The Portkey was almost ready, and Hermione would be leaving soon.
She wasn't sure if she was ready for this, yet. Last minute panic began to settle in, and suddenly she was as unsure as she was sure to begin with.
Hermione refused to live a boring, Ministry job life. It wasn't going to be that simple. She may have looked like the complete mantra of innocence, but anyone who actually knew Hermione Granger knew otherwise. She was eighteen years old, and had fought in the Second Wizarding War beside none other than Harry Potter and was famous for being the brains of the operation, along with a fiery temper.
After the war was over, and the shamble of a Wizarding World began to piece itself together, everyone expected Ron and Hermione to get together. At first, she had thought that as well. But it wasn't exactly meant to be. Hermione knew, after a prolonged bought of thinking, that it would be very awkward indeed to date her best friend – she now felt as if they were brother and sister, and one couldn't possibly date her brother. Even though Ron felt the other way, he still wanted a relationship with her, that was the farthest thing from Hermione's mind. It was just simply, as she put it, much too awkward. Was it that hard to maintain a simple, easy, friendship? Yes, it was, if she was telling the truth to herself. Ron had to make feelings difficult, and maybe that was an underlying reason she was so happy to get away.
Currently she was pacing around her flat, bags packed and ready to go, clutched in hand. Hermione was nervous. This was a field of study that was dominated by men, and it would be much, much different, but then again, wasn't change supposed to be a good thing? Leaving Britain behind in favor of Romania. It was new, it was exciting, and Hermione couldn't wait. The war had left permanent scars, and they needed some time to heal.
When Hermione had heard of a dragon reserve requiring a researcher – the details she was given were vague – she immediately strained to find out more. She was told it was a dragon reserve in Romania, fairly small but well off, and they had been conducting study into a new breed that had been found; the Austrian Ridgeback, cousin of the Norwegian Ridgeback. It was a very new way to get away from all the pain of the past and start anew, doing something she was very good at – researching.
She had immediately contacted the reserve through owl, and got a response; they would be accepting applications. Hermione had drawn one up, and barely bothering for a break, had sent it out. Only Merlin knew how much she needed some away time – to think, to make new experiences. Hermione loved Harry and Ron, yes, as brothers, but sometimes she just thrived best alone. She had promised to visit often, though – however it would most likely be only summer, Christmas, and Easter breaks.
When Hermione had gotten a positive response back from the reserve, she was completely thrilled. That was when she had broken the news to Harry, Ron, and the rest of the Weasley family – "Why are you leaving so quickly?" Ron had asked, - and George had chipped in, pointing out that Charlie worked somewhere out in Romania.
Hermione had shrugged, saying she'd looked it up and there were sixteen dragon reserves in Romania, and she was at a fairly small one. There wasn't any chance of hm being there.
The letter she had gotten back from the reserve had also told her that she was sign on for a period of two years, once those were finished she could either stay or leave, there was no pressure. The pay was generous and she got her own private living quarters, similar to a dorm at Hogwarts but just to herself. It sounded wonderful, and Hermione was completely thrilled. It was a new, adventurous task, and she felt like it would challenge her – in a good way, of course.
So that's what she was doing, at seven thirty-eight on a Sunday night, waiting for the Portkey to activate. It would be leaving at exactly quarter to eight, which meant she had seven minutes alone, brooding in her thoughts. Hermione had been told it would let her off in sight of the main building, where she could talk to the secretary, get her living quarters, and get prepared for a meeting with her boss the next morning before heading for her very first day of work.
A mix of emotions seemed to be overwhelming her. A little bit of anxiety, but that was only natural. What if she got seriously hurt? After all she's been through, and a dragon brought her down… What if they didn't like her, and sent her back home to Britain? She wouldn't be able to face anyone with the rejection. She would be too busy mourning and wondering what she had done wrong.
Determined not to let her thoughts get off track, Hermione pinched her wrist and took deep, soothing breaths, closing her eyes and leaning against the counter, hand firmly wrapped around the hairbrush that was to become her Portkey in a very short seven – no, four, now – minutes. Four minutes. What if the Portkey didn't work? What if it had all been a mistake?
Shaking her head, she mentally chided herself. You can't be thinking that. It'll only make you more stressed, and the less stress the better. If only she had something to occupy herself for four minutes. Hermione couldn't read; if she tried, she would get too lost in the book and would miss her Portkey. Taking a shower – well, that was obviously out. Ice cream, too, because she had emptied her icebox earlier in the day, and had no food remaining in her flat.
Two minutes. Hermione's breath hitched in her throat. Why was she so nervous? It was the first time she would be so far away from home, without anybody. She had always had Harry, or her parents, or Ron. No, this was something she was doing on her own. It was completely different.
One minutes. Hermione clutched the brush-Portkey tighter, her knuckles turning a pale white. She had never been a fan of using the Portkey – it was an unwelcome feeling, but seeing as only triple-registered wizards could Apparate internationally, she was stuck using a Portkey.
Thirty seconds. She mentally counted down in her head, feeling a little bit as though she was a pre-schooler again and preparing a rocket ship for blast-off.
A sickening familiar tug pulled at her naval, and she was spun round and round and round, hair fluttering into her eyes and luggage still firmly in her hand when…
She reached solid ground, with a thump, and examined her surroundings.
It was lush and green, and there was a smattering of small buildings nestled in front of a forest. A good distance away, in the other direction, Hermione could see metal bars and lights of fire, along with a distant yell of a manly voice, loud and hoarse.
But first thing came first; she had to check in.
One of the buildings was slightly larger than the others – two stories, although it couldn't be more than six meters square. It was slightly worn-out, like somebody had been meaning to fix it but never got around to it.
Hermione made her way to it, the dirt crunching under her runners, Portkey and bags still in hand. She made her way through the door of the main building, not knowing what to expect.
"Miss Granger!" A woman with brown, silver streaked hair and a kind face, mid-fifties, greeting her, a large, genuine smile on her face. The interior of the building was just like a lounge; furniture, and a little coffee-and-tea station in the corner.
"Yes, that's me, Miss…"
"Oh, no need for the formality. Call me Anne," the woman said, and leaned closer to Hermione – who had been anticipating a handshake – but got a brief, flitting hug. "No problems getting here, I presume?"
"None at all, Anne," replied Hermione, smiling slightly at the warm welcome, and noticing that although the woman was definitely English, she had a slight Romanian lilt that had to have been acquired from living there for a while.
"Great, great," Anne said, brushing a strand of silvery-brown hair behind her ear. "You're the first other woman in ages, here – I've been here almost thirty years now, and from when I started to now, there's been a grand total of four." Laughing slightly, she nodded at Hermione.
"And I'm guessing you would like to see your living quarters?" Hermione nodded, and some of the tension eased up. It wasn't as bad as she thought- so far. Anne gestured her out of the door, following closely behind her. She sucked in a breath, her lungs filling up on the cool, refreshing air. The air was much more cleaner than London's, she could certainly tell.
Hermione's living quarters was one part of a separate four part dormitory, and it was quite cozy. The kitchen, the sitting room and the dining room were all in the same area, and down the short hall was the bedroom, equipped with a twin-sized bed and small dresser, and a bathroom, which, to Hermione's pleasure, had a bathtub.
"And here you are," signaled Anne. "Cozy, isn't it?"
"Very lovely," agreed Hermione, dropping her two bags (undetectably extended, of course) in the middle of the sitting room.
"I'm glad you like it. Mr. Varive wants to see you at nine o'clock tomorrow, though, in his office, which is on the second floor of the main building. Someone will give you a tour around, and Mr. Varive will explain the exact details of what you will be doing here. I'll hope to see you later," with a wink, Anne disappeared, leaving Hermione to her thoughts and moving the few belongings she had with her into her little abode.
Deciding that relaxing would probably be the best way to spend her evening, she dug through her purple bag and found a Muggle paperback novel – A Tale of Two Cities, by Charles Dickers. Her mother would always read a little bit of it out loud to Hermione when she was young, and even though she didn't understand it, she would enjoy it.
Sighing, she dragged one of the bags into the bedroom, and began the tedious task of sorting. It had been a habit she had picked up from her mum – organizing everything, keeping everything in it's place. Hermione had always been a neat freak, with everything- room cleaning, deadlines, assignments… it had just come naturally. She wasn't one to stuff clothes in her drawer randomly.
After that time-consuming task was completed, Hermione peered out of the window, getting a good view of the sunset. Streams of orange, red, purple, and pink light were beaming in, and if she paused and stayed completely still for a few seconds she could hear the roars of the dragons, from the other part of the reserve. The colors in the sky blended together perfectly, and Hermione thought that she had never, ever seen anything like that before. It was quite possibly the most breathtaking thing she had ever seen.
Stretching, Hermione made her way over to the bathroom, filling the bathtub with bubbles as she stripped and tied her hair in a topknot, finding her frizz-taming shampoo and conditioner set in her bag, and set them on the counter as she got into the bath.
Once again, she let her mind wander as she soaked in the bathtub. How would tomorrow go? How much would she be interacting with dragons?
It was half an hour later when the water had gone cold and the sunset long gone when Hermione had dragged herself out of the bathtub, questions of what tomorrow was going to hold for her still firmly planted in her mind.
Hello. Welcome to my first multichapter under this account. I have pretty high hopes for this story. If you could drop me a review, that'd be great. Even two words, just to let me know how I'm doing.