Author's note: Soo I'm currently reading Daddy-Long-Legs and I find myself really loving it. Then an idea popped inside my head, "I need to make this Dramione!"
This is the result and I admit I have taken a lot of sentences from the book. Initially I just used it as a guide but *scratches nape*
Anyway, hopefully next time I won't be looking at the book because I'd pluck my eyes out if I'd ever do it again. Distressing enough, DDL was not on the list of the categories and I was planning to make this a crossover.
Disclaimer: Jean Webster and J.k Rowling are the reason for this story. Don't credit me in anyway.
Monday, 1st of April
The first Monday of the month was the day Hermione always dreaded. It was when the trustees would come to visit and inspect every room of the orphanage and its occupants. Being the oldest, she had to bear the brunt of it. She was assigned to Room F where rambunctious tots ranging from 4 to 7 years olds sleep in. Their dour matron, Minerva Mcgonagall always expected her to do her chores. This day, her usual chores were more difficult. Hurrying around the hall like a hungry mouse, sprinting room to room to finish the sandwiches that the old witch said should be cheesy-thin, and dressing the tots and making sure their clothes have not a single hole.
Apart from the tribulation she always got everyday from being ordered around like an errand girl, her being a baby sitter was only an additional imposition to her already miserable life.
To her surprise, which was not the first time, the day ended quite successfully. As far as she knew, the trustees did not complain. Not even those obnoxious ones who looked down at them as though they were covered of dung, those ones who only became a trustee because they felt obligated to participate. But those types of Trustees weren't the ones Hermione hated. No, sir. She hated the Charitable ones.
She didn't exactly know why.
As she sulkily perched down on the window seat, she leaned against the cool glass and opened one-tired eye for her to see the remaining Trustees leave. She felt chuckling at the feeling of relief washing through her insides, warming her stomach. She opened both of her eyes and imagined herself down there, a footman helping her up inside the carriage, murmuring 'home' to the driver.
However, upon her arrival on the gates of her 'home', the picture grew blurred.
Again, Hermione had an imagination, like most of her previous ones. Mrs. Mcgonagall had often disapproved of these imaginations. She said they would get her to trouble someday and she should face reality instead of dreaming such frivolities.
"Her-mi-o-ne." Dennis Creevey called. Hermione snapped her head towards the 12-year-old boy. "You're wanted in the Mistress' office." He grinned at her. "Better hurry up!"
"What?" She asked, her tone dripping with anxiety.
"The mistress!" He exlaimed. "You're being called in the office. Honestly, I think she's mad."
Hermione stood up. Her bushy hair bounced on her paling cheeks. "But why?"
Dennis shrugged good-naturedly. "Better hurry up though. It sounds urgent."
Hermione began her trek to the matron's office. She bit her lip. She wondered what had she done this time. Had the Trustees complained about her sandwiches? Were they too thin? Had she missed to remove a raisin from them? Merlin, they hated raisins, which she found absurd for she liked them immensely. Had one of her cherubs — oh, please no! — 'sassed' a Trustee?
She wished none of them was the reason she was being summoned.
She paused walking as she heard voices downstairs. Carefully, she peered down and caught a fleeting impression of a man. The hall wasn't lighted enough. The candles were lit but they danced languidly. He walked out the door and she saw him waving. A second later, a carriage approached. The footman casted a lighting charm towards the tall man unsteadily, making the latter's shadow look like a snake.
A snake, she thought amused at her impulsive impression, A weird looking snake.
The hem of his posh penguit suit participated, mimicking the slimy tongue of the reptile's. Chuckling softly at this little scene, she continued her walking until she stopped at the mistress' offices. She knocked uncomfortably. Despite being raised in an orphange, she had manners. It was one of the things she prided as a girl of 17 summers.
She entered and was surprised to discover that the matron was looking friendly (for she often had a sour look on her face). "You called me, Ma'am?"
"I did. Sit down, Hermione."
And she did so with a touch of breathlessness.
The older witch watched her and spoke, "Did you notice the last gentleman who has just gone?" She asked.
Hermione blinked before she nodded. "I did but I only saw his back."
"Well, he is one of our most affluential Trustees. He's given a lot of money towards the orphanage."
"May I ask his name?" Hermione inquired curiously, not getting how this information involved with her being here.
"He wants to remain unknown."
Oh, she mused, well ... that's mighty selfless of him.
"And as you know that two of the orphans, Matthew and Tom," Hermione smiled tightly. She knew of the two boys who had gotten out of here because a kind Trustee had taken pity on them and decided to send them into college. "This said Trustee had paid for their college and both boys repaid him with hard work and success. I sometimes read Matthew's articles on the morning paper. Tom published a book about Magical Creatures Rights." Hermione squirmed.
Hope ignited in her chest. "Heretofore his pilanthropies have been directed solely with boys."
Said hope was instantly turned to ash.
"I've never been able to interest him in any of the girls in the institution. Not even the most deserving. He does not," the matron gave a dramatic pause. "care for girls."
Hermione inwardly raised a brow. Was this Trustee a misogynistic arse who underestimates a girl's capabilities or just preferred to educate his fellow gender and leave the opposite gender to the other female Trustees? Either way, this conclusion did not give her a clue as to why she was here.
"Right." She muttered wryly.
"Today at the meeting your future was brought up."
Hermione straightened her spine and stared the older woman.
The matron tapped her long, wrinkly fingers on the wooden desk, the sound being the only noise Hermione could hear loudly aside from her beating heart.
"Usually, as you are aware, the children are not kept after they are sixteen, fortunately, an exception was made to your case. You'd finish our school two years ago and taken the O.W.L.s here with exceptional marks." Hermione couldn't help but silently bask in her pride. Of course, she was always pride of her record. It was only her accomplishment. "And the staff and I decided to let you go. The orphanage cannot be responsible any longer for your support."
Hermione felt her heart drop and she started grasping for air. She was being thrown out. Where would she go?
She had worked here. Obeyed their orders and, she may have served some mischief, but she contributed a great help to the orphanage. Was she that expendable? "I-I don't know where to go." She stuttered.
The matron smiled at her lightly and Hermione suddenly felt small. The former spoke, "As I've said, your future was brought up and your record was thoroughly discussed. If it weren't for your records, you would have been put in a position where you already have a job right away, but in this case, the Trustees were impressed to see that you have excelled in most branches. Mrs. Webster who had spoken to your English Teacher, read your essay aloud."
Hermione's eyes bulged and she found herself flushing. It had been read aloud! Had been heard by rich prissy people! "I must admit it was rebellious but nevertheless impressive."
She flushed even more. "I just think that we have the right to buy our wands despite being orphans. It's unfair that we only get it once we're of age."
The matron raised her brow. "Orphans are known for excelling in nonverbal magic, Hermione. Most orphanages do not allow this and you know it. Children here do not have stable magic to wield a wand. They'd just split the wand in half. Besides, most children here are adopted before they turn 11 which is the proper age of a child with a guardian to purchase a wand." She gave Hermione a withering look. "You passed O.W.L.s without a wand."
"You've heard my essay. I'm sure you've understand it." She muttered.
The older woman pretended to not hear her. "One Trustee, Mr. —, that is the gentleman who has just gone — appears to have a sense of humour and has offered to send you to college."
She gasped. "College?"
"He believes that you have potential and says that this shouldn't be wasted by doing some menial job. This college would educate you to become a writer."
Hermione gaped. "A writer?" Her mind spun and she could only repeat the matron's words.
The matron nodded. "Yes. You will be given a liberal allowance, too liberal for a girl who has never had any experience in taking care of money." Hermione scowled inwardly. "But he seemed to be firm that I had no say in the matter. Mrs. Webster will manage everything you need. She'll take you to Diagon Alley at the end of summer. and you will receive 35 galleons a month. This money will be sent to you by his secretary. In return for these, you will write for acknowledgment once a month. Write to him about your progress in your stories and how you are doing. Pretend that you are writing a letter for your parents if they were living."
Hermione nodded. "These letters will be addressed to Damian Montague, which he uses as an alias. However, he will never answer your letters."
"Why does he not want to be known?" Hermione curiously asked.
The matron shook her head. "Ms. Granger, make sure you write these letters?" She paused, shocked to hear the calm and almost affectionate tone of her matron.
"I will, Ma'am." She replied.
"And will be respectful in tone as this will reflect credit on your training?" Hermione smiled. "I trust you are grateful for this good fortune?"
"I will and I am, Ma'am." She answered and sauntered towards the door. "If that's all, I shall be going and sow Colin's trousers."
She exitted and missed the surprised smile of the older witch.