She was the same as he was, coming nearly a decade after his birth when his mother had accosted another muggle man. The man was a blind beggar, one who’d stumbled across the manor, and into her bed. She made little entreaty for him to stay, as he kissed the deformed flesh that made her cheek and slipped from her bed, taking the few coins she’d given him. Hermione had been born from a loveless romp and was more of a bastard than he was.