I am often so struck by the lack of imagination concerning certain "lesser" characters that I am forced to write a story about them. It is logical that I would not be so offended by my own created world.
Prologue
Hermione's first thought was that it tasted crunchy, and slightly bitter. When it began to crackle and tingle on her tongue, she gritted her teeth together and continued to force it down her throat. When she felt the individual grains brand themselves into her very pores, and begin to burn, she almost choked on her tongue trying not to scream. And then there was a rising tide of brightness beginning behind her eyes, forcing its way across her vision, blinding her with its intensity as she struggled under a weight that was crushing her body limb by limb. It began in her fingers and toes, spreading with a rush of fire through her veins. Hermione heard her heart falter, and then felt it hiccup to a stop in deafening silence. And all she could do was scream Summer of 1944 and hope that Fate was feeling kind.
Disappearing hurt.
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A/N: I'll be updating about once a week until this story is finished, I hope. I love to hear your opinions, or I wouldn't be posting this. I value your views, even if they aren't complimentary. I would wave a large notice board with "REVIEW" in giant flashing letters if I thought it would help, but graphics aren't my forte.
~ Rhymer