clearly. Her brain was shouting at her, telling her to stand, to wipe her cheeks and look these people in the eye and scream I don't believe you or get out of my home, but she was exhausted.

Had she really just survived a war only to have her reality blown to pieces like this?

The woman took her silence as an invitation to speak: "Our story starts in Italy, where Deon and I are from. There were wars there—Guerre di sangue. Ancient, pureblood families fought each other for fortunes and territories. We hid behind giant castles, never leaving our grounds in fear that an enemy would take us from the streets, holding us for ransom until our family gave up what they demanded, only to return us back in pieces even if they did pay. It was dangerous even existing there, so the moment I found out about being pregnant with you, Deon and I fled. We came to Britain hoping for a better life."