Rewritten Destiny

Hermione made her way down the streets of Diagon Alley. Ordinarily, she’d be taking in the sights and atmosphere around her—the vibrant displays in shop windows, the chatter of witches and wizards going about their day, and the subtle thrum of magic that lingered in the air, emanating from the powerful wards protecting each establishment. Today, however, she saw none of it.

 

It was as if she were walking through a dream, her feet moving automatically on the cobblestone path, her surroundings nothing more than a blur. The usual excitement she felt when visiting the alley was absent, replaced by a hollow feeling that gnawed at her insides. Everything around her seemed distant and surreal, as if she were not truly there but rather watching herself from afar.

 

The letter she had received the previous night still weighed heavily in her pocket, a constant reminder of the meeting ahead. It was a summons, a call from the shadows of a past she was only beginning to uncover. The name—Tifnang—echoed in her mind, a goblin she had never met, yet one who apparently held the keys to a legacy she had never imagined. The air around her felt heavy, laden with the gravity of what would come.

 

She still felt numb from the realisation that her machinations had resulted in a death. Logically, she knew that there would be deaths and that she would be responsible for them. She had made her stance clear—she didn’t support Voldemort—and knew there was no way to avoid bloodshed. Any changes she made would cascade out like the butterfly effect. Every small change and every action would have far-reaching consequences—unknown consequences.

 

A famous quote from Martin Luther King, Jr. echoed in her mind: “The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of convenience and comfort, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy.” How fitting that was. She had basked in her perceived safety in her knowledge of this world’s future, not realising her impact on the world would be felt so soon. Every change meant her future knowledge was less valuable and less reliable.

 

She barely registered Gringotts's familiar facade as she approached, its imposing marble pillars standing like sentinels before her. The large bronze doors creaked open, and Hermione stepped inside, her heart thudding. The warmth and bustling noise of Diagon Alley were left behind as she entered the cool, cavernous hall of the wizarding bank. The goblins at the counters barely glanced up as she passed, her presence unnoticed among the myriads of customers seeking to manage their fortunes.

 

But this wasn’t about money. This was about power, knowledge, and a family history that had been kept from her for far too long. She was led by a stern-faced goblin down a series of winding corridors, deeper into the heart of Gringotts, each step taking her further from the life she thought she knew and closer to the truths hidden in the shadows.

 

Finally, they arrived at a grand, intricately carved door. The goblin escort nodded curtly before pushing it open, revealing a dimly lit room with a long, polished table at its centre. And there, waiting for her with a gaze as sharp as the blade of a dagger, sat Tifnang, the goblin named in the letter. His eyes gleamed in the low light, studying her as she entered.

 

“Miss Granger,” he greeted her, his voice carrying the weight of centuries-old secrets. “We have much to discuss.”

 

Hermione swallowed hard, the reality of the situation crashing down on her. There was no turning back now. She had stepped into the unknown, and whatever awaited her on the other side of this meeting would change everything.

 

Hermione took a deep breath and nodded, stepping further into the room. The door closed behind her with a quiet click, sealing her from the world. A few flickering torches dimly lit the room, casting long shadows across the stone walls. The air was thick with the scent of old parchment and polished wood, an atmosphere of ancient secrets and untold power.

 

Tifnang gestured to a chair opposite him, and Hermione sat down, her hands resting on the table's smooth surface. The goblin’s sharp eyes never left her, his gaze calculating and cold, as though he could see right through her.

 

Hermione took a deep breath and nodded, stepping further into the room. The door closed behind her with a quiet click, sealing her from the world. A few flickering torches dimly lit the room, casting long shadows across the stone walls. The air was thick with the scent of old parchment and polished wood, an atmosphere of ancient secrets and untold power.

 

Tifnang gestured to a chair opposite him, and Hermione sat down, her hands resting on the table's smooth surface. The goblin’s sharp eyes never left her, his gaze calculating and cold, as though he could see right through her.

 

“This meeting,” Tifnang began, his voice low and measured, “has been a long time coming. Your inheritance is no ordinary one, Miss Granger. The legacy you carry is steeped in history, magic, and responsibility.”

 

Hermione’s heart raced as she listened, her mind whirling with possibilities. What kind of inheritance could be so significant that it required a private meeting deep within Gringotts? She had expected gold, perhaps some family heirlooms, but the weight in Tifnang’s words suggested something far more profound.

 

“As you know,” Tifnang continued, “your lineage is not entirely what you believed it to be. There are branches of your family tree that have been obscured, hidden from the public eye for reasons that will soon become clear. The key you hold is not just to a vault of wealth, but to a legacy of power.”

 

Hermione furrowed her brow, her curiosity piqued despite the anxiety gnawing at her. “What do you mean, obscured? From your tone, it sounds like Hector wasn’t privy to this?”

 

Tifnang’s expression remained inscrutable, but his eyes showed a glint as he answered. “Hector Dagworth-Granger, was not the true heir, chosen by Lady Magic, he was chosen by the head of his family, and whilst this went against Lady Magic’s wishes, she cannot interfere in Mortals Free Will.”

 

Tifnang’s expression grew even more intense as he continued. “Lady Magic is a force of fundamental importance in the wizarding world. She is not a deity in the traditional sense, but rather the embodiment of magical order and balance. Her influence shapes the very essence of magic itself.”

 

Hermione’s curiosity was piqued. “So, she’s like a governing principle of magic?”

 

“Precisely,” Tifnang replied, his gaze unwavering. “Lady Magic ensures that the flow of magic remains balanced and that its use aligns with the natural order. She does not intervene directly in the daily lives of witches and wizards, but her presence is felt through the outcomes of magical actions and the enforcement of magical laws.”

 

Hermione leaned forward, her mind racing. “What does this have to do with my inheritance?”

 

“The true heir to a magical legacy must be in harmony with Lady Magic’s principles,” Tifnang explained. “Your lineage, Miss Granger, was obscured for a reason. The enchantments protecting your true inheritance were designed to align with Lady Magic’s wishes. Hector Dagworth-Granger, though he was considered the heir, did not meet these criteria. His claim was, in essence, at odds with the natural order that Lady Magic represents.”

 

Hermione’s thoughts swirled with the implications. “And because I’m the true heir, this means I’ve been chosen according to her principles?”

 

Tifnang nodded. “Exactly. The enchantments that protect your legacy are based on Lady Magic’s guidelines. They ensure that only someone who possesses the right qualities—qualities that align with her expectations—can claim the inheritance. This is why the Rite of Recognition is so crucial. It will formally acknowledge your claim and activate the protective measures that have been set in place.”

 

He paused, allowing Hermione to absorb the weight of his words. “Lady Magic’s influence extends to the preservation of magical traditions and the safeguarding of significant legacies. The artifacts and knowledge you are about to inherit are not just powerful; they are also tied to the very principles that govern magical harmony.”

 

Hermione’s mind raced with the enormity of what she was being told. “So, this Rite of Recognition is not just a formality—it’s a way of ensuring that I am truly aligned with Lady Magic’s expectations?”

 

“Yes,” Tifnang confirmed. “It is both a formal acknowledgment and a magical rite. By performing it, you will affirm your readiness to embrace the responsibilities and powers that come with your inheritance. It will also establish the enchantments that protect you and your legacy from those who might seek to exploit it.”

 

Hermione took a deep breath, feeling a mixture of awe and apprehension. The knowledge that her role was intertwined with such an abstract and profound force as Lady Magic added a new layer of gravity to her responsibilities. But it also imbued her with a sense of purpose and determination.

 

“You are aware, that I am Muggleborn? I know that I have found some evidence of Squibs in my family line, which means I’m not a true ‘muggleborn’ but surely that would mean I’m ineligible for the Heirship?”

 

Tifnang grimaced before replying, “You are not from Squibs. The previous Head of the family destroyed their magical cores.”

 

Hermione’s eyes widened at Tifnang’s grim response. “Destroyed their magical cores?” she echoed, sounding alien and harsh on her tongue. “But why would anyone do such a thing?”

 

Tifnang’s expression hardened. “The previous Head of the family, who was aligned with dark and extreme beliefs, sought to erase all traces of what he considered 'undesirable' magical traits. In his twisted logic, he believed that eradicating the magical essence of certain family members would purify the bloodline and strengthen his own claim to the Headship of the family.”

 

Hermione’s heart sank. Deliberately destroying someone’s magical core was abhorrent, a severe violation of the fundamental respect for magic and its practitioners. “So, are you saying that my being Muggleborn is somehow a result of this?”

 

“No, you are not muggleborn, consider your family Magical but just damaged cores, this is why some of them still show some magical traits.” Tifnang confirmed. “The destruction of magical cores by the former Head caused a significant disruption in the family’s magical lineage. Those who were left were either rendered non-magical or severely weakened. However, the enchantments tied to Lady Magic’s principles ensured that the true heir—someone with the inherent qualities aligned with her expectations—could still emerge, despite the corruption of the bloodline.”

 

Hermione’s mind reeled from Tifnang’s revelation, her thoughts racing as she tried to piece together the implications. “So, my family wasn’t entirely stripped of their magical essence?”

 

Tifnang shook his head. “No, the damage was not absolute. Some members of your family retained remnants of their magical traits, though their abilities were significantly diminished. This is why you might have noticed some peculiar aspects about your parents.”

 

Hermione frowned, trying to reconcile this with her own experiences. “My father often talked about having a kind of sixth sense about danger when he served in the armed forces, before becoming a Dentist. He used to say he had a knack for sensing when something was off, even before it happened. And my mother…” she caught herself before she let slip that part about parseltongue.

 

Tifnang’s eyes narrowed slightly, considering the additional context. “Your father’s sixth sense could indeed be a residual effect of the magical traits that were never fully erased. Even damaged magical cores can sometimes manifest as heightened senses or instincts, which can be particularly useful in dangerous situations. I was unaware he was a Warrior, we will inform the clerks to treat him with deserved respect.”

 

Hermione absorbed this, feeling relief and confusion. Her father’s experiences and her mother’s Parseltongue ability now seemed to fit into a larger, more complex picture of her family’s magical legacy.

 

“Is this why I’m different?” Hermione asked, not asking her real question, but was this why she was brought here? Because Lady Magic decided she matched the ideals needed to be a true Heir? Another piece for the puzzle.

 

Tifnang nodded. “Yes. The remnants of your family’s magical traits, combined with your own qualities, have shaped your unique connection to magic. Lady Magic’s enchantments recognise this intrinsic connection, even if the external evidence of magical heritage was diminished. Your abilities, both those inherited and those developed through your own efforts, align with her expectations and the essence of the true heir.”

 

Hermione’s thoughts were a whirlwind. The realisation that her parents’ peculiar traits were not just quirks but tied to the legacy she was about to inherit gave her a new perspective on her identity. Her past and present challenges seemed to intertwine with a deeper, almost ancient purpose.

 

Tifnang continued, “The Rite of Recognition will not only confirm your role but will also help to fully integrate your remaining magical traits with the legacy you are set to inherit. It will restore some of the lost balance and ensure that you are prepared to wield the responsibilities that come with your new role.”

 

Hermione nodded, feeling a renewed sense of determination. The complexities of her family’s magical history were daunting but understanding them was crucial to embracing her inheritance. “I’m ready to proceed. I want to honour this legacy and ensure that the wrongs of the past are addressed.”

 

Tifnang’s gaze softened with approval. “Very well. Study the Rite of Recognition carefully. It will help you reconcile the remnants of your family’s magic with your role as the true heir. We will reconvene at the designated time to perform the rite and set the course for your journey.”

 

Hermione returned to the appointed chamber in Gringotts, her nerves tingling with anticipation and apprehension. The ornate room had been prepared for the Rite of Recognition, its dimly lit atmosphere now more intense with a sense of solemnity. The long table where Tifnang had previously sat was now flanked by two additional goblins, each dressed in ceremonial robes that shimmered with subtle enchantments.

 

Tifnang stood at the head of the table, his eyes sharp and his posture commanding. He motioned for Hermione to approach, and she took her place at the opposite end, her heart pounding.

 

“Welcome, Miss Granger,” Tifnang said, his voice resonating with authority and reverence. “This is a crucial moment, and the Rite of Recognition must be conducted with precision and respect for the ancient traditions.”

 

Hermione nodded, trying to steady her breathing as she looked around the room. The walls were adorned with ancient symbols and runes, their meanings enigmatic but clearly significant. In the centre of the table lay an intricately carved chest, it's surface covered in magical glyphs that seemed to pulse with a faint, ethereal light.

 

Tifnang continued, “The Rite of Recognition is designed to validate your claim as the true heir and to harmonise your magical essence with the legacy you are about to inherit. It will involve several steps, each of which is vital for the proper establishment of your role.”

 

One of the ceremonial goblins approached the chest and carefully opened it, revealing a set of ancient, elaborately inscribed scrolls and a small, ornate vial filled with a shimmering liquid. The goblin lifted the vial with a delicate, practised motion and handed it to Tifnang.

 

“This vial contains the Essence of Recognition,” Tifnang explained. “It is a rare and potent substance that will allow us to confirm your alignment with Lady Magic’s principles. It is essential that you are in full accord with the legacy you are about to inherit.”

 

Hermione’s hands trembled slightly as she accepted the vial from Tifnang. The liquid inside swirled with an iridescent glow, casting shifting light patterns on the table.

 

Tifnang continued, “You will need to drink a small portion of this essence. It will initiate a magical resonance that aligns with the enchantments protecting your legacy. Do not be alarmed by any sensations you may experience; they are part of the process.”

 

Hermione took a deep breath and uncorked the vial. The liquid inside seemed to hum with soft energy as she carefully poured a few drops into a small crystal chalice provided by the goblin. Holding the chalice steady, she brought it to her lips and drank.

 

As the essence touched her lips, a warmth spread through her, accompanied by a tingling sensation that seemed to resonate with her very core. The room around her blurred momentarily as the magical energy connected with her, causing her to feel as if she were being gently enveloped by an unseen force.

 

Tifnang watched closely, his expression inscrutable. The two other goblins began to chant in an ancient, rhythmic language, their voices weaving a complex tapestry of sound that filled the room. The glyphs on the chest and the walls began to glow brighter, responding to the essence and Hermione’s presence.

 

After a few moments, the sensations subsided, and Hermione found herself back in the room, feeling a subtle but profound shift within her. Tifnang stepped forward and carefully took the chalice from her.

 

“The Essence of Recognition has done its work,” Tifnang said. “Now we proceed to the next phase. This part of the rite will involve a symbolic gesture that represents your acceptance of the legacy and the responsibilities it entails.”

 

He gestured to the ancient scrolls in the chest. The goblins unrolled one of the scrolls, revealing intricate patterns and symbols that glowed softly. Tifnang indicated a blank space at the bottom of the scroll, next to a place where Hermione was to sign her name.

 

“This scroll,” Tifnang explained, “contains the formal acknowledgment of your claim. By signing it, you are not only affirming your role but also binding yourself to the principles and responsibilities of the legacy. Your signature will activate the final protective enchantments.”

 

With a steady hand, Hermione took a quill and signed her name in the designated space. As she did, the runes on the scroll flared with a bright, golden light, and the room was filled with a low, harmonious hum.

 

The two ceremonial goblins moved precisely, sealing the scroll and performing additional incantations to finalise the enchantments. The glow from the scroll intensified and began to fade, leaving behind a faint, lingering aura that seemed to settle over the room.

 

As the final enchantments settled and the glowing light from the scroll faded, Hermione felt a strong pressure on her, almost as if judging her and then it lifted suddenly. The room’s ambience shifted, and the ancient symbols on the walls dimmed, leaving behind a quiet stillness. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself, but suddenly, an intense wave of dizziness overcame her.

 

Tifnang and the ceremonial goblins watched keenly as Hermione’s legs buckled beneath her. Her vision blurred, the room spinning in a disorienting whirl of shadows and light. Before she could react, her knees gave way, and she collapsed to the floor, her consciousness slipping away.