Re: nascitur

Prologue

Author's Note : Wow! This is my first Harry Potter fanfic in over 5 years and I really don't know what to say except this plot bunny wouldn't leave me. Tomione is my guilty pleasure, Dramione is my first love and I really wanted to write them once again.

Normal chapters will be longer than this but still bite-size.

Fair warning, this be a slow burn.

*****

There are some people who swear they can remember their birth - of passing through the haze of darkness and into the light of life, of their first cry in the strange new world.

If you asked Hermione Granger, she could tell you every detail about the day she was reborn as the youngest daughter of Pollux Black of the Ancient and Noble House of Black.

The first thing Hermione notices is the colour red. Its everywhere. There is also the smell of blood everywhere. Months of fighting and death has her well acquainted to the smell. This smell can only mean something is very wrong. She can't move her limbs, atleast not in the way she wants to. They feel like unknown entities and she can just about jostle them.

Suddenly, a face appears over her. The man seems huge, almost a giant and then Hermione notices that everything else looks big too. It doesn't take too long after to realise that it's not everything else that's big but it's her who is small.

The man lifts her into his arms and a scream escapes her. Only it's nothing like any kind of scream she has heard out of her own mouth. Its a scream of an infant - shrill and sharp. She stops mid-shriek in shock.

The man's face screws into one of mild annoyance and no sooner she is handed down in to the arms of a young houseelf.

"Kreacher, shut her up!" The man gruffly complains and turns to leave before adding, "And, have all the arrangements made for my dear wife's funeral." The tone implies his wife was anything but dear to him.

As soon as the man leaves, Hermione feels the house-elf's eyes on him and she sees the absolute adoration in them. Hermione has seen those wet eyes of adoration before. A certain house-elf from 12 Grimmauld Place whose name was also Kreacher had them for his mistress, Walburga Black. No, it can't be. No no no.

"Kreacher will take care of missy. Kreacher loves missy already. Kreacher is the humblest servant of the noble house of Black and Kreacher-" before Kreacher even finishes his tirade, Hermione let's out the loudest shriek her tiny lungs can breathe out.