7 October 1999

A few days after the conversation with Luna, Hermione decided that the least she could do was write Rolf Scamander and ask him a few questions. Although, the furthest thing from her mind was inquiring if she was in fact part fae. She had chided at herself for even contemplating the idea. She was muggleborn for Merlin’s sake. There was no way. When Rolf owled back in agreement to meet, her nerves flared once more.

Rolf was sitting quietly in a booth at the Leaky Cauldron waiting when she arrived. He had been reading The Quibbler upside down. Hermione couldn’t help but think Luna referred her to him for more than one reason.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Scamander,” she greeted as she approached the booth.

He looked up with a smile. “Miss Granger, what a pleasure. Please call me Rolf.”

Hermione took the seat across. “Then I insist you return the favour by calling me Hermione.”

After ordering teas and exchanging pleasantries, Rolf got down to business. “As lovely as it is to hold a conversation with you, Hermione, I do believe you’ve sought me out for more than just tea and banter. What can I assist you with?”

She took a long gulp of her tea, letting the liquid burn down to her belly before answering. “I had a peculiar incident happen a few weeks ago where I ate a lemon tart and had an allergic reaction. Mrs. Weasley took me to St. Mungo’s, but almost as quickly as we arrived, all the itching and swelling stopped, as if nothing happened.”

Hermione then told him about the incident that happened at Angelina’s hen party. She watched him carefully, gauging his reactions, but the only thing Rolf did was order more tea. By the time she finished recapping, he was staring at her with a thoughtful expression on his face.

“I do believe Luna was correct in sending you my way, but I’d like to try something before giving you an answer.” He reached into his robes and pulled out a box of Bertie Botts Every Flavour Beans. With quick fingers, he separated all the beans by flavor leaving only two in the box. He offered her the box, “Lemon drop?”

The urge to roll her eyes was immense. Those damn lemon drops never ceased to remind her of Dumbledore. She popped the candy into her mouth, chewing it slowly. The moment the candy burst, the itching sensation started on her tongue and down her throat. She swallowed it and proceeded to chug the remainder of her tea.

While her eyes burned and the itching faded, Rolf pulled out a pocket book of ancient runes and arithmancy. Without asking, he simply handed her a pen, which to her was a muggle one, and turned the book towards her. She quickly began reading and solving the problems that he had left open.

Rolf watched her in fascination. The more she wrote in the book, the giddier he felt. His grandfather would be entirely envious if the woman sitting across from him was in fact part fae. Fae were so rare that most magizoologists believed them to be extinct.

Hermione finished the last of the problems quickly and handed him back the book. As she slid it across the table, the sleeve to her robe rose, revealing the hateful word carved into her forearm. She pulled her arm back, but Rolf caught her by the wrist. She watched an odd smile form on his face leaving her uneasy.

Catching her trepidation, Rolf let go and apologized. “It seems silly that you still hide that scar considering everyone knows how you got it and who gave it to you.”

“Yes well when you have a racial slur cut into your arm, you try not to look at it,” she bit back.

“It’s healed much better than it should have, you know,” he motioned with his head. “Cursed blades like the one Bellatrix had used on you are feared for a reason. The wounds they create are meant to reopen constantly so that the victim never forgets why they were punished. Yours looks like a regular scar. Did you do anything in particular to it?”

The scoff she let out was very unladylike. “I used every means possible in the wizarding and muggle world to get it removed. Unfortunately, this was as good as it got.”

Rolf grinned as she ranted on about muggle doctor’s appointments and oils she used to rid the scar. Oh yes, Hermione Granger was in fact part fae.

“Tell me Hermione, when I handed you this book, how did you know what to do with it?”

The question stumped her. Sitting up straighter and adjusting herself on the seat, she came up with no answer. “I just assumed you wanted me to solve them. Though those were rather easy. What edition is that?”

He handed her the book back with the cover facing her. The blood drained slightly from her face as she read the title. It was a forbidden copy from the Department of Mysteries. She had heard Bill Weasley speak of it to Kinglsey once. Apparently, even the most experienced employees had been unable to solve the first equation, let alone all five.

Rolf took the book back and winked. “A friend let me borrow it. But don’t worry, he won’t know the problems have been solved. However, the most important thing we should discuss right now, Hermione, is your heritage. I wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t seen it for myself, but you, Hermione Granger, are part fae.”

The stern look on her face should have made him concerned, but Rolf was practically bouncing in his seat.

“Allow me to explain before reaching into your holster and hexing me silly. I can guarantee it’ll be worth the wait. Would you mind coming with me to my grandfather’s house? There’s something I’d like to show you.”

They left the Leaky Cauldron, travelling down side streets and between people. When they finally arrived at one of the last houses in the area, Hermione had a nervous excitement to her. Rolf called out for his grandfather, but received no answer. He led Hermione to a study with more books than she could possibly ever fathom reading. She took a seat on the couch while he looked for a tome that hadn’t seen the light of day like in decades.

Setting it in front of her, open to the proper page, he began, “Fae are extremely powerful supernatural creatures. They are some of the first beings ever to roam the Earth. They’ve been around longer than wizards and witches. They have the abilities to create illusions, teleport, cause illusions, and produce electrokenesis. They’re majestic and seductive, beautiful, and smart. They are also extremely rare.”

“Why rare?” Hermione asked, keeping her eyes on the tome, reading all the information as quickly as possible yet still paying attention to Rolf.

“Well because they are so powerful, wizards and witches have tried to take and manifest their powers for their own personal gain. It is said that the fae all disappeared to one of their alternate dimensions to hide and protect themselves. They live so happily that none ever venture into our world. So rarely they do that the fact that you’re half fae is incredible. To think that one of them explored our world and then decided to procreate with a muggle or magical folk is unbelievable.” Rolf was so excited, he couldn’t articulate everything he wanted to say coherently.

“That’s all rather interesting and exciting, but how do you know I’m even fae? I could have easily just developed an allergy to lemons. It’s not quite so serious,” Hermione said trying to downplay  the drama.

Rolf pointed to a section in the tome where the criteria for Fae were listed. “You’re almost of age, you can solve complex problems, you’ve developed slight telepathy, you can Apparate better than even the most experienced witch or wizard, and you’re affliction for lemons is rather new. You can heal at an accelerated rate and you might soon be able to  create  illusions.”

Never one to accept things for what they were, Hermione challenged him for well over an hour on every aspect and criteria. Rolf wasn’t one to lose his temper, but the frustration on his face was visible.

“Hold out your hands and think of a warm orb,” he pleaded. “This is the only way I can get you to believe. Hold out your hands.”

With a defeated sigh, she complied.

“Now, channel your energy towards your fingers and palms. Think of how the sun feels on your skin. Take deep breaths. Focus on your centre and aura.”

She closed her eyes and followed his voice. The soothing commands went from feeling agitated to tranquil. A tickling sensation began to travel from her shoulders and feet towards her hands. It was like holding the hot tea she had be drinking earlier again.

“Open your eyes but relax,” Rolf said.

Hermione slowly opened her eyes, only to shut them rapidly. She tried again but with more preparation. Sure enough, a glowing orb was in her hands. She could hardly believe it was real. She looked up at Rolf and saw him grinning at her hands.

She swallowed the lump in her throat. When she spoke, her voice was faint, “I really am part fae.”

“You really are Hermione Granger. You really are,” Rolf repeated.

She pulled her hands apart losing the orb. Had she not already been seated, she was sure she would have fainted. Part fae. What does that even mean? What was she to do next? She hadn’t realized she’d voiced her concerns out loud.

A whooping laugh started her and Rolf. Standing in the doorway was Newt Scamander himself. He had a similar look on his face to the one of his grandson.

“A fae in my own home. I’ll be damned.” He hobbled over and took a seat next to Hermione and simply stared at her face with kind eyes.

Hermione smiled at him, feeling an ease she hadn’t felt in a long time. “Would you by any chance be a fae, Mr. Scamander?” she teased.

His laugh came out in coughs again as he shook his head. “No, my dear, but I know someone who can help with the answers you seek.”

Both Hermione and Rolf asked who.

With a shit eating grin, he proudly said, “Amos Diggory.”