Caged

Author’s Note: I got this idea a million years ago and just rewrote it. It is alternate universe so please don’t be surprised. Hope you like it! Enjoy, Read, Review!

Caged
Prologue

London, England
November 1798

“Mrs. Greene, I wasn’t expecting you until Wednesday.”

The older, plump woman smiled, her reddish-brown hair piled atop her head precariously, “Yes well, Mr. Greene went to Oxford and I haven’t paid a visit in two weeks so I thought I’d see how Mr. Talbit is doing.”

“Oh, Mr. Talbit actually left this morning, his fever cleared up Saturday night,” the nun replied, leading Mrs. Greene through the hall and farther into the building.

Mrs. Greene nodded, “I’m so glad he’s recovered, that fever was impertinent.”

“Yes,” the nun smiled. “Quite. But Mrs. Greene, I was actually hoping you’d be able to pay a visit with a young woman who came to us just two days ago. She’s really a girl, very young, with a baby.”

“The girl is here?” Mrs. Greene asked as they walked up a flight of stairs.

The nun nodded, “Yes, her husband left her ages ago to look for a job and never returned, I’m afraid the poor girl is quite desolate.”

“The poor dear,” Mrs. Greene cooed, her eyes sad with empathy.

“The baby’s only two months old, and the girl is very sick.”

“Sick? What’s ailing her?”

“The cold and hunger has done nothing for her, she’s quite weak, she came here with the baby, quite desperate and alone,” the nun frowned. “I’m afraid she won’t last much longer.”

“Oh my,” Mrs. Greene replied, placing a hand to her heart. “I’d love to talk to the girl.”
When they reached the far end of the hall on the second floor the nun knocked on the door, “Catharine dear, are you awake?”

There was a shuffle of feet and then the door opened, revealing a tired-looking young woman.

“Catharine! You should be in bed,” the nun walked into the room and ushered her to the bed where she climbed in slowly, pulling the blankets around her.

“I’m sorry, I was just checking on the baby,” she said.

The nun frowned, “This is Mrs. Greene,” she gestured to the other woman who had timidly walked into the room. “She has come to visit you.”

Catharine nodded, her light blue eyes dim and red-rimmed. She had brown hair, furious with curls that fell around her slumped shoulders.

Mrs. Greene sat at a rickety chair beside Catharine’s bed and the nun left, closing the door behind her.

“I heard of your situation dear, I’m truly sorry you have to go through this,” she said.

“Thank you,” Catharine replied sadly. “It seems I can only rely on the kindness of strangers these days.”

Mrs. Greene frowned, folding her hands in her lap, she noticed the cradle at the other corner of the room, “What of your parents?”

“They refused to speak to me again once I married John, they don’t even know about my daughter,” she said, interrupted by a fit of raucous coughing.

“I’m so sorry dear,” she winced, wishing she could do more for the poor girl. “Your husband? You don’t know where he is?”

She shook her head in reply, then asked, “Mrs. Greene, do you have any children?”

“Oh no dear,” she smiled sadly. “Unfortunately I do not.”

Silence settled over the room, save for the cooing of the baby.

“Mrs. Greene,” Catharine began weakly. “Could I ask you an incredible favor?”

The woman nodded, “Of course, what is it?”

“I don’t think I’ll be here much longer, I know I’m weak. And I don’t know what’s to become of my daughter after I’m gone....”

“Don’t talk like that dear-”

“Even if I do make it.... I won’t be able to care for her, I have no money,” she sighed. “Mrs. Greene, would you-” she was cut off by another bought of coughing and wheezing. “Would you take my daughter, please?”

“Me?”

“You seem like such a kind woman, you don’t have to call her your own, just find her a nice home, or church somewhere who can find her-”

“Catharine, dear, I would love to take care of your child.”

Catharine sighed in relief, tears springing to her eyes and she smiled sadly, “Would it be all right if you took her with you today, I can’t bear to prolong it.”

“Of course.... May I go pick her up?”

Catharine nodded.

Mrs. Greene crossed the room, and picked up the squirming baby girl.

“Oh she’s beautiful.”

Catharine was about to say thank you but she broke off by uncontrollable coughing. She held her head, trying hard to breath deeply, all to no avail.

“You should sleep,” Mrs. Greene commanded. “I’ll leave you to rest-”

“Her name’s Hermione,” Catharine managed to say.

“Hermione,” Mrs. Greene smiled.

“Could I say goodbye to her?”

“Of course,” Mrs. Greene brought the baby over to her mother and Catharine pressed her lips together, trying desperately not to cry.

“I’m sorry Hermione, I love you.”

“She’s going to a safe home, don’t worry dear.”

The baby, Hermione, made soft noises of happiness as she settled into Mrs. Greene’s cradling arms.

Author’s Note: There is the prologue, hope you like it! Next chapter is coming soon!

Author’s Note: Hermione’s point of view from now on. Hope you like it!

Caged
Chapter One

London, England
June 1814

My childhood was never normal.

My parents had me very late in life and when I was a baby Mama died. A few years later Papa became very odd and jumpy around me and we started moving around a lot. First we went to Egypt, then Scotland and Norway. We lived in Romania for a short while and then India, after that it was an island in the Caribbean where Uncle Charles is stationed. Then I think it was Italy and Spain, then Holland,and then.... Austria maybe?

I can’t even remember now, we’ve moved around so many times I can’t even keep them in order anymore.

The odd thing about all this traveling was that my father didn’t let me out of the house unless I was going with one of my tutors or my governess with his permission or unless I was with him.

He never let me talk with the other children. He would look at many people suspiciously, especially the children my age who would play pretend along the sidewalks.

He told me I couldn’t even look at them.

I hated it very much.

I tried desperately to throw myself into the books my tutors gave me and settled for studying the way other people talked and dressed from the windows of the house.

On one occasion I got very mad at my father, my silent anger boiled inside me and I wished so desperately to go outside that the front door of our house in Italy shook in the frame and then simply fell off all together.

When my father found out he screamed at me and sent me to my room.

I didn’t know why he had been so angry, I hadn’t even touched the door.

Later on he explained that the expense of fixing the door is what had set him off and that it was just some faulty carpentry that had made the door fall.

That was right before we moved again, to Austria, perhaps, or maybe Spain.

The sun is high above our new house in London and it’s so hot I’m growing tired and content. I close my eyes, enjoying the coolness of the grass beneath my back. A gentle breeze makes its way over the stone walls of the garden and tickles my face. I sigh, enjoying the far off sounds of the city, imagining I’m a part of it all.

“Hermione!”

I wince as Mrs. Jacobs shouts my name.

“Hermione where are you?” she demands from within the house.

I don’t say anything, I don’t even open my eyes.

Her footsteps grow louder but I don’t move as she enters the garden, “Hermione Greene, how old do you think you are?”

I pretend to be asleep.

She walks over to me and stops, “You are much too old for this kind of behavior,” she tells me. “Get up.”

“Do I have to?” I ask.

“Yes, now,” she barks.

I groan inwardly as I get up and dust myself off.

“Hermione, when will you learn to be a lady?” she asks me, her stern gray eyes are glaring down at me and her thick fading black hair is pulled into a tight bun at the nape of her neck.

“Forgive me Mrs. Jacobs, I didn’t-”

She cuts me off, “Mr. Snape is here for your geography lesson,” and she turns swiftly on her heel, leading me inside.

I follow her reluctantly into the upstairs library where a tall man is waiting by the dormant fireplace. He has stringy, oily black hair and is wearing a dark, loose suit. From his profile I can see that he is sickeningly pale, with a large, hooked nose, and a sagging frown. When we walk in he looks toward us, I smile affably.

“Mr. Snape-”

“Professor Snape,” he corrects Mrs. Jacobs coldly.

“Forgive me,” she says quietly. “Professor Snape, this is Hermione.”

“Pleased to meet you, Professor Snape,” I say, nodding my head.

He doesn’t smile at all, only nods curtly and says, “Hermione.”

Oh great, another dreary teacher. At least he speaks English.

“Shall we begin the lesson?” he asks.

Luckily Mrs. Jacobs moves to the corner of the room, sitting in a stiff chair with a book, keeping a protecting eye on this new professor.

He walks over to the thick oak table in the middle of the room and pulls out one of the chairs, “Sit.”

I do so and fold my hands in my lap, waiting for whatever boring lesson he has planned for me.

“I thought we’d begin with some simple questions,” he says, picking up a piece of paper from the table. “If you don’t know an answer we’ll move on.”

I nod.

“Name at least four landlocked countries in Europe ,” he says.

I think for a minute, searching my brain for a map of Europe: “Landlocked? Erm.”

Professor Snape smirks a little.

“Switzerland, Hungary, Austria, Moldavia, Belarus- Oh! You wanted to four....”

“That will do,” he says in a clipped voice. “How about the countries bordering bodies of water.”

I look at him, “In Europe?”

He nods.

“All of them?”

“Is that a problem, Miss Greene?”

I shake my head, thinking for a moment.

“England, Ireland, Scotland.... France, Spain, Portugal, and erm, Italy,” I pause, thinking for a minute. “And Belgium, Germany, Sweden, Norway-”

“That’s enough, thank you.”

I silence myself.

“Can you name six capitals of any country in the world beginning with the letter B?”

“Brussels, Bucharest, Belgrade, Berlin, Beijing, and Banjul,” I say, afraid to look the man in the eye.

He glares at me all the same, “Right.”

He scans his list and then looks at me.

“Perhaps a harder question?”

I stare at him expectedly.

“What are some other names used to reference the Dead Sea?” he asks.

“Well, in Hebrew it’s Yam ha-Melakh, which means ‘sea of salt’ and also Yam ha-Mavet, and that means ‘sea of death.’ Also the Eastern Sea or Sea of Arava. I believe the Geeks called it Lake Asphaltites....” I trail off. “Oh in Arabic it is al-Bahr al-Mayyit which means-”

SLAM!

I stop talking immediately and jump in my seat as Professor Snape lets a book drop on the table with a loud bang. My eyes are wide as he leans on the table to meet my gaze.

“Miss Greene, may I ask how it is possible that a girl of your age knows so very much about geography?” he wonders.

“I’m sorry sir, is this is a geography question?” I reply.

“Hermione!” Mrs. Jacobs snaps at my tone.

“No,” he says icily. “This is not a geography question miss, but would you kindly answer it?”

I open my mouth but don’t say anything. I look at Mrs. Jacobs quickly, her book is laying in her lap forgotten and her eyes are looking at me with a warning.

I clear my throat, “Forgive me sir.... But, I’ve moved around quite a lot with my father before and everywhere we go I learn something new about the country or the whole of the area in general.”

He stares at me, not saying anything.

“I love learning about places,” I say, hoping the man doesn’t think I’m some snobby brat who ought to be abhorred completely.

“I see,” he stands up straight. “Then I believe I should leave now to prepare a more challenging lesson for the next time I see you.”

He doesn’t make it very hard to see his temper is shorter than a freshly cut blade of grass.

He begins packing up his papers and books into an odd leather case. I glimpse a rather thin stick inside the case, wondering if he uses it to strike people with. Maybe he would have struck me today if Mrs. Jacobs wasn’t here, just because I knew the answers to his ‘simple’ questions. I hope we move away from England soon, I don’t like this geography teacher.

I look to Mrs. Jacobs who nods to Professor Snape.

“Please forgive me Professor Snape sir,” I say, standing up. “It is one of my many faults that I can’t hold my tongue when speaking to people of such authority, my governess tells me it shall be my undoing.”

He looks at me for a minute, frowning, before he closes his briefcase with a tarnished clasp.

“Please forgive me sir.”

He picks the case up and stands tall, “Miss Greene, you’d do right to correct that fault of yours immediately, lest it affect your education the next time I come by.”

I bow my head, pretending I’ve been properly scolded.

With the case in hand he walks to the door, Mrs. Jacobs stands up.

“Goodbye,” he says in a short, hateful voice.

I hear him tromp down the stairs and then leave through the front door. He doesn’t go speak to father to tell him how the lesson went, he doesn’t wait to be walked to the door either. I go over to the window that faces the street and see him walk down sidewalk, looking behind him every once in a while to make sure no one’s following him, it seems. Mrs. Jacobs sighs behind me.

“Hermione, you really need to adjust your temperament. How do you expect to find a proper husband-”

“Mrs. Jacobs,” I cut her off without meaning to, “Why didn’t that man wear a hat outside?”

She throws her hands up in exasperation, “Heaven only knows child!”

I watch Professor Snape from the window until he disappears from view, “What a strange man,” I say to myself.

Author’s Note: Please don’t check my historical accuracy on any of the questions he asked her because I’m bound to be wrong. There is magic in this story even though it’s AU. Hope you liked the chapter! Next one’s coming soon!

Author’s Note: Thank you for those reviews! I promise everything will explain itself once the story gets going, and there will be romance!

Caged
Chapter Two

“How was your geography lesson today?” Father asks.

We’re currently sitting in the dining room the same night of the horrid lesson. Father is eating his soup contentedly, having no idea of how very horrible the lesson went. I’m grateful Mrs. Jacobs doesn’t dine with us for I’d feel terrible lying to my father about it in front of her. Although, I’m sure she’ll tell him all about my behavior later on.

I take a sip of water and decide to be honest.

“Professor Snape is a very strange man.”

He looks up a bit startled, then he continues drinking his soup, asking, “Why do you say that?”

I shake my head, “He didn’t wear a hat when he was outside.”

“That’s not all that strange,” he replies, wiping his mouth with his napkin before placing it in his lap again.

I pause, “No, I suppose it’s not Father,” I think for a minute. “But when he asked me a few questions on geography and I answered them right he became quite cross with me.”

“You did respect him as your elder, did you not?” he asks.

My cheeks grow warm and I swallow, “I-I thought so- But father he was just awful.”

“Don’t say awful,” he tells me, taking a sip from his glass of port. “And do not speak ill of others.”

“Yes, Father.”

His gray hair is gone in the front and thinning toward the crown of his head. His eyebrows are bushy but severe and his eyes are soft and dark behind glasses.

There’s silence as we finish our soup and I listen to the clock ticking in the hall. I speak just as I’m thinking.

“Oh Papa, please, I can’t bear to have another lesson with this wretched man! He expects me to answer all the questions incorrectly just to make him look intelligent!”

He looks at me with such shock that I shut my mouth.

“My child, you must learn to hold your tongue, really,” he shakes his head in shame. “Do not speak against your elders so, particularly when you do not know what is really happening.”

“But Papa-”

He cuts me off, “I will speak to Mrs. Jacobs about your lesson and see what she has to say.”

Blast.
------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s after dinner and Papa and I are sitting in the living room. He’s smoking his pipe in his chair, and reading through some pamphlets and letters. I’m sitting in the bay window seat facing the street outside. I have a book open in front of me but I’m hardly reading it. I’m so worried about what Mrs. Jacobs will tell Papa.

I grow bored with staring at the words in the book, words I can’t even comprehend right now. So I push back the curtains on the window and peek outside.

The sky is dark and the moon is big. There aren’t many people walking about, but there are quite a few carriages jostling around outside. I realize just how suffocated I feel staying inside a house day after day. I long to walk around outside in the open air. I’ve begun to feel like the walls are closing in on me and the ceiling is pressing down. I wish I could just walk under the open sky, without feeling like there’s something so close to keep me caged in.

Papa folds up all of his papers and puts them together in a leather writing case that I know will go in a locked drawer in his study. He sets his pipe down after a few minutes and clears his throat.

I look up.

“Spencer,” Papa calls our butler in.

When he arrives he says, “Sir.”

“Could you tell Mrs. Jacobs I’d like to see her.”

“Of course, sir,” and he turns and leaves the room.

My heart starts beating faster, I’m going to get in trouble. I’ll never be allowed out of the house, ever.

When Mrs. Jacobs comes into the room she’s smiling pleasantly.

“Good evening, Mrs. Jacobs,” Papa says. “Please sit down,” he points to the sofa across from him and then looks at me. “Hermione,” and then he points to the chair facing both of them.

I get up and sit down in it, leaving my book on the window seat.

“Thank you, sir,” Mrs. Jacobs says as she sits down.

After a few seconds Papa begins, “Mrs. Jacobs I wanted to ask you how Hermione’s geography lesson went today, you were there, correct?”

“Yes, sir,” she replies. “I thought the lesson went rather well, she certainly knew the answers to all of Professor Snape’s questions.”

Papa looks at me and nods, asking Mrs. Jacobs, “Is Professor Snape a good teacher, in your opinion?”

I pray, hoping she’ll tell him how horrible he was towards me for knowing the answers.

Mrs. Jacobs thinks for a minute, “He seemed to know quite a lot about what he teaches,” she pauses for a minute and I hold my breath. “Although, sir, he did lose his temper quite quickly.”

“And why is that?”

“I dare say it was because Hermione was answering the questions correctly, sir.”

A smile breaks onto my face immediately, thank you Mrs. Jacobs!

Papa looks at me again and my smile drops.

“I see,” he says. “I suppose we shall see how things go, if Professor Snape loses his temper for the same reason I will speak with him.”

I smile, hoping the lessons improve.

Papa continues, “Is there anything else about the lesson I should know, Mrs. Jacobs?”

She’s silent for a good minute and I just wait for her to tell him about my talking back. But I’m taken by surprise.

“No, sir.”

Papa smiles and I feel guilt wriggle inside my stomach, why didn’t she tell him? I frown, although I’m grateful.

Hours later when I’m laying in bed reading before I go to sleep I hear a knock at the door.

“Come in,” I say.

Mrs. Jacobs appears inside the room, and smiles sort of sadly at me. She closes the door behind her and walks over to me, sitting down on the side of my bed.

“Hermione,” she says very quietly, “I did you quite a favor today.”

“Oh I know Mrs. Jacobs, thank you so much!”

She looks at me with disappointment in her eyes, followed by great pride, “Dear, I’ve been caring for you ever since you were a baby and you know I love you as if you were my own daughter,” Hermione nodded. “But you must watch how you speak to people, particularly adults you don’t know.”

I nod, “I’m sorry.”

She looks at me for a good minute, “Are you really sorry?” she shakes her head. “It’s one thing talking to me that way, but Mr. Snape?”

“Professor Snape,” I correct her.

She gives me a very stern look, “Just be careful how you behave, understood?”

I nod again, “I understand, thank you.”

She nods and smiles at me, smoothing my hair a little, she then stands up, saying, “Now get to bed.”

I try to do as I’m told, as she leaves the room, but I fail slightly.

My room is warm and unfamiliar. We just came here to England last week from somewhere North and everything feels so much warmer here. I was actually getting used to the house we were just in, I even took to decorating my room a little. But then father decided to move again. Maybe it was the weather, or maybe the town was too crowded for him. I don’t know, I’ve given up trying to guess.

I do like England though, it feels more like home than any other place we’ve been. I just don’t want to make it feel like I belong here so much, because I’ll just end up heartbroken when we move again.

I get out of bed and walk over to my tiny balcony, I open the doors and let the warm breeze drift into my room. I’m surprised Papa hasn’t barred these doors so I can’t step out into the open air.

The night is beautiful and my heart aches, I wish I was allowed to be free and happy to go outside! I wish I was allowed to talk to people my own age, I wouldn’t even mind being sent to a boarding school a million miles away if it meant I could be with people my own age. I always see them outside, and they all look so happy and carefree when they’re together. I haven’t been outside since we got here, I’m almost tempted to climb down the side of the house and run away.

But I couldn’t, of course.

Author’s Note: There’s chapter two, hope you liked it!!!!!

Author’s Note: Thank you for the reviews! You know I love them! Here’s chapter three. Hope you like it.

Caged
Chapter Three

“Mrs. Jacobs, have you seen my wooden walking stick?” Papa asks as he enters the upstairs drawing room.

She thinks for a moment, taking off her glasses as she does so, “I believe I saw it in the hall sir, behind your umbrella.”

“Oh yes,” he agrees, “I do believe you’re right Mrs. Jacobs, thank you,” he turns to leave the room but I stop him.

“Papa?” he turns to look at me. “Are you going out?” I ask hopefully.

He nods curtly, “To the bank, I have a meeting with Mr. Merdock.”

I swallow, crossing my fingers behind my back, “Might I go with you?”

“No-”

“Oh please father! Please,” I beg. “I haven’t been out of the house since we arrived, I need some air-”

“No, this smoggy city air-”

“I need to go outside, oh please Papa!”

He inspects me for a minute, then says, “Hermione, I don’t understand what you think being outside will do to benefit you?”

My eyes grow large, my forehead crinkles, and I strategically pout my lips, “I won’t leave your side, I won’t even leave the carriage.”

He’s silent for a few long seconds.

Please. Please. Please. Please. Please-

“All right,” he gives in. “But you will not leave the carriage, do you understand?”

“I understand.”
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The carriage pulls up in front of the bank. It’s tall and wide, make of white-washed stone. There are many tall windows along the front of the building. Some people are sitting along the large steps going up to the building, but it’s mostly very young street urchins.

“Now listen to me Hermione,” Papa says. “You are not to leave this carriage, do you hear me?”

I nod, “I’ll stay right here, Papa.”

He gives me a stern look before getting out. He tells our driver, Charles, that I’m not to leave the carriage. Charles agrees to watch over me while my father is within the bank. Our trusty driver also assures Papa that no one will approach the carriage or speak to me, indirectly or otherwise.

I roll my eyes as father disappears into the bank and I’m left inside the carriage. I rest against the seat and then lean against the window, looking outside. Disappointment swirls around my brain, emptying all other feelings. Yes, I managed to get out of the house, but I’m stuck in the carriage by myself. There’s no question that a small part of me hoped I would be able to get out somehow and meet someone my age. A friend.

I feel as if I’m waiting for years in this carriage. I might as well be home if I’m going to be tortured with this kind of boredom. I tap my chin with my index finger. I wonder what Mrs. Jacobs is doing today, Papa gave her the afternoon off since I would be with him.

A yawn escapes my mouth and I don’t even try to stifle it. As long as I’ve known Charles he has always tried to make small talk with me, so I expect some sort of comment from him. Something like, ‘Sounds like someone wants a nap, eh little miss?’ But I receive no comment at all.

Father’s been gone nearly five minutes, but it feels like an eternity. Oh infernal boredom, wretched life that has given me a father that locks me away like a precious gem, never to be looked at by anyone else. What am I to do? How am I to live at all during my lifetime?

And then, a sound of hope.

Charles is lightly snoring, dozing uncomfortably in his seat.

I devilish thought enters my brain.

But I couldn’t-

Couldn’t I?

I sit back again, biting my thumbnail. No, I told Papa I’d stay put and I shall.

Just as my resolution to remain a good daughter sets in something stills my heart. A group of five or so people, my age, walking down the street. They’re talking animatedly and all laughing together. They’re all dressed oddly, wearing long black cloaks over their clothes. How strange. But they’re my age! And I think there’s a girl there.... Friends?

As they draw closer my heart speeds. I examine their clothes, their voices, the way they wear their hair, everything. They all seem so naturally friendly with one another, even the girl. My breath catches in my throat. Friendship must be magical, this everlasting bond between people that makes them so fond of one another. Sharing secrets, laughing together, giving advice, and just preventing the other from feeling so lonely. This magical, fantastic thing my father’s kept me from me.

As the group walks passed our carriage I look toward the doors of the bank. No sign of Papa. I listen for Charles. His snoring is deepening.

I slip out of the carriage and run down the street to catch up to them, only stepping on the balls of my foot. Even if father did come out of the bank now, he’d never be able to catch me. Besides, I won’t follow this crowd long. Only long enough for me to speak to one of them, create a friendship of some sort. Then I’ll sneak back before Papa even knows I’m gone.
______________________________________________________________________________

I follow them down the road and to a lush, green park. There are many wooden benches lining the pathways crossing through the grass and trees. There’s also a fountain, spouting walter into a pool. And there’s a lake across the way, with children sailing boats with their governesses. It’s not very far from the bank, but along the way I lose myself in the city. I forget my purpose of leaving the carriage just because I’m thinking of the sky and the road, and the people around me.

Once at the park though I right myself, remembering why I came this way. The group starts to sit on a bench. There’s one girl there, with fiery red hair, pulled half-up and falling around her shoulders. There’s two boys as well, one, also with red hair, tall and lanky, with sort of tattered pants and a dirty shirt under an unbuttoned a jacket filled with small holes. And the other boy is tall as well, but not so much, with short, untidy black hair. Even from here I can see his eyes are bright, somewhat hidden behind round glasses. And he’s wearing rather nice black pants, a little loose though, and a clean, white shirt, rolled up at the sleeves, and a vest over that as well.

He and the other boy are tossing a ball back and forth, laughing and talking with the girl as well. I move closer subtly as to be able to hear what they’re saying.

“Work over the summer, it’s cruel,” the red-haired boy says.

The girl shakes her head, “Quite horrendous.”

“What do you have to read Ginny?” the boy asks.

“Hogwarts: A History,” she replies.

The taller boy catches the small leather ball and says, “Boring!”

What are hogwarts? And what’s their boring history?

I inch closer to them, trying to hear more of what they’re saying. Suddenly they’re talking about school, teachers and lessons. Even the girl seems to understand what they’re saying. Does she go to school with them? How?

I pretend to have something caught in my shoe and stop at the bench across from them to adjust my footing. As I sit down I hear them begin to talk about something particularly odd.

“And did you see what happened to Longbottom’s potion the day before the second Hogsmeade weekend?” the red-haired boy laughs. “Explosions everywhere!”

The other two laugh along with him.

“I remember, Lavendar told me it was like a firework show!” the girl says.

Potion? What’s a Hogsmeade weekend?

The boy with the black hair tosses the ball into the air, catching it again before throwing it back, “Snape must have loved that,” he says sarcastically.

My ears perk up and my boot slips against the bench, hitting the ground below me with a dull thud. Snape? Are they talking about my Professor Snape? Why are they talking about my history tutor? Do they know him?

My hands are shaking and my heartbeat’s quickening as I stand up and walk over to them. What have I got to lose if I go up to them and start a conversation about Professor Snape? We could talk about how odd he is together and maybe I could become friends with them!

I clear my throat as they’re laughing dies down, they turn to look at me.

“I’m sorry if I’m intruding in anyway, but I couldn’t help overhearing you mentioned a.... Snape?” I begin softly. “You didn’t happen to mean Professor Snape did you?”

They exchange glances and the red-haired boy asks, “How do you know Professor Snape? What house are you in?”

I knot my eyebrows, “House?” I shake my head. “I’m afraid I don’t understand what you mean-”

“But how do you know him?” the raven-haired boy asks kindly, and I notice his startling green eyes and rare lightening bolt scar for the first time.

I smile politely, “He’s my history tutor,” I reply. “Quite an odd man actually. I mean I suppose if you like dreary, snappy old men who can’t bear to have someone else who knows the answers to their questions then he’d be your-”

“She’s a muggle,” the taller boy whispers vehemently to the other two.

“I beg your pardon!” I say loudly. “I most certainly am not!”

Although, I’m not sure what a muggle is.... But it’s probably one of those foul words the servants use all the time that I’m just not sure about right now. At any rate it sounds rude and I don’t think this sooty boy has any right to call me one. Who does he think he is anyway?

They look at me a little more friendly now.

“So you’re a witch then?” the girl asks.

My mouth falls open, “Well, I didn’t expect to get this kind of reaction when I decided to be friendly today!” I put my hands on my hips. “What with calling me a witch, and th-that-that other word!”

They look at each other, clearly confused.

I’m about to turn on my heal as I say, “Fine, that’s fine, if you don’t want to talk I’ll just-”

“HERMIONE!”

I stop completely dead. The hairs on the back of my neck stand pinstraight and my blood runs cold. If I thought my heart was beating quickly before it’s just one long heartbeat now. My limbs are stiff and my teeth feel itchy. I feel my hands trembling, balled up into fists against my skirt. Goosepimples form on my scalp and I don’t move one bit.

I know who said my name.

And I know what’s coming next.

“Hermione Jane Green how dare you disobey me!”

I swallow hard, finding the numbness in my body fading away. I turn around and face my father who is currently standing with a haggard, out of breath Charles.

“Papa, I’m sorry-”

“Don’t you dare speak! Don’t you even think about opening your mouth!” he practically screams this at me.

He’s livid. His face is growing nearly purple and there’s a vein pulsing on the inside of his forehead. I watch his eyes dart from me to the three behind me and then back to me. He’s nearly emitting a torrent of anger and hate my way and I try to shield myself from it, all to no avail.

Heat creeps up my face as I realize how embarassing it is to be scolded in front of these three people I just met.

“We are going home, now,” he barks at me, taking hold on my wrist and dragging me along like a rag doll. “Don’t you think you’ll ever be allowed out of the house again, not with this behavior. I don’t care if you’re with Mrs. Jacobs, myself, or even the blasted queen of England, you’re not to go out again!” he shouts. “Do you hear me?”

I don’t respond as he pulls me along harshly, tears are ripping at the back of my throat but I don’t let them fall.

As Charles apologizes numerous times to my father who doesn’t even acknowledge him at all, I look back.

The three are watching me as I’m pulled away. They all seem kind of panicked and they begin to talk hurriedly, watching me as I go. I don’t understand why they seem so frantic. Or why I feel as if I could care less at this point. All I know right now is that I probably won’t get to see them ever again, the three people that are the closest things I will ever get to friends.

Author’s Note: Uh oh, what’s gonna happen next? I don’t know, I’ll guess you’ll have to keep reading! Hope you liked it.... Please review.

Author’s Note: It’s been kind of awhile between updates, thanks to everyone who’s holding on! Here is chapter four, everyone can see Hermione get her you-know-what kicked for not listening to her ‘dad.’

Caged
Chapter Four

“Hermione!” Papa shouts across his desk to where I stand, shaking. “I can’t even begin to imagine what you were thinking!”

If I had a tail, it would be between my legs, I think to myself as I keep my head bowed and my mouth shut.

His face is turning almost purple as he yells, a voice so booming that it fills every crack in the room, “You disobeyed me! I deliberately told you to stay in the carriage while I was in the bank, and I believed you would listen to me!”

“Papa I-”

“SHUT UP!” he snaps, like a slap in the face. “You did exactly what I told you not to do! I put my faith in you, I thought you were old enough to go along with me and this is how you repay me?! This is how you say thank you?!”

My hands are shaking violently, not only from fear, but from anger as well, I have to keep them clasped together to keep them still. I don’t dare look at Papa, for fear I’ll spit in his eye.

“You’ve been acting like a child Hermione,” he says. “You should be behaving like a young lady, but I just see a child before me.”

I clench my teeth, trying desperately not to say something in return.

He takes a deep breath through his nose, “This is unforgivabe, absolutely unforgivable.”

“But Papa, I’m sorry-”

“Don’t speak to me!”

I study the ornate patterns of the carpet below my feet. How I long to lash out at him. I can just imagine the words pouring out of my mouth, thick and hot, like drinking soup and then spewing it everywhere. My lips almost tingle thinking about it, speaking my mind, proving my own point. But I can’t, I’m already in deep enough as it is. But how I long to question him, Why can’t I go outside Papa? Why have you locked me in our houses for ever?

“You are to stay in your room, until I say otherwise. No walks to the park with Mrs. Jacobs, no coming along on trips to the bank with me ever again,” he says gravely, looking at me square in the eyes for a minute. When he looks away I realize fear, fear was twinkling in his eyes.

But Papa, what are you afraid of?

“Now leave me,” he says, waving me away,

I keep my fists clenched at my sides and I leave his study, marching silently upstairs and into my room. If I thought I was prisoner before, things just managed to get worse. How much longer can I go on like this? How much longer can I stand being alone this way?

I collapse onto my bed, crying.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

I’m woken up by one of the maids, Jessamine, who tells me father is having my dinner set up in the kitchen. He won’t even have dinner with me, I think to myself. Before going downstairs I rinse the sleep and dried tears from my face and fix my hair as much as I can on my own.

As I walk down the stairs and finally into the kitchen, I conclude Mrs. Jacobs must not be back yet. Surely if she was back she would have woken me up sooner and given me her own separate talking-to.

I find my plate of food waiting for me at a small table across from the dish basins. The kitchen is empty and I know the servants have already had their dinner. And now I realize father has found a new way to punish me, to make me eat where the servants eat, even after the servants have been fed. He’s put me down at a new low.

It’s not as if I really want to eat the food in front of me, but I take a few bites and move it around a little to make it look as if I’ve eaten it and then go back upstairs. When I open my door I’m greeted by the unhappy figure of Mrs. Jacobs sitting in a chair in the corner. I freeze for a minute. She’s already spoken to father about my behavior and managed to get up here before I did.

I walk the rest of the way into the room and close the door behind me.

She doesn’t say anything, sits stock-still and stares at me.

“Did you speak to father?” I ask

She nods, “I did.”

I wait for her to reprimand me, because I know it’s only a matter of seconds before it happens.

“I’m very disappointed in you,” she says slowly. “Your father deliberately told you to stay in the cab and you disobeyed him.”

There’s a short silence between us.

“I’m sorry!” I cry.

But am I really?

“I’m sorry that father found out, and I’m sorry I got punished.... But I’m not sorry that I did it,” I say with hollow confidence.

“Hermione!”

I say, “It’s true! Mrs. Jacobs, why should I apologize for talking to people my own age? Why should I be punished for wanting friends!”

“Hermione, watch your tongue,” she scolds me. “Your father is an intelligent man and he has his reasons for the things he does,” she straightens her shoulders confidently.

I pause, my mind reeling with a new sort of revolution.

“Mrs. Jacobs, do you know why father won’t let me out of the house? Do you know the reason he’s never let me make friends?”

Her eyes flicker with something I can’t distinguish and she shakes her head, “No.”

I don’t know if I believe her.

She stands up out of her chair and dusts of the lap of her skirt, “Your father told me you are to be left alone in your room to think about what you’ve done,” she walks past me and then opens the door. “If you should need me I’ll be in my room, but I won’t be answering any more foolish questions, understood?”

She doesn’t wait for an answer, only walks through the door and closes it loudly behind her. What are all the adults in my life hiding from me? I roll the question over and over in my head as I move to sit on a small sofa resting against the wall opposite my bed. Why is Mrs. Jacobs always siding with father? Doesn’t she think I should have some friends? How am I supposed to survive without them?

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________

A week goes by and my punishment is not once lifted. I spend my days mostly in my room and I eat my meals after Papa is finished, alone, in the dining room. Mrs. Jacobs is cold towards me and Papa won’t see me at all. Honestly, you would think I had committed a murder.

With all this empty time I find myself spending it picking apart and playing over the details of my meeting the three odd people from the park. I roll over the image of their clothes in my mind, finding that my memory of it slips and fades a little everyday. I have almost completely forgotten what the girl looks like, but I remember the tall boy’s bright and fiery red hair, and mostly the raven-haired boy’s brilliant green eyes.

The freshest thing in my mind is their talk of hog warts, most disgusting. The history of hog warts? why would the girl need to read about their history? I rack my brain for anything I’ve ever read or heard about a Hogsmeade, as well. But throughout all my travelling and all the facts I’ve acquired throughout my life I have no idea what they were talking.

And I remember they called me a muggle.

Instilled with a sudden bought of bravery, and the constant knowledge that I can’t get into any more trouble, I ask the stable boy, the footman, the cook, and the scullery maid what a muggle is. To my surprise no one knows. I was sure it was some sort of foul word.

I finally pluck up the courage to ask my Latin teacher when he comes for my lesson, but he’s baffled as well. And then, he berates me for making up silly words.

Within the solitude of my sentence I find myself without anything to do. Books are forbidden from me and I’m only ever allowed out of my room for meals, lessons, and to go to the washroom. I find I’m constantly thinking about the three I met. Friends. The only reason I’m under a sort of lockdown. I try to name them and give them personalities. The red haired two are obviously siblings, but what of the boy with the black hair? I have a lot of trouble fitting a name to his face which is always etched into my mind, never once slipping away.

I think of him often, more than the other two, and find I smile whenever his face appears in my mind. Inside my horrible circumstances I find a bit of happiness. Why do I feel so odd thinking about him? What is that flutter within my chest? The feeling scares me a little, because it’s so unfamiliar, but at the same time, it’s like an elixir and I find I’m wanting more.

Author’s Note: Sorry if it’s too short or too- not good enough? I had an original idea for this chapter that I totally scrapped it because it wasn’t working out and this chapter had to happen in order for the next chapters to happen. Hope you liked it! Please review!

Author’s Note: Thank you for the reviews, they’re very encouraging! Sorry it’s taking so long between updates, I’m an idiot and opted to take history over the summer so I wouldn’t have to take it next year and it’s taking up a lot of time with homework and everything, but it’s almost over. Also, I rewrote this chapter a bunch of times and I’m still not sure if I like it, but I thought it was bad enough I had waited so long to update anyway, and being a picky perfectionist was only making the wait worse. So here it is!

Caged
Chapter Five

Today is Monday and the night is warm and the moon is bright. I am, of course, still trapped within the walls of my bedroom. My balcony doors are wide open and so are my windows, allowing a gentle breeze to plow through every few minutes. It’s warm out and I feel the air inside my room is thick and constricted compared to the wonderful fresh air outside.

These past fourteen days have been endless torture. I’ve tried everything I can to amuse myself, but I’m running out of ideas. With books restricted from me I’ve succumbed to lying on my back on the carpet of my floor and staring at the ceiling, watching the shadows of the tree outside my window move across the flat plane above me over the course of the day.

Meals are heavenly, they break up my day and give me reason to leave my room. I still eat alone, after Papa has finished his meal, in the dining room. Some days, Papa will have someone in his office to discuss business and he’ll have my dinner sent up to me so I can’t interact with anyone other than the members of this household. Such strict punishment seems entirely unnecessary to me, but then again, I’m the one who disobeyed my father.... Which, according to the rest of the world, means I’m wrong about everything else.

I can’t tell you how many times I get scolded a day for leaving my room to go to the washroom. Sometimes when I need a change of scenery I’ll walk down the hall, slowly, examining the portraits on the wall, the wallpaper, the carpet, the candles lining the corridor. Papa has caught on, realizing half the time I only go to the washroom, wash my hands and face and then return to my room, as it was only an excuse to leave it in the first place.

Yesterday, though, was Sunday and we went to church.

Papa kept the curtains closed during the ride and when we arrived at the chapel we sat in the very back and didn’t speak to anyone before or afterwards.

During Reverend Sholt’s long, aimless talking I found myself looking around the church, toward people my own age. When Papa realized that I wasn’t paying attention he hissed at me, “Children like you should be listening to this.”

I stared at the reverend for the remainder of the service. I went through the actions of caring and I acted like a good Christian.... But I wasn’t hearing, seeing, taking in or comprehending anything. I thought about Papa and how much he detests me now, how he will never trust me again. I feel so foolish and horrible. And in the house of God I felt like the eyes of the true punisher were upon me. I’m a horrible child.

But why must Papa keep me on such a short chain? Why can’t I have friends, why can’t I spend time with people my own age? That’s all I want! That’s all I’ve ever wanted!

I’d return all the experiences I’ve had, all the things I’ve seen. I’d forget about riding elephants in India, seeing the pyramids of Egypt and the windmills of Holland, I’d give back the flowers I was given by the ensemble of the opera house in Paris for my birthday when I was ten, I’d return my viewing the Russian ballet and the Whirling Dervishes. I’d forget everything I’ve been through and all the amazing sights I’ve seen for just one friend. Only one.

But Papa’s kept that from me. He’s kept everything from me and me from everything.

And now I sit, ear pressed against my wall, listening to the silence of Papa’s room. I’ve been like this since Mrs. Jacobs came in to say good night, indicating I’d better go to sleep or else. I sat in bed until I finally heard him come upstairs from his study. When I heard the room of his door close I moved quietly across the space and crouched against the far left wall. My knees were pressed uncomfortably against the corner between the wall and floor and my neck hurt from being turned for so long. But I listened to him pace back and forth for some time. The floor boards creak-creaked for almost twenty minutes before I heard him walk farther away. And then there was the squeaking groan of the bed springs.

I’ve waited almost an hour more and he’s finally snoring lightly. The rest of the house is dead and I finally feel myself breathe.

I get up quietly and walk to my bedroom door. After opening it soundlessly I go down the hall and descend the stairs in my robe. I make my way outside, into the back garden and sit down on a cool, stone bench. The sky seems so much more vast and lovely when you’ve been locked away from it for so long. I enjoy the feel of the breeze, the sound of the birds, the rustling of the trees, and the feel of the grass between my toes. I only wish I didn’t have to enjoy it in secret, alone.

An hour or so passes and I sit in perfect contentment. I let my mind wander, go blank, and trail away from me. I don’t worry about anything. I feel myself at ease for the first time in what seems like my entire life. And I reflect on this wonderful feeling, until I hear voices and the shuffle of feet outside the garden wall.

“Harry, my mum is going to kill me if she finds that I’ve snuck-”

“Ron,” a second voice cuts the first off. “Don’t you want to find out who she is?”

A pause, then, “No.”

A sigh.

“Who cares, she’s just some girl!” ‘Ron’ says. “Some rich girl who ran away for a bit because she was bored.”

I hold my breath, pressing myself against the ivy-covered wall as they continue speaking. I hear them stop walking, right in front of the locked iron gate that leads into the garden. Luckily I’m hidden in the adjacent corner and even though they’re peering in they can’t quite see me in the shadows.

The first voice, Harry, speaks again, “But Snape’s her teacher! How is that possible?”

Snape?

Are they talking about me? They must be, they’re outside MY gate. Who are they though? Their voices sound vaguely familiar- My friends! I mean, the boys I met at the park! But not the girl. How did they find out where I live? My heart speeds up, an excitement so intense unleashes itself within me and I feel dizzy.

“Oh Harry, so? Maybe she’s a home-schooled witch.”

Why are they calling me a witch again? Was it because I broke into their conversation that first day?

“That can’t be, Ron-”

“Why not?”

Another beat of silence, “Because,” Harry says, “She didn’t know what Hogwarts was, remember?”

“That doesn’t mean anything!”

“Any witch or wizard would know what Hogwarts was,” Harry declares.

The other boy grunts, “Who cares if she’s a muggle and is tutored by Snape- What difference is that to us?”

“I just want to find out who she is.”

There’s a sigh and then one of them mutters something I can’t understand. But, remarkably, the gates are unlocked and they walk into the garden.

My back goes rigid and my eyes widen.

“I don’t think breaking and- Oh no,” the redhead says as they turn and spot me.

“Don’t scream,” the raven-haired boy says. “We don’t mean any harm.”

I’m terrified, partly because this is so new to me, talking to people my age, and also, they’re two boys, and I’m a girl, we’re alone. In the garden. And I’m only in my nightgown and a robe.

“I wasn’t going to,” I say, far more shakily than I would have liked.

He nods, “Do you remember us?”

I nod, “From the park.”

“You got in trouble for talking to us,” the redhead points out.

“I know, I ran away from the carriage without permission,” I confess. I might as well own up to my mistakes.

The ginger haired boy shrugs, “Bored, were you?”

He’s elbowed by the other boy.

I shake my head, “Actually- Papa keeps me locked up a lot, I haven’t really ever talked to anyone my age and I thought- I figured I would talk to you.”

“He doesn’t let you talk to anyone?” the shorter boy asks. “At all?”

“No one.”

“Would we die if he found out we were here?”

“We’d all die.”

The red haired boy looks anxious, the other one smiles softly at me, “I’m Harry,” he says. “And this is Ron.”

I smile, “I’m Hermione.”

“Harry,” Ron looks toward the open gate. “We should go.”

“You’re right,” Harry replies. “We wouldn’t want you to get in trouble-”

“No!” I whisper quite loudly. “Oh please, just talk with me a little more, please.”

“What about your father?”

The anger is building inside me. I hate him. I hate my father. How could he make me so miserable? How can he be so selfish? Doesn’t he care at all about me, doesn’t he want me happy at all-

Suddenly a loud, gusty wind pushes me from behind and I stumble a little. I look up and see, right before my eyes, the iron gate doorway vanishes completely. Harry and Ron whip around and look at it, astounded. They turn back to me and as my anger is replaced by shock, the gateway returns.

I gasp, covering my wide open mouth with my hands.

Harry grins at Ron.

“Why are you grinning?” I demand.

“You’re a witch,” he says to me.

I stomp my foot, “Stop calling me that!”

“You can do magic.”

I shake my head, “What are you talking about.”

“Who’s there?” I hear our butler, Spencer, shout groggily from somewhere above our heads.

We duck down and Harry and Ron move to leave, “No!” I hiss. “What do you mean I can do magic!”

They exchange a look with one another, “We have to go! Someone knows we’re here!”

I grab Harry’s arm, “No, please don’t leave me!”

I know I sound desperate, but I am, I can’t be alone anymore. I can’t stand it.

“Who’s there?!” Spencer shouts again, and I see a light seep dimly from the window above our heads, the washroom.

“We have to go-”

I pull him back, “What did you mean I could do magic?”

“Wednesday night, at the same time, we’ll come back and explain everything to you, all right?” Harry says with a caring smile.

I nod, swallowing. Two days. I have to bear two lonely days. I can endure two days.

“We’ll see you then.” And they run out of the gate, and down the street. I deftly move to the gate and lock it behind them.

After the light in the washroom is ignited and all is quiet I creep upstairs and back into my room, where I lay on my bed, thinking. Why did the gate vanish? Is this like the time the door fell off its hinges of its own accord in Italy? Papa had gotten angry with me then.... And then we had moved to Austria. But why? I hadn’t caused the door to fall.... Had I? Harry and Ron are claiming it was me who made the gate vanish tonight. But how is that possible? How could a gate simply vanish and then return.

My head is spinning and I shut my eyes tight. Maybe I’m going mad. I smile to myself though, I have friends. If going mad means I have two friends, I don’t think I want to be sane.

Author’s Note: Reviews are very much appreciated! Next update will be sooner!

Author’s Note: I’m not going to lie. I was very discouraged and stuck with this story, but I knew I had to update it before anything else. So I looked at some reviews you guys have sent me and they really got me inspired. Particularly passion fruit’s review! Thank you for all the reviews guys, they really do make my day! Hope this chapter is finding everyone well! Sorry it’s been so long between updates!

Caged
Chapter Six

The secret of last night follows me all day, bathing me in a kind of warmth and happiness, making me smile to myself. Mrs. Jacobs has noted this fact, raising her eyebrows at me and asking, “Why have you been smiling so, Hermione? It looks as if you’ve a secret.” I only shake my head, responding that it is simply a nice day. Which is true. The sun is high in the clear sky and it’s not too cold out, but not too warm either.

But Mrs. Jacobs isn’t the only one who has noted my happiness, Papa has picked up on it as well. And, since I’m supposed to be unhappy in my punishment, he’s angry about it. Since there is no clear evidence of why I’m so happy, or of anything that happened last night, he can’t punish me further, no matter how hard he looks for a clue as to why I’m smiling so.

My happiness doesn’t last very long though.

As if some greater being didn’t want me to be happy Papa told me Professor Snape was coming again today.

I had mixed feelings about this at first. I was upset and annoyed because Professor Snape really is a horrible and unpleasant man, but I was sort of happy and excited because he is a connection to my new friends and the curious magic of the night before.

So when he arrives and starts the lesson I go in, full of optimism. I’ll start fresh with this man and he’ll learn to think of me as his star pupil. He’ll know I wasn’t trying to show him up or be a know-it-all during our last lesson, he’ll know I’m just an intelligent and cultured girl.

My spirits are crushed though, as Professor Snape drops a large stack of papers in front of me. “Let’s test your knowledge, Miss Greene.”

One paper has a picture of the world, one has a picture of Europe, one of France, one of England, one of the Americas, there’s a paper for every country. I look up at him, puzzled.

“Fill in every continent, country, city, town, river, lake, ocean, mountain chain, or peninsula you know,” he snarls at me.

I stare up at him, “Yes sir.”

He moves around the room as I work, looking at books, staring out the window, shuffling papers, swishing his long, black cloak. For a minute or so I study him, pretending to be thinking to myself.

His dark hair really is disgustingly greasy, and the face it frames is pasty and almost gives off a green tint. His eyes are dark, with little or no eyelashes surrounding them, and his nose is large and hooked, reminding me of a bird.

“Stop daydreaming!” he snaps at me and I hunch over the papers, scribbling away.

It takes me nearly an hour and a half to finish all the papers, but I managed to put in everything I know. Of course, a lot of the maps are empty, as I’ve never seen and memorized the whole world, but he can’t expect me to be a protege, can he?

He makes a disapproving sound, “Didn’t know as much as we thought we did, huh Miss Greene?”

I don’t answer.

As he scans another sheet of parchment I ask a question that just sort of spills out of my mouth, “Professor Snape, can you do magic?”

He doesn’t respond for a moment, only goes on looking at the papers. And then his face falls, and he looks up, horrified and disgusted.

“What a foolish thing to say!”

“But Professor, I know people can do magic,” I say. “I can! You must be able to as well! I believe they said you were a teacher at the school, if it’s a magic school, Hog-Hogwater?”

“Hogwarts?” he sounds sick, angry.

“Yes!” I declare. “That’s it!”

He shakes his head, “H-How do you know about Hogwarts!? Who told you?”

“Why-”

“You’re not a witch, you’re only a muggle!” he booms. “You would have gotten a letter!”

I knot my eyebrows, “I beg your pardon sir?”

He begins pacing, “I’ll have to perform a memory charm on you, there’s no way you can be a proper witch,” he glances at me. “You’ll forget quite a lot but it must be done.”

He reaches into his bag and pulls out the thin stick I saw in his bag during our first lesson. It’s not a stick at all, more like a polished piece of wood, with an intricate design on the handle. He points it at me. My gut reaction pulls me to my feet and I run to the corner of the room, as Professor Snape is closest to the door. Whatever he is going to do with that stick can’t be good.

“No!” I cry. “Please Professor, listen to me-”

“I’m sorry you have to deal with this Miss Granger, but you just can’t know.”

He lifts the wand more, begins to say some indistinguishable words and I shield my eyes, “NO!”

I wait for some kind of impact, for something to hit me, for something, anything to happen to me. But instead I’m frightened by a large slam and the toppling of several books onto the floor. I crack open my eyes, which I now notice I had snapped shut, and see Professor Snap lying on the floor, his head resting against the bottom of the bookcase. Several books have fallen on top of him, but otherwise, he’s fine. He stares at me though, with wide, vacant eyes.

“Professor Snape?” I venture.

He looks around the room, as if he doesn’t know how he got where he is, “Yes?”

“Are you all right?”

“Of course I’m all right! Why wouldn’t I be?” he snaps.

I’m about to speak when Papa bursts through the door, “What in Heaven’s name is going on in here?!”

I look at Professor Snape on the floor, struggling to stand, just as confused as my father.

“Professor Snape slipped,” I manage to reply.

“Slipped?” Papa sounds unconvinced.

I nod, “On the chair.”

“I did?” Professor Snape asks, rubbing his head.

Have I- Have I erased his memory? Is that even possible? Can I do that- Well, of course it’s possible, he was going to do it to me! But me. I’m capable of doing that? By accident? I did make the gate disappear yesterday.... But this, this is so different!

I nod, “Yes you did Professor.”

He looks at the floor, “I must have.”

“Did you hit your head?” Papa asks.

Snape straightens himself up, “I believe I did.”

“Maybe you should end the lesson for today, you ought to lie down, or see a doctor-”

“I’ll be fine,” Snape says. “I’ll be off though, no more mishaps for me.”

He gathers his papers and leaves me with a small assignment, then he moves to exit the room, “Good day Miss Greene,” he says, and then leaves with Papa behind him.

My mouth falls open, I don’t blink, I only stare at the closed door and allow my brain to go completely blank with confusion. How? How is this even possible? One moment the man is ready to put some kind of spell on me because I asked him of magic, and now- now he doesn’t even remember he was angry at me.

Could I- Could I really be a witch?

I look down at my assignment and see that he’s handed me the same maps he gave me to fill out at the beginning of our lesson.

Author’s Note: I’m so sorry this story gets updated once every few months. To be honest I’m losing inspiration with it, but I’m doing my best. Thank you all for your encouraging reviews! Hope you all like chapter seven!

Caged
Chapter Seven

He called me Miss Granger.

My mind has been reeling all day, but this just adds to my confusion. After Professor Snape left this afternoon I spent the remainder of the day lying down in my room, feigning a bout of nausea. I haven’t eaten, haven’t left the room, only stared at the ceiling, thrown into a strange sort of state.

I’m filled with confusion and excitement, but at the same time, guilt. I’m clearly a witch, or I’ve clearly gone mad, and I feel bad about it all. Papa doesn’t know, and neither does Mrs. Jacobs, and I don’t think I can tell them. They’d lock me in my bedroom, strapped to the wall with a live-in nurse if I told them what was happening.... And if Professor Snape was going to erase my memory for my knowing, I’m sure if anyone found out they’d try to erase Papa’s memory as well as Mrs. Jacobs. Besides, I sort of like having this secret to myself, even if I feel guilty about lying to everyone.

But why did Professor Snape call me Miss Granger? It could have been a simple slip, the name of another student he knows, but I feel like there is more to it. The fact that he called me Miss Granger makes me feel uneasy. And ever since he said it I feel as if Greene doesn’t fit with the name Hermione anymore.

What is happening to me?

To my surprise I fall asleep quickly, but my sleep is not restful, it is interrupted by a dream that sets my mind a frenzy, even more so than before.

Papa is lying in a bed, ghostly white, his forehead glistening with perspiration, a pained expression on his face. He’s dying. Without anyone having to tell me I know he’s dying. I feel sick and heavy with dread.

“Papa!” I shout, clutching his hand in my own, tears streaming down my face, hot and salty. “Papa, don’t die!”

His eyes open slowly, only a little, and he frowns at me, “Hermione, your father needs medication.”

“I’ll get you some.”

“No,” he says. “Get your father some.”

I hurry across the room to a side table where a bottle of tonic is sitting. I stare at it for some time, allowing the dark brown bottle to etch itself into my mind. But I don’t pick it up. I know it will save Papa’s life, but I don’t even reach for it. I turn back and walk over to him, kneeling by his bedside.

He looks at me, “Is there medication for your father?” he asks.

I shake my head, “No, Papa, there’s no medication for you.”

“Not for me!” he screams, and I jump, hiding my face in the side of the mattress. “It isn’t for me, damnit! It’s for your father!”

I look up, “But you are my father.”

“Tell your father that.”

“You’re my father!”

“Am I?”

“Yes!”

“Oh. Well then, where’s my medication?” he asks.

I shake my head, “There is none.”

But there is medication. Why am I lying to Papa? Why won’t I give him the medication? Why won’t I save him?! What is wrong with me? I’m killing him, but I don’t want to!

I wake up and roll over, looking toward my window where I can see the sky outside is the color of early morning light. Why has everything gotten so complicated? Why do I feel like my whole life has been wrong, like everyone I know and everything I’ve learned isn’t fitting the way it should? It makes me feel all too anxious and a little ill.
____________________________________________________________________________________________

Because of my punishment and curiosity, and because of my restlessness, I creep into Papa’s office before anyone in the house has woken up. Maybe herein lies a clue as to why I’m not allowed to speak to anyone my age, why any peculiar things that happen bother him, and why he always blames me. Is it something my late mother wished? for me to be isolated from the world? Is it an idea he learned from his own parents? Maybe a note on a scrap of paper, or a will of some kind will quiet my mind for now.

I feel a little guilty snooping like this, but I feel like I could find something in this room that will help me make sense of everything, so I carefully search Papa’s things.

On his bookshelf are all the usual books about law and foreign affairs. On his desk is the newspaper from yesterday, some pamphlets from the bank he goes to, and a bill of some kind. In the unlocked drawers are files, some about my schooling records, some about the countries we’ve visited and where we’ve lived. There are addresses of people we’ve met all over the world, and letters from Uncle Charles about simple military business.

But, to my surprise, the drawer that Papa usually keeps locked was jammed closed and didn’t lock properly. After a few tugs I manage to open it, and I feel like Pandora. Peering into the drawer I see there’s only a tin box inside, I pick it up and set it on the desk, pulling the top off and setting it beside it’s partner on the desk. Inside this strange box are envelopes. They’re all different kinds, some white, some tan, some creamier than others, some coarse, some small, some long, some ripped, some yellowed and old, some stained and wrinkled.

I pick one up and look at the writing on the front of it. It’s addressed to Papa, when we were living in Vienna. And it’s from a Mrs. C. Granger. Granger?

I open the unsealed envelope and read the letter carefully:

August 13, 1806

Mr. Greene,

It does not surprise me that little Hermione is reading on the level of someone twice her age. She’s a very bright child. And Vienna seems to be agreeing with her. It warms my heart to hear of all her adventures, especially ones in which she learns and laughs. I love to hear of your good times and wonderful excursions.

I skim the rest of the letter, as it only talks about me learning Latin and French when I’m older and about how she enjoyed reading about our trip to the Palace at Hamburg.

Who is this woman?

I read another letter, one that is closer to the bottom, a very old one, yellowed and thin.

February 2, 1800

Mr. Greene,

I am very deeply sorry to hear that Mrs. Greene passed on last month. My sympathies are with you and your loved ones at this time.

Still, I don’t think your sadness justifies your attitude toward me. I know she’s no longer mine. I am very much aware that I gave her to your wife for full guardianship. That doesn’t change the fact that she is my daughter! I’m not asking for her back, as much as I would love to be able to care for her myself. I’m only begging of you sir, just tell me how she is doing! Is she well? Is she happy with you in your home?

This makes my stomach drop and my throat close up a little. Who are they talking about? They’re not- They can’t be talking about me! Am I this woman’s daughter? Is she my real mother?

The next letter is addressed to Mrs. Greene- Mother.

January 23, 1799

My dear Mrs. Greene,

I thank you deeply for your kindness. You are a saint, truly.

To answer your question, my health has improved tenfold and I am able to leave the convent, I only have to find some way of living first. Unfortunately, Mr. Granger has not yet returned, I have long past fearing the worst. What has happened, has happened. I still miss him and pray that he will return, but our house is empty now and I’m sure he’d think both of us were dead upon returning. I hate to talk of such depressing things, so please, don’t bother to respond with niceties concerning my misfortune. Please, just tell me more about little Hermione.

All of the letters are written this way, and they’re all from Mrs. Granger. They discuss my education, my life, who I’ve met and what I’ve experienced. The letters are even written to Papa when we were across the world, she didn’t one of our moves. But who is this woman? And why, if she’s not important to me, is she so deeply interested in me and my life?

The most recent letter is dated two months ago.

April 21, 1814

Mr. Greene,

I am pleased to hear you are back in England. Perhaps now Hermione can settle in and learn a little about the place she was born. It seems her sixteen years have been eventful and adventurous, but perhaps she needs a dose of our common home of England.

I am currently working in a large seamstress shop, between Putnam and Finely. If you wish for Hermione and I to remain strangers than I suggest you keep her away from this area, and the area of my home, which you know the address of thanks to these letters. Though I doubt we’d recognize each other if we did meet.

Feeling heavy and sick, I put the letters away and close the box up, setting it back in the drawer, which I close firmly and make sure it locks. I leave Papa’s office and hide in the empty kitchen, allowing the cold dark early morning to surround me and swallow my body whole. Tears come quickly and I allow them to fall. I sob and I shake and I press my eyes shut. I’m not sad, and I’m not angry, I’m just so confused, anxious, scared, and lost that I don’t know what else I should do.

I rock back and forth by the hearth until I hear the servants stirring. Before anyone enters the kitchen I leave and hide away in my bedroom.

Who is Mrs. C. Granger? Why is she so concerned about my well-being? And why did Professor Snape call me Miss Granger? Has Papa been lying to me for sixteen years? Who is my father really? Who am I really?

Author’s Note: I am sooooooooooooo very sorry my updates are so far and few. I’ve been neglecting my Harry Potter fan fictions and there’s really no excuse for it. School has been a little time-consuming as of late, and I’ve had little inspiration with Harry Potter. This story will be finished though, it will not be abandoned. Thank you, everyone, for being so patient, and thanks for reading! Hope you all like chapter eight!

Caged
Chapter Eight

I’m grateful when Wednesday finally arrives.

Time has felt as if it’s been moving like a glacier these past few days. Every time I looked at the clock or watched the sun in the sky, it felt as if it was going by slowly, just to taunt me. And today, all day, I felt like the hours were dragging by. I found myself fidgeting all throughout my French lesson and my music lesson. Monsieur Reneau and Mr. Simmons both commented on my inattentiveness.

“This is not like you Miss Greene,” Mr. Simmons said from beneath his bristly white mustache. “You are usually so intent on perfecting your performance during the lesson.”

Monsieur Reneau snapped, “Mademoiselle! You’ve no accent at all today- what is this all about?”

How could I possibly explain to them that my world was spinning around me? I couldn’t even begin to think of what I would say to anyone, were I to tell them the truth. I couldn’t concentrate on conjugating verbs, I couldn’t focus on playing the harp. Why should such things matter to me today- the day I found out I might not be Papa’s true daughter, that my real mother might very well be alive, and somewhere in London? Even my eyes dart all over the place, and my hands twitch together. My whole life has been a lie, I fear. My parents were never really my parents, were they? And I’m a- I’m a witch. Who is this stranger I’m living with? Why should I call him Papa? And how did Professor Snape know Mrs. C. Granger was my mother? He did call me Miss Granger! Where does it all make sense? I feel as if I’m looking at a jigsaw puzzle, scattered across a floor. None of the pieces fit together, no matter how many times I replace them, and several pieces are missing. What am I to do?

And now it’s after midnight, and I’m standing alone in the garden, waiting. Although I’m dressed in thick skirts, and have a cloak over me, I’m shivering.

After the house had gone to sleep and I was sure I wouldn’t be detected, I snuck out into the garden. I was so confident and excited when I first came out here, but now I’m just anxious and nervous. It’s been quite a while since I’ve been outside. What if they’ve forgotten? Or what if they’re just trying to have a laugh at the pathetic Greene- Granger?- girl who is so desperate for company?

I hear someone push at the gate, but it’s clasped from the inside.

Because it’s dark and I don’t see whose face is attached to that hand, my heart speeds up and fear floods my brain.

“Hermione!” I hear someone hiss.

I hurry over to the gate and unlatch it, finding Harry just outside of it.

Relief fills every corner of my body, “I was afraid you weren’t going to show- but your friend’s not with you?”

Harry shakes his head, his eyes bright, “No- he’s waiting for us though.”

“Waiting for us?” I echo. “What do you mean?”

“Hermione, all of my friends who are wizards and witches are secretly meeting tonight,” he smiles. “We sometimes do that- and they want to meet you, we want to help explain to you what it’s like with magic.”

My world is spinning even more now.

I nearly choke as I say, “You want me to leave?”

“Only for a few hours,” he says encouragingly.

“Harry,” I swallow. “My father would be furious-”

He cuts me off, “Don’t you want to understand what you are- What you’re capable of?”

I do.

I nod.

“Then come with me!”

I hesitate, looking at him with anxiety burning through my skin. I don’t know this boy. What if he’s just telling me all of this- playing along- so he can get me alone and rob me of my virtue or kill me, or something of the sort. Maybe he’ll take me away and hide me in some hidden place, and hold me for ransom.

Harry sees my hesitation and smiles genuinely, “I promise, I will not let harm come to you.”

His voice is so kind, and his smile is so real. Just by looking into his eyes I know that he’s not going to hurt me. I’m safe with him. I trust him completely.

“All right,” I finally say. “Lead the way.”
____________________________________________________________________________________________

I’ve never walked the streets of London at night. Not alone anyway. And certainly not after midnight. But I love it.

The air is cold and sweet, and the damp cobblestones shimmer with the light of the moon. I’ve never seen a clearer sky, I almost want to count the pinpricks of stars twinkling in the night. Harry walks beside me, close, but not too close. We chat idly for a few minutes, before we turn to deeper questions.

“What does your mother think of your not being able to speak to anyone?” he asks. “If you don’t mind my asking.”

I don’t mind his asking, but I’m not sure I know the answer to the question.

I clear my throat, “I don’t know really. My mother’s dead- or, I mean- I think she is.”

Harry laughs a little, and then notices my seriousness, his pace slows, “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know,” I shake my head pityingly. “Everything is so confusing and upside down right now.”

His emerald green eyes flicker away, and then back at me, “Do you want to talk about it?”

I look at him, wondering if I’ve heard him correctly. I’ve never actually spent time with anyone my age, so I’m not entirely sure if any of this is proper. Propriety seems to fall away with Harry and his friends and I. Everyone calls each other by their Christian name, and everyone seems to be friendly and open with each other. Is this the way with all friends? or just magical ones? Propriety has really slipped away anyway, I might as well talk to him about what I’d like.

“I found some letters in my father’s desk.”

Harry looks intrigued, but he doesn’t say anything.

I swallow, “They were all about me- to a woman named Mrs. C. Granger.”

“Well, is that so unusual?” he asks kindly.

I shake my head, “It’s only- She kept saying she was my mother- I think- and that she wanted to know how I was and what she thought about all our traveling and- and how she had given me up, but still wanted to care for me....” My eyes follow the line of the road, trying to find something I can hold onto, something that can keep everything from falling up and away.

“Are you meaning to say that you don’t know your real mother?” he asks.

I nod slowly, “I think that’s what has happened.”

“And your father? Do you think he’s your real father?”

The question is so forward, but I answer it. With tears choking my voice, I say, “I don’t think he is.”

“I’m sorry,” he says suddenly. “I didn’t mean to-”

“No!” I reply quickly. “I don’t mind talking about- it’s just all so confusing.”

Harry shakes his head, “But why? Why would your mother give you away if she wanted to care for you herself?”

“I don’t know,” I shrug.

We walk in silence for several minutes, before we turn into an alleyway and walk its length. When we reach a dead end, Harry turns and climbs through a large, broken hole in the wall. He helps me through it as well, and we walk through abandoned rooms of some kind of tenement building. In a room situated in the center of the whole building, is a ladder. Harry climbs up the ladder, and I follow him cautiously. In the second level of the building, there is another wall with a hole in it, only this wall is covered in a filthy old sheet. Pushing the sheet aside, Harry instructs me to step inside. I do so, and he follows me.

Suddenly, I’m bombarded with noise, warmth, light, and smells. Sitting around this rundown room, on crates and cushions and blankets, are a dozen or so people. They’re laughing and talking loudly, some are playing cards, or eating, or just sitting around. The girls are on the floor, with their dresses tucked under them, as if this is all part of life. I’ve never seen boys and girls together so freely. No one is worrying about propriety or chaperones, everything is light and fun. And in the middle of the circle they have all formed, are sticks all meeting together at lighted points. It lights up the whole room, casting shadows and beams like a fire. The room is warm and cozy like this, and delicately sweet smells waft around me. I smell chocolate, only richer and sweeter, fruity smells, spicy smells, sort of disgusting smells, sugary smells. It’s all so surprising, and all so wonderful, all at the same time.

“Everyone!” Harry bellows over the noise, and the group quiets down. “This is Hermione.”

Everyone looks at me brightly, smiling and looking excited to meet me.

“I’ll introduce you to everyone,” Harry says to me. “You know Ron,” he gestures to the ginger-haired boy from the other night. “And this is Ginny, Ron’s younger sister- she was there the day in the park.”

Ginny also has bright red hair, only hers is long and sleek, all the way down her back. Her eyes are bright, sparkling hazel, and her face is smattered with freckles. She smiles at me, waving a little. Dressed in a sort of shabby green dress, she still manages to look pretty.

Harry continues, “This is Luna Lovegood- she goes to our school, Hogwarts.”

Luna looks at me with eyes that are so dreamy, I’m worried she’s not right in the head. But she smiles at me and that thought flits away. Her hair is wavy and golden, tied into a braid that runs down her back. She’s dressed in a blue dress, but over this is a strange robe of shimmering periwinkle. She says a floaty, “Hello,” to me.

I nod to her, smiling, “Hello.”

“This is Neville Longbottom,” Harry says next, gesturing to a short, sort of nervous-looking boy on the other side of Ginny. He has kind brown eyes, neat brown hair, and protruding teeth. His clothes are neat and clean, but he’s wearing his own dark blue robe, like Luna. He looks at me shyly, giving me a small smile as a greeting.

“Fred and George are Ron and Ginny’s older brothers,” Harry tells me. “Watch out for them,” he murmurs good-naturedly to me.

I glance at the two lanky, ginger-haired twins who are sitting cross-legged arguing over something that is sparking between. It looks like a kind of sweet. They give me a little wave before returning to their argument.

I’m also introduced to Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnigan, Parvati and Padma Patil, and Lavendar Brown.

Ginny invites me to sit down beside her, on a soft pink cushion. With some hesitation I lower myself onto the cushion and look at the people around me.

“Do you all live in London?” I ask curiously.

Seamus tells me, “No, I live in Ireland, Padma and Parvati live in Cornwall, and Lavendar lives in Oxford.”

“We use floo powder to get here,” Padma says.

I knot my eyebrows, “Floo powder?”

“It’s a way of traveling magically, through fireplaces,” Harry explains.

My eyes widen in awe, “You c-can travel by fireplace?”

They all laugh a little at my surprise, “There’s a little more to it than that, but yes,” Harry says. “There’s a fireplace downstairs.”

“Harry,” George- or Fred- whispers. “Are you sure she’s a witch?”

“Ron and I both saw her do accidental magic,” he replies.

Dean asks me, “Why haven’t you gone to Hogwarts? Won’t your parents let you?”

“My father doesn’t know,” I reply, shaking my head.

A silence follows this.

“But you got your acceptance letter, didn’t you?” Ginny smiles encouragingly.

I’m not entirely sure what they mean, but I never received a letter accepting me to any Hogwarts, so I shake my head.

Another silence ensues. This time, no one breaks it. Everything is awkward and tense around us, and I don’t know why. Furtive glances are exchanged, and I wish I knew the secret they all obviously share. I know I’m new at this magic and the whole idea of it, but that doesn’t mean I should be so blatantly left out.

“How is that possible?” Dean whispers to Seamus. “Even Harry managed to get his letter and those muggles were flat out ignoring them.”

“Well, I’ve been all over the world all my life,” I speak up. “Maybe it was lost in the post....”

I trail off as they get a good laugh at that one.

“Hermione,” Luna says kindly. “We deliver letters by owl.”

“Owl?” I echo loudly. “How on earth do you do that?”

She shrugs, as if she’s never even questioned it before.

“It is odd,” Harry says.

I feel as if they’re all doubting me now. I can’t bear it, I want them all to be my friends. How am I to be friends with them if they think I’m not a witch? They were all so happy to meet me because they thought they could help me with my magic. I must speak up. I have to fix this.

I clear my throat, “I think- The fact that I might not know who my real parents are- that might have something to do with it.”

“You don’t?” Neville says.

“I’m not entirely sure right now,” I say, swallowing. “But I believe my real mother gave me up- Professor Snape did call me by the other woman’s surname.”

Dean nods, “That’s right! You know Snape!”

“He’s my geography tutor.”

Harry asks, “Have you spoken to him at all about magic?”

I nod, “I tried, but he pulled out a stick and tried to- I don’t know- I guess hurt me with it? Or erase my memory.”

They all stare at me, agog.

“I was afraid he would- And I got so frightened that I- I fear I accidentally erased his memory of the whole ordeal.”

Laughter roars around me.

Fred- or George- slaps his knee, “She got Snape!”

“You are amazing Hermione!” Ron claps.

Everyone whistles and hoots.

I smile, but I’m confused, “But why?”

“Snape is our potions teacher at Hogwarts,” Ginny tells me. “He’s a git.”

“Hogwarts?” I reiterate. “And what do you mean potions?”

They all exchange glances of secrecy again. As if asking each other questions and telling each other things I can’t decode from where I am.

Harry nods and says, “Why don’t we explain everything for you- as much as we can- from the beginning?”
____________________________________________________________________________________________

I fell asleep quite easily after returning from our meeting at Godric’s Hollow, as they call the abandoned tenement building. I was so exhausted, and my head was so full of facts about magic and the magical world, that I felt as if it would explode. I understand a good deal now. Not enough to avoid schooling or lessons in magic, but enough to understand what my friends are talking about.

My friends.

I smile just thinking about it.

But after only two hours of sleep, I was forced awake. Mrs. Jacobs helped me dress, forced me to down some breakfast, and pulled me outside for a walk before we would have to return for my poetry recitation lesson.

The sky is a bright, bright blue and the sun is shining warmly, but I am so tired that I drag myself down the sidewalk.

“Hermione,” Mrs. Jacobs berates me from where she walks ahead of me on the sidewalk. “You’re lucky I convinced your father that you needed this exercise, but you don’t need to be so lazy about it.”

I try to straighten my shoulders, but it takes so much effort, “I’m just awfully tired, Mrs. Jacobs.”

“Don’t say awful,” she snaps, taking my arm in hers. “And what have you got to be tired for? You went to sleep early last night- Are you catching a chill?”

I clear my throat and lie, “I’m not sure.”

“Well, we’ll finish our walk, and then you can sleep a little after your poetry lesson,” she tells me.

We walk several more blocks, down streets I haven’t yet ventured. Mrs. Jacobs chats on and on about her cousin and the scandal of how she ran away with her her best friend’s fiance or some such nonsense. I’m hardly paying attention. Sleep seems to be pervading my body, even as I walk down the sidewalk, but Mrs. Jacobs is pulling me along, so I don’t stop. I feel as if my eyelids are drooping shut, and I try to study my surroundings.

We’re on a street of shops and bakeries, with apartments above them. We reach the end of the street and I see it’s called Finely.

Finely.

Finely?

Why does that strike a chord in my mind?

I am currently working in a large seamstress shop, between Putnam and Finely. If you wish for Hermione and I to remain strangers than I suggest you keep her away from this area, and the area of my home.

Mrs. C. Granger works on Finely and Putnam! The woman who could very well be my mother! I’m itching to be able to know what she looks like, to see her and hear her, and to learn why she gave me up. Maybe she understands my ability to do magic- Maybe she could help everything make sense!

But Mrs. Jacobs pulls me past Finely and onto Brashord Way.

It’s fine. I don’t even know if Mrs. C. Granger is related to me at all. It’s probably just a coincidence. Silliness. That’s what all this is. I’m being silly and I’m letting my imagination run wild.

As we get farther and farther away from Finely, I find myself itching to go back, to search every seamstress shop until I find her. What does she know? What can she tell me? I just want everything to make sense. I want answers and I can’t stand being left in the dark like this- and about my own life!

I can tell you one thing though.

I’m not at all tired anymore.

Author’s Note: I know it was kind of short, but I didn’t want to reveal too much in this chapter! Hope you all liked it! Sorry for the long wait! Reviewing is always appreciated!