My assignment for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry (Challenges and Forums). Hope y'all enjoy!
(I apologize for any inaccurate information. I'm still learnin' 'bout the Servant English lifetime)
(Also, in the SEL, please do mind that Hermione would be tan... or light brown. I do know racism is evident in the 1890s)
Disclaimer: Don't own the characters (except the made-up wizarding names and ocs), all magical references belong to J.K Rowling. Gonna be plain since it's my assignment.
14th Century (Medieval Lifetime)
"Hide!" Her mother hisses at Hermione, practically shoving the nine year old inside the crates and barrels that were skillfully stacked up to hide a tiny room inside without any suspicion. "They'll never find you in here."
Hermione shivers in fear as she tries hard to get her magic under control as the villagers upstairs bangs at their door and yells out profanities at her and her family, her mother and father bolting upstairs to stop the crowd.
She clutches her dress tight, as tears forms on the corner of her eyes, wishing she had never been born a girl with magic. She had been thrown tomatoes at every day when she accompanied her mother to the market. She had heard the rumors, hisses and curses thrown at her when she was in a crowd. Witch was the most whispered word used to insult her.
She stifles her cries as she hears the crowd barge in and open their front door. "Where's the lass!" They yell at her mother and father as Hermione could visualize her mother's shaking form and her father's form standing behind her as the crowd looms over them both, carrying torches. "Let's get rid of tha witch!"
She could faintly hear her mother's reply. "I casted out the witch girl," her mother says quietly with such venom and disgust that Hermione's heart shatters into two. Why would her mother say such a thing? "Isn't that right, Nathan?" she could see in her mind how her mother looked on her father for support. "Agatha, my wife, says the truth," he states boldly and Hermione sees how her father protectively holds her mother close to his chest. "Check the house all you want. We driven her out, because all that stupid girl does is curse this house with her magic!" He barks out.
Hermione freezes in place, hearing her heartbeat fast. Her parents no longer wanted her. Where was she to go now? She was a colored girl who had magic, no person in their right mind would take her in...
She hears the crowd mutter and retreat, their voices fading away as they stomp away from their house. Her parents storm down the stairs, take a deep breath and Hermione hears words she dreads.
"You heard us. Get out of the house." Her father commands through clenched teeth.
"But-"
"I SAID GET OUT OF THE HOUSE!"
A few moments later, she's out of the house, all her belongings lying on the floor in clumps as she sits on the edge of the dirt road, looking down as suddenly the sky darkens and pours out a heavy rainfall, making large splashes on the nearby lake beside their cottage.
She shivers. She has nowhere to go. The coldness of the rain soaks her, pounding her thin and ragged clothes as she hugs herself for warmth. She stands up and looks around. She has to try. She has to survive.
She gathers her belongings as much as she can. She has to be careful not to fall by the lake on the left side, as the dirt road was muddy and narrow. Her eyes widen as she slips, and she curses her bad luck as the water freezes her skin on contact, making an unheard loud splash as she was pulled under.
Hermione was very, very much afraid of the water. The darkness became more distinct, and when her instincts screams for survival, she kicks upwards, breaking the surface for one time before the water furiously tugged her down. She tries to blink open her eyes, seeing a boy's hand and she grabs it, being yanked out of the water.
She blinks her eyelashes a little wider when she makes out a silhouette of a boy above her, not looking soaked as he holds out his hand. She merely takes it, keeping her eyes opened for a little more longer before she fell unconscious.
(And while unconscious, Hermione merely dreams of a charming boy with enchanting silver eyes. And when she wakes up, she finds a scowl on someone's face as it rudely glares at her, while she fires one back.)
1891 (Servant English Lifetime)
A ten year old Hermione wakes up to the sound of yelling, and she confusedly starts to sit up, yawning and staring out the window. She hears the sound of birds perching on their trees and sing their beautiful melody in harmony.
She tries to block out the deafening roars of her name and someone else's name coming closer and instead focuses on the melody, but she hears the door slam open and-
"Ouch!" Hermione barely stifles her squeak as her new master, a fat, mean, pudgy man called Mister Dursley grab her and her best friend Harry's ear and drags them through the house, ignoring their barely covered cries of pain as he threw them out the door. "Stupid servants!" He yells, spit spraying from his mouth as they try to brush off the dust from their old, musty clothes. "Why must you all be useless!" He throws a handful of change at Harry, who barely manage to catch it. "Now go and make yourselves useful: buy this household some food!" With that he slams the door in their faces.
Harry only grunts as he stands up. "C'mon, 'ermione. We gotta get that food that Dursley wants ta eat," he urged her, giving her hand as she took it and stood up. "Sure, sir," she frowns and picks up the few coins that littered the dirt and trudges along.
They were on the one hour walk to the market when Harry whistles to get her attention. "Not ta frighten ya or anythin', 'ermione, but isn't that Mister Malfoy's son?" He whispers to her, and points at his direction.
Hermione cranes her neck to look at the famed Malfoy prince as a crowd continued to gather around him. "Ooh, sir. You meant the famous Malfoy darling?" She whispers back.
"Yes, and ya can stop calling me sir now, 'ermione." He annoyingly tells her and elbows her once more.
"Ouch, mister Harry!" she complains and rubs her side as Harry continues elbow her and she irritatedly snaps back. "What?"
"Sorry, 'ermione, but I just noticed that the boy's bin eyein' us both," he says and Hermione raises an eyebrow. "I'm not kiddin'!" he adds, looking at Hermione's not convinced expression. "Why don't ya just look fer yourself then?"
Hermione hesitantly looked around, meeting the brilliant grey eyes for a moment, and she doesn't know why she feels so comforted, so happy, so comfortable in staring at those grey orbs and she feels like she's on air-
The crowd whisks him away and she stands there, blinking as Harry urges her to move on to go to the market before the crowd spots a white boy and a colored girl together and throw them tomatoes, which would certainly get them a beating when they got back.
("Ye fancy the Malfoy's son, don't ya?" Henry questions her as they walk away from handing over the money to get the juicy and big fruits. Hermione only scowls. "No, I don't," she says airily, shooting him a dirty look. "Yes, you definitely do," Harry chuckled at the constantly denying Hermione.)
1940 (World War II)
"Hey, Granger!" Her best friend, Ginevra Weasley, yells over the commotion of her tent, brimming to the entrance with wounded people, her fiery red hair blowing in the wind as her eyes glint angrily.
"Yeah, Weasley?" Hermione bites back a snide retort as she focuses on the task at hand, resterilizating the needle she uses. "Stay still," she tells the wounded man in front of her. The man lets out a few phrases of Spanish and some words in a language she couldn't realize.
"Do you mind if I send a male over?"
"Uh, sure."
The man mutters a few more words and this time, Hermione feels spiffed and cleans up his scrape quick and fast. Why was she here anyways?
Oh, right. She was sent to the Philippines, where she learned a whole new language she expected would come up during her (bloody and gory) stay here. Spanish was so damn hard to understand. She didn't expect a whole load of people that spoke twenty languages every damn region of this god forsaken country she had been moved too.
A thing you might not notice is that Hermione every much hates not knowing things.
"Fixed up," she says, giving the man a smile. The man softly smiles and says something indiscernible to her, but she just assumes it's a thank you, judging from the man's grateful smile.
"Hey! Granger! Heads-up! Hot male comin' for ya!" Her best friend teases as she wipes her brow and points behind Hermione, and Hermione is very much surprized when she sees Ginny's hard eyes and a glare that would make any man cower in fear and beg her for mercy.
Hermione only huffs, tucks in a curl that escapes her normally organized bun when she turns around, her heart suddenly dropping in her stomach as she goggles at a very, very, very gorgeous man making his way towards her.
"Careful," she feels Ginny's hot breath whisper in her ear. "That absolute looker doesn't know how to treat a girl right," Ginny gave Hermione a little wave before hurrying back to her tent.
Inside her mind, a tiny and strict Hermione slapped her otherself mentally.
Focus, she thinks and clears away all thoughts that said: hot male, damn, he's hot, oh no, am I blushing?, why wouldn't I be blushing, look at him! as her analytical self analyzes her new patient.
Shot through the shoulder. Bruised knee. Broken right arm.
Oh, boy. She sure is going to spend quite a time with this boy.
He scowls as he sits down beside her, takes one look at her and looks away, stubbornly refusing her to touch him, apply ice to his bruise or compress it or wrap a clean piece of cloth around his broken knee or even clean up that gunshot wound.
He very much refused every treatment of hers that she says wouldn't hurt. By the time she was going close to the end of her patience and her very wide knowledge of seemingly endless knowledge being basically rejected, she was so furious with him that she wants to strangle his neck until he dies of blood loss and oxygen deprivation.
Instead, she throws her hands up in the air. "What the heck is your problem?" She demands. "I'm a damn combat medic; why the hell are you declining all that extensive knowledge of first aid!?"
Out of all things she expects to get back, like him cussing her out or snap at her, he chuckled. He fricking chuckled at her. Hermione Granger, dubbed as the Queen of It All, getting the highest possible grade in every of her classes and being known as the badass medic who knew how to judo-flip an annoying soldier at times, had been chuckled at.
Okay, now, she sees why Ginny was so riled up before.
Ginny, her red-haired friend, pulls up beside a fuming and angry Hermione with fists clenched. She aims her deadliest and famous death glare at the man and puts a hand on Hermione's shoulder and Hermione hears her force words through her gritted teeth.
"Don't. Do. It."
Hermione's taken back. She's been the one who always held Ginny back from punching other people. But now...
She gathers all her strength without a word, pulls her right fist back as far as she could and throws a nice right hook at his jaw. She's about to go for it when Ginny fixes her with a look.
"Are you sure I can't punch him another time?"
"I regrettably say this once to you, 'Mione but yes."
"What if I break his nose just a little bit?"
"As much as the little punk deserves it, no," Ginny cruelly smirks in secret as they watch the boy hops around in pain, clutching his bruised jaw, groaning. "Look what you did to him, 'Mione."
"What the hell, woman," he finally snaps at her. "Why'd you do that for?"
"Because I wanted to." Hermione snaps back, crossing her arms.
His beautiful and mesmerizing silver pools glares at her with utter hatred and contempt as Hermione fires back a death glare of her own, and she feels like she could into those eyes over and over again, drown in them-
She blinks once as the boy scowls, feeling like a deja vu moment just hit her. Like she felt somewhere and sometime, they've stared at each other like this.
That's utter bull. You never met him.
"What now?" He grumbles and holds out his arm. "I'm finally about to accept your recommendations of severely boring and complex techniques to cure me."
She only smirks. "Of course," she tells him, getting supplies from her tent. "But this is going to hurt."
His eyes only replies with the faintest hint of sadness.
1991 (Current Time)
Hermione stares hungrily at the endless stacks and shelves of numerous books before her that held knowledge about endless subjects that she never knew of. She gently strokes the spines of each books, loving the feel of leather under her fingers as she feels the thick spines of each book.
Focus, she tells herself mentally, staring at the piece of paper in her hand. Buy your school supplies, go to school, finish school, get a job and buy these books after.
She wills herself to walk through what seemed like eternity looking for her books through the shelves and admired books that were as thick as a block of stone and books elegantly covered with silk and weird illustrations and symbols.
Absentmindedly, she looks up a shelf and paws through it as she sees a gold and glowing lettering on a thick book that belonged to a title on her list. She reaches up with one hand and tries to tug it off, to find that she couldn't move it. She uses her other hand to pull it off but for some reason, it stood stuck there. In fact, it was fighting against her!
She grips it tight in her hand and pulls with all her might and suddenly the towering shelf looking over her collasped, drowning her in the sea of uncomfortable books as she victoriously holds the book in her hand.
A mop of platinum blonde hair rises from the sea of books, grumbling as it pulls itself up. Hermione comes face to face with a boy that suspiciously looks like someone she knows as she stares into the glaring grey eyes that tries to burn holes on her.
"Mudblood," he sniffs in disdain after a while, looking down at her as he stands up from the pile of books.
Hermione doesn't recognize the word, but she feels insulted. "And?"
It huffed. "You Mudbloods should know your place these days," he simply says, rolling his eyes. Hermione's eyes widen in anger. Oh. That term she encountered in reading her first wizarding book. Mudblood.
Hermione tries very hard to resist the urge to smack him with one of those thick books lying around and instead rolls her eyes as she clenches her hands. "You great prats are the one who should know their place," she says in a threatening tone as she pulls herself up.
Their eyes meet one more time, and Hermione feels like she could drown in them. She knows those eyes. She saw it before.
But she couldn't explain why those eyes feel like a thousand lifetimes forgotten that she had happily spent living with a boy with the same silver eyes.
Sorry for some inaccurate information. I had the most important exam of my semester come up so I posted this late. Today's deadline; hope I can still fit this in.
Hope you enjoy.
Marrione and Louise