Hermione's breath was ripped away from her.
She was staring at a woman—a woman wearing a long, blue cloak.
She had seen that cloak before, at Inverness.
A dark hood covered the woman's face.
"I've been waiting for you, Ms. Granger."
Her voice was soft...melodic....unfamiliar.
"Who are you?" Hermione asked.
The woman circled her slowly, then stopped. She stood lost for a moment...like she was reliving something, maybe an old memory.
Finally she said, "There was only meant to be one."
"I'm sorry?" Hermione asked.
"There was only meant to be one," the woman repeated. "It's what my mother said...the day I was born." She drew her wand.
"See for yourself, Ms. Granger."
With a flick of her wand a door behind them opened.
Hermione turned. She stood, entranced, as a silver-blue light filled the hall.
After a moment's hesitation, she stepped forward and followed the path of light.
She reached a room that was empty except for a large wooden desk.
Sitting in the middle of the desk was a stone basin.
Hermione approached it slowly.
There were five vials beside it, each containing a different memory.
"They will help you understand," the woman in the blue cloak said.
One of the vials had already been emptied. Its contents swirled in the shallow pensieve, casting a silver-blue light that danced across the room.
Hermione rested her hands on the desk and leaned forward. The memory swirled, then became transparent, like glass.
Her breath caught when she recognized the scene before her.
"We don't have much time," the woman in the blue cloak said.
She put her arm around Hermione's shoulder.
"Wait—" Hermione started, but before she could say more, the floor beneath them gave a terrible lurch and they were thrown forward, falling through an icy cold wind.
Hermione stifled a scream as they fell through the memory.
Moments later she landed in a small bedroom in Tom Riddle's flat.
Hermione looked around.
Catherine had just given birth to her son, Henry.
The midwife was leaning over her, trying to tell her something.
Hermione looked around for Tom, but he was gone. He must have already left for St. Mungos...
But last time she had followed him into the street...
Hermione's pulse quickened.
This must be the midwife's memory...
Henry was nestled in his blankets, lying at Catherine's side.
"You need to be strong," the midwife said. "There's another child coming."
Catherine gasped and struggled for breath. "No...you're mistaken..."
She was exhausted, her black hair was damp and sticking to her forehead, and her blue eyes were wide with panic. She gripped tightly to the sheets, and Hermione saw that they were soaked with blood.
"There was only meant to be one," she said, tears running down her face. "Only one."
Hermione flinched when Catherine screamed.
She thrashed wildly and Henry started crying.
Hermione took several steps back. She didn't know how much time passed after that, but eventually she heard the midwife speak again.
"Come on, love. One more push..."
Catherine's neck glistened with sweat. "I can't!"
"Yes, you can, come on now..."
Catherine screamed in agony, but the sounds that tore from her throat were soon drowned out by the wails of a new baby.
"A girl!" the midwife exclaimed.
Catherine collapsed onto the bed, exhausted.
She said nothing as the midwife tended to the child.
Instead, she stared up at the ceiling, and there was a haunted look in her eyes.
Hermione looked anxiously at the door. Tom would be home any minute now...
"Would you like to hold your daughter?" the midwife asked.
Catherine nodded.
Hermione watched as Catherine took hold of her daughter for the first time. Tears trickled down her face, and she stroked the child's hair with trembling hands. She was quiet for several moments, then she spoke.
"You have to send her away before my husband returns."
The midwife frowned at her. "You're tired, you don't know what you're sayin'. You'll feel better once you've had some rest."
"NO!" Catherine reached for her arm. "He only expects one child, we can set her free."
She placed the baby in the midwife's arms again.
The midwife looked at her like she'd gone mad. "Your husband will be glad to have two children. Surprised maybe, but glad. I'm sure you have nothing to worry about."
Catherine lost her patience. "That's not what concerns me." She covered her face with her hands. "You don't know what he's like..."
The midwife set the baby down. "Is he violent with you?"
She pulled aside Catherine's collar to look at her neck, then she inspected her arms and legs. "I see no marks or bruises on you."
Catherine looked up at her. "You don't understand. He inflicts harm, but he leaves no traces of it."
The midwife raised an eyebrow, and decided she was dealing with a delirious patient. "Your troubles with your husband are none of my business," she said firmly. "You need rest."
"I'll prove it to you," said Catherine, her face set with determination. "Hand me that vial...over there."
She pointed to a cabinet at the far end of the room. Perched on top, was a glass filled with a dark green potion.
Eager to calm her, the midwife collected the potion and returned to her bedside. She held the vial up to the light. "What is this?" she asked. "Some kind of tonic?"
Catherine tore it out of her grasp.
"Wait!" The midwife shouted, fearful she might hurt herself.
Catherine uncapped the vial, but instead of drinking it, she tipped it over. The potion spilled onto her arms.
The midwife gasped.
Markings became visible on Catherine's skin...symbols burned into her flesh...
They sparked something in Hermione's memory, she was almost certain she'd seen them before in an old text at Hogwarts.
The midwife shrieked.
"He brands you?" she asked, covering her mouth with her hands.
Catherine looked up at her. "My husband is not himself anymore, and I fear my children are not safe at his side."
The midwife stared at her, horrified.
"Help me," Catherine pleaded.
The midwife clasped her hands together in frustration. "What would you have me do?"
"Hide my daughter outside."
"But it's freezing cold out there."
"Wrap her in those," Catherine said, pointing to a pile of soft blankets on a chair. "When Tom returns, pretend everything is fine. When he dismisses you, go round to the back—take her with you."
The midwife shook her head. "I have children of my own to look after..."
Catherine's face turned grim when she realized there was only one thing she could do. "Take her to Bellefaire Orphanage. It's not far from here. Please hurry, we don't have much time." She looked around. "I need pen and paper." She pointed to a small desk in the corner of the room.
The midwife rummaged through the drawers until she found the items.
Catherine scribbled furiously on a piece of paper. When she was done, she turned to the midwife.
"Give this to the people at the orphanage."
The midwife tucked the letter away and lifted the baby girl. "What shall I ask them to call her?"
There was a sudden noise outside.
"I—I don't know," Catherine said frantically. "Take her...before Tom comes..."
The midwife lifted the screaming baby and rushed away.
Catherine watched them go, feeling like she couldn't breathe.
"I'm sorry," she whispered in a choked voice. "I'm sorry."
Shortly after, Tom arrived home. Hermione watched the midwife congratulate him and introduce him to his son. She tended to Catherine, and when she was ready to leave, Tom saw her to the door.
As soon as he shut it, the midwife crouched down and made her way to the back of the house.
The baby was right where she'd left her, wrapped in thick blankets in a small wicker basket, fast asleep.
She touched her little cheek.
"I'm sorry, lass," the midwife said softly. "I hope I'm doing you a kindness and not a disservice."
She lifted the basket and hurried down the street, disappearing into the London fog.
Hermione flinched when the scene disintegrated.
The orphanage came back into focus moments later.
She jumped when the woman in the blue cloak spoke. Hermione tried to get a better look at her face, but her hood was securely in place, obscuring her features from view.
"My mother gave me away so that I could be free. The irony is, I have never been free a day in my life."
"How did she decide?" Hermione asked slowly. "Between you and your brother?"
The woman shrugged. "Perhaps she thought Tom would be kinder to a son. I lived at the orphanage for four years, but on my fifth birthday I received news. I was to be adopted by a man—a man named Nicholas Edevane."
"Edevane?" Hermione repeated, stunned.
The woman in the blue cloak nodded. "He was Voldemort's oldest friend at school, and one of his first Death Eaters—the only surviving member of the Original Seven. Of course, I didn't know that then. I knew nothing of the magical world, only that I could make strange things happen—things I couldn't explain."
She reached for the second vial on the desk and tipped the contents into the pensieve.
She waited for Hermione to join her, and soon they were falling through darkness again...
When they landed, Hermione saw that they were still in the orphanage, but they had traveled several years into the past.
They were standing in the matron's office.
The room was free of dust and light streamed in from a small window.
There was an old rotary phone on the desk and a newspaper. The headline read "Clement Attlee Wins General Election." Below it was another article detailing the preparations for the 1950 Wimbledon Championships.
The matron entered the office. She was a portly woman with thinning, brown hair.
A man walked in behind her. He was very young, no older than twenty. His hair was a reddish-gold, and he was dressed in the latest muggle fashion.
"Edevane," the woman in the blue cloak whispered.
Hermione nodded.
The matron turned to Edevane. "You should know the child you're adopting is very well behaved. But there are moments when she can be a bit strange, a bit secretive. And there are times when she lets her temper run away with her and..."
Edevane leaned forward. "Yes?"
The matron laughed nervously. "I suppose you will get to know each other in time. No need to fret about those small curiosities now."
Edevane gave her a cold smile. The implication in the matron's tone was clear. The girl was far from ordinary, which meant she'd inherited Tom's magical abilities. She was not a squib as Edevane had feared.
Hermione watched as the matron handed him a letter—Catherine's letter.
"Her mother left this for her. We were instructed to give it to her when she came of age, but you will have to do it now."
Edevane nodded and tucked the letter away into his coat. He looked at the matron with a smile that did not reach his eyes.
Hermione guessed he had no intention of fulfilling Catherine's wishes.
"But what did he want with you?" Hermione asked, turning to the woman in the blue cloak. "And why did he wait five years to find you? Did Tom send him?"
"To this day, Tom Riddle has never known of my existence. Edevane found me on his own."
The woman in the blue cloak looked at Edevane bitterly, and her hands clenched into fists.
Hermione jumped when someone new appeared at the door. A nurse.
"Are you ready for us?"
"Ah, Nurse Adelaide," said the matron. "Yes, bring the child in."
The nurse stepped aside, and behind her stood a small girl with rich, dark curls. She was thin, with delicate features and a slight frame. She was dressed in a simple grey frock. Her face was slightly blurred at the edges.
Hermione guessed the memory had been tampered with to protect the girl's identity.
Edevane bent down to greet the child. "Hello," he said.
The girl scurried away from him and hid behind the nurse.
The matron looked at her disapprovingly. "Is that any way to behave?" she scolded.
"It's alright," Edevane said in a smooth voice. "There shall be plenty of time to get acquainted."
The matron spoke again. "We'll give you a moment alone." She turned to Adelaide. "Lets pack her things."
She stood and faced Edevane once more. "Ms. Rhodes is teaching next door should you need anything."
He nodded.
When they were gone, Edevane reached inside his cloak.
The little girl observed him carefully.
He pulled out a hawthorn wand. On the matron's desk there was a small vase filled with pink flowers. Edevane flicked his wand and one of the flowers rose from the vase and drifted towards them.
Edevane plucked it from midair and handed it to the little girl.
Her eyes lit up, and she looked at him in amazement. "You can move things too," she said softly.
He winked at her. "We're alike, you see?" He stroked her cheek. "You'll be safe with me."
The little girl twirled the flower in her hands, and she looked at Edevane with trusting eyes.
He smiled at her pleasantly and levitated another flower.
The little girl watched in awe as it floated towards her.
Something in Edevane's countenance changed then, and a sinister look distorted his features, but the little girl took no notice.
The scene changed.
They were now standing in a lavish estate in what appeared to be a library. It was a stark difference from the orphanage. The room was richly decorated with silk curtains, beautiful paintings and tall mahogany shelves.
Edevane and his new daughter were poring over books and spells.
Hermione jumped. The woman in the blue cloak appeared beside her. She nodded at Edevane. "In my first days with him, he was my teacher. He taught me how to control my magic, and he was generous—buying me pretty dresses and fine, porcelain dolls.
She looked at her younger self.
"But he left home for extended periods of time...and when he was away, my only friends were our housekeeper, Margaret, and her son, Simon."
She nodded at the scene before them. "This is one of the rare times he was home."
Edevane demonstrated a simple spell to his daughter.
He levitated a few books and papers on his desk and sent them flying across the room.
The little girl wore a silk, green dress with a layered petticoat. It moved beautifully every time she dashed forward to catch the objects Edevane sent her way.
"Can others do what we can?" she asked, as a book soared in her direction. She caught it with practiced ease. "Can Margaret, can Simon?"
"No," Edevane replied. "Only us, little swan. Only us."
"But I don't understand," the little girl said in a worried sort of voice. "Is there something wrong with us?"
Edevane laughed. "We are the gifted few. There are others like us, but they live very far from here."
There was a knock at the door.
Margaret, the housekeeper, carried in a large tray filled with tea and scones. "I've brought you something to eat. You'll never get any work done on an empty stomach." She set the tray down and was distracted by the young girl, who danced past the study's large windows, working her way around the room. "She's quite something," Margaret said to Edevane. "I've never seen such a beautiful child."
Something in Edevane's face changed.
"Her beauty is ill-begotten," he said coldly. "That is all Margaret, you may go."
The housekeeper looked at him in surprise. A retort threatened to spill from her lips but she thought better of it and left.
Edevane stepped towards his daughter, and she looked down at the floor, disturbed by what he'd said.
He waited for her to speak. She rarely missed the opportunity to ask him questions.
"You like beautiful things, father," the little girl said softly. "You surround yourself with them. The horses from Arabia, the silks from the Orient, the artifacts from Egypt... Everyone says that I am beautiful too. Everyone except for you." She looked up at him, waiting for an explanation.
Edevane sighed. "You are indeed beautiful, my little swan. You take after your mother, you know."
"My mother?" the girl asked in surprise.
He nodded. "She was very beautiful, but you should know...she had a dark heart. She tainted everything she touched. You should never take pride in your beauty, because it comes from her."
The little girl's eyes went wide.
"You—you knew my mother?"
"She is dead now."
The girl was silent, battling with herself, desperate to ask more questions. "But—"
"You, unfortunately, cannot rely on your beauty alone to get what you want. You must have skill, talent, and intelligence to survive what is to come." Edevane paused. "Beauty won't stop him from killing you, from killing us all."
"Him?"
"The Dark Wizard."
"The Dark Wizard?" the girl repeated.
"He will rise one day," Edevane said grimly. "But we will stop him, and we must be prepared."
"But I don't understand," the little girl said. "How do you know what this wizard will do if he hasn't done it yet?"
Edevane rolled his eyes. "I am not a fortune teller at a tawdry muggle fair," he snapped. "My abilities are far more complex than anything you can imagine."
"I'm sorry, father. I only meant—"
"Enough," he said.
"But you can see the future then?"
He nodded.
"What about the past?"
He gave his daughter a steely look, knowing she hoped to learn more of her parents. "Have I not given you everything?" he asked coldly.
The little girl blanched. "Yes, but my mother and father—were they like us?"
Edevane looked at her wickedly, relishing her desperate need for information—information only he could give.
"Your father was like us."
"You knew him too?"
Edevane sighed. "He was my friend, one of my closest friends, but your mother destroyed him."
The little girl was silent for several moments.
"Did he ask you to find me at the orphanage?"
"No."
"Is he dead too?"
"He is very much alive," Edevane said. "And you will meet him one day, but that time is very far away."
The little girl nodded, stunned.
Hermione turned to the grown witch standing beside her. She spoke again.
"Despite what Edevane told me, I thought we were the only ones of our kind." She looked at her younger self sadly. "Our servants, the people in our town...they were all muggles. I never saw anyone other than Edevane perform magic. It wasn't until much later that I discovered the scale of the magical world, and that Edevane had kept me from it."
The scene changed again, and the little girl was older now, maybe ten. Edevane had just arrived home. Margaret let him in and he hurried past her.
"Sir, I didn't expect you home so soon!" she said, as he flew down the hall. "I'll prepare your supper—"
"Not now," he said. "I have an urgent matter to attend to."
He rushed off and disappeared into his study.
Hermione saw that he'd left his traveling case behind.
"Insufferable man," Margaret huffed. She turned to the young girl. "I'll be in the kitchen."
The girl nodded, and as soon as Margaret left, she rummaged through Edevane's case. She froze when she found something buried at the bottom.
She pulled out a copy of the Daily Prophet.
She yelped when she saw the moving pictures. She scanned the pages hungrily, marveling at the articles and the information they contained.
She sat on the floor and read for the next several minutes, oblivious to everything around her.
"What are you doing?" Edevane said in a deadly voice.
She froze. She hadn't heard him re-enter the hall. She stood and lifted the paper up.
"You never told me there was a Ministry of Magic, or a school for wizards—"
"What are you on about?"
"And it says here there's entire wizarding communities—"
Edevane was livid. "How dare you go through my things—I have always told you there are more like us. You will meet them in time, but they live oceans away—"
"No they don't!" the girl shouted at him. "Some live as close as London!" She waved the paper under his nose. "That's where they say this ministry is!"
Edevane moved towards the girl and she stepped back, suddenly fearful.
"GO TO YOUR ROOM!" he roared. "THIS INSTANT!"
She jumped.
"But—"
"GO!"
The scene disintegrated and the next moment Hermione was soaring weightlessly through thin air, until her feet hit solid ground.
The woman in the blue cloak turned to her. "He knew my Hogwarts letter would come when I turned eleven, but he didn't want me to go. Although I had his surname, he feared someone might associate me with Tom Riddle."
"What did he do?" Hermione asked.
"He sent me abroad, to a foreign wizarding school." The woman in the blue cloak paced the room. "Until then I had no idea that there were schools for magic, and I was happy to go abroad. For the first time, I was surrounded by people like me. I felt free."
She paused for breath. "Over the years I became a skilled dueler, a master at potions—a star student, much like Tom Riddle, my real father. Edevane would visit me at Christmas to see my progress, but he would never let me return home. Not for the summer holidays or any other time. He always told me that it was for my protection...and I never understood what he meant."
She looked at the ceiling.
"But then, one day, news came that Margaret had died. I loved her dearly, and I begged Edevane to let me return home for her burial. He agreed. It was on that visit that I found my mother's letter. I found it in his library when I knocked over one of his precious figurines. The thing shattered to pieces and I found this." She reached inside her cloak and pulled out a thin piece of parchment. "It was there all those years, hidden in plain sight."
She handed the letter to Hermione. It was yellow with age.
Hermione's hands shook with anticipation as she opened it.
Catherine's writing was hurried and frantic. She ran her thumb over the letters as she read.
For my daughter:
I don't have much time to write this, but I had to tell you the truth. It pains me to send you to a place that I once dreamed I'd escape. It seems that at your father's side I have entered a new prison altogether. It is true that the orphanage is an unhappy place, but know that you are safer there than at my side. And although I only held you briefly, I will think of you always. Know that I love you, and that I am deeply sorry.
Your Mother,
Catherine
The woman in the blue cloak spoke again.
"I realized then, that everything Edevane told me about my mother was a lie. In the letter it was clear, it was my father who had hurt her, and kept her prisoner. I didn't know the full story, but I imagined things had ended badly between them."
She looked down at the pensieve, lost in thought.
"I had a terrible argument with Edevane. I demanded to know who my father was, but he refused to tell me. Instead, he asked me to pack my things. He asked me not to return home."
Hermione looked down at the letter in her hands. "Why did he keep this all those years?"
"My guess is he kept it as blackmail—to use against Tom if he ever needed to—but he never did. And like I said before, he never told him about me."
Hermione waited for her to speak again.
"Although Edevane was never a father to me, he did give me the tools I required to succeed. A year later I turned seventeen, and I was offered a job as an apprentice to the famed Alchemist, Hamza Mataraci."
The woman in the blue cloak paused, gathering her thoughts.
"In those days, I excelled at anything I set my mind to. I knew that I could make my own way—my own life. For the first time I didn't want to return to England. I had made friends, and I didn't want to uncover the past." She folded her arms across her chest. "My mother was dead and my father, according to her letter, was not a good man. As far as I was concerned, he held no importance in my life."
She sighed. "How very wrong I was...I worked in Turkey for two years, but then Edevane asked me to return home for my twentieth birthday. He was ill, or so he said."
She turned to Hermione. "I was hesitant to see him again, and I sensed that something bad was coming." Her jaw twitched. "I was right. When I arrived in England I saw that Edevane was completely healthy, and his illness had been a ruse."
The woman in the blue cloak walked back to the pensieve and poured the contents of the third vial into the basin. They swirled and shimmered, neither liquid nor gas.
She extended her hand to Hermione.
Together they crossed the threshold into the past once more.
They landed in Edevane's library. He was standing by his desk, speaking to his daughter. She was a young woman now, tall and with long, black hair.
Her back was to Hermione.
Edevane tapped his fingers against his desk.
"It is time, little swan, for me to tell you who your real father is."
The young woman shifted in her seat. "I'm not little anymore and I'm not your swan. Tell me what you must, but I won't stay here. You lied to me—you're not ill at all."
"Your life is not your own," Edevane cut in. "You cannot return abroad, or become an alchemist, or gallivant about as you please! You have a greater purpose, to save our kind."
"What are you talking about?" the young woman asked. Save our kind from who?!"
Edevane gave her a twisted smile. "From your father...my oldest friend."
The young woman froze.
"Your father is the Dark Wizard."
Hermione turned to the woman in the blue cloak.
"All that time I thought Edevane's stories of the Dark Wizard were false—twisted fairy tales he used to scare me."
Her hands trembled slightly.
"And so, he told me the sordid story of my past—how my father drove my mother to the darkest of places—how she killed my infant brother hoping to save his soul, and how my father, in turn, killed her."
She inhaled sharply.
"My hope for a normal future was gone, and my peace was wrenched away from me. I didn't think I could live with the knowledge of something so terrible."
She paced the room again.
"Edevane also told me about the prophecy—the only way the Dark Wizard could fail was if flesh of his flesh betrayed him. 'A daughter born to right the wrongs of the father.' I knew then why Edevane raised me. My education had not been for my benefit. In time, I was meant to destroy my own father."
She turned to look at the younger version of herself.
The girl was gripping her chair with white knuckles, staring up at Edevane as he hissed at her.
"Your filthy, muggle mother did her dark work, little swan. She seduced your father and brought him to ruin. You are a flower that was never meant to bloom." He leaned forward so that his face was only inches from hers. "You are nothing more than a stain on Tom Riddle's life. He doesn't even know that you exist!"
The girl gasped for air.
Edevane laughed nastily, taking delight in her horror.
"It's your duty to make things right. It is the only thing you can do, to give your pathetic life meaning. Your parents did not want you, nor did I...but the world needs you." Edevane smiled and caressed her cheek. "Is that not wonderful?"
Hermione felt sick.
The scene dissolved, and suddenly she was yanked back by a powerful wind.
She landed with a thud on the orphanage floor.
"I couldn't return to my work or to my friends," the woman in the blue cloak said. "That life seemed like a lie...like a distant dream. And when I turned twenty-five Voldemort rose to power."
Hermione stayed silent.
"It was the start of a new decade but it felt like the world was ending. There were disappearances...murders...and after some time, I went abroad in search of answers. I spent my life re-tracing Tom Riddle's footsteps throughout Europe. I saw dark magic...things I can never unsee. To learn what my father became, I had to step into his shoes. Do you know what that's like, Ms. Granger? To learn both light and dark? To master both? To know you are capable of the greatest good or the deepest evil? Some years I was lost in darkness...I let it consume me. But Edevane always found me. He encouraged me to go on."
She turned to Hermione.
"It has been my life's work, Ms. Granger, to undo everything Tom Riddle has worked to build. I've been a ghost living in his shadow."
Hermione felt like she was drowning with the weight of a thousand secrets. And there was something familiar about this woman, she felt like she'd met her before, even though she didn't recognize her voice...
"There's something else I don't understand," Hermione said slowly. "How did Edevane know about Catherine? How did he find you?"
The woman in the blue cloak smiled sadly.
"That is another story entirely, Ms Granger. To understand, you'll need to know more of Tom Riddle and Edevane's past. But perhaps you've heard enough for one day...we should stop."
Hermione shook her head, desperate to know the whole truth.
"No," she said firmly. "Go on."
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thanks so much for reading! Hope you take a sec to vote and review :) The final four chapters will be posted later this week or next week.