Chances
Chapter 3
AN: To answer questions…..
I am 27 mot mother was 14 when I was born. Doing the math
and thinking a bit, I’m guessing she was 13 when I was conceived. She is my
hero, even though I know she had many faults. I will probably never know her
name, but I love her fiercely. She was brave enough to bear me and brave enough
to give me up. What an incredible woman.
My father was older and refused to believe I was his. I
would not be half as annoyed at him if he had admitted what he did (her parents
weren’t interested in statutory rape charges) and either married her or helped
her. He did nothing but make her life hell. For this, he should be strung up by
his winky and used as a piñata. (But, I hear she may have forgiven him and I
may have siblings out there. Go figure:)
As for the hair thing…I have a single white hair from the
top of my head. I have had it for 13 years and have gotten no more. (Knock on
wood…) Most of my friends are younger than me and have white streaking and
peppering. I have two friends that were half whby tby the time they hit 24. I
think Hermione was probably exposed to a lot of stress during the last years of
Voldemort. She had to deal with a war, the death of a friend, and gave birth to
a child as the result being violated, besides the adoption itself. She’s a
strong chicka.
Chances
3
~*~*~*~*~*~
Hermione stormed down the stone corridor after the feast was
over and all the children had been sent to their prospective common rooms.
She stopped abruptly in front of a stone phoenix and barked:
“Sugar Quill.” She continued stomping up the stairs and banged on Dumbledore’s
door.
“Enter,” said Dumbledore, slightly muffled from the other
side of the door.
She entered and saw Professor Snape, Professor McGonagall,
Professor Sprout, and Professor Flitwick sitting in front of his desk. How
could she have not thought the heads of house would be convening after the
sorting?
“I’m terribly sorry,” said Hermione, calming herself a bit.
“I’ll come back later.”
“We’re very nearly done,” said Dumbledore. “Just a few class
changes to accommodate all the First Years.”
&:p>
“Wonderful group we’ve got this year,” squeaked Flitwick
happily. Hermionilediled weakly at him.
“I’ll be with you in a moment, Hermione,” Dumbledore said
over the top of his gold wire-rimmed spectacles.
Hermione skimmed some of the titles without really reading
them on one of Dumbledore’s bookshelves. She finally chose a book with a blue
cover and sat in an armchair off to the side. She opened it and turned a page
from time to time to give the appearance of reading. The words had no meaning
for her.
She tried to keep from glancing up frequently in annoyance.
The meeting seemed to go on for hours and the clock on the wall seemed to have
slowed to a pace a snail could creep laps around.
Finally, the class schedules were settled and the Heads of
House filed out. Hermione rose and sat in a chair in front of Dumbledore’s
desk, her book still in her hand. She waited patiently as Dumbledore finished
jotting down notes and he looked up to smile at her.
“I had no idea you were interested in plumbing,” Dumbledore
remarked.
Hermione looked down and saw the title of her book:
Muggle publisher. Good Lord, she was flustered.
“Just something new,” she said weakly.
Suddenly, she had no idea what she was going to say. She had
no proof, just intuition. What if it was just a coincidence?
“Would you mind if I borrowed your pensive?” Hermione said.
“I would like you to see something.”
“Of course,” said Dumbledore, mildly surprised. He rose and
went to a wooden cupboard. There were several pensives of different size
inside. He selected one the size of a cereal bowl and handed it to Hermione.
“Is this large enough?”
“Quite,” said Hermione wryly. In her opinion a swimming pool
wasn’t large enough for memories of this magnitude.
She pulled a few wispy thoughts from her head and placed
them in the bowl. She stirred them liberally and handed the bowl to Dumbledore.
“Hermione, if this is personal-,” Dumbledore began.
“Albus,” said Hermione, her chin set stubbornly. “I have
known you for twenty years. Look in the damn pensive.”
He raised his eyebrows slightly and leaned over into the
small bowl, his silver hair spilling over his desk. If the situation had not
had Hermione in such a state she would laughed at the sight before her. He
looked like Crookshanks trying to get the last few drops of milk out of a bowl.
After a few minutes, in which Hermione replaced the book on
the shelf to have something to do, Dumbledore raised his head. He steepled his
fingers in front of his mouth and looked at her.
“Well,” he said. “That was most interesting.”
“Thought it might be,” said Hermione in a sarcastic tone
that didn’t suit her.
“What are you suggesting I do?” Dumbledore asked.
“I don’t know,” said Hermione. “Can we find out what
happened?”
“Hermione,” said Dumbledore. “There is more than one Malfoy family in the whole of
“Wizarding families?” Hermione challenged.
“Malfoy is a French name,” Dumbledore said patiently. “Perhaps
this is the first of the line to come through Hogwarts. Perhaps the family
normally employs private tutors.”
Hermione let her breath out, deflated and discouraged.
“You’re right, Professor,” Hermione said.
“We did discuss the probability of this happening,” said
Dumbledore, reaching out a hand and lifting the lid on a small covered glass dish
full of lemon drops. Hermione took one auckeucked on it. It clacked loudly on
her teeth in the large quiet office.
“We did,” said Hermione. “But I don’t remember this
particular probability coming up.”
“Life often is unpredictable,” Dumbledore chuckled.
“Quite,” said Hermione, sighing. “I’m sorry for wasting your
time.”
She retrieved the pensive and replaced her memories.
“It was a reasonable concern,” said Dumbledore, smiling
slightly. “Perfectly understandable.”
“Thank you,” said Hermione weakly as she rose to leave his
office.