A Forbidden Birthright

Chapter Sixteen

Days later, in the middle of the school week, Hermione was still turning over Nikolai's words in her head about The Morrigan. She knew she was a famous pureblood witch, kin to Isolt Sayer. She revealed her magic to muggles, and they crowned her a goddess, and because she was an Animagus, taking the form of the crow, that was the symbol used for who the muggles turned her into, adopting her into their pantheon. She imagined her to have been a severe woman for her to fly over battlefields to be associated with battle and death. That did not sound like a woman who practiced anything but the Dark Arts.

Another symbol Nikolai had noted was one that translated to "Death." It had been capitalized, which had Hermione suspecting this was not referring to the act of dying or the great eternal sleep, but the Death from The Tale of the Three Brothers. She had never heard even a whisper about him from anything other than the Tale's of Beedle the Bard, so to see his name scrawled inside a dark grimoire was intriguing. The whole thing was turning into one mystery after another, wrapped up in a twine she hadn't yet figured how to undo.

It was exasperating.

She planned to go to Professor Trelawny, who still taught at Hogwarts. Even though she didn't fully believe in the arts she taught, the stupid tea leaves had accurately shown Harry the Grim all those years ago.

A sharp, feminine voice cut through her thoughts.

"Oh, Hermione Granger!" It drawled sweetly. "The Head of Gryffindor. How is it that we haven't run into one another yet?"

Hermione cringed and turned to face Astoria Greengrass, her dark brown hair perfectly coifed, not a hair out of place. Her dark robes lined with blue, indicating her Ravenclaw house, were a stunning contrast to her creamy, perfect skin. She never understood how she had been sorted into Ravenclaw; her behavior held all the negative aspects of a Slytherin. Although with her cleverness common in the house, she wore if pridefully and with an upturned nose.

"We have," Hermione replied dryly.

"No, no," Astoria replied with a fake smile. "I would have remembered running into 'the brightest witch of our age' since we work together."

Hermione grit her teeth. "We don't work together," she retorted, stepping around Astoria.

"Then we wouldn't have run into each other," Astoria chirped.

Her tone made Hermione want to ring her neck. Thirty seconds in, and she was already incensed. Astoria was notoriously manipulative and was still getting over her dislike for muggle-born wizards and witches. She turned back around, plastering a tight smile across her face.

"What is it that you want from me, Astoria?"

A childish pout fell across her face and she moved closer to Hermione, her flashing eyes, a contradiction to her sullen features. "I just wish to have a conversation with the brightest witch of our age."

"Would you stop saying that?" Hermione snapped.

Astoria crooned, "Why, is it not true?"

"This is a waste of my time," she muttered, sidestepping her once again, her shoes clicking on the stone floors as she strode away. She was dismayed to hear Astoria march after her, matching her stride.

"I hear you had Draco over."

Hermione held her head high and kept walking, not deigning to respond. This conversation was the kind she overheard school girls have. This was ridiculous.

Astoria went on, unbothered by her lack of response. "Are the two of you an item?"

"An item?" Hermione said. "'Items' are for sale. I am not."