Ghosts in the Machine

by sofia_the_six_fingered

Summary:

It has been said that something as small as the flutter of a butterfly’s wing can ultimately cause a typhoon halfway around the world.
In the summer of 1995, Hermione Granger makes a discovery during her stay at the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix with the potential to turn the tide of the war.
When the Order refuses to take her seriously, she decides to take matters into her own hands—leading to the formation of the enigmatic Morganite Guard and a relationship of mutual obsession that threatens to reshape the very fabric of wizarding Britain.
Many believe she was corrupted.
Few know the truth: the darkness was always there—it only needed the right catalyst to bloom.

Chapter 1: Prologue

1 September 1991

“Granger, Hermione,” came the clipped tones of Professor McGonagall.

A girl came forward from the group of first years huddled at the mouth of the Great Hall. She paused for a moment, smoothing her robes and taking a deep breath, the scent of sharp autumn petrichor and wet stone rushing into her lungs. Two boys, one a ginger in threadbare robes, the other dark-haired, hollow-eyed and emaciated, watched nervously as she marched down the aisle toward a seat just below the staff table, willing her hands not to shake, praying her face betrayed no sign of trepidation.

She settled on the stool, back straight and eyes focused on a spot on the stained glass just above the entryway. An ancient, too-large hat dropped over her eyes, flattening the unruly chocolate curls at the crown of her head.

“Ah, a clever one…” its scratchy voice whispered across her mind. “Clever enough for Ravenclaw…but that’s not all, is it? You don’t learn just to know, you learn to succeed, to affect change…”

“Put me in Gryffindor,” the girl whispered back.

“An odd choice for one such as yourself…” came the hat’s reproach. “You have the stubborn zeal to face down the devil himself…maybe even win…there’s no denying that…but Gryffindors are heroes, not crusaders…and despite the cold of the dungeons, Slytherin is the home for a crusader’s fiery heart.”

“Put. Me. In. Gryffindor,” the girl hissed again. “I’m Muggle-born, and I’ve read Hogwarts: A History, plus several other books. I know what Slytherin is like. You said I’m clever—then put me in the house where I’ll be able to use it.”

The hat was silent for a moment, as if deciding if it was worth arguing with the bushy-haired child whose head it graced.

“Very well,” it sighed.

And then—

“Better be…GRYFFINDOR!”