Chapter Text
Hermione Granger and the Displaced Sorting
Harry Potter Fanfiction
Chapter 1
A/N: Okay, this is sort of a repeat author’s note that was included in the first book. First off, this is a sequel. If you haven’t read Hermione Granger and the Year Hidden From Hogwarts, you’ll need to read that, otherwise you might be a little confused at why Hermione’s starting her second year but has no idea who Harry and Ron are.
So, some words of caution---not to say that all of this stuff will be happening in this very book, but it’s a warning to let you know early on what will be so that you don’t have to be surprised later on down the road since I intend for this to be a long series. These stories are going to very loosely follow the events in canon, if at all. This is a lighter, fix-it type of story, because what’s the point of writing a fanfiction without trying your hand at changing something?
As the title might imply, Hermione will be the star of the show. While some of the misadventures Harry embarks on will happen, they’ll either be off-screen or altered from canon. The point of this series is to create new adventures for Hermione and see how they affect the canon plot.
Also, as of writing this author’s note, I haven’t solidified any pairings. I’ve planned out the seven years in just under twenty pages of notes, but this is for fanfiction, and planning beyond the major plot points is cumbersome and timely. Since I also write for money, I won’t spend that much time figuring out every detail beforehand. The focus is on experiencing the adventures with friends, and if she experiences crushes and dates along the way, then so be it. Part of the adventure is not knowing who her end game is. Just be advised that I have a proclivity for Hermione/Multi. pairings or reverse-harem pairings, though Hermione will be older before that happens.
Lastly, without revealing too much of the plot, she descends from two powerful lines and will have two rare abilities because of it. If over-powered Hermione is not your kick, you might want to keep scrolling. She’ll save lives, she’ll lose some, some things might echo major events she experienced in the book series, but nothing so repetitive that you’re just reading a copy and paste of Rowling’s stories.
TLDR, but read this if you’re on ff.net::
If you read any of my author’s note, read this, especially if you read on fanfiction. I received a review saying that my story violated fanfiction rules. I’m not sure if the person read the entire story or not because they say and I quote: Writing stories involving characters under the age of 12 isn’t allowed. They said if I want to continue writing the story, I need to age her up by at least one year or else the story will be deleted and I will be banned from the site.
End quote.
The reason I’m not sure if they read the actual story is because, if you’re with me from the first story, you might recall that Hermione was a lot younger than just the year shy of the “over 12” safety line when the story opened. Aging her up “at least a year” would put her at 7. So if they read the story, maybe the only meant what happened when she was 11-12?
Throughout the story there isn’t cussing, there isn’t sex, she doesn’t even have a crush in the story. There’s no abuse unless you count the off-screen slight mental manipulation Ms. Walker employed to scare Hermione into convincing her to leave her parents.
The worst thing that happened to Hermione personally was that she got some scrapes and bruises when she fought in the Trials, and that was in April 1992 (I know, I’ve been keeping a detailed outline), which makes her already 12, so… yeah.
There was the scene with the erkling where she was about to be drowned, but again, the worst was a scare and implication, not actual explicit, drawn out, in your face violence.
I’m going to assume, unless those types of suspense and action sequences really aren’t allowed,, that the reviewer read the original author’s note in Ch. 1 about eventual reverse-harem pairings and thought… that Hermione was already doing that at 12? I don’t know. Again, that was so readers were aware of what was coming waaay down the road before investing so much time into it if it’s not their cup of tea.
I’m not changing Hermione’s age. I’ve put lots of effort into following the canon Harry Potter timeline—too much probably. I don’t think it violates any rules, so to appease this reviewer makes no sense, especially if they didn’t even actually read what they were trying to correct. And maybe they did, and I’m in the wrong. `\_( ~_~)_/`
The story will get deleted then. I do this for fun and to share with other Hermione fans and will continue to do so on other sites.
Because of that, if the horror stories on the internet about this group are to be believed (can’t say if they are since many warn that just replying to them opens authors up to targeting), they might report my story enough to get it banned by the fanfiction moderators.
So… if you’re reading on ff.net, you might want to also look for my name or stories on AO3 or Wattpad in case Hermione Granger and the Year Hidden from Hogwarts gets deleted. I go by the same name: mia1200s
Hermione will be 13 soon in this story to follow along with canon as we’re rolling into the start of second year, so this story should be safe.
Chapter 1 – August 17th, 1992
Hermione glanced up at her mum’s voice. “Hermione! Filius is here!”
A beaming smile split her face as she snapped the journal shut with probably too much force for something written in the Medieval Era, especially when she felt Ingis, the fire-dwelling salamander that always made himself home in the hair at her neck, startle against her skin. She winced, realizing her mistake, and searched every inch of the diary for damage, releasing a sigh of breath when there was no harm done. “Sorry, Ignis.”
He chirped and chattered back, content to return to sleep. He’d had a long night, becoming her self-appointed guardian in her sleep to scare off all but the most obstinate of her nightly ghost visitors.
She raced down the stairs. “Flitwick, Flitwick! I think I’ve put it together!”
The short man with dark hair and a perfectly trimmed mustache grinned at her enthusiasm even if the confused wrinkle of his brows displayed his uncertainty. “What are you talking about, Hermione?”
Hermione pushed aside the tea spread and opened the journal on the coffee table before him.
“Her-mione!” her mum gasped in that way that split her name into two distinct words to show her disproval.
“What’d Tootsie do now?” her dad hollered from the kitchen.
She ignored her parents’ back and forth and used her finger to point at a word. “Guiomar had relations with Morgana le Fay. The knight is cited in several resources, sometimes being referred to as Guingamore and Sir Gryngamore. Now, names change throughout time. They move to another country and want to naturalize the foreignness of their name to better assimilate, old spellings fall out of fashion, et cetera. I’ve gone back so far as to find out Granger was a variation of Grainger, but really, I have so much to study, once I saw the name referenced in Morgana’s diary, I thought that must be the connection. How else could Dad and I be direct descendants from the le Fay line?”
“Cool, Tootsie,” her dad grinned, plopping on the couch beside her. “We’re knights.”
Mum scoffed and rolled her eyes, but Dad sent her such a salacious waggle of his eyebrows that she had to fight a smile.
Flitwick frowned down at the text. “You can read this?”
Hermione shifted in her seat. “Er, yeah. Old English is difficult, sure, but it can be done, especially if all you want to do is read it.”
“Yes, but it’s not easy.”
Hermione shrugged. “I’m a fast learner, but look, this is the key.” She turned the book back around and started translating out loud. “’I fear for my children. Magic is nothing short of a miracle, but it has brought me nothing but trouble and grief. At odds with my dear brother Arthur, prejudiced by his father King Uther against all things paranormal. Already, the child from my first marriage to a man twice my age, is lost to me. My dear, sweet Yvain. Gone to me by the poisoned whisperings of that cow, Urien. He will rue the day he turned that little boy against me. The wonder with which Yvain viewed the world, the twinkle that used to light his eyes at the sight of magic, has been dulled, dulled to distrust of his own mother. No matter how I wish it were not so, I fear he is too late to save, and it pains me. I wake, drenched in sweat with nightmares that the same will befall my dear little Amryn. My deeds matter little in the simple-minded of the masses who see only misdeeds.’”
Hermione’s mum sat on her other side, looking entranced at the sorceress mother’s plight.
Hermione cleared her throat and continued. “’I do not want a life of persecution for Amryn. He shows more aptitude for magic. Just the other day, I entered the kitchens to see him talking to the bluejays and sharing his apple tart. With strife among the kingdoms, I worry that not even the secluded isle of Avalon is safe.’”
Flitwick straightened. “Avalon is real?”
Hermione bit her lip. “It must be, though her referring to it as an island discounts what most historians believe, that Avalon is Glastonbury Tor.”
“Now, Tootsie, not necessarily,” her dad corrected. “With such a high elevation, it could’ve easily been an island if the water levels were much higher back then.”
Hermione continued reading, chewing over that thought since magic could have pulled something like that off. “’It kills me to do this, but I have made my decision. Amryn will not know the strife that I’ve suffered. The more I study to become stronger to protect us all, the more I feel the pull of the dark. Whispers plague me, visions of things that are not there, dark creatures find me. In moments of clarity, when the black fogs ease away and my thoughts are my own again, I know that I’ve sacrificed my sanity for our safety, and I worry something will happen. I can feel it on the cold, bitter winds--a warning. As my last act of goodwill, I will do the best thing for Amryn, and the worst thing for me as a mother. The spell I’ve created, pacem magicae sanguinis mei—’” Hermione paused, “Er, that means ‘peace, magic of my blood.’”
“What was it supposed to do?” Flitwick prodded.
“It was supposed to hide Morgana's bloodline, at least until they were old enough to reach maturity and be better able to protect themselves. I can’t say for sure, but since the Gringotts blood test said both my parents were muggles, I’m going to assume that didn’t happen. Maybe it suppressed the line entirely, until me.”
Her dad puffed up. “You hear that, honey? You’re looking at a bonafide descendant of Arthurian legend. Sir Granger has a nice ring to it, you reckon?”
Her mum’s cheeks reddened a bit, and she jumped up and whapped Dad’s shoulder. “Richard Daniel Granger.”
“Sir Richard Daniel Granger, thank you,” he corrected, a grin on his face as he tried to circle the sofa to keep a shield between himself and his annoyed wife.
Flitwick shook his head, grinning at her parents before he turned back to her. “What I don’t get is why, if it suppressed magic all this time, why did it suddenly stop with you?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it wasn’t safe to stop before this point? Maybe the magic was more sentient than Morgana thought and made that determination on its own. Or it wore off.”
“Perhaps, but I don’t think it’s any safer for you than it would’ve been, say, for your dad.”
Hermione frowned. “Well, I do know how the spell was intended to work. It was supposed to shield Morgana’s son until he matured. Maybe he was found out and cursed, but I do know that the day I got my letter from Hogwarts was the day…err…”
Dawning lit her mum’s features. “Oh, baby. You started your period while you were at that awful place?”
Hermione blushed right down to her roots, and both Flitwick and her dad tried to make excuses to leave but her mother glared at them until they sheepishly held their own counsel, glancing around the room. Oddly enough, Flitwick appeared less uncomfortable than her dad.
“Er, yes, Mum, and I’ve already got the hang of it. We can discuss it later, right?”
“Right,” her mum nodded. “And so, the very same day, your Hogwarts letter arrived?”
Hermione nodded. “I never drew the connection between the two events until I read Morgana’s description. Things were different. They didn't have a contrived law that set a blanket age for legal and not legal, so it makes sense that maturity would be linked to puberty. ”
Flitwick tilted his head, deep in thought. “Huh. Pacem magicae sanguinis mei. Peace, magic of my blood. I suppose it does fit.”
Hermione nodded, eager to have convinced someone of her theory. “And I’m only halfway through her journals, so I hope to find more answers. Maybe there’s a reason in her later years why it did what it did.”
Flitwick nodded. “You do that. This is all very fascinating. And, Emma, thank you for the tea. Hermione, if you’re ready?”
“Oh, of course! Let me just take this back up to my room,” she replied, hopping to her feet. She paused at the foot of the stairs. “No Erl today, right?”
Erl was the erkling she’d bonded to her to save her life. He was a grouchy little thing, but they worked really well together in training exercises. Not to mention she still felt guilty over how she’d basically enslaved him to her, so she always sought ways to include him.
“No, Miss Granger,” he answered in what she called his “professor’s” voice. “You have your exams tomorrow. Just wand work today, I’m afraid.”
“It was worth a try,” she replied, racing up and back as fast as she could, kissing her parents goodbye despite the hurry—because she’d learned the hard way those moments were important—and rushed out the front door.
She followed Flitwick to the side area between a fence and tree, grabbed his hand, and braced for the Side-Along apparition.
Since he’d been over to help tutor her in magic for the past two months, she’d somewhat acclimated to the tight, squeezing sensation of wizard teleportation, but it still left her disoriented and stumbling when the magical travel spit her out at the destination.
Said destination was Flitwick’s home, a modest cottage area located in a secluded corner of an all-magical community. It was the only place she could practice the spells from the first-year curriculum without activating the trace.
“Will we be in the field or the dueling room, professor?”
Flitwick’s eyebrow rose. “Professor?”
She grinned at him. “Just practicing. School starts in exactly two weeks.”
“Two weeks and one day, Hermione. Don’t rush my summer,” Flitwick corrected with a wink.
“Well, sure, but the train arrives the day before, and that counts.”
“Fair enough. Now, you’ve got a handle on the charms, defense, and what little transfiguration I remember. I’m sure you’ll breeze through the history, astronomy, and herbology portions. And don’t think I didn’t recognize the thick, mud-like consistency of that Polyjuice potion you had brewing on the living room sideboard. Those ingredients are incredibly rare. How did you track them all down?”
Hermione grinned. “My dad has taken great pleasure in trying to trick as many wizards as he can into thinking he’s one of them. He even got fit for his own set of robes. He’s actually quite adept now at haggling with the storeowners down in Knockturn.”
“Knockturn!” Flitwick exclaimed, alarmed. “You shouldn’t go down there by yourselves. What if something happened? Your father could slip up, show his hand. You—”
“We dress Erl up in a cloak as well. They assume he’s some sort of goblin. Either way, between Erl and I, we’re not in too big of danger. Are you forgetting I faced a nundu?”
Flitwick shook his head and cast a spell at her without warning. She flew back, landing in the rose bush. “Do not get too co*cky, Hermione. We’ve been practicing a lot, and you’ve been trained as well, but it doesn’t take genius or strength to catch someone off guard, which is what would happen if you were targeted by the likes of those that frequent Knockturn Alley.”
Hermione’s cheeks burned, but she accepted the hand up Flitwick offered. “You’re right. Sorry. It’s just… I want to be the best I can be, and if that means a little danger so that I can pass all my exams, then the reward outweighs the risk.”
“It’s good to push yourself, but it’s also healthy to remember there’s always going to be someone better than you at something or another. Don’t set impossible goals. That’s no way to live. If you’d chosen to brew any of the recipes in the Standard Book of Spells for grade one or even grade two, you would’ve been able to find all the necessary ingredients right within Diagon Alley. But you chose a NEWT level potion.”
Hermione sighed, feeling small as she kept her eyes glued to her feet.
Flitwick relented. “It’s okay to set your goals high, but please don’t take so many risks.” He smiled. “I’d like you to make it to your sorting in one piece.”
Hermione nodded. “Sorry.”
“That’s okay, Hermione. Now, as I was saying, you've covered transfiguration, charms, DA, potions, herbology, history, astronomy, and herbology. Honestly, I think you’re about as ready as you can be apart from flying. Are you ready to get back on the broom?”
Hermione’s eyes rounded as she shook her head in the negative.
Flitwick sighed. “You face a nundu on your own without a wand, and you want to kick up a fuss at a broom. They make brooms for toddlers, you realize?”
Hermione huffed. “Why would anyone need a broom when they can just apparate?”
“You can’t, not until you’re of age,” he reminded.
“Still.”
“Okay, we’ll ignore your fear of heights and hope you get through your flying practical tomorrow. What would you like to do instead with our time?”
“Can you tell me about the sorting?”
He grinned. “Just like all the other times you’ve asked, no. It’s a long-guarded secret, a rite of passage, if you will.”
Hermione deflated. “But, can you at least tell me if they decided to do my sorting in private?”
“Ah,” Flitwick shifted and scratched the back of his neck. “I believe they would rather have you follow tradition as close as possible. They’re going to have you sorted with the first-years, but, if you pass—sorry, when you pass your exams, you’ll be placed in the second-year dorms and classes.”
“There won’t be a big announcement, will there?”
Flitwick hedged some more. “It’s hard to predict what Albus will do.”
“Great.” Hermione’s shoulders hunched.
Flitwick snapped his fingers. “I know. How about we do a duel? You’ve been begging for one. Let’s use it as a practical to combine what you’ve learned. What is that look for?” he asked when he spotted her face.
“You’re a dueling champion.”
“I’ll go easy on you.”
Two hours later, she leaned against the oak tree in the backyard, patting out the scorch marks on her shirtsleeve before it could fan into a fire. She was sore, out of breath, and would prefer a nundu to a repeat of the recent duel.
By contrast, Flitwick bounced around, looking like a jogger running in place to keep up his heartrate while waiting in traffic. “That was exhilarating, Hermione. Well done!”
Hermione groaned, not having the energy to do anything else.
Flitwick released a carefree laugh before he summoned some water and sat beside her.
She took greedy gulps in between her fast breaths until her head no longer felt like it was going to explode.
“Better?” Flitwick asked.
She nodded, calling on her visiomagus abilities. That was the wizarding term for her rare talent to perceive things most couldn’t. Since she’d been afflicted with the condition her entire life, she’d already coined “metavision” when referring to what she did—tuning into, not another realm as she’d assume at a young age when she thought she could only see ghosts, but another frequency of reality.
The world washed over in dark indigo, almost black, making everything with an energy signature stand out in varying washes of color. She’d been told that her eyes glowed magnesium bright when she did this, so she only did it around people who knew her secret.
“You know,” she began, staring down at her wrist and the golden band that, if she looked close enough would show the words of the magical contract they’d signed. “I never thanked you for being my Goblin Spokesperson.”
“I nearly got you killed.”
“No, you gave me back my life.”
They’d discussed this on several occasions, but he always circled back around to the nundu she’d been forced to battle.
“Hermione?” When she looked at him, he continued, “I hadn’t drawn the connection after your trials because I was just so relieved that you’d survived an impossible task, but with your similar control over the erkling and Morgana’s description about her slipping into darkness… the kind of power you wield can be intoxicating if you aren’t kept grounded. I know you are not a corrupt individual, just by the way you haven’t taken advantage of that erkling, but it might be tempting as you grow. It would not be a bad thing to surround yourself with people to keep you from slipping down a path all too easy to corrupt. So, do well in school, prioritize your studies, but don’t forget that life isn’t just about power and knowledge. Promise me you’ll make friends as well.”
Hermione met his gaze, seeing the true concern there for her, and it made her throat clog with emotions. “I promise,” she choked out.
“Alright. Let’s get you back. You have a big day tomorrow.”
