She who walks in Darkness

Time washed over her as she sat alone on the wooden floor, contemplating the information the letter held. She felt sadness certainly, the loss of her parents again upon the knowledge they were not her true family, combined with her suspicions regarding her birth mother had hit her hard and silent tears rolled down her cheeks for the answers she might never know. She wanted to feel anger but the smaller slip of paper prevented it. The rushed quill strokes and the promise of her protection rang true to her and she was forced to believe that her best interests had been acted upon. Whilst she might never have led the childhood she was born to lead, never have suffered the cruel taunts and persecution regarding her blood status, she would have also never felt the kindness and love of the Grangers and their humility was not something she was about to trade in. A level of fear struck fear and simmered under the surface. Whilst she might not yet truly know who she was, whom her parents were, their connections and their blood status represented a side of Darkness she had always been taught to fear and hate. The fear she now felt was not one for her own safety but one for the knowledge she might yet receive, a fear that something dark was born inside her, innate to her own existence and ready to break free.

The warmth that had become so familiar surrounded her and a calm settled. Feeling her mind and body relax Hermione rose to her feet, a new clarity forming. She could not change her past and it was therefore time to embrace her present, the portkey had brought her here for a reason and it was time to discover why.

Feeling something cold in her left hand she looked down to see she was still grasping the locket, an old connection to her new life. A new level of confidence filling her she strode over to the dusty mirror and stood in front of it. There she was, not unattractive, on the shorter side perhaps with curves that were just a little too pronounced, dull brown curls that split at the ends and frizzed uncontrollably contrasting with her slightly pasty skin that was never completely free from blemish, light brown eyes and slightly thin chapped lips, she was plain, it could not be contested. The coating of dust on the mirrors surface create a blurring effect, mimicking the veil effect on the photos and documents. It seemed poignant to her, as if her old self was fading away, making way for a new life, new choices. “Thea”, she whispered into the night, filling the emptiness of the room. The word was soft and gently on her lips, barely more than a breath escaping. It seemed to embody warmth and she took that, a positive sign in her step towards her new identity, her new life.

Reaching out a hand she brushed a line clear through the dust on the mirror, meeting her eyes as she blew it away. Moonlight caught the particles as the fell around, tiny dots of glowing silver light surrounding her as she reached up to fasten the ice cold locket around her neck. As soon as the locket touched her the skin on her chest it began to glow, warmth radiating from it matching the moonlight. Power began to build up throughout her, using her body as a vessel she had no choice but to give way to it. Her arms became outstretched, head tipped gently back and she rose gently from the floor, just a couple of inches, held in mid-air, unmoving and silent. Then the light began, radiating from her every orifice, surrounded by warmth and power Thea numbly recognised these signals as being the effects of the removal of a long term glamour, after all, the process was a thing of beauty in itself.

Lowering to the floor again she caught her breath as she gazed at herself in the mirror. Gone was the plain Hermione, in her place, transformed, stood Thea looking exactly as she was supposed to. Her limbs had elongated creating a willowy effect, although not as dark as her mother’s they still glowed with warmth, a luminescence about them as if she inhabited moonlight itself. Her body whilst still petite formed a perfect hourglass, her hand brushing across her taut flat stomach and down her sumptuous curves. Her hair, ebony black as it had been in her baby pictures had lengthened and smoothed out, no longer a frizzy tangle but gentle waves curling to just below her ribs, shot through with warm chestnut and gold as it caught the light, a reminder of her mother. Perfectly full rosebud lips pouted back at her from her reflection as she gazed at her face, almost elfin in appearance with high cutting cheekbones kissed with a light blush and deep piercing azure eyes framed with long thick lashes that she peeked out from underneath. She was breath taking and she felt right.

“Welcome home my daughter”

A deep gentle voice echoed around her as the wooden door opposite clicked open.