Rewritten Destiny

Hermione sat cross-legged in the centre of her small room, the tools and runic stones spread out before her in meticulous order. The theory behind it was simple: enchanting objects with carefully chosen runes would help her control the overwhelming magical surges she experienced during the ritual she had performed weeks prior.

 

She held up the first stone, a delicate crystal she had purchased at Diagon Alley, perfect for her new necklace. It was important to use materials capable of withstanding and channelling immense magical power. Phoenix tears and basilisk venom had been suggested for their magical density, and though Hermione didn't yet have access to those rare ingredients, she resolved to begin with simpler stones and scale her work over time.

 

The book she had borrowed from the Room of Requirement, Power Stones and Enchanting, lay open beside her. She traced her fingers over the runes described, each one meant to amplify specific aspects of magical control—clarity, stability, and focus.

 

"Focus," she murmured to herself, setting the stone on the wooden table.

 

She reached for her wand but paused. Perenelle's words echoed in her mind: Enchanting is as much about intent as it is about the tools. Let your magic guide you, not just the symbols.

 

Taking a deep breath, Hermione set aside her wand and allowed the magic within her to flow naturally. She pressed her hand to the surface of the crystal, closing her eyes, imagining the ancient symbols in her mind's eye. The room felt charged with energy, like the air just before a storm, as the runes formed on the stone with her will alone, each glowing faintly as they absorbed her magic.

 

For a moment, she felt that familiar surge—the one that had begun ever since the Rite of Recognition. The power of her ancestors stirred inside her, a force that sometimes threatened to overwhelm her. She gritted her teeth, focusing harder. The stone pulsed in time with her heartbeat, and the magic ebbed away, not holding onto the stone, but it had drained her core to about 30%, which, whilst not what she had intended, was what she needed for the ritual to start strengthening her core.

---

As Hermione finally finished her work, the faint glow of the runes faded, leaving behind a small but significant sense of accomplishment. She sighed, rubbing her tired eyes, her mind was still racing with thoughts of the enchanting process.

 

The clock on her desk chimed, snapping her attention back to reality. She had missed dinner—again. Hermione bit her lip, guilt tugging at her conscience. Her mother had already expressed concern over how withdrawn she had become lately, immersed in her magical studies and often forgetting the small things, like joining her family for meals.

 

She slipped the necklace into a small pouch, carefully tucking away her materials before rising to her feet. With a weary sigh, Hermione made her way downstairs, her footsteps soft on the carpeted floor.

 

She found her mother in the kitchen, washing the last of the dishes. The soft clinking of porcelain echoed in the otherwise quiet house. Emma Granger turned as Hermione entered, her expression a mixture of relief and concern.

 

"Hermione," her mother began, drying her hands on a towel. "You missed dinner again."

 

Hermione lowered her gaze, feeling the weight of her mother's words. "I know, Mum. I'm sorry. I got... caught up in my studies." She stepped forward, her voice softening with genuine remorse. "I didn't mean to worry you."

 

Emma sighed, her features softening as she looked at her daughter. "I know how much your studies mean to you, Hermione, but I worry. You've been so... distant lately. Always in your room, barely coming down except for meals—and sometimes, not even then."

 

Hermione swallowed hard, guilt swirling in her chest. "It's not that I don't want to spend time with you and Dad," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's just... there's so much I need to learn. And the ritual I did—it's changing things, making everything feel more... intense."

 

Emma frowned slightly, concern deepening in her eyes. "What kind of ritual are you talking about?"

 

Hermione hesitated for a moment, trying to find the right words. "It's a magical ritual... something to strengthen my magical core. It's meant to help me control my power better, but it takes a lot out of me. I need to be stronger, more prepared for what's coming."

 

Her mother stepped closer, her worry evident. "But why, Hermione? Why do you feel like you have to push yourself so hard? You're only a child—"

 

"I'm not!"

 

Hermione's heart pounded the moment the words left her mouth. "I'm not," she had said, and it hung in the air heavier than she'd intended. Realization crashed over her—she had nearly slipped.

 

Her mother's eyes searched hers, filled with confusion and concern. Hermione quickly forced a smile, trying to soften her sudden outburst.

 

"I mean... I know I'm young," Hermione continued, choosing her words carefully. "But I feel like there's so much happening in the magical world—things that are bigger than me, bigger than all of us." She paused, her throat tight as she skirted the edge of the truth. "I can't afford to be weak."

 

Emma frowned, clearly not understanding the full depth of her daughter's inner struggle. "Why do you feel like that, Hermione? Why this sudden urgency to learn so much, so quickly?"

 

Hermione bit the inside of her cheek. She couldn't tell her mother about her past life, about the memories that haunted her in quiet moments, about the constant pressure of knowing things she shouldn't. But she could give her something close to the truth.

 

"There are... murmurs, Mum," Hermione began, choosing her words with care. "About a dark wizard. A very powerful one. He's not back yet, but people fear that he could return. And if he does—" She broke off, her voice trembling slightly. "He's the kind of person who could destroy everything. He's dangerous. I've read about him, I've seen the things he did before he was stopped. And now, even though it's just rumours, I can't help but feel like I need to be prepared."

 

Hermione's eyes dropped to her hands, her fingers tracing the edge of the table absently as her mind wandered to the stories she knew from the books and movies. She hadn't seen Voldemort's reign of terror, but the knowledge of what had happened was enough to haunt her. She remembered reading about the Muggleborn Registration Camps—the cruelty that had seeped through the wizarding world, not just under Voldemort, but even in the echoes of Grindelwald's tyranny.

 

"The thing is," Hermione began, her voice quieter now, "this dark wizard isn't just dangerous because of the power he has... it's what he represents. It's what happened before, during Grindelwald's time. There were camps, Mum—places where Muggleborns like me were rounded up. They called it 'registration,' but it was... it was so much worse." Her fingers tightened on the edge of the table, a heaviness settling over her as she continued.

 

"The way they treated people like us," Hermione said, her voice trembling slightly, "as if we didn't belong in the magical world at all. It wasn't just Voldemort—it started long before him, and it could happen again if someone like him came to power."

 

She looked up at her mother, seeing the fear and concern deepen in her eyes. "That's why I'm so focused. I don't just want to learn magic for the sake of it, Mum. I need to be prepared, because if he comes back... he could try to do the same thing again. To people like me."

 

Emma's expression softened into something more pained, her hand tightening slightly on Hermione's shoulder. "But how can you be sure this will happen, Hermione? Are there really signs that it's going to come back, that this dark wizard will try to rise again?"

 

Hermione hesitated, knowing she couldn't explain all the things she knew from her past life. But she could tell the truth as far as she dared. "There are whispers. People are afraid. They say that some of his followers are still out there, waiting for the right moment. It's just... rumours now, but I can't ignore them. I don't want to be caught off guard, not if things start to go bad."

 

Emma Granger's face paled, her hands trembling as she gripped the back of a kitchen chair. She stared at Hermione in shock, her breath coming in shallow gasps.

 

"Camps? Registration? Dark wizards?" Her voice cracked, rising with each word. "Hermione, this sounds... this sounds like something out of a nightmare. Something out of history we vowed never to repeat! You're talking about this as if it's inevitable, as if—"

 

"Mum, please," Hermione interrupted gently, stepping closer, her voice low but firm. "I didn't mean to scare you, but you need to understand—this isn't just some hypothetical fear. This kind of thing happened before in the magical world, and it could happen again."

 

Emma's eyes widened even further. "Then why are we still here? If this is as bad as you say—if you truly believe something like this could happen again—why haven't we packed up and left already? Why haven't we taken you out of all of this?"

 

Hermione blinked, startled by her mother's sudden vehemence. "Mum, we can't just leave—"

 

"Why not?" Emma demanded, her voice breaking. "We could move away from all of this! We're not part of that world—we don't have to be part of it! You're only thirteen! You shouldn't be talking about dark lords and concentration camps like they're something you have to prepare for!" She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself but failing. "I can't stand the thought of you being caught up in something so... horrific. We should be getting you out, not letting you dive deeper into it."

 

Hermione felt a surge of emotion—both guilt and frustration. She couldn't blame her mother for reacting this way; it was a perfectly reasonable instinct. But leaving wasn't an option, not for her.

 

"Mum, I know you want to protect me, but this... this isn't something we can just run away from," Hermione said, trying to keep her voice steady. "No matter where we go, it will find us. It's not just about being in the magical world or not—it's about who I am. I'm Muggleborn. If someone like Voldemort rises again, people like me will always be at risk, no matter where we are."

 

Emma's lips trembled as she struggled to understand. "But... but we could go somewhere safe—where you're not exposed to this kind of danger. There must be somewhere we could go."

 

Hermione shook her head slowly. "Mum, it doesn't work like that. When a dark wizard like Voldemort gains power, he doesn't care about borders or where we live. He'll target Muggleborns wherever we are—whether we're in the magical world or not. It's why I need to be prepared. Running would only put us in more danger."

 

Emma's eyes filled with tears, her hands shaking as she reached out to cup Hermione's face. "I don't want you fighting wars you shouldn't have to fight," she whispered, her voice cracking with emotion. "You're my little girl. I don't want you caught up in this."

 

Hermione's heart clenched painfully. She leaned into her mother's touch, her voice softening. "I don't want to fight, Mum. I really don't. But if things go the way I think they might... I won't have a choice. I have to be ready for whatever comes."

 

Emma shook her head, tears slipping down her cheeks. "No... no, we can't just sit here and do nothing. I can't let you stay in that school if this is what's coming. We'll pull you out. You can go to a normal school. We'll leave—"

 

"Mum, please," Hermione said, her voice firm but pleading. "You can't pull me out of Hogwarts. It's the only place I can learn what I need to protect myself—and to protect you and Dad. The magical world isn't just going to disappear because we want it to. We're part of it now, whether we like it or not."

 

Emma swallowed hard, looking at her daughter as if seeing her for the first time. "You're... you're so young, Hermione. You shouldn't have to be thinking like this."

 

Hermione bit her lip, guilt twisting in her stomach. She had never wanted to drag her parents into this world's dangers, but it was unavoidable now. "I know, Mum. But I've seen enough to know that ignoring it won't make it go away. If we don't prepare, if I don't learn everything I can, we'll be caught off guard. And I don't want that to happen. Not to us."

 

Her mother's tears came faster now, but she nodded shakily, her hands trembling as she held Hermione's. "I just don't know how to help you, sweetheart. I feel so... helpless."

 

Hermione wrapped her arms around her mother in a tight embrace, feeling the warmth of her mother's love and worry. "You help just by being here," she whispered. "I promise I'll be careful. I won't do anything reckless. But I need to keep learning."

 

Emma pulled back slightly, looking Hermione in the eyes. "Just... promise me one thing. If it ever gets too dangerous—if you feel like it's more than you can handle—you'll come to us. You'll tell us, and we'll find a way out, alright?"

 

Hermione nodded, though deep down, she knew that once the danger came, there wouldn't be a way out. But she couldn't tell her mother that. "I promise, Mum," she said softly. "I'll tell you if it gets too bad."

 

Emma nodded slowly, pulling Hermione back into a tight hug as if trying to shield her from the dangers of a world she couldn't fully understand.

 

In that moment, Hermione realized just how much she had to protect—not just the magical world, but her family. And she would do everything in her power to make sure they were never caught in the crossfire.